I started by sweeping up all the bits and pieces of dried leaves and twigs from last weekend’s hedge trimming adventures. That, combined with a few clippings from other plants in our front yard, filled a gigantic “yard waste” bag to the brim. I moved it into the garage and headed to the backyard.

Our backyard is an absolute catastrophe of vegetation. I find myself completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of stuff growing there. It’s.. insane. And it’s overgrown and full of weeds and I’ve been avoiding it as much as possible so as to prevent myself from heading to the store to buy a vat of “Round Up” to spray all willy-nilly.

I am wholeheartedly against chemical weed killers. I am also not very fond of the gardening thang.

With my lovely orange and green gloves, I ripped out plants and weeds and things of indeterminate type. I trimmed hedges and shredded leaves and made stack after stack of refuse around the yard.

Honestly, after over an hour of this, I cannot see any difference other than the piles of trimmings on the lawn. Everything STILL looks overgrown and overwhelmed and insane.

It’s official: I Hate Gardening.

(But flowers and bright green leaves are still really pretty.)

• a long weekend that’s just begun
• fuzzy dog bellies, even if they make me itchy
• fresh air and sunshine without unbearable heat
• a husband who shares my opinion on “fun” vs “cleaning the house”
• the flowering plant on the porch – I haven’t killed it yet!
• the library and all of its magnificence
• my Moo and Bebo cards
• Gmail and all the spam-busting stuff it deals with for me
• Surimi. Yes yes.
• Jeero, my UglyDoll, for acting as a good pillow some nights
• the sound of windchimes on the front porch
• really good hedge clippers
• purple toenail polish
• being okay with who I am and what I’m all about

Universal health care is one of those things I don’t ponder very often. Living in Canada means that when I feel sick – any kind of sick – I call the doctor and I make an appointment and that’s the end of the story. The words, “can’t afford it” never enter into things. Being employed or not being employed don’t impact on my health care.

I’ve never had to choose between a health concern and groceries for my family or a mortgage payment to keep a roof over our heads. I’ve never had to factor health care benefits into a job search (though I bitch, heartily, that Coffee’s job doesn’t have dental/medication coverage). I’ve never had to sacrifice my health due to anything financially-related.

When we adopt, we’ll simply take our kids to the doctor whenever they’re unwell. There are no forms to fill out, no insurance to find, no “pre-existing conditions” to worry about.

Lest you think otherwise, please know that the Canadian health care system does have its problems. Long wait times are the biggest issue, followed very closely by an insufficient number of doctors in many cities (and small towns) across the country.

An American friend who moved to Canada a decade ago was dismayed by how “unfancy” the labour and delivery room at the local hospital was when compared to the “birthing suite” she had in a major US hospital several years prior.

But the quality of care was the same. And the cost? Non-existent. Aesthetics aside, I think the quality is the most important, right? And being able to have a baby “for free” was awesome in her mind.

Coffee and I regularly discuss the differences in health care systems – he was lucky enough to be insured (and healthy) while he lived in the United States, but he knows what each cost to the doctor or hospital would have cost him had he not had that safety net through his employment.

It’s long been known that mental health and physical health are linked. It sucks to be sick and it sucks even more if you’re not only dealing with the symptoms of your illness but also with the anxiety and frustration of trying to find care. Trying to finance that care. Trying to not be a burden on your loved ones, trying not to sacrifice your safety net, trying to be brave..

I can’t imagine what it’s like to know your illness is sucking your family down into a never-ending pool of debt. I am horrified when I read about people who continue to pay medical bills for decades following the death of a family member.

Reading blogs – a lot of them written by American citizens – I am awed (and not in a good way) by the number of online requests for help. Fundraising raffles for “average people” who had the bad luck of getting sick or having a child with a serious illness. It’s so completely foreign as to seem insane to me.

Now I know there are people who argue that Michael Moore’s “Sicko” – and all of his other movies, really – are geared toward shocking the viewer. He chooses only the worst-case scenarios to discuss and dissect in his documentaries, right? He assembles only the most dramatic of clips to illustrate his side of the issue.

(And I don’t really believe that Sicko only featured the worst stories – I’ve heard many, many, many others that were just as terrible or worse.)

I don’t doubt that there are many people in the U.S. who have fantastic health care. Families with a doctor they like, care that they feel is more than adequate.. and all of it covered by their insurance. But those are the ones that got lucky. Why didn’t Michael Moore profile them?

It’s not because they don’t have a compelling health-care story (though, for the most part, they don’t) it’s because the most needy of our societies are the people that need to be focused on. We need to care for those of us who need that help the most. That’s what a good community does.

We don’t look at a starving man and say, “But everyone else has a sandwich!” We open shelters and foodbanks and serve Christmas dinners in soup kitchens. We offer them $2 in spare change, at least.

We don’t look at a family who suffers the loss of their home in a fire and say, “Everyone else has a home!” and walk on by. We hold fundraisers and we open our doors to them for a while and we collect up spare clothes and toys for the kids.

Health care is the basis of our existence – even when we’re not desperately ill. Somehow it seems wrong to say, “A lot of people have great health care!” while averting our eyes from the people who don’t have it.

Did the movie offer up some shock value? Sure. Was it necessary, yeah, I think so. Do I think it painted the full picture? No. But I think it presented enough of the ‘real picture’ to hopefully motivate the right people to do the right thing – or, at least, for the general public to gather up some outrage at how members of their own community are suffering and, perhaps, to take action.

I’m glad I live in Canada. Long wait times be damned.

Those dolls? They’re my Bratz collection. That’s right. MINE.

The very first time I saw a Bratz doll, I knew I wanted it. I was 30 years old and I knew I wanted that doll. We weren’t even talking about adopting at the time.

But we’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to talk about why I will hand those dolls over to my kids the moment they arrive to our home. Happily, even.

A lot of the parenting blogs that I’ve been reading, in preparation for our adoption and for being a parent in general, have devoted some page space to Bratz dolls. The overwhelming majority of these parents have stated clearly and concisely that THOSE dolls will NOT be seen clutched in their daughter’s hands. Ever.

Why? Because Bratz are “skanky” and “trampy” and a “bad influence” and “ugly” and “whores” and what kind of a parent would allow their child to play with what is very clearly an offense to women?! Why not cut to the chase and just hand your five year old a pair of fishnets and a cut-off tee and let her wear your high heels to the mall to pick up MEN?

Oooooookay. Riiight.

I have to question how any parent can come to the conclusion that their child will be more influenced by a doll than by what she observes in the world around her. More influenced by that piece of plastic than she is by what her mother says and does.

There are grown women dressed almost exactly like Bratz in the grocery store. There are teenagers heading to school wearing thigh-high boots and cropped t-shirts. There are television commercials on at all hours of the day and night displaying women who are scantily clad and dancing in clubs to advertise vodka.

But wait, you say! Why would I not try to limit the amount of ‘skank’ in our home? Why not try to teach our daughter(s) that a woman shouldn’t be all about the sex appeal?

Because I want my kids to grow up with a firm understanding that the way a person dresses has no bearing on the sort of person they are on the inside. A woman in a burqa has the same value as a woman in fishnets and a miniskirt. A woman in ripped jeans and cowboy boots is exactly as important as a woman in a business suit.

My kids will be taught that a woman who is dressed in a way that could be considered “provocative” is not asking to be raped or injured or harassed and that one cannot make a decision about her sexuality or her worth. Clothing, like hair and makeup and the colour we paint our bedroom, is simply another way to express ourselves and shouldn’t be a cause for judgement.

The sad part is not that I need to teach these lessons to my kids. The sad part is that other people aren’t teaching that same information to their kids, too.

Maybe those Bratz dolls also volunteer at the local homeless shelter. Maybe they work at the library in their spare time or babysit for their cousins or get straight-As in school. Are we saying that a woman in kick-ass boots can’t also have her own political agenda and plans for the future?

In life, we learn pretty quickly about appropriateness or we pay the price (by not having friends, by not getting the job, etc..) We make decisions to be “different” based on our tolerance for being treated differently. But that difference doesn’t change our value or who we really are to those who love us.

Growing up, I had a huge collection of Barbies that I inherited from my various cousins, found under the Christmas tree, or otherwise acquired. And I loved to play with them – fantastic, imaginative, colourful games. I dressed them in ballgowns and made crocheted shawls for their scrawny shoulders. I made them dance and work and, yes, I even made them hump Ken from time to time.

Most of them didn’t have arms or legs that bent – but that didn’t stop them from running races, flying, riding horses, partying with each other, modeling or getting into fist-fights in the Barbie salon. They didn’t have mouths that moved, but they still had conversations with each other and made out with each other and had screaming fights in which they shouted “SHIT!” because it was the worst curse word I could think of at the time.

They rode horseback in ballgowns because I thought it was “fancy”.

They were tools of my imagination – because they were dolls. Toys. Chunks of plastic. Not role models.

My role models were, and continue to be, real human beings.

How can anyone say plastic dolls are a bad influence? Perhaps it’s their own perceptions and judgements that make for a truly bad influence.

My kids will play with Bratz and I’ll proudly let them.

[melle] That is all. [/melle]

Even when I’m standing less than a foot away.

Jeeesh. That’s annoying even to ME.

(Freewill Astrology.)

How do we get this done? Is there someone we can hire (someone cheaper than movers) to come over for an hour and haul stuff around? What do normal people do in this sort of situation?

Or are we the only idiots who buy 7,000 pound furniture and then put it in the “wrong” place?

YARGH.

When I was growing up in the middle of nowhere, we regularly hung our summer laundry on the very long clothesline in the yard. That’s the last time I remember having line-fresh clothes. Living in Toronto, I had no space to hang anything at all. Living downwind of the steel mill in Hamilton, I wanted to avoid sooty clothes.

But here? Oh yes. Yet another thing to love about Kitchener: good smellin’ clothes.

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At the moment we’ve got multiple projects going on – outdoors and indoors.

Outdoors, the front yard is mostly dealt with, save for a shrub that’s half-dead and which will require an extraction and a replanting (of something else). The hedge has been clipped and beautified, the dead plants have been removed and no, I have not planted anything new. I may wait until next spring and let the kid(s) pick out the perennials for the front beds.

The backyard is still completely insane. There are weeds as tall as I am and grape vines wrapped around bushes and fencing and plants growing like mad that I cannot recognize and, sweet merciful crap, I have no idea how we’re going to tackle the whole project other than to wait for some cooler weather and go crazy with the clippers and, perhaps, a shovel.

Indoors we’ve got a bathroom that needs to be finished (exhaust fan installation, painting, laminate installation) and a playroom that needs to be finished up (moving out all the various crap we’ve got stacked in there and putting the appropriate new crap in) and an office that requires a new floor, paint and some custom-built furniture. We’ve also got all the ‘generic’ stuff to do in preparation for the kid(s) bedroom to be set up shortly.

I need to locate a team of handymen who work for free (of course), set them loose around here with some power tools, then run down to Coffee’s office and kidnap him for a long weekend away in some lake-side cabin. That appeals to me a lot more than spending the upcoming long weekend doing these tasks ourselves.

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In other news, Melle is seeking a new job and could possibly use your help if you’re in the area or have contacts around here. I’m no help to her whatsoever – being new around here and all – but since there are a few people in the area who read this blog on occasion, please pop over and see what she’s looking for and whether you can help.

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In other-other news, Kelly has sold her house! And, if that isn’t exciting enough, the closing date is in a few short weeks.

I’m sad that she’s leaving (actually, I’m VERY sad that she’s leaving, but purely for selfish reasons and thus you must ignore me because it really IS a good thing for her) but wow, it’s totally time for her to kickstart her brand spankin’ new life! She’s been somewhat stalled while waiting for her house to sell and now? Now she’s FREE! Pop over and congratulate her, ok? Talk about a huge relief and an exciting time!

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And in the other-est news, well, actually, I’ve got nothing else for the moment. Go see if you can help Melle and go cheer for Kelly and we’ll meet back here later when I’ve got something else to talk about. Have a good day!