Ms. Debbie Phelps, you’re da bomb

My daughter tells me never to say that but I’ll say it anyway: Give Michael Phelps’ mom Debbie a gold medal. Here’s a parent who stuck behind her kid through thick and thin even when the experts were telling her that Michael would never amount to anything. They saw lack of focus; she saw a hands-on learner with a giant talent for swimming and a love of science experiments.

And this summer at the Beijing Olympics, the experts have been eating their words.

Of course, it helped that Debbie is herself a teacher and school administrator: she didn’t panic or overact when she got the nasty spiel at parents’ night: Michael’s immature; Michael can’t sit still; Michael disrupts the classroom. She knew Michael could have ADHD but her attitude always was: OK, but what can we do to support him?

What most impresses me about Debbie Phelps is how well she knows her son. These days, all you have to do is look at your TV screen to see the incredible bond between them. But Phelps’s whole parenting style strikes a chord too: As she told ABC NEWS, “I’ve been there not to dictate or guide. I’m there to listen to what he wants to do and try to help him solve problems and make a wise decision.”

Bingo! Single parent raising thoughtful child and Olympic athlete. Hey, people! It can be done! You know, people like Debbie Phelps are not only an inspiration–they turn every argument against single parenthood on its head.

 

Great wines under $10

I’m starting a new category–great wines under ten bucks. Today, an Argentinian I wine I’ve been drinking for the last year: Trapiche Cabernet Sauvignon 2004/2005/2006. It’s just the perfect red wine at a perfect price: $8.65.

What I like about it: that dark cab colour and the hint of vanilla and tobacco. Yum. And as my daughter’s godfather keeps reminding me with a glint in his eye. . .cabs have all those nice tannins in them for good vascular health. As we toast another. Enjoy.

 

Eyes Wide Shut always makes for little shut-eye

Eyes Wide Shut was on last night again. Like many Kubrick films, this one has the power to carry me away. I detach completely from my surroundings and enter the film. When the characters threaten to pitch over the railing, I go too.

 

It’s a loooong movie, and last night I made it only as far as Cruise being warned away from the steamy masked ball by the mysterious woman in head-feathers (and little else). And that’s when it hit me: this film is so Hitchcock. For years, I’ve believed that the masked woman could be any one of the blondes Cruise encounters that night in New York. She could be

• Helena Harford (if she straightened her hair)
• Amanda
• Domino
• Milich’s daughter (although that would be a stretch)

After all, Domino wasn’t there the next time Cruise showed up at her apartment, which could work with the timeline. This house-of-mirrors blondes effect is the same one used in Vertigo, where Kim Novak as Madeleine re-emerges as brunette-to-blonde Judy Barton. It’s really a shame that people keep insisting it was Amanda; it gets way more interesting when you consider the logistics of it being someone else.

Over the years, I’ve become more impressed with Tom Cruise in this role. He’s really quite awkward and bumbling, which is exactly what is required of the part. However, I just detest the casting of Nicole Kidman. In retrospect, I would have liked to have seen Renée Zellweger cast in the role of Alice.

 

Rings I want

Need some rings.

I don’t wear them nearly as much as I used to, but when I see something I like, oooooh, it’s hard to resist.

Recently Erin Donnelly, Looks Editor for singlemindedwomen, recommended Gerald Yosca’s navy teardrop earrings, which I thought where lovely.

However, as I was clicking my way through the Max and Chloe store link, I happened on these beauties. The wide ring with the single row of diamonds is by Melinda Maria; the stackables are by Anna Beck.

OK, way too nice.

But I still want them.

At least one of them.

Puh-lese?

 

Baking Bootcamp draws to a close

So yesterday was Sim’s last day at Rising Chefs. And for the finale, she turned out a magnificent crème brûlée. The only thing she had to forego was the burnt sugar because the house torch was acting up. However, the custard itself was magnificent–soft, supple, still warm by the time I got there.

Yesterday was more competitive, with two teams of 12-year-olds turning out a full menu for the parents. As we were waiting for the GO train, Sim remarked that the team work was hard at times, and the kitchen was noisy with people barking directions to keep things moving. She wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that aspect of cooking professionally. “I sort of like cooking on my own,” she announced with a touch of weariness in her voice. It had, after all, been a long day–and a long week. Frequently their teachers would remind them that “this is not kiddy camp–it’s bootcamp.”

Still, I’ll be anxious to see what happens to this passion over the years. I really liked the fact that the kids cooked non-stop and were allowed so much independence in the kitchen. Knives? Oh, they used ‘em. You can’t learn much by watching someone doing something–the drawback of many cooking classes for kids.

Today our photo features the Rising Chefs professional chef’s jacket for kids. (They also have an adorable chef’s hat.) You can find more great products by going here.

 

Dishing with the kids about dating

So a friend of mine is dating again and wants to know how much she should dish with her kid about her new date. For some strange reason this reminds me of an incident that happened on a parenting message board when I was a new mom. The moderator warned us single moms that we tend to make friends with our kids. 

“You need firm boundaries,” she harrumphed. “Don’t be friends. You’re the boss.”

Which brings me back to my friend.

I don’t think she has to give him the Tolstoy version or anything, but I do think it’s a good idea let kids know “where you’re at” with dating. Besides, when you’re single, you do talk to your kids about stuff other kids might not hear. That’s because there’s no one else to talk to. It’s a pretty simple equation.

There are three basic things that kids want to know about dating:

1. Will this interrupt my TV plans/birthday party/sleepover/shopping date?

2. Do I have to share a bathroom with this person?

3. Will this person replace me?

If we keep those things in mind, for the most part, conversations with the kids will go fine. However, there are a few caveats.

1. Not making kids our confidantes. There’s a big difference between addressing kids’ questions and turning to them for advice. My theory is, if you spawned them, they’re not old enough to advise you. Besides, it should make them feel vaguely icky if you ask.

2. Not trashing rancid dates in front of the kids. It’s fine to say someone was a jerk or a nerd and you won’t be going out with him again but but it’s not OK to tear the person down in front of your kid and invite her to join in. Discretion with details is never a bad thing.

3. Remembering that the older kids get, the more complex dating becomes. Of course, I’m under strict orders from my 11-year-old NEVER to marry, so take this with a grain of salt but in general, it’s a lot easier to date when kids are younger and you don’t have to share anything with them. Once they start becoming little people, it’s impossible to avoid those dating talks.

So I wonder how my friend will fare. The TV sit-coms make single-parent dating seem like down-to-earth fun. The reality is usually much harder.

 

There’s no such thing as ugly when you’re 7

You know, I have this love-hate thing with China. Fascinated by the history and the culture but every time they do something dumb, I want to scream. So the news that they wouldn’t let Yang Peiyi sing the revolutionary anthem at the Olympic opening ceremonies because she wasn’t a looker had me vocalizing a tad, especially since the IOC defended it.

But it’s not just about that. It’s about the history of girls in China, the hundreds of thousands presumed dead or disappeared, and the well-regarded adoption program that has injected hundreds of millions of dollars into the orphanage system with zero accountability. That fanny-pack that you take loaded with American bills? (oh, btw, they have to be good-looking bills) They don’t do much for the kids. I didn’t really care that the footprints in the opening ceremonies were retouched for TV. But telling Yang she couldn’t sing because she wasn’t cute enough seemed like the ultimate irony.

 

Memory Lake

This week, my daughter’s cooking camp is located in the outskirts of the city.  For those who have never been to Toronto, the city hugs Lake Ontario and two of its commuter lines run along the shore, east and west from Union Station. So bright and early every morning we take the 8:13 from Union eastbound to Rouge Hill, cab it to Rising Chefs so I can make it back to catch the 9:07 . . . then I go back to Rouge Hill at 3:45, do the cab thing and then we catch the train home at 4:50. At which point mother needs a drink and reminds Simone that “Rising Chefs will be going on your ré sumé ” and “You’d better get into Cordon Bleu after all this.”

 

The upside of this routine (aside from an 11-year-old’s obvious joy) is the trip eastbound. What is it about being on a train that acts as a release valve for memories? Seems that every day I remember a little more . . . some those images have even worked their way into my dreams.

First up comes the house where Simone went to daycare, a lovely little white frame house just south of the Warden overpass. Biggest memory for me: how it was daycare to get down on your knees for. I was so sad when Susan and her crew moved to the West Coast. When you are a single working mother with a fantastic daycare provider, you feel as though God has handed you a blank cheque.

Next up, our old neighbourhood where we lived in when Simone was a baby. That house (not visible from the train) holds so many memories for me, not the least of which was returning with her from China, followed in 2004 by the mother of all asthma attacks. So it was goodbye house, surrounded by too much greenery and too many stray cats abandoned in the ravine and needing homes. And goodbye drywall dust. We now live in a high-rise in the middle of attractive urban grunge and the asthma is under control.

[Click to make these images larger]

Lawn of the asthma-inducing house. Bitch to mow. ß

 

 

Simone at age 4. ß

Then there’s the house near the Guild that I almost bought with someone else. Man, I loved that house. It had cedar-shingle roof and a pretentious circular driveway that I took a shine to (no idea why). I really tried to find a picture of it on satellite, but couldn’t. Drove out there with a friend a few years ago, though, and the place had lost something of its charm. Houses tend to put spells on me and I was grateful to be free of that one.

 

But the highlight of the trip is the lake itself, which comes into view between Guildwood and Rouge Hill stations. Bodies of water have the greatest potential to evoke my feelings and memories, so I was surprised and touched when I searched online for photos and found some taken by a colleague. When Jodi was an editor at McGraw she took the GO train twice a day from Danforth to Ajax. She describes (with more lyricism than I could ever muster) how the lake comes into view:

A few months into my new job, I found myself keenly anticipating the train’s approach to and arrival at Rouge Hill. After passing the Highland Creek Sewage Treatment Plant on the south side, where in the morning you often see curls of steam rising from the outdoor, open pits, the shoreline brush clears and Lake Ontario, with the Pickering nuclear plant and its stark white and beautifully monolithic windmill in the distance, comes into full view.

So that’s Jodi’s shot at the top of my post, and here are some more. These are my favourites, but you can see all of them by going to Lakewatch. By the way, Jodi has a Food category too and the shot of her cherry pie is magnificent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My kid’s addicted to nasal spray

Yup, I’ll admit it–this one got away from me. She has asthma and allergies, and nose spray has always been in her bathroom but this summer I started noticing the bottle accompanying her around the house. The 3-day warning was, uh. . .just blending into another 3-day warning. Yesterday, it hit me like a ton of bricks: my 11-year-old was hooked on the stuff and had rebound congestion.

So we quit yesterday. Cold turkey. And one sinus is already coming back. I tell you, that stuff just isn’t worth it. I checked it out on the Internet and the number of people who have been hit with rebound is staggering. What I’ve learned:

• You don’t get rebound with the saline solution or cortisone sprays–just the decongestant ones.
• You can wean yourself over a few days by diluting your decongestant spray with saline or water. I had always made Sim dilute her spray anyway.
• One physician I read about had a patient who weaned herself one nostril at a time. Great idea.
• Expect one day of misery as your sinuses close up completely having become utterly dependent on the decongestant to keep them open. You wouldn’t be able to breach that seal with dynamite. We didn’t have much luck with remedies we tried in the interim such as steam and saline but Simone is much, much better even today and the slept OK too. (Maybe adults take longer to rebound.)
• You could take a Sudafed or Benadryl to manage the congestion. Simone hasn’t, but I guess she’ll go back on the oral Claritin. We started this whole thing because the pills are expensive and the nose spray seemed like a nice occasional solution. Fat chance.

My 11-year-old is so independent and responsible most of the time that I just dropped the ball on this one. What a lesson for both of us.

 

Wonton Heaven 2

A couple people have told me the wonton recipe for kids looks great. However, after further experimentation, we recommend that you reduce the 1 tsp of garlic salt to 1/2 tsp–not only healthier but we both think it tastes better. Simone has now done this recipe at least 10 times this summer. As soon as we get the digital camera, we’ll snap some.