The Adventures of Mrs.Movie Snob

Once upon a time, in the magical land of my youth, a decade seemed like a long time. Seriously. Stop for a moment and think about the time that slowly passed between 10 years old and 20 years old; 17 years old and 27 years old. Somewhere around 30, however, the passage of time seemed to change. It did for me, anyway. Time, which was once measure only for  me , now passed in " years married " and " Isabel's Birthday's ." And in these precious increments - time flies. How often I've found myself muttering (I mutter now), "How is it already ?" or  "That seems like yesterday." Or my latest declaration, " We've been in Canada for 10 years." Now, before I move on, let's process that last one... I've been in Canada for 10 years. (*silently contemplating*) 10 years in Canada. (*shivering*) 10 YEARS. (*apologizes Canadianly*) As if moving from the southern US to the frosty North wasn't life-chang...

I don't have a dad. I never have. The S.O.B. is out there somewhere. Just nowhere I've ever known about. I've only ever been Debbie's daughter. I was briefly a step daughter - by law - to a very cruel man that my Mother married when I was a child. Father material, though, he was not. The only positive male role model that I can remember early on is my Grandfather, Inez. And when he was around, which wasn't too often because we lived far away, I'd feel like a princess. Still do. (All his granddaughters do. He's our hero.) So, when social media is saturated on Father's Day with images of loving, attentive, present Daddies, I find myself in foreign territory; somewhere on the outside looking in on a strange exhibit. I equate it to going to a history museum and staring blankly at a scene set in olden days. I can't relate. That's how they lived? How strange. I'm not sad, really. Or jealous. Anymore. I'm at an age where I can take...

I am an only child... ...and I know  all  the preconceived ideas that just popped into your head. We're spoiled. We're selfish. We're lonely. Am I right? Maybe I possess(ed) a few of those traits but not for the reasons you'd think. My personality was shaped more by a tumultuous upbringing. I'm not sure a sibling would've changed that. In fact, most times I'm glad that no one else had to go through it. Or maybe it's more like I'm glad there are no witnesses. Isabel is also an only child. She doesn't complain about not having siblings unless someone else brings it up first. When it's a curious child asking, we respond warmly, "Nope. It's just the three of us." Usually they seem a little confused at first, then maybe a little jealous? Kanata is not known for only children. Adults are tougher. "We don't want more children" is often met with many questions. It's exhausting and infuriating. When we lived in ...

"The past beats inside of me like a second heart." -John Banville, The Sea My memory is long. It is vivid. It is unforgiving. For better, it is remembering song lyrics, movie quotes, important dates and fun times. For worse, it is remembering every embarrassment, hurt and traumatic childhood moment. With both, something will trigger me (a song, smell, a feeling) and *poof*, I'm right back in it. Does this happen to you? Do you think of comebacks years later in the shower? Do you dwell on that time you fell in front of all of those people? Do you still get a rush when you think about that first kiss with your honey? It's something I've come to depend on. (Especially when competing in trivia) And I've never really understood how it feels to not have this ability. My Mother used to get very frustrated with me because I remembered everything she said; even when she didn't. She once said to me, "I hope you have a daughter one day with that memory!...

"Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children."                                                                                        - William Makepeace Thackeray Yeah....no pressure. Today as I'm getting ready for work, applying my makeup and straightening my clothes, a little voice in the distance says, "You look beautiful, Mommy." She's told me this before and I always thank her and accept the compliment. This time, however, it struck me particularly hard because as I was looking at myself in the mirror, I was thinking everything opposite to her sentiment; I am PMSing=bloated, I have a zit on my chin, I need to wax my upper lip and I perpetually want to lose about 20 pounds. Yet somehow, with all my insecurities, this sweet little sou...