Rebecca Eckler is one of Canada's most talked about newspaper columnists, the author of Knocked Up: Confessions of a Hip Mother to Be, which has been translated into nine languages. Also the author of the bestsellers, Wiped!, Toddlers Gone Wild, and Rotten Apple, the first in a YA series. Random thoughts on life in the competitive world of modern mommyhood. Blog will be loved by trendy mothers who still feel, or often feel, that the most important word in "mommee" is ME!

Friday, June 22, 2007

Stuck - literally...

So I've been stuck lately.....

I just feel stuck...

I have deadlines piling up and, well, like I said, I just feel stuck....

You know that feeling?

Anyway, I was talking on the phone this morning on the way back from Therapist - started going again a couple weeks ago - after realizing that I had lost a ton of weight, and, well, just felt stuck and anxious....

So I was talking to my friend on the phone about feeling blue, got on the elevator, pushed my office floor and she was going on about how everyone once in a while felt stuck, that she has, and that you just have to take things day by day, or step by step, or something "The Secret" like. I haven't read The Secret, but my friend has.

But I had stopped paying attention because quite literally I was stuck. I've never been stuck in an elevator before, but there I was stuck somewhere between some floor. The elevator just died. Just like that.

I freaked out. "I'm stuck!" I screamed to my friend.

"I know you said that," my friend said.

"No! I'm stuck in the elevator! What do I do? What do I do?"

"Pick up the phone. Isn't there an emergency phone in there?"

There was. But it wasn't working. It just kept going through to some phone company.

I was seriously starting the hyperventalate, and was pushing the emergency button like crazy.

"Ok, I got to get off the phone," I told her. "I don't want my battery to die in case I have to call 911.

I made a last phone call. I know it's sad but I did. I seriously wondered how long I would be in there, if the elevator would go crashing down, and if I would die wearing sweat pants, my fiance's t-shirt and a flouresent pink bra. I even thought how lucky I was to have spent the night sleeping with The Dictator.

Luckily, in the elevator there was a sign posted about the water being shut off tomorrow, and the office number was on the bottom. So I called down to the front desk. "I'm stuck in the elevator and I'm freaking out," I told the woman who picked up.

"We'll send someone right over," she told me.

"Good, because I'm freaking out!"

And she laughed. Now, what kind of person laughs when you're stuck in an elevator? Anyway....

I was rescued, thank god. And then it hit me. What was God trying to tell me?

Yes, I believe in God. And then I started to laugh and called my friend back. "Can you believe I was complaining about feeling stuck and then I was stuck in a fucking elevator?"

And, after being stuck, literally in the elevator, I don't feel so stuck anymore...

Ah, signs from to love them.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

A day in the life of me....

*Some* people have spent way too much time obsessing about me and my life in the last few days. Or so I've heard.

So, I've decided to write about my day yesterday. In fact, I think this could be quite fun for bloggers. Just simply write out what you did yesterday. So here goes and feel free to share your day!

7 a.m. Get up with child. Watch her eat breakfast. Say goodbye to her. She ignores me as she's watching Dora the Explorer while eating rice for breakfast. I tell her I love her. She ignores me. I yell "I love you!" She looks up, finally, and says, "I love you."

7:50 a.m. Arrive at gym. Walk/jog on treadmill for ten minutes.

8 a.m. Meet trainer, also known as Fit Pete, because he's super fit and the meanest trainer I've ever had, which is a good thing. I swear, in between lifting weights, I get a nine second break. NINE SECONDS! That's it!

9 a.m. Finish workout. Fit Pete makes me a protein shake, which are so good. It's one of the main reasons I go see Fit Pete. For the Chocolate/banana protein shake that I get after workout.

9:15 a.m. Wonder if I should go to office or take an "emotional" day off.

9:16 a.m. Decide to go to office.

9:17 a.m. Decide to take "emotional day" off.

9:35 a.m Get back home. Play around with Ruby the Nine Pound dog. Dog Camp picks her up. Kiss her goodbye.

9:45: Talk on phone with friends to catch up, moan about life, listen to them moan about their lives.

10:45 Finish protein shake. My stomach feels like I ate a rock.

11:50 a.m: Daughter comes home from school. We play around with her stuffed animals. Nanny fixes her lunch. I eat a left over wrap from day before.

noon: Check out movie listings. Decide to take daughter to a movie. After all, I have taken an "emotional day" off. Look for movies rated 'G.'

3 p.m. Take daughter to mall, where we hit Chapter's to check out books and buy her a dress up princess dress. (Ahh, the things you can get at Chapters, that aren't books!)

3:45 p.m. Take her to HMV to buy new DVD's because I'm so sick of the ones she has. Realize it's time to get new DVD's when you know all the words to theme songs to Holly Hobby and Strawberry Shortcake.

4:30: Head to movie theatre. We're seeing Surf's Up.

4:40 p.m movie starts. Realize that a child's size popcorn is the perfect amount to eat, without feeling sick after. Feel good that I, at least, learned something today.

6 ish. Movie ends. I loved it. Daughter, I think, liked it. Although half way through movie she tells me, "Mommy, penquins can't surf!" I tell her they can. She says they can't. Wonder if daughter will ever believe in tooth fairy if she already realizes penquins can't surf.

6: 45 at home. Make daughter noodles for dinner. Friend of family comes over. We play around. Daughter puts on new princess dress. We play, "Going to the Ball." I'm the prince (because I'm not wearing a dress so I'm not "allowed" to be a princess.)

7:45 p.m. Get her ready for bed. She screams she doesn't want to wear pull ups anymore. I tell her that's not cool, because the night before we triend the whole "no night time pull up thing" and she screamed at 2:30 a.m. "I'm wet! I'm wet!" And she was, so was her bed. Mommy had to change everything at 2:30 in the friggen morning. So we're back to nighttime pull ups.

8:30: Decide to rewatch ending of Sopranos while eating leftover pizza from two nights before. Because I'm not sure I liked it or not the first time around. The Soprano series finale, that is. Decide I do like it. (the pizza and the Soprano ending.)

(in between watching, I needed to go see daughter upstairs 12 times for various reasons, ranging from "I've got to pee," to, "I don't know what I wanted," to "I fell off the bed.")

Finish Sopranos around 10:30 p.m. beacause of running up and down stairs so many times. Decide I did two work outs, because running up and down stairs twelve times must count as some sort of work out. I eat a kit kat bar. Ok, I ate two kit kat bars, but they were the mini ones, so I only feel slightly bad about it.

11 p.m. get ready for bed. Brush teeth, wash face. change.

Get to bed. Decide I can't sleep. Head downstairs. Decide I am tired. Go back upstairs.

And that was my day. Interesting, huh?

Monday, June 04, 2007

Moving Along....

So I took the Dictator to a birthday party yesterday afternoon.

It was a great birthday party. A princess fairy birthday party where all the kids got to leave with little fairy wings.

After the party, The Dictator and I were walking along when we ran into a friend of mine, who was heading to a nearby park, with her two kids.

So, The Dictator, wearing her fairy wings, and I decided to go along as well.

Now, my friend's little boy was carrying a fishing rod to the park (Because, as parents, we all know that sometimes our kids just refuse to leave the house without certain things.)

The other day, The Dictator refused to go to the grocery store without carrying her stuffed bunny rabbit, her stuffed cat, and her stuffed pony, plus a chapstick - how exactly do their brains work? - all in this Easter basket. I know. I know.

So, they we were. The Dictator wearing fairy wings and the little boy carrying a fishing rod. I said to my friend, "Can you imagine what people are thinking about us right now?"

The truth is, if you're a parent, you simply understand that sometimes your kids just refuse to take off their costumes and need to carry a fishing rod - even though there's not a lake in sight, and it's not Halloween.

For example, Saturday morning I took the Dictator out for pancakes at Phil's (They make good pancakes - if you live in Calgary, you know what Phil's is.)

A little boy walked past the window, at 8:30 a.m., wearing a superman costume. I was like, "Yup. I get that." I didn't find it strange at all.

Kids will be kids, and sometimes kids just feel like wearing a superman costume out of the house, instead of their clothes.

And, I'm pretty sure, for the next week or so anyway, that my little gal will be wearing her fairy wings wherever we go.

Friday, June 01, 2007

Blogger Drama! Future Journalists watch out!

Right now, I'm laughing so hard I basically have tears streaming down my face.

That's because I just got off the phone with someone who told me who was behind one of the blogs that is constantly attacking me and my work and me and me and me.

I'm laughing so hard, because of all people, this person is actually a (part-time) journalism "professor!"

Can you fucking believe that?

It's so pathetic, it's funny. I mean, if it were just some weirdo 60 year-old who still lived in his parents basement who made fun of me, that I would get.

But someone who teaches journalism? Give me a fucking break.

THIS IS WHAT JOURNALISM "PROFESSORS" DO IN THEIR SPARE TIME????? Crazy. Crazy. Crazy. Shouldn't they be preparing lesson plans, or actually writing stories, or doing - what's that saying - practicing what they preach?

I liked going to journalism school. Sort of. I mean, it was a long four years. But it got me my first job at Pamela Wallin and an internship at the Calgary Herald. All in all, it was a good experience.

And I did meet some wonderful professors, who, I'm quite positive, would not spend their spare time criticizing other journalists on a blog they hide behind.

Yes, future journalists, if you go to this school, you may possibly be taught by a blogger who seems to enjoy spending her spare time behind a fake blog, criticizing other writers bitterly. And not just me.

Now, the question is "Do I out this 'professor?'"


I'm quite positive this professor's bosses wouldn't exactly enjoy knowing what this professor does in her spare time.

In fact, I don't think any school would like to have a journalism "teacher" on their staff who does such things - not because legally there's not much you can do about it, but because morally? It's just too pathetic and laughable.

Yes, dear Journalism "Professor," - I know you read me - would you pick on one of your own students who is busy working what you teach them to do - get a job writing? Where's the love?

And, at least, I have my name on my blog. I don't hide under a fake one.

I believe in karma. Trust me, it will come back to bite you in the ass.

In fact, my guess is you won't be teaching at this university next year. Just a guess. Or maybe I know people.

It reminds me of a story I just heard. This guy my friend knows was in line at McDonald's when someone behind him said something truly nasty to him for no reason.

Well, unfortunately for this man who said something so nasty, the guy he said it to had a black belt and is a champion kickboxer to boot. He may look small, but still...

let's just say this man regretted what he said, when he found himself lying on the floor of McDonald's.