Tag Archives: childhood

Brunch at Buca, between the cottage and Thanksgiving

The Beast and I blinked and there went summer, without a vacation together to speak of.

So, last week, I took three days off work. Friday and Saturday I spent with my mom. We did the usual: Costco, Walmart and the Superstore. I got her all stocked up with supplies. At Costco, a woman did a double-take when she saw me, my mom practically willing her to do so, and said: “You look like that girl from The View.”

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Pax closets. And peace.

My four-day-long Nova Scotia holiday glow disappeared fast on my flight back to Toronto. There was an adult a few rows back who insisted on playing a video game on their tablet involving laughing and screaming characters and annoying music. They played the game at full volume–without headphones.

I would’ve offered them mine, if I’d remembered to bring them along.

Then there was a child seated across from me who insisted on asking her grandmother absurd questions: Why are we moving. Why are we moving now? How fast is this plane going? What time is it? Are we there yet? Are you awake?

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Coming home to tuna casserole

There have been times in the past when the messes in our house, from piles of books on the stairs to piles of clothes on the bed, have driven me mad. But lately, I’ve been a free spirit. I don’t care.

Except, that is, for one night last week after work. I got home before the Beast and the mess was all I could see.

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