The Obligatory BlogHer Post (sort of)

So, I guess there should be a BlogHer roundup post, eh? (I see you there in the back row rolling your eyes, you know. I promise not to blather forever, but please, bear with me.)

I'll be honest, before we left the thing that excited me most about going to BlogHer was the idea of four whole days without The Ladies. Yes, I am a bad mother (not that kind. The really bad kind who doesn't love her kids and blah blah blah guilt, whatever.) because no, I didn't feel guilty about it. Heck, when I left them with my parents, I didn't even miss them. I may have even skipped a little. I've never had an opportunity to be totally free and unfettered without my children, and while I wasn't exactly planning on a girls gone wild kind of weekend, I was certainly giddy with the idea of all those pillows to myself and the headspace to go with them.

I was excited about the conference too; the tracks themselves looked intriguing and I'm enough of a geek to get excited about the idea that a group of people are going to get together and talk serious ideas, but my one experience with Toronto Trek--the highlight of which was the aforementioned pirate--was enough to throw a splash of skepticism on my dreams of heady intellectualism. BlogHer was like Toronto Trek for me in more than just the conferences; for me, it was also all about the fandom. Only this time, instead of Anthony Stewart Head and Jason Carter, it was a whole cadre of women I've read for years. Or have been too afraid to read, just because they are so awesome. I was a bit disappointed that Mir and Melissa have real lives and didn't attend this year, but a bit relieved too; sure, I wouldn't get to stare at them from afar until they felt all creeped out and uncomfortable, and probably nobody would put down a drink and remark on the fabulousness of my dress mid sentence (totally happened, I swear), but that was probably a good thing because although I'm sure they would have been lovely and generous about the weirdness, if only to buy the time to back away slowly, I really didn't want to be the weird, tongue tied girl in the corner.

So, while I was also excited to meet the BlogHers, it wasn't exactly a priority of mine. More like a fear. Bordering on phobia. You see, contrary to all logic, I am shy. Very, very shy. Particularly around women. If Buddygate taught us anything, it is that I am not good with groups of women; I wasn't when I myself was a Diva Girl, and I'm not any better now that I'm the mommy. The idea of going into a large group of strangers--female strangers at that--well, it sparked a few nightmares. The fact that I do recognize some of the names and faces made it even worse on some levels. Would they think I was a blithering idiot? A poseur? An annoyance or a joke? All very real possibilities, but when balanced against four days in a hotel without The Ladies, a risk I was willing to take.

I'm so glad I did, and not just because 4 days alone (if you can call being with 700 other women alone) was everything I'd hoped it would be; being with those 700 women was everything I'd hoped it could be, but was so afraid it wouldn't be. Yes, there was drama--Manifest Destiny Mom's plan to annex Canada springs to mind, although, now that I think about it, we were all very Canadian and polite about it and she probably has no idea of what a colossal gaffe she made--but there was far less drama than you'd expect with that many women who haven't pooped in that small a space. Sure some of the sessions were a little milquetoast, but some weren't, and nearly all had at least something to offer, if only the opportunity to fondle and cuddle somebody's teeny tiny baby (I am totally predicting a BlogHer babyboom, by the way. And no, I won't be part of it.)

The main reason I'm glad I did BlogHer is because it was a real triumph for me, personally. Not because I think it will make me a blogstar or anything, but because it was such a scary thing for me to do--to drive for 14 hours with someone I've never met, room with someone I've never met, walk alone into a cocktail party full of fabulous strangers who all seem to be BFFs (not that they are, and tomorrow I will tell you how fabulously nice everyone was, it just felt like that as an outsider looking in)...And I did it, and I did it well. Even if I didn't woo a single new reader, and everyone I connected with loses my card and forgets that my blog even exists, I'm proud of me.

So, thank you iVillage for providing me with the bloggership that allowed me to attend the conference, Karen for getting me there, and Lady M for making sure I had a place to stay. Thank you for taking a risk on me so that I could take a risk on myself (and have a four day vacation, because let me tell you, four days to myself was every bit as awesome as I'd hoped it would be).

Home Again Home Again

I'm back, and trying to ease myself into normal life. Starting with catching up with all the blogs. I met a lot of new, interesting bloggers (sorry, no linky love; I don't even know where the business cards are yet.) and I can't wait to start adding to my bloglines, but I also really missed everyone who didn't go to BlogHer.

Kate is finally feeling semi-human again, which is awesome. Do you guys know Kate? She was a solo mom out of New Zealand until she got all romantic and took a leap of faith with her best friend. Now they're having a baby and planning a wedding. I'll miss her as a fellow solo mom, but being a small part of her joy in her new life is totally worth it.

And Eden! I go away for four days and Eden goes and makes the national news!!! I totally missed the Bill O'Reilly segment, and am now frantically searching You Tube for it. I imagine it rocks, because she does and if ever there was the perfect woman for this particular crusade--copyright infringement on the internet--it's her. And to think, I knew her when.....

I'm also looking forward to catching up with The Ladies. I really did miss them afterall. I didn't think I would; I thought I'd just revel in the four whole days to myself and come home recharged and refreshed. I didn't expect to miss them. But Friday was the end of swim lessons and I found myself wondering if Diva Girl (finally) passed level 3 and if the Shaolin Preschooler, who tends to unleash her toddler fighting skills in the face of her male instructor, even got in the pool. So I guess I really did miss them. And I think I'm a better mom for the experience.

The other thing that I really missed when I was away was Canada. Don't get me wrong, Chicago was a beautiful city (and so easy to navigate when lost on the South Side! Just follow the big buildings!), and Meijer was delicously cheap, and the Denny's was to die for, but it just wasn't home. I loved the Americans I met; Well, except for the one who loudly expounded that Canada is just like America and really the fifty-first state since what, really would happen if they delcared war on us. I thought she was an ignorant twit and quite frankly the poster child for why Americans get a really bad rap internationally. Thank god she's your problem, not ours. But mostly I wanted to put y'all (I met a lot of Texas bloggers, and anyone who knows the Ontario accent can tell you we absorb Southern like you wouldn't believe) in my pocket and take you home to universal healthcare, gun control, and a reasonable maternity leave. Except for the manifest destiny chick. Her I'd like to send to Iraq. Give her an up close and personal look at what happens when you invade someone's country.

How Can I Miss You If I'm Never Gone?

I'm going to BlogHer!

Believe me, no one is more surprised by this than I am. When Lady M emailed and asked if I was going, my initial response was, "well, I'd like to, but....." And when Karen offered to road trip with me, I was really touched by the offer, but never expected to take her up on it. But in a couple hours Karen and I are going to head down to Chicago, where I'm going to stay with Lady M, party with the bloggers, and maybe learn a thing or two. (Oh, and Karl? I haven't forgotten that you promised me a movie.)

I am so excited. That I'm going to finally meet Karen and Lady M and Karl and who know who else, definitely. But that I'm going to spend 4 childfree days in a fancy hotel, surrounded by grownups? I'm still pinching myself.
I have never had a vacation away from my kids. There's been the odd weekend here and there, but not since the summer before Zen Baby was born--a memorable trip to a Buffy con involving a bar, a fabulous dress, Anthony Stewart Head, and a pirate. I'll tell you about it sometime. Sometime when my mother isn't reading--Anyway, the point is, it's been a long, long time since I had this kind of freedom in my life and I can't wait to make the most of it.

The Ladies, however, aren't sure how they feel about the whole idea. On the one hand, they get to spend 4 days with Grandma and Grandpa, which is pretty much nirvana so far as they're concerned. But Moms do not go off on their own and have lives; moms stay home and miss their kids and I am upsetting the natural balance of things with my unapologetic glee at the idea of some quality time with myself.

The end result is that Diva Girl's behaviour today...Well, let's just say I don't think I'm going to miss her nearly as much as I think she thinks I should. Between the tears, the whining, and the deliberating provoking the Shaolin Toddler into displaying her fighting skills....I know she's only doing it because I've changed the deal, I'm going off and I'm doing my own thing without her and I'm not making any excuses for it, but it's still frustrating, particularly since If she were spending this time with her grandparents while I sat alone at home, there would have been nary a snivel or tear.

In the end our farewell wasn't too traumatic, and I tried to be sensitive to her upset when I finally kissed her goodbye. I didn't even start skipping until I was out of sight. Because I'm going to BlogHer!

Kimberly at Bat

The planets aligned today; I had great, post salon hair and an afternoon to myself. So, of course I did the natural thing and headed off to the mall for another encounter with the Cute Blockbuster Guy.

Note to self: When you have managed to gather up your nerve and are on your way to leap blindly into the dating pool, it is NOT a good idea to make a pit stop that ends with you staring at your thighs under florescent lighting. Not even if it is the end of season sidewalk sale and that dress you've had your eye on is now marked down to ten bucks.

Turns out, the middle of the Bargain Hunter Sidewalk Sale is not the right time to show up for an unplanned, unexpected potential coffee date. I walked by a couple of times, but somehow there always seemed to be a rack of clothes or a couple of people between me and my target. I'm sure I'm just being paranoid when I say that I felt like he was avoiding me, right? That was just my nerves?

Eventually I felt silly lingering over the jibbitz, so I left and did what any woman would do in this situation. I bought new underwear. I am an optimist, remember; I figured I should be prepared in case I landed a base hit instead of striking out next time.

Working Out Some Commitment Issues

I'm one of the most loyal people you'll ever meet, but I have to confess, I have issues with commitment. It's not just the Wedding That Never Was, although that's probably the most extreme example. I can't commit to lots of things: favourite foods, TV shows (the only series I ever watched from beginning to end was Buffy), colours...There are lots of things I can't tie myself down to.

Which is why no one is more surprised than I am that I have a hairstylist now. I've never had a hairstylist before. Sure, I've gone to people and let them cut my hair, but it was just a one night stand sort of thing. But Janine and I have a relationship. I don't know how it happened. Maybe it was the lemonade while you wait, or the interest she took in The Ladies when I brought them along, or maybe it was the great cut, but somehow, I went from being a random stranger who begged somebody, anybody to cut her hair, to being a client.

It's weird. I spent so many years out of the hair loop that going so far as to have an actual hairstylist is a bit of an adjustment. I've learned something from this relationship: familiarity doesn't breed contempt, it brings contentment. Making this commitment has allowed us to get to know each other, build trust, and reach a higher level of satisfaction than if we were just strangers feeling each other out. When I leave Janine, I feel pretty, and fabulous, and like I have hair that should be coveted. Even better, when I think about going to see Janine, I think of Janine, not a pair of scissors wielded with a hope and prayer.

Maybe there's something to this commitment thing after all.

Oh, Janine wants it noted that she gave me the Katie Holmes treatment long before Mrs Cruise thought about lopping off her locks.

WOW

It's here!

It's here! It's here! It's here!

Whee!

And yet, I find myself strangely unwilling to start reading. Once I start, it will be over all too soon. And this time, there's not the consolation of another book on the horizon. This is it. The End.

I'm not ready.

Owl Post

Waiting is hard.

Waiting for Christmas and birthdays when you're a kid. Waiting for babies to be born when you're a grownup. Waiting for the most anticipated publishing event in recent history, no matter what your age.

Harry Potter is winging its way toward me as I write this. Unfortunately, it's being delivered by muggle post, not owl. That means that my day is pretty much on hold until the postman calls, since unlike owls, he can't find me wherever I may wander today.

At least he won't have to ring twice. In honour of this momentous occasion, I actually got my apartment buzzer fixed. For the past six months or so, my buzzer code has been assigned to a different apartment. A little inconvenient for the pizza guy, but it does cut down on the unwanted visitors. But I couldn't bear the thought of possibly missing out on my Harry Potter (and the fact that I paid through the nose for express shipping was only part of the reason), so I finally broke down and got the darn thing fixed.

Now I just have to wait.

No Wire Hangers

Summer has me in its grip once more. Time seems to either stand stand still or jump forward and I'm not sure if we're busy or bored. A little of both, I suspect.

Between the swimming lessons, soccer games, and library club, we're busy. But there's a lot of downtime in the spaces between commitments, and it's starting to wear. The Ladies are snapping at each other, I'm snapping at The Ladies, and when they aren't trying to drive each other insane, they're plotting against me. Frankly, I'm feeling a lot less like I'm living in an episode of Gilmore Girls right now, and more like I'm trapped in a scene out of Mommy Dearest. I'm just not sure which of us is playing the Joan Crawford role.

Operation Cute Blockbuster Guy hasn't seen any movement, either. Finding time away from The Ladies to turn up for that casually staged cup of coffee is a stealth mission worthy of the CIA and the Navy Seals. Both of whom may need to be called in if I'm to ever take my social life to the next level.

Le sigh.

A Moment of Zen

A friend of mine pointed out that while Diva Girl's mug is all over this blog, the (mostly) Zen Girl is woefully underrepresented. In fact, she's never had her own photo op. And you know how competitive sisters can be. So I figured I should rectify the situation before the hairpulling, tears, and accusations of who mom always loved best start.

I know it's supposed to be a post about Regan, but can you imagine what her sister's like, if a pose like that doesn't net you the nickname Diva Girl?

The more I looked at my glasses, the more I realized that while I didn't hate them right now, I could definitely see myself hating them in the future. When I thought about looking into the mirror two or three years from now and seeing those same glasses staring back, well, I just couldn't imagine being happy with that. I liked the colour, but the shape was already starting to get on my nerves. In my inability to decide between the vaguely cats eye shape I found interesting and the rectangular shape of my beloved broken frames, I chose some odd hybrid and the more I stared at that shape, the more I knew I would grow to hate it in the years to come. I could just imagine the "accident" that would befall these frames the day I snapped and couldn't take it any longer.

So I took them back. It was a little weird--glasses are sort of like underwear; there's an understanding that once you leave the store with them, you're stuck with them. I have to say, though, the Lenscrafter's people were great. Didn't bat an eyelash, and assured me that what they really wanted was for me to be happy, even it did mean they'd be making an unexpected $400 donation to Gift Of Sight.

I really appreciated everyone's input on the old new glasses, but I think I'm going to be much happier with these.

ARGH

I had this entry all written in my head, waxing poetic our neighbourhood pool. We spend a lot of time there between swim lessons and plain old splashing around, and as I was playing crocodile with The Ladies in the wading pool/splash pad area tonight I was struck by how much I was enjoying myself, and how lucky we are to have such a fabulous place to play on such a hot day (38 with the humidex--for my American readers, that translates roughly into "stinkin' hot").

Of course, those warm fuzzies were all before I returned to the change room--soaking wet, with two blue, chattering girls insisting that they wanted to stay, mind you--to find that my bag had been rifled through and my Blackberry and bus pass gone. I have to say I was feeling considerably less love for the public pool after that.

I understand stealing the Blackberry. I mean, it pisses me off that someone rifled through my bag at the community centre--that behaviour seems to be the antithesis of community spirit if you ask me--but I can see taking the phone. Switch out the sim card and poof! brand new Blackberry for you. But the bus pass??? What is the point of stealing someone else's bus pass? Because you can?

Not that there would ever be a good time for this kind of thing to happen, but while my paycheque is taking a summer hiatus is pretty much the worst time it could have happened. The simple fact is, I don't have the money to replace either of those things right now.

I can live without the phone. Sure, it sucks that I still have the pay the $25 per month on the plan, but since I mostly use it for work anyway, it's not a panic that I don't have it. Except for the fact that it has Diva Girl's soccer schedule in it. That kinda sucks.

The bus pass is a different story, though. We don't have a car; the bus is our major source of transportation, other than our feet. We walk a lot of places, but sometimes, walking just isn't practical. Sometimes, you have to take the bus. And the bus, while infinitely cheaper than a car, isn't cheap. WIth a bus pass, we were pretty mobile. I never needed to worry if we had the fare to get to where we were going, or if we would be able to afford the trip home. Without the pass, we're at the mercy of the change in my pockets. During the month of July. When there's no school to fill up Diva Girl's time, but there are daily swim lessons which are barely within walking distance, and twice weekly soccer games that are most definitely not.

And here I thought Regan accidentally tipping over the potty this morning was going to be the low point of my day.

Spamalot

If you have a WordPress blog and you've been wondering why you haven't heard anything from me lately, there's a very good reason for that.

I hate you.

No, not really. The truth is, your blog hates me. I've been trapped in spam filters all over the interweb. Apparently, you all need to hear about the latest in ED pharmacology, but my insightful, hilarious comments are meaningless drivel.

I'm not really sure what's sparked this suddenly loathing WordPress has for me; I haven't made any changes to my comment information. My best guess is that it's just a side benefit from my incredibly industrious scraper. Many of you have been pinged by them as they've scooped and reposted without removing the links. In fact, that's how I found out about them (Thanks, Karen!). Irritating enough to have been scraped in the first place, but turning me into spam in the process is just insult to injury.

It's enough to make a girl think about turning vegetarian. Although, I guess the whole point of spam is that there's not a lot of meat to it to begin with, eh?

One of the things I love about summer in my city is that just on just about every weekend the big park downtown plays host to some sort of festival. And really, what can beat a Friday night spent dancing to live jazz under a giant pine tree? Especially when you throw in face painting, balloon animals, limeade bought from the lady in the giant lemon, and deep fried sugar?

Life is good.

I Am A Smooth Operator

I have a date with the Cute Blockbuster Guy.

Sort of.

Maybe.

Sometime.

Diva Girl had a playdate this afternoon and I was actually having an excellent hairday, so I took it as a sign to strap on my dancing shoes and head off to the mall. My cover story was that I was there to buy jibbitz, but really, it was all about the Cute Blockbuster Guy.

It wasn't until I was halfway through the hour long bus ride that I stopped to consider the possibility that he might not be working today. Wouldn't that be just so me, trekking across the city after spending a week working up my nerve, only to find out that the object of my lust obsession affection wasn't even there.

He was there. And just as cute as I remembered. And funny, and charming. He played peek-a-boo with the Zen Baby, made a fuss over her jibbitz, and didn't even get flustered when she pulled her skirt up over her head, the better to show off her Curious George underpants (she's a shameless hussy, that one.). He also talked to me, asking what I'm doing now and telling me about his recent vacation.

And he walked me to the door of the store. That's a good sign, right? Like he was lingering in my company, and not like he was trying to rush me out?

I took it as a good sign, and gathered up my courage, turned my back on the stroller, and asked him out. For coffee. Which I don't actually like to drink, but I figured that was irrelevant. OK, what I actually said was, "DoyouthinkifIcamebacksometimeonmyownyou'dbeinterestedingoiingout
foracupofcoffeewithme?" Because I am smooth like that.

He blinked. And thought about it for a minute. Definitely long enough so that I could see he was thinking about it. And then he said, "Yes."

I made it out of sight of the store before I started skipping along behind the stroller. It wasn't until I was at the bus stop that I realized that he might not actually know my name.

But, details. The important thing to remember is that sometime in the indefinite future, if I can manage to be without both of The Ladies--during Summer Vacation--I might possibly have a coffee date with a guy who may or may not know my name. Provided, of course, I show up unexpectedly on a day when he is working and at a time when it's convenient for him to take a break. Oh yeah, this whole dating thing is a piece of cake.

(Oh, and if you're reading this on Hercast, please stop. Here is the blog you're looking for.)

More Than Meets The Eye

PSA: If you are reading this on hercast, please click on over to the blog where this content rightfully belongs--Sanity and the Solo Mom. Thanks.

I am a geek (this is not news to any longterm readers of this blog). I have always been a geek. Way back when the other sixth grade girls were rushing home to watch whatever it was they watched after school, or practice with their round brushes and eyeshadow, I was on a completely different planet. Several different planets, actually: Spectra, Eternia, Arus, and an Earth populated with giant robots masquerading as various modes of transportation. I don't really have much of a grasp of the "girly" cartoons of the 70s and 80s; my experience of the cartoon marketing of that era was on the boy end. I had no interest in the toys, but I loved the shows. He Man, Transformers, Voltron, GI Joe, I watched them all.

I saw both He Man movies in the theatre--the cartoon and the live action. I saw The Transformers movie, too. So, it's really no surprise that when faced with an unexpected night sans Ladies, on the same night as the sneak preview of Transformers, I took it as a sign and took myself out to the movies.

It was awesome. Everything Spiderman 3 wasn't.

Walking in, I was thinking, "Giant Robots and Josh Duhamel; not a bad way to spend an evening." Walking out, I was thinking that that was an understatement. This is the best movie I've seen in a long time. It's going to be a monster hit, and not just because geeks everywhere are jonesing over the CGI. The fact is, this movie is good.

First off, it's got a good, solid story. The plot isn't too complicated or outrageous, but there is one. It sets up its own reality, and then it sticks to it. The characters are likeable, engaging, and realistic. And the female lead was not some hapless token chick, a huge yet welcome surprise.

Which bring us to another surprise: the acting. There are no false tones here--no sense of miscasting or that the actors have less than the utmost respect for the story they are telling. I went in thinking about Josh Duhamel, but came out a huge fan of Shia LaBeouf. Louis Stevens can act! Even Megan Fox, who was clearly cast on the basis of her looks, holds her own.

And then there's the Transformers themselves. You know how sometimes the CGI just sort of misses the mark? Like when Spiderman looks more like one of those squishy rubber guys that grow in water than like a real person? None of that there. The robots are totally realistic. I know. I know how that sounds, that the giant robot made out of a semi-truck looks real, but they do. And Michael Bay gives us plenty of opportunity to make that call. Unlike some effects heavy movies, where the CGI sequences are filmed in such a way as to disguise what's going on (I'm looking at you again, Spiderman), in Transformers the effects are given equal screentime with the real elements. And they hold up beautifully.

And yet, my only real quibble with the movies centres on the Autobots and Decepticons. I enjoyed Bumblebee as much as the next person, but I was rather disappointed in the use of Optimus Prime. Prime is the heart of the Autobots, and while he certainly had a role to play in this movie, I don't think it was quite as strong as it could have been. On the evil side of things, I never did get a real sense of the characters, other than the evil that microbot who wasn't really anything at all. That thing had a plum role, while Starscream and the rest of the crew simply made cameo appearances. That was a bit disappointing, but forgivable in the grand scheme of things, for one reason only: no one right now does big, edge of your seat action like Michael Bay. The pacing of this movie is phenomenal. The action sequences are breathtaking, the suspense sequences have you holding it, and threaded throughout it all are moments of laugh out loud funny.

Even if you aren't a geek, you'll like Transformers. And if you are? It will clear that bad taste from Spiderman 3 right out of your mouth. Plus, I now have high hopes for the Voltron movie. Yes, they're making a Voltron movie! I can hardly wait!

In the Kingdom of the Blind

So, I broke down and got new glasses. Not because I wanted new glasses; I loved my glasses. But they broke. I was limping along with my old pair, simply sliding the arm back together when it fell off, but alas, along came the day when it would no longer fit together. I have to confess, even after that I resisted new glasses and wore them precariously balanced on one arm for a while. But I finally had to give in and admit that I needed new glasses.

I hate choosing new glasses. There is something very perverse about a process in which someone who can't actually see is expected to pick out her most important, least disposable fashion accessory. Which might be why Lenscrafters now offers that 30 day guarantee.

I've lived with these ones for about two weeks now, and I still just don't know. So, internet, what do you think? Putting aside the fact that I am wearing no makeup, in desperate need of a haircut, and am suffering the aftereffects of The Sleepover (quiet at 2, up at 6!), what do you think? Should I stick with this pair, or take them back and try again?

(If you're reading this at hercast, feel free to pop on over to http://solomom.ivillage.com/parenting to weigh in)

Eh

I'm still reeling from the Sleepover fallout, so this year for Canada Day I'm just going to share another of my essential book lists.. This one is, naturally, my Canadian Literature list.

Way back when I first started filling up my bookshelves with board books, I started to notice that my own country was woefully underrepresented on those shelves. Not because there are not many wonderful Canadian authors and illustrators out there, but because when you live next to a media giant like the United States, much of your culture tends to get sucked into their gravitational pull unless you make a conscious effort to avoid that fate. So I started making a conscious effort, promising myself and my Diva Baby that at the very least every July 1 would see the addition of some Canadian content to our shelves.

1. Marc Tetro--He's more an iconic Canadian Artist than a board book writer, but I consider these a real find. The illustrations are wonderfully Canadian, and both The Ladies have grooved on the simple text and concepts in their time. Where Are You From Little Goose? has been a particular favourite through the years.
2. Everybody's gotta own some Robert Munsch (We're going to see him in October. Are you jealous? You should be.)
3. Alligator Pie and Garbage Delight by Dennis Lee--wonderfully silly poetry that's just right for the preschooler set, but not painful for the person who has to read it to them.
4. The Stella and Sam books by Marie Louise Gay--Whimsical art, magical explanations, and a truly beautiful sibling relationship. They are sort of like Max and Ruby, if Max weren't a jerk and Ruby wasn't an insufferable prig. These books are filled with gentle magic.
5. Jillian Jiggs by Phoebe Gillman--rollicking text, fun situations that any young child can relate to., and great art with little surprises hidden inside; basically everything a picture book should be.
6. The Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert Service--one of the best ballads ever.
7. Jacob Two Two by Mordecai Richler--The Hooded Fang is probably the best one, but they're all fun. They are silly without being ridiculous, and capture the melancholy of always being the youngest without ever condescending to their audience. Richler wrote The Hooded Fang for his own children, and the love he feels shines through the story.
8. Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maude Montgomery--I don't think you can really be a girl--certainly not a bookish kind of girl--and not have been friends with Anne Shirley growing up. Anne is the Canadian Laura Ingalls Wilder. Diva Girl is getting these tomorrow and I can't wait for her to meet Anne. We're going to PEI this summer, and I'm just as excited to see Green Gables as she is.
9. Booky by Bernice Thurman Hunter--there are 3 books in this series: That Scatterbrain Booky, With Love From Booky, and As Ever Booky--chronicling growing up in Depression Era Toronto. Booky oftentimes gets overshadowed by Anne, but she deserves her own pride of place.
10. The MacDonald Hall Series by Gordon Korman. Korman's written a lot of great stuff (including last year's Canada Day book review), but the MacDonald Hall Books stand out for a few reasons: They are great zany fun, for one thing, and unabashedly Canadian for another. When I was growing up, I think that these were the first contemporary novels I ever read that were set in Canada. It's also laugh out loud funny (Try Who Is Bugs Potter as well; that one is pee your pants funny)
11. The Secret world of Og by Pierre Burton--another children's classic written by one of our most iconic writers for his own kids. It's simply magical.
12. Some of the Kinder Planets & Lord of the Fries by Tim Wynne Jones--excellent, thought provoking short stories for young adult readers.
13. The Guests of War Trilogy by Kit Pearson--excellent World War II fiction for kids, from a Canadian Perspective.
14. The Thrid Magic by Welwyn Wilton Katz--she's from my hometown and she writes excellent pseudohistorical fantasy.
15. The Fionavar Tapestry by Guy Gavriel Kay--this may be the best fantasy trilogy of all time. If not, it's certainly in the top three.
16. Anything by Margaret Atwood
17. The Manawaka Cycle by Margaret Laurence--The Stone Angel (the bane of a generation of senior English students) is simply brilliant; the craft alone is awe inspiring. And The Diviners is quite possibly my favourite novel ever.
18. Goodnight Desdemona (Goodmorning Juliette) by Anne Marie Macdonald--a rollicking good time through two of Shakespeare's most famous plays, with a female twist.
19. The Deptford Trilogy by Robertson Davies--another Senior English Classic. I saw Davies read from Fifth Business when I was at university, and it was electric. He died shortly afterwards, and the voice of Canadian Literature got a bit quieter for a while.
20. Anything by Timothy Findley I saw Findley read as well. He also died shortly after that. And I stopped going to author readings (but I didn't stop reading.)

This is by no means a comprehensive list. You'll notice, for example, that Farley Mowat, W.O Mitchell, and Alice Munro aren't on it. They bore me, that's why. Wheat and small towns and endless nature just really aren't my thing. And it's my list. Most of these authors also have many other wonderful stories to their credit--for example, Mordecai Richler has a rich body of work that extends well beyond Jacob Two Two, who is actually more of an aberration in his career, and Atwood writes fun, tongue twisty picture books. There are also great kids picture books about Terry Fox, Flanders Fields, The Alphabet, our national anthem and flag (and we have them all). Like I said, it's just a list of the books I want to make sure The Ladies are exposed to, not a list of the only Canadian Lit that will ever be on our shelves.

Happy Canada Day, eh!