Paper Plate Summer

Suzy Sunshine, 27 Days a Month

Party Animals

Another Brick in the Wall
When people learn that at the age of 35 I became a fulltime University student, the first question they usually ask is “But why?” Most of them are happily amnesic about their college days, having long forgotten term paper due dates and final exam cram sessions. Why did I go back? I was married, in decent financial shape, well into my thirties, and ready to return to work after an extended leave. My return to work after an extended sabbatical was (sadly) not spent “finding myself” by lying on a tropical beach with a rum laden fruity drink in hand, reading the Steinbeck library. It was more like trying to survive while dodging blueberry baby food bombs, studying a

Fakebook
Facebook is making me feel bad. Too many of my “friends” are having fun and interesting lives, and it is starting to depress me by comparison. I receive live updates all day long about how fantastic things are for them and while the truth is that I am happy for them because they deserve every happiness, it does make one examine their own state. But keep it coming, I say, because I love seeing happy holiday pictures and contented messages. That way, I can live vicariously through your updates. But with my own life currently being held together with dollar store duct tape, I have to sometimes dig deep in order to post anything other than “Eh…”

Beating the Christmas Rush
This past Sunday I went to Canadian Tire (think Home Depot but with winter clothing) to stock up on discounted Halloween decorations and additional disguises for my son.  Turns out I was too late for the Halloween bargains – they were all gone; replaced with something more “seasonable appropriate.” What I could buy however, was a 6-foot inflatable Santa Claus in a helicopter with operational chopper blades. Store staff wore Elf hats, and I could detect a mulled cide

The Pre-Teen Parenting Paradox
My ten year old daughter is a funny, beautiful, talented and intelligent girl. She is also utterly and completely exhausting. But not in the physical sense that my son is; he wears me out, yes, but nothing that a hot bath, a bottle of Shiraz, and a good cry can’t cure. Pre-teen girls, I am discovering, are exhausting on an entirely different level. It’s like comparing the pain of a toe stubbed through steel-toe safety shoes to a leg fractured in a fall down seven flights of wet, uncarpeted stairs. That was set incorrectly and then had to be re-broken. She’s been off school all week with the flu. Despite her being sick, I have really enjoyed having her arou

Finger Poised on the Panic Button
I hate it when my kids are really sick. I hate the feeling of powerlessness, the anxiety, the lost sleep, the what-ifs, the second guessing. During the flu season it’s tempting to just stock the larder, gather bushels of root vegetables and simply close your family indoors from October to April. If you know me, you understand that this is SO NOT AN EXAGGERATION. I am a worry wart, dipped in hypochondria, deep-fried in panic and served with a side of hysteri