Author Archives: Ginny

Words that Aren’t, But Ought to Be (Part I)

As of quite recently, I have a fiancée. (I absolutely DID have to let spell check take that for me. No clue how to spell it, most of the time. I start adding e’s and c’s till it’s just a sad marital status jumble.)
When I started seeing him 3 years ago, I didn’t know how to refer to him. “This is my…..” and then trail off. Boyfriend was accurate, I suppose. But boyfriends are for teenagers.

And what were my alternatives?

“Special friend”  That one made me picture a 50 year old divorcee in the 70’s, rocking a caftan, turquoise rings on every finger, telling the girls about him at our weekly bridge game. (Or maybe I was just daydreaming about Mrs. Roper. Again.)


“My old man” I thought that one made me sound like a biker. Plus, he’s 7 years younger than I am, so it was WILDLY inaccurate.

“Sex monkey” OK, so I totally used that one whenever I possibly could. Mildly shocking when used at the grocery store, teeth grindingly uncomfortable when used at parent teacher interviews.

“Partner” sounded like we were either an established gay couple, or we practice law together. Either of which would be AWESOME, but aren’t true.

So on top of the whole getting-to-marry-my-best-friend thing, the engagement gave me an awesome gift. I finally had a word to describe him that other people would recognize.

But here’s the thing. I got what I thought I wanted. And it wasn’t.

I am still in search of a word that captures ” I love him more than I’ve ever loved anything, and he makes me laugh and I hang out with him every chance I get and we have a house together and we parent together and we will be hanging out together regardless of legal status as long as this whole thing remains cool.”

For now, I will try to embrace fiancée.

(Even if I do see it in my head as Feyonce….)



Dispatches from the Backyard

1. Re: weeds. Some of those plants are actually quite beautiful. Some were hard to reach. Two things can be true. Either way, there’s still quite a lot of them out there.

2. If you’re ever looking for the world’s longest live version of the Pointer Sisters’ “I’m So Excited”, it is on Songza, in the “80’s Wedding” playlist. Thanks to the last pair of earbuds in the world without a skip button, without whom I never would have found this gem.

3. Mad apologies to the next door neighbour, whose name I can never remember. I am terribly sorry you looking over the fence coincided perfectly with Lionel Richie’s appearance on the aforementioned playlist. I could not have predicted that “All Night Long” would have hit me in the previously undiscovered Get Yo Groove On spot in my brain, or that you would subsequently be confronted with a dose of salsa dance/soccer mom shuffle realness. My bad. 

Hi. I missed you.

Things that have happened since we last talked:

1. I learned that where I used to put two spaces after a period, the Youngs are now using one. I learned this was a way that people could look at my resume and tell I was over a certain age. I felt hella empowered knowing that.

2. I found spreadable Brie. It’s not quite the same, but you know, it fills the gap.

3. We went on our first family vacation to somewhere warm. Loved, loved, loved. Reaffirmed my need to be a Professional Money Haver, to make this a habit.

4. I got engaged. It was a surprise. A beautiful, holy crap, eyes wide surprise.

WINNING! (But With Less Tiger Blood)

By noon today, I had pretty much won.

I figured out how to make the fake pockets on my shirt lay flat, without the aid of an iron, or safety pins.

I formulated a plan to (legally) get human remains across an international border.

I got the woman in the public washroom stall next to me to stop having her TMI phone conversation, without saying a single word.

This life thing? Yeah, I’ve clearly got this all figured out.

(I should probably get an advice column. It’s the next logical step.)

Conversations With a 7 Year Old (Temporary) Only Child

I .

“Mom, what’s a bachelor party?”

“It’s a party that men have before their wedding, one last night to go out and get crazy before they’re married.”

“Do they take their girlfriends?”

“No, it’s usually just their guy friends.”

“That’s no fair that girls don’t get a party!”

“Oh no, if girls want to, they can have a bachelorette party. Same idea, just all girls.”

“No boys?”


“So you just go out with your own kind? All girls or all guys?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

(2 minutes of silence)

“Mom, I think those parties are really smart.”

“How come?”

“I think it’s a good idea to go out one last night, and figure out for sure if you’re gay or not.”

(More silence,while I try to unravel where that went off the rails.)


“How was daycare today?”

(Big sigh) “Pretty much torture.”

“Oh, really? Which was worse? The jumpy castle, or the mini-golf? How dare those sadists put you though this? This clearly contravenes the United Nations Convention Against Torture! HAS ANYONE CALLED THE UN??!???”

“Mom, do you ever get tired of your own drama?”


(We tried to go to a movie. Their Internet was borked, so no credit cards, the cash confused the hell out of the teenage cashiers, and the theatre’s Fro Yo stand was down. Screw that. We improvised by hitting Marble Slab instead.)

“What do you want, kiddo?”

“Chocolate. Large. With peanut butter cups and smarties and sprinkles and peppermint patties.”

“Sounds messy…..”

(Fixes me with the iciest, most laser-like glare on which I have ever been on the receiving end.)


(Turns back to detachedly supervising the mix-in process.)