My Father's Daughter


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Ahhh, now I get it

So awhile back I blogged about all the whoz-its and whats-its on womens pants vs. the simple button and zipper on the male career pant. Today I found out what is useful about this aspect of women’s clothing. I lost a button; well, not lost it, I know where it is, it’s sitting on my desk in front of me, but the point is, it isn’t on my pants where it belongs. Thankfully there is no concern that my pants will fall to my ankles at any point in the day (by their own volition anyway) because the additional clasp on my women’s pants are securely keeping them at my waist (yep, my waist; as we’ve discovered in another previous post I am too old for trends like low-rise). If a man lost the sole button on his pants he’d probably just jerry-rig his pants with duct tape or a paper clip or some other fool thing. We women are able to avoid these messy solutions.

Neat, eh?

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You know you’re a woman when…

Phil and I had a disagreement this morning — and I’m not just trying to soften what was really a fight, it was actually only a disagreement. I thought I looked fat in everything I tried on this morning and he disagreed. Poor man. What could he do? And in his defence, he’s been instructed by Brad Paisley to lie in those situations.

Our disagreement this morning leads me to why I hate about half the women I work with. No, I don’t really hate them, I was just going for impact. I know, I know, I should be careful with that word and be like my friend who is very cognizant of only using that word in extreme cases (i.e. to describe his feelings for the Sens — then, and only then). But here is why I tend towards disliking them. They are all younger than I am, skinnier than I am, prettier than I am, and better dressed than I am. (Phil also said something this morning about comparing myself to others and that it was HIS opinion of me that mattered, blah, blah, blah, but I just tuned him out :)). When I started working here I was young enough and cool enough to rub elbows and make friends with the university students we had working for us. Now, I am old and fat and frumpy. There are entire fashion trends that are just plain inadequate for my girth.

Here, I think, is the true rite of passage into adulthood. Getting your drivers license, the right to vote, the ability to purchase alcohol – pshaw, kiddie stuff. It’s mourning the loss of those days before back fat and yogurt cheese thighs when a bikini was an actual possibility instead of something that just made your stomach rolls slap together as the mere thought sends you into uncontrollable laughter. That’s what makes you a true woman. (Or maybe it’s accepting the back fat, cellulite thighs, belly rolls, etc. as making you a mature woman – no, let’s not go there…)

I think it’s also being able to disagree with someone and not fighting. Sigh. I’m all growed up.


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This day in history: Welcome to the world Heather May

Today is my 28th birthday. It kind of snuck up on me. I’m glad that I’m 28 now. I think it’s a much nicer number than 27. I have always preferred even numbers.

So far I have been given two gifts. A very nice pen set from my husband and sister-in-law and brother-in-law that includes a fountain pen (the reason for the gift). I’m very happy! Suddenly my handwriting is beautiful and my thoughts are coherent. Who knew I only needed a fountain pen all this time (I wonder what might happen if I gave up my office computer for a typewriter…).

My other gift was actually given to me a few days ago, but has reached its peak today. Ada, my youngest niece, has given me a cold, and I suspect I know the precise moment it was given. Last Wednesday I had the awesome priviledge of babysitting her. Due to an unfortunate incident with a full sippy cup of water and little hands that can now unscrew sippy cup lids and love to play in water, I had to change her from wet pj’s into dry ones. I had just gotten her shirt off when she threw herself against me, wrapped her little arms around my neck in a big hug and with her face in mine said, “You are the best Aunt Hez I’ve ever seen”.

Who’s to say which is the better gift?


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From growing up to getting old…

My name is Heather McGrath and I’m addicted to buying shoes. Actually I’m recovering (ask me when I last bought shoes…). But here’s the thing; I love to buy shoes, but I won’t spend a lot of money on them. After years of wearing “fashionable” footwear from Payless, Walmart, and Zellers, I’ve ruined my feet. So now I’m in the market for better shoes (oh, and when I say better, I mean really expensive). And as with the phenomenon of seeing the car you just bought all over town, I can’t stop looking at people’s feet. I guess about the comfort of their shoes, where they got them, why, for Pete’s sake, they wear very high-heeled, pointy-toed, rigid-soled footwear just to look nice. And that there says it all — I am 27, and I’m ready to trade comfort for fashion. I already carry a larger than average purse. Next it will be pants with elastic bands, flowered house dresses and cardigans. Youth was nice while it lasted. Remember when I was cool?

If you see me shuffling by in my white hospital shoes, stop and say hello (be sure to get close so I can see who you are), I might just have a Kleenex coated candy or two, stuck in the bottom of my large purse.


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I may be growing up…

On Saturday my hubby and I were able to host my sister-in-law et famille (Nan, Don, William (7), and Jackson (5)), and my sister et famille (Mari Alice, Mark, Mariah (6), and Ada (3)). It was a very good time.

What was really cool was there I was, playing house — cooking for a big group of people in my home (that I’d rapidly cleaned that morning, making it actually feel like a home). It’s been awhile since I hosted at all and this was the first time in the home that Phil and I have established together. It felt so grown-up! Both Phil and I are always being fed by our gracious big sisters, so it was nice to return the favour, though our efforts were only a drop in the bucket compared to what these wonderful women do for us. I have a deeper appreciation for them now too — I was so tired Saturday night!

It’s scary to become domesticated — I’m cooking, entertaining, decorating. Eeek! If I wasn’t so afraid of jail, I might be in danger of becoming the next Martha Stewart.