Ode to a Sofa

This is day 24 of the Writer’s Circle challenge: Something I miss

Something I miss…

Something I miss…

Something I miss…

Honestly? I miss my old sofa.

It was this weird forest green corduroy-like fabric and was the first large piece of furniture my ex and I had purchased together, on time, from Sears. Every month, $25 came out of our newly minted joint account.

I could stretch out on this thing and have room to spare at the end. It was


Sick person on the green sofa…

the best sofa to cuddle on after a bad day, to host friends for a casual drink, to watch TV from when I was 8 months pregnant and feeling elephantine; it was perfect for caring for a sick baby while the golden retriever Maggie watched, to make sure I was parenting correctly. It held all our cares and woes.

And when we decided to get divorced and I decided that Nikki and I were moving in with my mom into her tiny house, I knew the sofa needed to go. There was no room for all those cares and woes at Grandma’s house, so we gave it away, hopefully to a happy home.

Dumping, selling and giving away all the furniture and all the stuff was a perfect metaphor for our lives. It was freeing and surprisingly easy to do, considering the years and years it had taken to build up this stock of ‘stuff’. Oddly, the sofa is one of the few things from that old life that I actually miss.  But Grandma bought a little one, which at least Nikki can stretch out on from end to end with a little space left over and that’s good enough for me.



You Think this Post is About You, Don’t You?

This is day 23 of the Writer’s Circle challenge: A Family Member I Dislike
Wow. How the heck am I supposed to write about a family member that I dislike on my blog? Um. No. Though in actual fact, she would never be able to read it – she doesn’t read in English. Only Spanish. And French. But with my luck, someone will translate it. And then she’ll be sitting there in her apartment in Valencia, with her ten cats, and she will know that she is a person that I have not enjoyed spending time with in the past but as she is related to me by marriage and only tenuously at that, I won’t worry about it. I wouldn’t want to upset her son though. He’s awesome. And he reads English. Damn. But he’s busy and important and doesn’t have time to read drivel on his cousin’s blog. Oops. Too much information?


My Mornings…

This is day 22 of the Writer’s Circle challenge: My morning routine

7:10 – one eye open.

7:20 – the other eye open.

It’s time to get up and rouse the kiddo. This is the good bit. You wouldn’t think getting a six year old out of bed would be the good bit but while she’s still little, it kind of is. She is a wee heater and so what I do is hop into her bed for a snuggle before we actually have to surface. Only a few minutes of snuggly warmth before reality claims us, however.

I help her get dressed because even though she CAN do it all herself, if I want her to be done inside of 55 minutes, I have to move her along. I hope I won’t be doing that when she is 16 but it’s not looking good.

Anyway, after that and we have collected all necessary books, dolls, stuffies and other paraphernalia required for breakfasting, we trudge up the stairs to the kitchen / dining room.

For her? A mini-bagel with butter and milk. For me? COFFEE! (followed by coffee, and coffee and why thank you, I’d love another cup of coffee!)

While she munches and watches Arthur, I move on to lunch making. This is bar none one of the worst things about having kids. Not the late nights, not the diapers, not the potty training, not the snot or the barf. It’s lunches. Seriously. I have a repertoire of about four acceptable lunches so the week of the month when she has pizza lunch at school is my happy week. Other weeks are just sad, sad, sad.

Someone suggested to me that she could be making her own lunch, saving me the hassle. But like the getting dressed thing, I would rather sleep until 7:20 than get up 30 minutes earlier just so we can fight in the kitchen about what is going into the lunchbox that day. Call me crazy.

Anyhoo, that done, it’s a question of taming down the crazy hair into something resembling a pony tail, putting all necessary items in the ‘almost as big as she is’ back pack and heading off to the playground. On arrival, she drops her bag where her class lines up when the bell rings, and takes off in search of her little friends.

This is my time. Mommy chatting time with other mommies and sometimes daddies. It’s a nice few minutes before the day begins. If there was a coffee cart, like on the Gilmore Girls, it would be even better; sometimes I bring my (third) cup in a porta-mug… Not quite as delightful but at least it’s hot.

And that’s it. Every day, day in and day out. Not so bad, is it?


No Smart Remarks

Someone asked me this morning why I haven’t commented on the attacks in Paris. After all, my blog is called “Send Me to Paris”.

I haven’t commented on here because there is no funny. I am trying to infuse my writing with snark, with witty, with sarcasm, with funny. But there is nothing funny about the deaths of over 130 innocent people. Nothing.

So I will only say this: 


Talk About Being Born Under the Right Sign!

This is day 21 of the Writer’s Circle challenge: My horoscope and whether it fits me

From today’s Globe & Mail:

“TAURUS (Apr. 21 – May 21):

It would be nice if you were the kind of person who likes everyone and downloadnever gets angry but the simple fact is you are not, so if someone has begun to get under your skin make a point of avoiding them today, and every day if necessary.”

Oh. M. Gee. Well, this is just perfect for me. PERFECT.

Let’s forget the fact that I am a major introvert; practically a recluse. I long to live in Hobbiton, for crying out loud. I have blogged about looking for the perfect place on the top of a mountain somewhere. Ask me ‘fight or flight’ and I ask if there is a duvet I can hide under — my version of flight.

I am irascible enough that people learn quickly if they don’t like me and then THEY can make a point of avoiding ME.

The prickly exterior is there, like a porcupine, as a defensive mechanism. Don’t approach. You might get poked with something sharp.

There are only a few people who get past the quills and for now, that’s just the way I want it.


Should You Judge a Person by their Playlist?

This is day 20 of the Writer’s Circle challenge: Shuffling the songs

The challenge wants me to shuffle the songs on my playlist and tell you what the first three that play say about me.

Without even bothering to turn on my phone, I can tell you right now what the music will say about me. It will say: you are 6 years old.

Case in point.

Shuffling…. and the first song is?

“Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.)” by Katy Perry.

Yep. Aren’t you proud to know me?

Number 2: “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” with Julie Andrews, from the Mary Poppins soundtrack.

I only wish I was kidding about this.

Number 3: “Moves like Jagger” by Maroon 5. Again, at the kid’s request.

I’ve learned something from this exercise. I’ve learned to create my own playlists. It will still have things like “Immortal” from the Big Hero 6 soundtrack… and it MIGHT have “Do you Want to Build a Snowman?” from Frozen, because who doesn’t love that song?

(I’m ducking while the rotten tomatoes are being thrown at my virtual head… okay, I’m back.)

My list will also have A-Ha, Platinum Blonde, Bon Jovi and a little Great Big Sea because I’m 6 going on 43 and want to return to a time when music made sense to me.

30 day writing challenge

30 day writing challenge from Writer’s Circle

What Colour is the Sky in your World?

This is day 18 of the Writer’s Circle challenge: my favourite colour and why

My favourite colour depends on the day. It can even depend on the time of day.

At 7:30 am, I love the perfect shade of a coffee that is made with just the right amount of cream.

In between, I’m submerged in blue Twitter birds and Facebook logos. Blue isn’t my favourite colour.Untitled design

Later in the day, I love the colour of caramel on top of my macchiato. Unless it’s November or December, in which case I like the colour of nutmeg on my eggnog latte.

If it’s a ‘gird your loins and your wallet’ kind of day, I skip Starbucks and instead love the perfect shade of a coffee that is made with just the right amount of cream (sound familiar?)

At 3:25 pm, I love the shade of pink of my daughter’s jacket as she comes flying out the door and runs directly into my arms, almost knocking us both to the ground.

At 5:01 pm, I love the crystal clean look of a crisp Sauvignon Blanc.

What others?

I love the colour of a rich and delectable Pinot Noir;

The hues of a gorgeous cashmere sweater – though since I don’t own one, I just covet the ones I see in the LL Bean catalogue;

The pink in the sky when we get pink skies at night (sailor’s delight);

The kelly green of the steamed edamame that my daughter will eat by the bucket load, giving me relief that if she won’t eat a rainbow all the time, at least she’s getting some green in her some of the time.

By 11 pm, I’m happy to see the inside of my eyelids. I’m not sure what colour those are.

In Summer, I love swimming pool blue and Homer Simpson cloud skies.

In Fall, I love every colour of every leaf but particularly the brilliant scarlet of our neighbour’s Japanese maple.

In Winter, I love the sun glinting all colours of the rainbow on newly fallen snow, viewed from the safety and warmth of my house with a cup of coffee that is made with just the right amount of cream.

In Spring, I love the green of buds and the colour of sweaters not covered by puffy coats.

What’s your favourite colour? Or for my American friends: What’s your favorite color?


Words to Live By…

This is day 17 of the Writer’s Circle challenge: a quote I try to live by

“Start as you mean to finish”

Some people attribute this tidbit to Steven Covey but I have also read that it is based on an old Quaker proverb. Either way, it’s good advice.

I keep it in mind with everything I do, in life and in business and you know what? It’s held true.

If I want to be paid a certain way (or at all) for my work, I am clear about it up front in the negotiation.

If I want Nikki to behave a certain way when we are going to an event, I am clear about the rules before we even leave.

If I want to eat all the cookies… oh wait… never mind that one.

But you get where I’m going with this, right?

It’s a guideline, a way to stay the path when you feel yourself going astray.

My other favourite quote?


Do you have a favourite quote that you live by?

Image source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/27373510212108914/

A Day in My Life…

This is day 16 of the Writer’s Circle challenge: bullet my entire day

I’m not sure a day in the life of Chantal Saville is worthy of bulleting (is that a word?) but, here goes:

  • Eyes open and look at the clock. 7:10 am. 10 more minutes.
  • Eyes close, hoping that they will re-open in 10 more minutes.
  • 7:21 am: close enough.
  • Up, wake up the kid.
  • Get dressed while she crawls under the covers of my still warm bed. Fart face.
  • Run a brush through hair. Put it up the same way I do every single other day. curly-haired-woman-wearing-
  • Pull kid out of my bed, feet first, and pull off her PJs.
  • Pull her back up when she flops back over on to my bed.
  • Give up and toss her clothes at her, reminding her that there is no TV until she is dressed and Wild Kratts are on.
  • Watch in wonder as the Wild Kratts motivator goes to work and she is dressed in two shakes.
  • Upstairs.
  • Put milk and cereal on the table. And a few paper towels for the inevitable dripping that comes with 6 year old pouring skills
  • Brew coffee.
  • Focus on the coffee.
  • Wait for the coffee.
  • Add cream.
  • Sip coffee.
  • Lunch making. This involves a background chorus of “Ew! I’m having THAT for lunch?”
  • Roll my eyes.
  • Finish making icky lunch.
  • Put her hair in a ponytail while she screams bloody murder. That the neighbours haven’t called child services yet is a testament to the thickness of old, brick walls.
  • Finish watching show, remind kid to go pee.
  • Remind her again while she farts around with her toys.
  • Remind her again while she is putting on her shoes.
  • Wait, tapping my foot, while she finally goes to the bathroom.
  • Walk to school (1 minute, door to playground).
  • Watch as she tears off to play with her friends with nary a wave backwards. Do I really long for the days where she used to cling to me, at preschool? No. Not really. Except sometimes.
  • Go home.
  • Brew another cup of coffee.
  • Sip coffee.
  • Sit down at desk and open Facebook and Hootsuite.
  • Feel blood pressure rising over something dumb. Head explosion imminent.
  • Tweet with awesome women on my Women Rock Twitter list.
  • Feel better about the dumb things.
  • Do my work. I won’t bore you with the details.
  • Write a post for the 30 day Writing Challenge (hey!)
  • Eat some lunch.
  • Go for a walk if it’s sunny; hide under a blankie if it’s not.
  • What do you mean it’s 3:15pm already? Damn.
  • Pick up the kiddo.
  • Ritual begging for a play date. Ritual uttering of the word ‘no’.
  • Home, play a game, have a snack, hear about the latest playground drama (grade 2 is a real bitch).
  • Make dinner.
  • Listen to a litany of complaints about dinner.
  • Eat dinner.
  • Bath time, PJ time, book time. That’s for me. Kiddo is playing on her iPad.
  • Wrestle the beastie into PJs and chase her with her toothbrush and a flossing stick thingy.
  • Snuggles. Thank goodness she isn’t too old for those yet or else all the rest of this crap that came before? Forget about it.
  • Nighty night.