Cat Skinner Club

Gobbeling It All Up

Ya Bunch 'O Turkeys

Ya Bunch 'O Turkeys

Gratitude Top 30, 2009

In no particular order

1. ) You and your clever green/blue eyes and mop of toussled hair in the mornings, and your ability to always hear my heart without me ever needing to use my lips

2. ) You for your gentle patience, attention to detail, gigantic heart, and beautiful mouth, and for restoring my faith

3. ) You and the way you pronounce my name as though it had a letter “f”

4. ) You and your ability to read my mind and always know when I need a cuddle or a spontaneous “you’re so beeeeoootiful!”

5. ) Amanda for her ferocity, loyalty, and endless bounty of love.

6. ) Ming for her creativity, eye for beauty, steady, unwavering love, and impending bundle of joy

7. ) Kathryn for her incredible support, genius, understanding and partnership

8.) Josh for being the best guy for so many years, and for gladly stepping down to Commander Riker status when an honest-to-goodness Picard came along

8. ) Kyle, for almost always “getting me”

9. ) Mom, and her wall posts and chat attempts that show she’s really trying, and for her secret stash of hand-knit baby things

10. ) Dad for the best email all year

11. ) My boss, who I think can read my mind

12. ) Les Coquettes – both the on stage and off stage players, who fill my days with creative fire, and make each day a quest for beauty

13. ) Auntie Jackie and the enduring lesson that this tiny speckle of time is ours to make as fabulous and filled with love as we can

14.) Everyone who reacted to recent news with “That’s so awesome, I’m so happy for you all!”

15.) Everyone who reacted to recent news with “Wow, incredible. I have so many questions for you!”

16.) Everyone who reacted to recent news with “Oh, Schnoo.” or “Why????” or  “I have a terrible feeling about this.” or “I’m really worried about you.” or “Someone is going to get really hurt” or “It’s wrong to do this because there are children involved” or “I never would have chosen this for you”. Your fear and concern have reinforced everything I believe to be right and good because I can look you straight in the eye and tell you this is the best thing that’s ever happened.

17.) Waking up every morning to a hearty breakfast with the people I love, a packed lunch and a ride to work

18. ) Adventures in Schnoovile, where I feel like I was re-born

19. ) The Fortress of Solitude and it’s incredible restorative powers

20. ) Ursula and Andy for being the best landlords ever

21. ) Alexandra leaving – bittersweet, but ripe with adventure and possibility, and I’m thrilled that I get to read it all in old-fashioned letters from the coast

22. ) Arthur who filled the void so beautifully. I’ll miss you buddy

23. ) The smell of baking bread, currently tickling my nostrils

24. ) Crisp sunny autumn bike rides and the apples in my cheeks

25. ) Really, truly, loving myself

26. ) Barcelona, and Leonard Cohen’s birthday party

27. ) Saturday afternoon family pile-ups on the couch with a movie

28. ) The fact that we all have the same taste

29. ) The way you both look at me when I’m making art, on stage, singing, playing, writing, and doing any of the other things I love the best

30. ) Forgiveness. Without it, I’d never be here.

Kicking Ass and Taking Names

Ottawa artist Sherry Tompalski's Female Boxer

Ottawa artist Sherry Tompalski's Female Boxer

It’s 9:30 on a Saturday morning. So far today I’ve gone to the gym, watched Annie, witnessed a live performance of the hits of Annie, and done about 45 minutes of administrative work for my cabaret company.

I’m about two weeks into regular gym visits and a month into fairly careful eating with a focus on high protein, and no more gluten or sugar. I feel fantastic, and can only wonder at what was taking me so long to REALLY start taking care of myself.

I’ve never been athletic. Never. I felt I was lacking in coordination, so generally stayed away from team sports, feeling much more comfortable in the company of the other pasty drama geeks. I’ve never really had a weight issue, but now into my thirties, I’ve noticed that I’ve become squishier than I’ve ever been. I really believe that beauty comes in all shapes and sizes, but I haven’t been FEELING good.

About two years after graduating from College, my boyfriend at the time got me interested in going to the gym. We were in a rocky place in our relationship, and so the gym became a solace for me as my life was in upheaval. We were soon moving out of our apartment, and I started to feel like control was slipping away. As life got more stressful, the weight just fell off me, and then of course the positive reinforcement started. I began walking to work, one hour in each direction, and soon realized that if I limited myself to one full meal at lunch, with apples or nuts only to sustain me in between that I would quickly drop two more sizes. The boys who wouldn’t even look at me in high school; the jocks, the white collar Bay Street boys, were eating out of my palm. I could see the bones around my sternum, my clavicle looked like you could cut yourself on it, I was a horrific and moody, bitchy mess, and then the migraines started. Horrible, soul-numbing headaches that would blind me for hours – nothing would fix these except a dark, quiet room, and the fetal position, often accompanied by tears.

Eventually, a concerned girlfriend confronted me and told me I actually looked like shit. Of course I didn’t believe her. I assured everyone, including my family, that I was just eating healthier and working hard at the gym. I continued on like this until I met my ex-husband and love and our mutual enthusiasm for food resulted in me packing on a few very necessary pounds.

I still don’t know what fueled this horrible behaviour, but I credit this period in my life for why I’ve hung on to some extra, unhealthy weight over the last few years. My body isn’t naturally rake thin, nor do I want it to be. I think though, there was something in me that deeply resented how quick people were to reinforce the stupid things I was doing to my body to be as thin as I was. There was something scary and offensive about being valued more because I was starving. Now, after several years of making bad food choices, and being more sedentary than I really should be, I’m hanging on to extra weight out of fear.

It’s fear of not being good enough as I am. It’s fear of meeting my full potential, and realizing all that I could be. It’s fear that my desire to be stronger and healthier is somehow linked to the bullshit ideals created for women by the mass media.

I don’t want to be afraid. A lovely fella named Abraham called me out on this months and months ago, but I wasn’t ready to hear it yet. I’m ready now. I owe it to myself to be in the best shape I can be, and I LOVE how I’m feeling. I’m eating well, I’m feeling super grounded, and more coordinated and confidant. The goals I’ve set for myself are based on how I feel, and not about meeting any size or weight.

I’m taking vitamins, and supplements, and drinking protein shakes, and there’s a spring in my step that has everything to do with my own momentum, and commitment to being the best I can be.

We carve out our own identities based on notions of what we CAN or CAN’T do. These notions mostly come to us from the outside world; people telling us what we’re good at, and because we develop at different rates, what we’re “not good” at. There is absolutely no reason why I shouldn’t be athletic. None. and you know, I’ll bet I’m actually really good at math too.

Keeping It In The Cupboard

This is the first image I found when I Googled "inside the kitchen cupboard"

This is the first image I found when I Googled "inside the kitchen cupboard"

Last night I had a heart-to-heart with the male third of my triad. We launched into this seated on the kitchen floor, half tucked inside the cupboard where the Tupperwear is stored, because we were looking for suitable containers for the girls’ lunch.

I am the first in our triad to tell my parents about what is happening in my life. I decided to do this for three reasons:

1.) My mom can read my mind and would have very quickly figured out that something was up anyway.

2.) Once upon a time in my personal history I sort of ambushed her with really significant personal news. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time because she had so much on her own plate, but as it turns out, this is going to be on the very short list of things I regret, probably forever.

3.) My extended family has had WAAYYY too many secrets. My mom was open and honest with me about our family’s skeletons and stories from the time I was old enough to understand the answers to the questions I was asking. I’ve never lived with secrets myself, because I am convinced that they give you cancer.

I maintain that my partners should talk to their families when they feel the time is right. I really do think this is important, but part of me knows I can’t really settle into this, and really learn to feel secure until that hurdle has been met.

I’ve only met my male partner’s parents. Most of the year they live on another continent, but they’ve been in Toronto since August, and we’ve had three occasions now to spend time together. Usually in a crowded, noisy, fairly public situation. They think I’m a dear friend, and by some miracle, neither of the kids have said anything like “Are you gonna sleep over again tonight Schnoo?” or “Schnoo stays at our house all the time” in front of their grandparents. The current strategy is to have these folks get to know me as a Schnoo first, and then when the time is right, tell them the rest of the story. I am skeptical that there is ever a right time to tell your parents that you’ve taken on a second woman, who is a lover to your wife, and who you want to have more children with. Hmmm…

As for the kidlets, they also think I’m a dear friend who stays over. A lot. I suppose that’s right, isn’t it? I haven’t really stayed at the Fortress of Solitude for over a month. In November, the clan will head off continent to spend time with his family. Six weeks of time in fact. I think I’ve been stock-piling my time with them knowing how shitty November will be.

He might tell his parents in November.

So presently, as was the case last night, I am half in and half out of the cupboard. The result is a strange mixture of freedom and sadness. I just want to get it over with, you know? Face any impending shit storms head on. Engage in epic conversations with worried and angry parents now, and then really settle into my life. Our life. No more monitoring photos posted on Facebook by friends, no more pretending to sleep on the couch, no more worrying over what the children may say to their grandparents. I can make a home, we can make a home, both physically and emotionally, and that will be truly sweet.

This has made me reflect on my own familial relationships. My parents are clearly a huge influence in my world, because in my own head and heart I couldn’t really enter into this relationship until I’d told them what was happening. Maybe I seek their approval too much? Maybe I need to sever the umbilical cord, and trust that my decisions are 100% my own, and that my parents will love me whether or not they approve of my choices? I’m happy to report that I think they’re doing really well with everything, considering. My dad seemed his usual self when I finally saw him in person, and my mom, though still trying hard to understand, is making overtures of friendship and camaraderie with my partners. I’m really happy about this. Also, one of my aunts has been incredible, both as a supportive, non-judgemental ear for my mom, and an understanding confidante for me. It delights me that she can talk about God and the various ways that love can manifest with clarity and conviction.

Love like this has made me want to shout it from the rooftops, but that just isn’t very practical in such a situation. Instead, there is a particular Rubbermaid cereal container that I’ve been whispering my devotions into.

For You, And Anyone Else Just Like You.

Parrots
Hi Schnoo!
I just wanna say kudos for your bravery for stating exactly how you are feeling and what you are going through…it is not easy, and i am happy to see that you are happy!
I’ve been reading your blog for a while now, and you have definitely grown in the past year or so, and it has been amazing to read.  I found your blog through a friend of a friend of mine and yours, and I have loved the forray into your thoughts, because they are not unlike my own.  I was also married (too young) and divorced, and on a journey of self-discovery.  I have often felt myself that I am bisexual, and have never encountered anyone who can see themselves in a polyamorous relationship, so thank you for letting me see that there are more of us out there!  It is something that is never ever talked about freely in our culture, and me and my partner have always been interested in that, but we never knew if there were others out there who are open like that.  Thank you for opening up the dialogue on this issue, as I think that you doing so has started people on the acceptance route a lot easier than if you hadn’t.  Thank you.
In terms of how you met these two, was there a forum where you met, as me and my partner have been finding it extremely difficult to find anyone else out there who sees these types of relationships as okay?
Thank you for the past few months, as your journey has definitely been one that I have identified with.

I read this comment last night in a cab on my way to the Manuge et Toi fashion show/burlesque cavalcade (fabulous, by the way). It’s not at all surprising, here in Schnooville, to receive a note such as this after exchanging a lovely dialogue with my dear auntie about why I write here the way that I do. This lovely reader, who wishes to be anonymous, has said it all.

And so, to answer her questions…

I met my partners through a friend, at a show on the patio of the Cadillac Lounge in early July of 2008. Early July has always heralded magic into my life. It wasn’t until April of 2009 that we decided to really take a chance and try to explore our relationship in a new way.

Naturally, one of the first things we did was start to consult the Internet for additional information, resources, and other people like us. Sadly, there isn’t much out there, so I can completely relate to this reader’s frustration. I’m currently combing through the various websites, forums and blogs that I’ve discovered. As I find ones that are really compelling, I will post links to them here.

If any of you have links or resources that have been helpful to you, please post them in your comments.

To my reader above – a very sweet cyber-friend sent me this link:
http://www.torontobinet.org/events/bifriendly/elpg.htm

I haven’t yet been to an event, but I certainly plan to check it out.

Thank you for your very kind words.

x

Schnoo

Ten O’Clock is My New Bedtime

Lion or Ram?

Lion or Ram?

I am a lion, born under the sign of Leo. Not only am I a lion, but I am also a fire dragon, if you consult my Chinese astrological sign. However, at this particular moment, there is a three-and-a-half year old ram singing away in the bathtub who might be my most cunning adversary yet.

Tonight my girlfriend is playing baseball, and my boyfriend (yep, I do love saying that) is off in the United States of America with the six year old member of the tribe seeing to a spontaneous family affair. I am left alone with one who I have affectionately referred to time and again as Monkey.

For the most part, suddenly finding myself in the midst of an instant-family has been an incredibly smooth transition for me. I mean sure, I still have moments when I’m nostalgic for hours alone at my Fortress, sipping wine, and trying to ease the ache inside my heart with words. Words for you, words for me, just words. I miss solo strolls along Roncesvalles, choosing groceries for the one and only meal I would cook, just for me. Sniffing nectarines, selecting shiny apples, treating myself to a beautiful bouquet of flowers for my table. This was romantic, in its own right, but my partners have a very healthy sense of the importance of grown up time, so now life is a lovely balance of the domestic and well, that other stuff.

Monkey keeps summoning me to tub-side…

Apparently Monkey is now Kelpie the Mermaid, and would like to henceforth be addressed as such. I can’t stop calling her “buddy” and she completely hates it. I’m unaware in fact of how frequently I use this handle until she’s scowling and grunting at me “That’s not my name!”.

The girls have generally been very accepting of my presence here. They know I have my own home to go to (which I’ve seen very little of lately), but that I spend a lot of time with them, sometimes (and those are the best times) with Arthur in tow. Arthur is delighted with his new pack, and so patient and gentle with the girls. I can’t help but feel that Monkey/Kelpie is challenging me to see where I fit in. Although her ferocious moments aren’t just reserved for me.

I’m told that the terrible twos often bleed into a much worse reality called Three. I’ve started consulting the Internet for parenting advice, since my learning curve is steep. Don’t get me wrong, Monkey is generally beyond adorable – clever, saucy, so funny, and super smart, but lately things have been challenging. She’s bursting at the seams sometimes, I think. Requests are demands, objections are shrieks, grunts, sometimes outright hollers. Last night, while left to deal with dinner supervision, I witnessed her coat both her arms in sour cream, gripping the table with her bare toes while staring me down defiantly. It was about the tenth time she barked “NO” at me that I decided it was time to walk Arthur, and I left her in the more than capable hands of daddy. I don’t ever want to raise my voice, and I felt like I was at my limit.

She pushes as far as she can, and then repents with bitter tears and a string of “sorry! sorry! sorry!”. In those moments we hold her and tell her we love her, and try to patiently explain that we are a pack, and that we must all compromise and be considerate and respectful of the other pack members.

I feel deeply challenged. She is Alpha, like me. She is flexing her muscles for the first time, and the way we negotiate this, she and I, will set the tone for the rest of our existence together. I think it must be one thing to grow with a child since baby-hood, but this is unbelievably intimidating sometimes. I don’t let on about this. Not to her, not to anyone really. I’m afraid she won’t take me seriously, so I remain patient but firm. I walk away from tantrums, I encourage quiet moments, and creative ways for her to take on responsibility and express herself to the rest of us. I stare her down calmly when she’s smearing herself with condiments.

At bedtime tonight (which happened before 9pm, I am proud to state) she insisted I stay and snuggle for a bit, which I was delighted to do. I tried to calm her by singing to her, and this actually worked. Her current favourites are Somewhere Over the Rainbow, which apparently she heard from me first, and Riverwide which she couldn’t possibly realize is actually a Sheryl Crow tune. Singing in soft, dulcet tones with her little fresh-from-the-bath smelling sweet self curled up beside me, tucked under my chin was the kind of heaven I’ve only dreamed of up until now. Soon she was sleeping, and after several moments, I untangled myself and stepped carefully from the room. This resulted in her waking almost immediately and shrieking indecipherable things at me. I attempted to calm her, but when the air-kicking started, I backed slowly out of the room with a “Goodnight Monkey. I love you, but I’m not going to listen to this.”

As it turns out, I’m in love with four people. One of them really likes to arm wrestle, and victory tastes sweet for both of us. She’s fast asleep now, and in the morning, she will cry out my name when I emerge from the bathroom and join her at the breakfast table, as if she is surprised and delighted to always find me there, despite knowing each night that I haven’t gone back to my own house.

And so tonight, the lion is victorious, and with my sleepy tawny head propped up by a pile of pillows, reclining on the sofa, I’m trolling the internet for the lyrics to my favourite songs from when I was a kidlet. I’m keeping Puff The Magic Dragon in my back pocket for emergencies only.

Stay tuned for stories of Barcelona…and hopefully photos!