I've (barely) started my Christmas shopping, and a lot of it - most of it - is getting done online. I feel guilty for not doing more shopping locally, and constant 'buy local' messaging makes me feel shittier. I'd love to support local merchants and suppliers. I also leave the house at 7:15AM, get home around 5:45PM, and get my kid to bed at 8:00ish, leaving me exactly 90 minutes to get to a store, browse, and make purchases. And weekend shopping from here to Christmas is straight-up seventh level of hell. Frankly, if it's not done with the click of a mouse and delivered to my home, it's not happening. No one's getting gifts. Christmas is cancelled. But I still feel guilty about this.

At my previous job, we had a very impassioned speaker come in to teach us the importance of choosing organic, natural, whole foods that haven't been treated with pesticides or other contaminants. She told us that today's children are the first generation that will die before their parents because of the food we're all eating. That freaked me out and has stayed with me ever since. I choose organic food when it's an option probably 80% of the time, and of course I'd always rather buy the strawberries that were grown 20 minutes away versus the ones from California. But we also buy rotisserie chickens from Sobeys and non-organic dairy and Lucky Charms. Am I slowly poisoning my kid?

I don't call my parents enough. It would be easy enough to pick up the phone and call them but I have this philosophy that phones work both ways and my stubborn streak doesn't want me to have to do all the calling. So...we email. I feel guilty that our relationship is primarily online. I don't visit much. Again - the road travels both ways, right?

I have photos and videos of Eli all over the place. Various laptops, different devices. Nothing in an album, nothing organized. Can I really not block off a couple of hours to get this part of my life together?

I barely brush my dog, hence furry tumbleweeds in our house. He hates getting brushed, so it doesn't happen nearly as much as it should. Then I get mad at him for shedding. Then I feel bad about getting mad when it's essentially my fault. So I'm guilty of not only neglecting his fur but also blaming a dog that has done nothing wrong for making a mess.

I get home a little before 6:00, as mentioned. We get dinner ready, eat as a family, and have a little bit of time to play before Eli goes to bed around 8:00. You're right, I feel bad about spending three hours a day, max, with my son. When the weekend rolls around and I'm excited about a spa appointment or a gym visit or time with friends, it comes with a side order of guilt about not choosing to spend every free moment with him.

This year it feels like the switch from fall and Halloween to winter and "Christmastime" has happened really abruptly. On Saturday morning, November 1, we went to get groceries and and the Christmas decorations were out - I'm talking trees, wreaths, the works. Daylight savings happened Saturday night, and since then the weather has been c-c-c-cold, winter coat cold. My first Starbucks red cup was obtained yesterday. Is time on fast forward?

November used to be my least favourite month of the year; now it's one of my favourites, with Eli's birthday, some solid crunchy leaf walks, the return of the slow cooker, and the beginnings of Christmas preparation. It's time to start thinking about booking our holiday theatre date and what to wear to the office party. November is not a month to slouch: there's a lot on the calendar.

November 1: eye appointment; Rory's grooming appointment
November 6: dinner out
November 8: play date for Eli
November 9: Eli's family birthday party
November 10: Eli's third birthday! Also a vacation day for me. (So excited for this.)
November 15: Christmas parade in the city
November 16: basketball game
November 17: follow up eye appointment

In addition to all the calendar stuff, plus work, plus gym, plus caring for a fairly small human being and a dog, there are plenty of other things to do this month. NEVER A DULL MOMENT, hooo no.

+ take a Christmas card photo and get them to the printer
+ make dentist appointments for Eli and myself
+ bake cupcakes and a cake for Eli's birthday
+ make a BIG dent in my Christmas shopping. Ideally I'd like to be done this month, but that may be wishful thinking.
+ get a haircut
+ book remaining vacation days for 2014
+ decorate Eli's big boy room. Furniture has been ordered. Goodbye, toddler bed and glider rocker. Get ready for more emo posts on this topic. :*(

What I want to be doing? 

+ watching Home Alone
+ drinking coffee and Baileys
+ baking and eating Nutella brownies (two ingredients, c'mon)

I've been slack blog-wise lately - it's not that I don't have anything to say, it's more that I'm lacking the time and/or attention span to put a proper post together. I have at least a dozen posts started and abandoned over the past two weeks.

We've been BUSY. On top of the usual working-full-time-with-a-toddler-and-obnoxious-dog routine lots of other stuff has been happening, which I'll delve more into later (not pregnant, still married, not moving away - just to clear up the three obvious conclusions.)

But April whizzed by at breakneck speed, starting with Easter, throw in a few birthdays, including my own, plus some other excitement, and yeah. Here we are.

Peter and I have been together for almost five years. In the beginning, there were grandiose gestures of love happening all the time. There were monthly anniversary celebrations: getting dressed up for multi-course dinners capped off with the presentation of a sparkly piece of jewelry or a box of pricey chocolates. There were weekend breakfasts in bed devoured closer to noon. There were hours spent on primping for dates that lasted all day long. Bottles of champagne were glugged (Blogger is telling me "glugged" isn't a word. I disagree). Bouquets of flowers were delivered to my office. Fancy underthings were picked out and flaunted.

These days, date night is more likely to mean curling up under a blanket on the couch to eat cookies and watch a DVD. And more often than not, we pass out before the movie is over, ears cocked to pick up the first peep out of the baby monitor that's always hovering nearby like an annoying chaperone. These days, 7:15 is considered sleeping in. A glass of wine is responsibly sipped, never glugged, and only after the baby has gone to bed for the evening. Fancy underthings are on hold until further notice and "primping" is not even in my vocabulary anymore.

Last night I stumbled into Eli's room at some ungodly hour to feed him. A few seconds later, Peter came in to put a blanket over us and brought me a glass of water.

Sitting in the rocking chair, dressed in the opposite of fancy underthings, looking and feeling like death warmed over and barely able to keep my eyes open, was one of the times I've felt most loved. A blanket, a glass of water, a kiss on the forehead from my husband, a sleepy smile from a hungry little boy at 3AM. Love is different for us these days, but it's still here.

According to my girl Martha Stewart and her fabulous planning tools, I have 200 days left of being an unmarried woman. Hoooo, doggies. 200 days until I'm a wife. I don't
think I enjoy the word "wife". Is that a bad sign? JUST KIDDING, PETER!

I have been giving a lot of thought as to whether or not I'll change my last name after the big knot-tying. To tell the truth, I'm still swinging back and forth more than Lindsay Lohan's sexual orientation.

As a kid, growing up with a last name that starts with "W" sucked. I was always near the end of the class on roll call. Anything that involved alphabetical order meant I'd be waiting and waiting, and I've never been patient, even as a kindergartener. I remember vowing to marry someone whose last name started with A--preferably two A's (Aardvark??)--so I'd move to the top of all alphabetical lists.

Then, I decided I'd change my name only if my future husband had a really cool last name, like Van der Somethingeuropean, or a really porn-star-ish name...something so dirty that no one would ever forget it. Of course, I never really figured I'd get married, so I didn't expect to have to actually consider this in any seriousness.

I have given it a bunch of thought and I'm pretty sure I'm going to keep my last name for several reasons:

-I've always been Amy Wheaton. It would be weird to suddenly, after 27 years, have a new name. I'd have to get used to writing and saying Amy Hubbyslastname, and it would be weird and awkward and I'd have to titter like a moron and coo, "Oh well, I just got married and, hee hee, I don't really know what my name is anymore!" And then the lady at the bank says "OHHHHHHH, WHEN ARE YOU PLANNING TO HAVE CHILDREN??" And then I punch her in the neck and go to jail, H2B starts having an affair with the pharmacist's assistant, and *poof* the marriage is kaput and we're just another statistic. WOMP WOMMMMMMP.

-There's mucho paperwork involved in name changing, and I hate the DMV and other associated torture chambers with the passion of 1,000 fiery suns. Plus I'm guaranteed to forget one crucial piece of documentation which will probably result in me not getting my tax return money back or some manner of identity theft or something equally horrendous.

-"People know me". That's a bit of a joke, but a little bit serious too. Having to explain myself every time I ran into an old friend or acquaintance, former coworker or client, industry folks, etc. would get old quickly. If I'm having to reintroduce myself with my old name all the time anyway, why not make it easier for everyone and keep it as is?

So, as of today (and I'll probably change my mind 2,000 times in the next 200 days) I think I'll stick with the status quo. It's not for any feminist reason, it's not because I feel the need to diss tradition or because I don't think H2B has a lovely and suitable last name. Right now I'm thinking purely from a functionality point of view. Does it make sense to take on this new persona after I've made it 27 years just fine with the name my parents gave me? What's in it for me? A new sticker to go over my driver's license information and a lot of confusion. I'm OK with Amy Wheaton. I think she can stick around even after we've tied the proverbial knot.

Today I took all my clothes out of my closet and dresser, chose some things to go to the Salvation Army to make extra room, and tidied up my remaining stuff. My closet and six dresser drawers are still pretty full.

I looked at the pile of clothes and realized that I am pretty GD spoiled.

We have a walk-in closet in our apartment that literally has nothing in it but DVDs. Like, 600-700 movies. Do you think we'll ever get around to watching them all? Not a chance. But do we stop buying new DVDs because we already have lots of things to watch? Nope...

I have clothes I haven't worn in over a year. They fit and they're essentially brand new. I have dresses with the tags still on. I haven't worn them because I haven't had a chance yet. What a problem to have, huh? I have about 35 pairs of shoes and I rotate between maybe half a dozen of them. Do I need 35 pairs of shoes? Does anyone?

I have jewelry that rarely leaves my jewelry box. I have stacks and stacks of books waiting to be read. Yet I'll still go to the bookstore and browse or buy another book. I'll buy another dress, another skirt, another nail polish or book, and it's the last thing I need. What do I actually need? Friendship and love, food and water, exercise, sleep, fun, music, free time. I don't need things.

This is the first time I've experienced guilt over the things I have. I'm blessed and very fortunate and appreciative. I don't necessarily want to give anything away or have any less...and that makes me feel greedy and guilty. I've worked really hard to get the things I have and the feeling of comfort and security is hard to beat. But if my apartment were to burn up tomorrow, for example, would "stuff" matter?