Dear Husbands, Here is a List of Things Your Wife Wants for Christmas

Dear Husbands,

Guys, some days I'd just love to be among your ranks, if only because, seriously, women are SO easy to please! Maybe that sounds like the world's biggest fib to you, and you're probably not alone if that's what you feel, but I can assure you it's the truth. Anyway, I'm writing this letter to help you out a little during the Christmas season. At my house, as the month of December wears on, I inevitably start to sense my husband's stress level increase as each day passes and he realizes he is one day closer to Christmas with no present for me and, worse, no idea where to start! This is really all an unnecessary process, and I hope today to spare as many well-meaning men out this unnecessary unpleasantness. It's not rocket science, guys, here's what you do...just be thoughtful and get your wife a Christmas present she will like. (Cue eyeroll) I can hear you thinking...Easier said than done. I don't know what she wants. Or she already has everything. Well, it can be done, yes you do know, and no she doesn't have everything. I can hear how complicated that sounds, so I'm just going to lay this right out for you...Husbands, here's a list of things your wife wants for Christmas....

She wants to be pampered – It's tough being a lady, a mom, a wife, and women love to be pampered! They love (NEED) time to nurture themselves or be nurtured by others. Here's the trick though--pampering will look different for every woman. Ask yourself, what does your wife love to do for herself? Does she love a pedicure? Does she love time alone? Does she do yoga? Does she feel fantastic after kick-boxing class? How does she re-energize? What makes her feel like her needs matter? Gift her that. For me, this gift would be a gift certificate to a spa, but maybe, for your wife it would be a yoga retreat, or a cooking class (be careful with that one!) or a massage. And if you REALLY want to please her, book the thing and arrange childcare so all she has do is show up and feel awesome!

She wants a date – For the woman who 'has everything,' why not book her a date!? If you're married with young kids, maybe arrange a date for the two of you. If you're free as birds and get enough of each other, arrange a date with her besties to do something they love to do. The key word being 'arrange'--she will feel so much more thought of, so relieved of the stress of doing the 'arranging', if you go this extra mile!

She wants an oil-diffuser – Whoa, DO NOT go buy your wife an oil-diffuser. That's what I want, and I have told my husband this on a number of occasions. What has your wife told you? Listen to her words, all throughout the year. Look at items she picks up and leaves behind with a bit of longing in her eyes. Make notes of these things. Not mental notes, those things go missing like nuts at a squirrel party... Put them in your phone or something, and when a special occasion comes along, you're covered!

She wants tickets – What's you're wife into? Music? Theatre? Jamaica (if you have the $$)? A certain band? Does she keep saying she wouldn't mind seeing the opera? Buy her tickets for something that would interest her. This shows some thought and possibly the intention that you intend to spend this time with her! Double win.

She wants something from that store she loves – Are you tired of finding bags and receipts from a certain store at your house? It's because your wife likes that store (no, NOT Toys R Us, dummy)! Take a hint, buy something for her there and if worse comes to worse, she can return it and get something she does like!

She wants something _________ . Pretty? Useful? Fun? Relaxing? What's a thoughtful word to describe your wife? For me, the word that best fills that blank is 'useful.' I LOVE useful presents, and you know what's useful? Gin. Gin is useful for me, and quite honestly I would be happy with a special bottle of that. Not every wife would. Maybe your wife likes pretty things. Get her something pretty. Maybe she's fun! Send her on an adventure or gift her some activity she's never tried before like paint-balling or an escape room. Give it some thought. I promise it will not go unnoticed!

She wants your heart – Forget Christmas, this is what your wife wants 365 days a year! And when I said women were easy to please, this is EXACTLY what I was talking about. She wants your heart more than any gift you could give her. (No, that does NOT mean you shouldn't get her a Christmas present). For Christmas, she wants a thoughtful present and your heart. Easier said than done? Bullshit, husbands. Spend some of the season playing a game or doing a puzzle with her. Put down your guilty distraction and see what happens. Ask her about her day. Talk about yours. Express concern about something that has been difficult for her. Cuddle up and watch a favourite movie—you make the hot chocolate and popcorn. Write her a love note. Do it again tomorrow, and next week, and on February 3^rd and Easter Monday and on Tahitian Independence Day. Give her encouraging words, EVERYDAY. If you do that, I promise you'll be well on your way to understanding just how easy women are to please!

Merry Christmas, husbands! And best of luck!

Signed,

A Hopeful Wife

Donald Trump - How the Same Thing is Going to Go Down in Canada

You've probably heard the remarks and rumours of Democrat-Americans coming to take refuge in Canada post-election, fleeing from the anarchy that will imminently ensue. Maybe this has made you cringe for your friends to the south or maybe you inwardly giggle or feel a little proud to be from a country that in so many ways stands for freedom, compassion, and equality. But from where I sit, I think those Americans might want to think twice about where they are fleeing to. And where do I sit, you ask...Well, I would like to sit somewhere where political discussion is vibrant, progressive, and productive. I would like sit somewhere where people can see through left and right ideologies to the common goals they hold—security, family, economy, and justice. But instead I find I am sitting smack dab in the middle of an ever-expanding no-mans-land between the political left and right in this country. The left is blind to the indignation of those around them and self-righteous to the point that they freely sling hateful comments like racist, bigot, and misogynist at every hint of disagreement, and the right feels taken advantage of, abused, unheard, and under-represented and eventually lashes out.

Wait a minute! Aren't these the exact same conditions that led to the rise of an (IMO) extremist for president?

When the dust settled after the recent American election and the votes were all counted, what became clear was that the divide between Republican and Democrat voters largely came down to one divide—rural and urban. And in this case, I'm going to surmise that rural Americans were tired of being left out of the political equation, they were angry at a leftist media that both misrepresented and under-represented them (those results sure did come as a surprise!), their social and economic situations were increasingly stressed, they favoured a less-talk-more-action approach, so to speak, and they wanted to be heard.

Canada, is this ringing any bells?

Trump didn't happen overnight, not even close. And he didn't happen because the people who voted for him were all racist, hater, hill-billies and, if you that’s what you think, you'd best take a careful look at your own biases. No. He happened because good people were not heard and cared for by the institution for many years, and people felt abused, and others felt righteous and wouldn't listen. Then both sides got angry and the political divide grew until conversation stopped and the divide was so great that only a revolution would change the situation. From that was born Donald Trump. The left in America bears as much responsibility for the unfortunate goings-on of this election as the right. And if we Canadians think we are in some way immune to this, we'd better wake up and smell the Tim Horton’s, because here's a few things happening right here at home...

Conservative voters and even the former prime minister endure all manners of hateful comments-- racist, hater, bigot, etc.--during the 2015 election campaign. The right feels abused.

Conversations regarding legislation, immigration, foreign policy, and military intervention degrade quickly to accusations of fear-mongering and racism. The right feels misunderstood.

The West resents years of crippling, liberal-dictated economic policies that see profits shipped eastwards while receiving little in return. The right feels taken advantage of.

The West feels angry when, finally in their hour of need, the once again left-dominated institution responds with a slap-in-the-face carbon tax tempered by a petulant pat on the head of meager assistance provided to their crippled economy. The West feels abandoned and further disenfranchised.

The leftist media... Well, where does one even start with that? Our major political parties completely at odds with it for obvious reasons, a shameless eastern and liberal bias that the west and conservatives are forced to not only endure but pay for. The left doesn't even see it. The right feel misrepresented.

The electoral system is set to perform at Ontario's whim time and time again while the rest of the country just hopes for the best. People feel powerless and voiceless.

Our newly elected prime minister touts his victory as 'hope' triumphing over 'fear'. Canadians applaud at this grossly over-simplified statement which glorifies political extremes and shames conservative voters in the process. The divide grows.

The right, tired of being on the wrong end of insults, policy, and government lashes out. The right moves further right. The left feels offended, righteous and sees this as further justification of their position and efforts. The left moves further left.

One might argue that these are just perceptions, biases, pieces of the picture—of course they are--but these feelings of resentment and righteousness are real and they are an ever-growing source of political polarity and discourse in this country.  This divisive reality persists and grows, little different from what happened in the United States. Canada’s disgruntled right feels angry and voiceless, and our left feels righteous. Conversation stops. Our own revolution is imminent. Wake up, Canada.

Here in Canada we have two choices, we  can either learn from the events that have transpired in the US or we can imminently repeat history. We can drop the insults, the regional discrimination, the political extremism on both sides, we can consider the follies of our electoral system and revise them, we can address the biases of our media, or we can damn well swallow whatever form of a bitter pill our own revolution will take because it will be no one's fault but our own. We can sling insults back and forth over the political fence while we nurse wounded egos and hurt feelings or we can have a damn conversation. 

Small Towns, Small Minds--Lessons Learned Growing Up in Rural Saskatchewan

I have lived a number of places in my life. I grew up in the farming community of Nowheresville, Saskatchewan. Like many, I left that small town and moved to 'the city' where I went to University. After that, I traveled around a bit and lived in a few places varying in population from 7000 to 2 million until I returned to Saskatoon with my husband to start a family. We've been here for 10 years now, and I'm proud call home it home and thrilled to be raising my family here. I have nothing to but the winters to complain about, but one thing is clear to me after years of living here and there...This whole small towns-small minds thing?...It's a load of crap.

During the first number of years when we were back here in Saskatoon, of course we were eager to establish a network of friends. We met lots of people, dabbled in different hobbies and friendships and capitalized on lots of the opportunities living in this city affords us. There was lots of flux and change and new experiences during this time until we had our three children and life “slowed down” a little. After that, some friendships came and went while others stuck and stayed and became a lifeline—people we hope to know and love forever. But I have to be honest, when I reflect on the circle of people I have accumulated in the big city of Saskatoon... I have never been part of a more homogeneous group. I am saying nothing bad of these wonderful friends of mine, but we do all come from the same income bracket (-ish), we live in the same type of neighborhoods, we come from similar backgrounds, and, I would even go as far as to say, we share to same values. Perhaps it is natural that things have played out this way, but I guess the irony of the whole situation strikes me. Here I am settled in metropolis of Saskatoon—by all counts a very diverse community where I brush shoulders every single day with different people of varying races, religions, values, incomes, backgrounds—yet I maintain a more singular circle of people than I ever did in Nowheresville!

Diversity is here in Saskatoon--there's no doubt about that. It's right at our fingertips everyday in this city, but the reality is that the people inside our house that share our lives with our family would all fit pretty nicely into any type of box you'd like to put us into. Living in the city, I think many of us take comfort, not only in surrounding ourselves with like-minded (I've always hated that term) people, but also in anonymity. I certainly do. We value closing our doors at night to what is going on in our community—living in our own bubble, as they say. You know, I used to have this neighbour here in Saskatoon who was a loony as a one dollar coin. She was opinionated, rude, and occasionally a bit nasty to my kids so I as much as I could I avoided her. If she was out front when I pulled up with the van, I took my time parking or rushed the kids into the house and closed the door. It was just easier to pre-empt any unpleasantness that any encounter might bring.

All of this is markedly different than my experience growing up in Nowheresville. There was no 'closing the door.' There we truly lived in community. We all went to the same church, we played on the same hockey teams, we bumped carts at the grocery store, we stole back and forth to each others' houses freely. For better or worse, we built community together. We lived side by side in a way that is different from 'the city.' Rich or poor, culture by culture, different values by different values, we made it work. We didn't have the comfort of 'closing the door' because these people were inside our homes sharing our lives with our family every single day. There was no escape short of being a hermit. We didn't have the luxury of falling out of friendship with another because we knew it would be SO awkward when you had to see that person face-to-face at the hockey rink for the next 10 years. You knew Suzie and Sammy Gossip and kept your mouth shut when your were with them, but you forgave them for the tireless efforts they made for local charities. If experiences like that don't make an open mind, I don't know what does.

I say this because I don't think the size our mind is in any way directly proportional to the size of our town. There are small minds wherever you go, and, believe me when I say Nowheresville has a special way of forcing a small mind wide open! Here's the thing, I don't come from Nowheresville, SK where minds are small and diversity is a nuisance. That place doesn't exist. I come from Macklin, Saskatchewan. And in Macklin Saskatchewan when you have a loony neighbour that's crochety and opinionated, maybe you know that she had a daughter that died at the age of two. Or you forgive her when she's been a bit crappy to your kids because you suspect it's been difficult for her coming from a long line of abusive alcoholics. Maybe you end up sitting next to her at the church social and find you have a few things in common after all. Maybe you see first hand how her fortuitousness serves the community well. In Macklin, you learn about her, from her, and she opens your mind.

In Saskatoon, I just closed the door.

For all the fabulous people who make Macklin, SK a fantastic place to grow up...

When the One You're Married to isn't 'the One'...

10 odd years ago when I married my husband, I was convinced he was 'the One'. He was the One I felt utterly safe to be my quirky self with. He was the One who seemed to always have the answer to questions like, 'Where did I put my keys?' Later, he was the One who held my hand during the births of our children and also the One whose simple calming presence gave me something strong to hold onto during some really tough times. He is the One I want to call when one of the kids does something amazing and the One who has helped me put my day to bed for nigh on 15 years. He is still all of those things, and I can't be thankful enough for the person he is. But as the years of our relationship have worn on, I have noticed holes in the whole 'he's the one' theory. Quite early on in our relationship, for instance, it became clear that he was not the One who wanted to share riveting conversation with me at any given hour of the day, nor was he the One who would share some of my greatest passions--long walks, fancy food, and politics. Later on, I learned (with considerable frustration) that he was not the One to call when I needed an sympathetic ear about how long the baby did or didn't sleep that day nor was he the One showing up with a cup of coffee or a ready-made meal when I was at the end of my rope. And, still he wasn't the One interested in riveting conversation, no matter how my topics varied and changed over the years. But I'm here today to tell you that he is not the One, but that is okay... And it is not only okay, it is GREAT actually.

Because if he had been the One, I never would have met some of the finest people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing—people who LOVE to converse about everything from politics to diapers. I would never have needed to find someone to share my Tuesday walk-night with, a hobby that has become nothing short of a life-line over the past few years. I never would have had to challenge myself to sit with own thoughts sometimes rather than succumbing to the verbal diarrhea that I am so prone to. I never would have experienced the humility and honour of accepting those ready-made meals and cups of coffee from people who were not bound by a marriage contract to love and support me. AWESOME. It would never have been necessary for me to re-frame my familial relationships into the adult realm—a valuable and rewarding experience to say the least. Not finding everything I need from the man within the four walls of my home has pushed me to seek new experiences, new people, and new direction. I am immeasurably thankful for all the ways in which he is not the One.

I'm guessing he is pretty thankful for this little revelation of mine too. It is a pretty ridiculous notion after-all to expect one person to be all-things to you. In fact, I'm sure I have seen the look of utter relief on his face when my phone rings just as I am getting fired up for a political rant about something or other. And on the flip side, I am sure I'm not 'the One' for him either. I'm sure he's thrilled to have Tuesday nights by himself to watch all those scary shows I never let him watch. I'm sure as sugar not the One who shares his passion for sailing and who wants to accompany him when he want gets his blood pumping on a windy-day. I'm guessing I'm not the One who he most enjoys conversing with about the ins and outs of his job and, sadly, I KNOW that I'm not the one who gives him the quiet head-space he needs to put his own day to bed. But I am hopeful that this is all as it should be...

So to those of you out there who have found 'the One' that just keeps falling short... Take heart and know that no One person ever needs to be everything to you. There is so much more in this world than what One person can offer. My wish for anybody out there struggling to make their relationship with the One work is this...I hope you find two, three, or thirty people to share your life with—friends who will embrace the all the different aspects of your person-hood. I hope there are gaps in all of those relationships, and I hope no One ever completes you or makes you entirely satisfied. I wish you all the challenges and change that come with finding out that 'the One' is never enough.

There's No Such Thing as a 'Dance-Mom' (Or a 'Trump-Voter')

I’ve recently become a ‘dance-mom’. Whatever that means. In the past, this expression for me drummed up visions of a frantic, well-kept, uber-competitive woman wrapped up in living (or reliving) her dreams of being a prima ballerina through her daughter who grew up to have a corporate job, an eating disorder and OCD. Nonetheless, last September when I was preparing my daughter for her first dance class, I made sure to do an extra mid-day hairbrush (for BOTH of us), I bought every last item on the suggested rehearsal gear list, and I may even have run back into the house to exchange my sneakers for my spankiest pair of boots before we headed out. We arrived early (a feat in itself), and I’m embarrassed to say that I’m sure my daughter could sense my nerves even through her own excitement. I hustled her into the class, gave her my winning go-get-em smile and sat down to wait. I sat next to woman (who I noted was wearing sluppy, athletic pants and a pony tail) and we exchanged pleasantries and eventually got to talking about our mutual interest in the Bachelor series. She was nice enough, certainly not the embodiment of the stereotypical 'dance mom' I'd had in mind, but I remained convinced that, come recital day, her finely honed hair and makeup skills would make an appearance and her daughter would look just the part while my poor daughter would resemble a street performing clown.

Fast forward a few months, I'd made a few connections with other women outside the dance studio. One woman was a professor, another worked in retail. Several women stayed at home with their children, and others seemed to be making the mad dash every week to dance class from somewhere requiring a suit. Some wore make-up, others, like me, didn't. Some arrived at class looking like they'd rolled out of bed, others seemed pretty 'put-together'. It varied week-to-week. On several occasions, several of us commiserated about our fears about the dreaded 'recital makeup.' Some of us got along better than others, and, come recital day, I fudged my way through the hair and makeup component like everyone else and watched for two of the most heavenly minutes of my life while my daughter danced her first dance on stage in a ridiculous bee costume. I noted that I was not the only crying.

I learned something that day--a valuable secret that shouldn't be kept...

There's no such thing as a 'dance mom.' At least not the one I'd imagined. As far as I can tell, the only thing we really had in common was that we really loved our kids and wanted to see them do well. That's it. What a wonderful relief!

Perhaps you buy my premise... So what if I told you, there was no such thing as a 'Trump-voter'? At least not the image of the racist, bigoted, xenophobic jerk you hold in your head. Would you believe me? Because a few things have come to my attention recently. One is that a lot people are not shy to call conservative voters of America all manners of strong adjectives—racist, sexist, haters—I'm sure you could add a few to that list. Another is that people I would never in my wildest dreams have thought to back a man like that have come out in favour of him in one way or another. To say hearing these people come out in support of Donald Trump was a surprise to me is the understatement of the century. These people were compassionate, kind, and forward-thinking. They were people I believed to share the same values as me. How could they be 'Trump supporters'? This bothered me. Very much actually.

Now, I am very glad that I will not be casting a vote in the American election come November, not the least of which is that I can't stand the polarization of a two-party system. But I have realized something...if I did have to vote in that election, I would have to put a check mark beside Hillary Clinton's name. Would making that check mark make me a 'Hilliary-voter'? I suppose it would. But would it mean that mean I supported her position on partial-birth abortion? No, it would not. Would it mean I consider her political position and actions to be entirely cohesive? Nope. Would it mean I thought she was the best person to lead one of the most powerful countries in the western world? Again no. Being a 'Hilliary-voter' would tell you next to nothing about me or anything I stand for. It would not tell you anything about my values, my person-hood, or my ability to be compassionate. So, how wrong I have been to make these assumptions about 'Trump-supporters'!? What do I know about them and their values?

I think we would be fooling ourselves to think we are any different here in the great white north. Now this is going back a year or so, but it could be said that those who came out in support of Stephen Harper's government during the run up to 2015 election were on the receiving end of many of same nasty adjectives and assumptions as Trump's supporters. There were plenty hell-bent on demonizing the person-hood and values of those who dared to vote differently from them. It bothered me at the time and it bothers me now because I was of the belief that we were somehow immune to such extreme political polarization here in Canada, but we are not. Sadly we are not.

I remain passionately against polarization—whether it be political, ideological, social, or otherwise-- particularly when it is used as tool demonize one's opposition, and I have often wondered why we as a society gravitate so easily towards it. I was discussing this issue with a friend recently, and she put it this way, 'People like someone to blame, someone 'bad', so they feel like the problem is not with them.' I thought that was quite profound, and I have to say that I agree with her. Some people want to people want to blame ISIS. Others want to blame greedy corporations. People will call out 'Trump-supporters' for this, that, or the other thing. They will blame the government. They will blame the political left for their idealism or tarnish the political right with accusations of profit-over-people. People like someone to name, blame, and polarize as their opposition.

But I would like to put forth the challenge that whatever your notion of the opposition, whoever you like to blame—the evil corporations, the Big Bad Middle East, the Idealistic Left, the bigoted Trump supporter—these notions are not real. Or at least they are no more real than my ridiculous, narrow vision of a 'dance-mom.' And more than not being real, these notions are actually harmful. Just as I (ridiculously) pulled on my spanky boots to drop off my daughter for dance class, so others actually play up to these stereotypes which tend to be narrow, extremist, and baseless—not desirable qualities in the least. The problem is absolutely within ourselves and these notions we hold of our 'opponents.' If we could all just sit down outside a dance studio once a week for a year, we'd probably find we weren't in opposition at all--that we all valued family, health, security, and compassion much the same. What a wonderful relief that would be!

For Charlotte--A true moderate. Just one of your many amazing qualities. Love you.

Grounders--I don't get it!

Parents, do your kids come home talking about 'Grounders'? Mine do. Wtf? I first heard the term 'Grounders' about 8 years ago when I was working in a daycare. I had come to pick up some kids at an elementary school and, when I asked what they were playing, they gave me the rundown... According to them, 'Grounders' was a tag game played on playground equipment, and the person who was 'It' had to close their eyes while trying to tag other people also on the playground equipment. Anyone on the ground was 'T' (formerly 'time-out,' apparently this phrase has negative connotations for the wuss- generation) and couldn't be tagged. My first thought was 'Awww! Kids are so stupid!' and my second thought, naïve as I was, was that Grounders was just a flavour week and they would move onto something else next week. Well, stupid me, they did persist in playing it quite regularly until the end of that school year at which point I went on mat leave and largely forgot all about it.

Grounders continued to pop into my awareness over the years--I'd overhear it on the playground or a neighbor kid would mention it--and eventually I accepted it was actually a 'thing.' I went on the assumption that the kids on the playground had relayed the rules incorrectly or that I'd remembered incorrectly until one day a few months ago...

Me: Hey Bud! What did you do at recess today?

Him: Played Grounders.

Me: Hmmm. Grounders? How do you play that?

Him: Well, it's like tag and the person who is 'It' has to close their eyes and try to tag people on the playground equipment. But if you're touching the ground, you're T.

Me: Huh.

Part of me is a big fan of logic. And that part of me, just really wants to say...

Kids, I take issue with your stupid Grounders game. You've heard the phrase, “The blind leading the blind...” No? Whatever. Surely this is a case of 'the blind chasing the way-fucking-faster,' because, seriously, I just had a go with this whole running-around-with-my-eyes-closed thing and, I'm not going to lie, I've had more graceful walks home from the bar at 2AM. Respectfully I ask, how (the fuck) is someone with their eyes closed supposed to chase a seeing target down on a play structure? Seriously, you guys have had some stupid-ass ideas over the years, but running with your eyes closed on a play structure makes the top-five. As far as I can tell, kids, this game leaves you only two choices...Cheat or endanger yourself by actually running around with your eyes closed. Can you spell STUPID? Actually there is a third choice, and let me tell you, if adults played this game this is totally what they would do...You can sit your ass down on the grass, declare yourself 'T,' drink a glass of something fruity, and watch sir-it-alot stumble around blindly on the equipment. Score! …

...but, I'm a classy mom and, as such, I have kept those words to myself for the time being. However, I did decide to pay a little extra attention the next time I was on the playground. Sure enough, the kids were playing Grounders, and, as predicted, the sad little kid who was 'It' squinted shamelessly through her half-closed eyes while chasing the other kids around. Stupid.

So here I sit, blogging angrily about my pointless little gripe, and remembering how when I was kid I used to look at adults sitting (literally and metaphorically) at the sides of some AWESOME game I was playing and vow that I would never be so STUPID and grumpy as them.

Chronic Fatigue Syndrome--Worst. Name. Ever

Imagine the following conversation...

Jerry: Heard you weren't feeling well lately.?

Me: You could say that.

Jerry: So you're just tired all the time?

Me: Yeah, and a few other things...

Jerry: Girl, I hear ya. When I got back from Hawaii in January, it took me a week to turn around and then I made the mistake of going on a bender the weekend after. You know how that goes, and then last week I ended up with a flu and it feels like it's been a month since I felt normal, you know?

Me: I can relate to that.

Jerry: I remember last year there was like this 3 week period where I couldn't sleep past 5 AM.  Man, I was SO BAGGED at work. You don't even know...

Me: Yeah, that sucks, but it's a bit different.

Jerry: How so?

Me: Dude, I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.

Jerry: You know, I wondered if I had that and then I had some bloodwork and turned out my hemo-something was low. Took some iron and I was good as new! Have you ever had your blood tested?

Me: Yes.

Jerry: Hmmm. I hear lots of people have luck with acupuncture for fatigue. I've never tried but I keep meaning to. Why don't you try that?

Me: I'll keep that in mind.

Jerry: You're not like (whispering) depressed or something?

Me: (Forehead slap)

Let's clear the air about a few things here... For one thing, I love Jerry. He's a kind and well-meaning friend, and I'm not being ironic. For another, I am not running down depression or any other mental illness as a diagnosis. And lastly, as irritating as it may be, I TOTALLY understand why conversations like this are inevitable... and do you know what it is? It's the DAMN NAME—Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Worst. Name. Ever.

Why? Because upon hearing these words, everyone and their dog feels compelled to:

a. Commiserate with their stories of tiredness—I get it, and I'm not belittling anyone's experience. It's true we have ALL been tired at times, some extremely so and some for long periods of time. It sucks. I understand. I guess why I find this slightly irritating is that Jerry's friend, Bill, with lung cancer would never have to endure a lengthy commiseration about Jerry's going cough. He wouldn't dream of it, because it's not the same thing. I can only blame the illness' name for Jerry's lapse in judgement here, and he probably would do the same to Bill if lung cancer was called 'chronic coughing syndrome.'

b. Offer an alternative diagnosis—everyone with a smartphone is a doctor these days! Maybe you're pregnant? Have you ever thought you might have MS? Lupus? Lyme disease? Thyroid disorder? Iron deficiency? I've heard them all. I can only assume that Jerry and other friends do this because the name CFS is somehow not convincing or weighty enough for the multi-faceted illness that it is.

c. Offer medical advice—I'm sure offering unsolicited medical advice is not limited to CFS. The reason this irritates me slightly is that after 4 years of living with this illness, does Jerry really think I have never had a blood test? Or considered an alternative treatment? Or given any thought to what might be causing this? Does he REALLY think he has a better idea about managing CFS than I do? I'm being too hard on the guy... He probably wouldn't be so inclined to offer advice if the illness was more frequently referred to Systemic Extertional Intolerance Disease (it is).

d. Make awkward references to mental illness—Jerry is a good guy, but sometimes I'm not sure what century he lives in... 'Whisper, whisper, depression. Ahem, anxiety. Ppppsst, anti-depressants. Have you ever thought about talking to a counsellor? No one has to know.' For Jerry and anyone else out there, I'm just going to put this out there loud and clear...I do not suffer with depression. I have experienced anxiety unrelated to CFS. It sucks BIG TIME. I have talked to counselor who I would see more frequently if I had unlimited time, funds, and babysitters, and there are no commonly prescribed meds for CFS. Oh, and the words 'depression, anxiety, anti-depressant, counsellor,' are not swears and they do not need to whispered for any reason. ALL CLEAR?

For the record, there are a number of alternative names for Chronic Fatigue Syndrome that I occasionally offer as an alternative, but, to be honest, Myalgic Encephalomyelitis is REALLY hard to say and confuses people. As for Systemic Extertional Intolerance Disease, well, it's neither catchy nor memorable nor currently accepted as a clinical diagnosis in this country, and conversations where I do offer these names inevitably go down something like this...

Me: Myalgic Encephalomyelitis.

Jerry: Huh?

Me: Myalgic Encephalomyelitis.

Jerry: The who said the what now?

Me: MY-AL-GIC. ENCEPH...

Jerry: I thought you had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome!

Me: (Forehead slap. Cue annoying conversation)