A few reasons why summer colds suck by Beamie (that’s how you say Meanie with a cold)

-No one really believes you can be sick when it is so beautiful outside. Especially the 8-and-under-crowd who just want you to run and play tag with them.

-The pool is finally open, my husband has worked his ass off cleaning it, wrapping himself, the children and random neighbourhood animals in tinfoil to attract rays of sunshine, forcing them to bob in the pool in order to heat it up to an agreeable temperature for me and I don’t want to go in because I have the Sicks.*

-Everyone says it must be allergies. I have intimate knowledge of my body people. I know the difference between an allergy sneeze (achew!-achew!) and a cold sneeze (ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-fuck-meeeeeee-chooooo-that-hurt!)

-The four walls between I which I work has woman going through menopausal hot flashes draped in fur coats, who refuses to take off her fur coats, controlling the air conditioner and insists on keeping the temperature at sub-arctic temperatures so she can remain draped in her furs and not break a sweat.**

-Going home sick in the summer sucks. It is so much better being sick on the couch in the winter, wrapped in blankets, watching Pretty in Pink for the bazillionth time while fat snowflakes fall from the sky. It’s nice and cosy and comforting. It just feels depressing when it is beautiful outside and you can’t see your t.v. due to the glare of the sun and because your windows are open you can hear people laughing outside having un-sick fun.

-ough cough. That’s why summer colds suck. Sniff.

*Jo didn’t really do this but I like the visual
**Actually, a guy named Dave controls our temperature but he just ignores my calls pleading with him to turn down (or up?) the AC so I am forced to create an unsavoury character for him. That’s what happens when you cross me.

I read certain blogs faithfully. They are bookmarked as my favourite, I tend to visit them daily to see if they have been updated, and sometimes comment (not my strength). There are about 10 of these blogs – I rarely stray. I will continue to remain faithful to them, but I would like to add a few more to my list.

I have two questions for you – if blogs began to operate on a cost-recovery basis, would you pay to read? And if so, which blogs would you shell out to continue reading?

Did I mention the Sadness that was my and Jo’s last wedding anniversary? On May 21 we (should have) celebrated 11 years of wedded bliss. Instead, I completely forgot about it. Jo remembered around 11 a.m. the blessed event that is our union and called me at work, wished me a Happy Anniversary, to which I said ditto, and then the monkey started turning the crank in my back so I would keep on typing my Very Important Document, and that was that.

We will never be accused of being Ottawa’s most Romantic Couple (no no, we’ll save that for the couple on my bus route who practically sit on each other and stare miserably at the world, as if the rest of us can’t understand their love – chill Romeo and Juliet, you’ll procreate one day and get desk jobs and forget about each other soon enough). However, we can be forgiven for forgetting to celebrate the miracle of Us. We had booked a weekend in the not so distant future to celebrate our anniversary. A weekend where the stars aligned and the heaven’s opened and my in-laws proclaimed “and on this weekend we shall take your spawn and feed them sugary treats and let them stay up too late and take over our quiet lives”. A weekend where we will eat and sleep to our hearts content (hmmmm, I feel like I’m forgetting something here).

This is where I need your help. Our destination is Kingston. I don’t know much about this town, do you? What do you recommend? Shops? Restaurants? Galleries?

(If you recommend Chuck E Cheese I’ll bitch slap you).

Money.

I hate money. I hate talking about it, I hate stressing about it, I hate carrying it on me, I hate not having it on me.

I sometimes wish we were like the Swiss Family Robinson, living in tree forts and wearing the clothes we were ship-wrecked in (as long I was ship-wrecked wearing something fab with amazing shoes on and my Uggs in my oversized purse, for the times I want to be cozy on our little island and I want Jo to be ship-wrecked in his poker shirt and Lucky jeans because that is what he looks best in). I digress.

I need to talk about groceries, because I am in my own little world and have no idea what is a normal amount to be spending on groceries for a family of 4 per week. I am a pretty responsible menu planner, with lunches and dinners written out for the week. I also am on the organic band wagon for certain items, but had to fall off said-wagon for other items because it was just getting too pricey for me. I’m a store-hopper, if there is a particularly good deal at one store I’ll hit it in addition to my regular haunts.

So, what does it cost to fuel Meanie’s household for a week? This past Friday I spent a total of $122.58 – this included groceries and my own special grape juices with fancy names like Malbec and Pinot Grigio. This was a good week – usually it is upwards of $150 if I hit a Costco, or if Joe Fresh has a stooopid-cute bathing suit that I just have to get Edie or Grace (Gah! Have you seem of their stuff? Your heart is made of dark things if you don’t just swoon over some of their stock).

Is this normal? Am I doing well or am I hurtling my wee family of four into debt with my free-spending ways?

The Glue
(Dedicated to Marla, Mara and Mindy (anonymity is important to me – haha).

Last night I went out for dinner with three fabulous women, all three of whom have been friends for a long time. I felt a little bit like we were the cast from Sex and the City, sitting at a fabulous restaurant, wearing fabulous clothes, eating tapas, drinking wine and dishing about every topic you can imagine. I think we were all even having good hair days.

I thought I had made all the friends I needed to make in life, and was quite content to rely on my small circle of friends for my shits and giggles and everything else life throws at me. Then four years ago I moved. I only moved one neighbourhood over, but it was still a substantial move away from direct friends and neighbours. And having young kids, the first thing you do is scope out the hood for other young families, hoping you will like the parents, and your kids will like their kids and that nobody is too weird.

This is where Marla comes in. If memory serves me correctly, I seem to recall that another friend of mine from the old neighbourhood, worried about me settling in the hood, saw Marla walking with her kids down my street. The old friend pretty much accosted Marla, and said that her and I would (not should) become friends. And we did. And our girls and her son became friends. And while Marla intimidates me with her homemade preserves, flawlessly decorated Easter cakes and perfectly behaved children, oh, and her church going, she also hosts some pretty kick-ass shakers (seriously, grown men passed out on her front lawn, people taking their tops off, people rubbing lotion on each other, all while she is serving Coquilles St.Jacques with a perfectly paired wine and a smile on her face). She also hosts play dates, didn’t outwardly judge me when my youngest pooped on her (white) carpet and she lets my whole family swim in her pool when ours is too cold. She rocks. And she introduced me Mara and Mindy. These ladies I do not know as well but have been getting to know them over the past year. As soon as I met them I knew I liked them. Mindy is one of the sweetest, most generous spirits I have encountered, with love for celebrity gossip and movies, just like me. And Mara I also instantly liked for her biting sarcasm and wit, but also for her ability to balance her salt with a little sugar.

At dinner last night we were talking about girlie getaways together, scheduling in dinner parties and filling up our summer calendars. Reflecting on that evening, I am thinking how lucky am I. To be embraced by this group of gals, who really have no need for a new friend and have their own history together. It made me think that not many people would do that, welcome an outsider into their group of friends, be it because they are too busy or don’t want to take the time to invest in getting to know someone new. I’m so glad Marla the Glue (you have to say that with a Marlon Brando voice a-la Godfather) invited me into her circle of friends (even though I don’t own Coach anything). Thanks ladies – you and what you have is pretty special.

Jo has made new golf buddies (Balls! Why did I encourage him to expand his social network?) and last Saturday he was committed to these new friends for 9 hours (I started counting after 6 hours had passed).

Now I have a pretty healthy social life – no complaints in that department. But my social life takes me on outings that last 2, 3 hours tops. Then I return to the loving arms of my husband and freshly scrubbed cherubs asleep in their beds. Whooooops, that’s the fantasy version. So what if the reality is that I come home to a husband basked in the blue glow of the television and children, who are thankfully asleep, but caked with summer substance (that interesting combination of melted freezies, sand, sunscreen and OFF!) It’s still all good because I have ducked domestic duties for a couple of hours and that always leaves me feeling refreshed

But back to this golf thing. And I remember my dad doing this two. Saturday, one of the two days of the weekend, some men-folk leave the marital home and swing their club around (the metal one sillies) for MINIMUM six hours. If I complain, Jo says I’m welcome to do the same. But tell me gentle reader, what activity would take me out of the home for 6-9 hours? I certainly don’t need to do this every weekend, contrary to popular belief I enjoy spending time with Grace and Edie, but I would like to have something in my back pocket, to pull out now and then if I feel like a substantial escape.

Suggestions?

Project Management

Last weekend, I pulled together a team, carefully picked to exploit the current economic market. I had to be ruthless in my decision, knowing that the wrong personality and ill-suited skill set could quash any plans of financial success.

I found the players in my own house.

Edie was chosen for her eyelashes, her smile, and willingness to sit, focused on the task at hand for hours at a time (as long as something sparkly was available to play with).

Grace was chosen for her athleticism (to troll for customers) ability to tell the difference between a quarter, a dime and a nickel, and her ability to spell.

Me? I was chosen for my talent at making the best darn lemonade on the block.

My team made $4.50. These girls were ruthless and didn’t give it away, even to the thirstiest. They weren’t even distracted by the topless, adorable college (god I hope they were at least college age) boys who stopped by via roller blades to sample their wares.

There was barely enough left over for gin of the Project Lead (moi) that night.

I see a bright future ahead of these young ladies.