I just left a comment on petitgourmand's blog and said she should keep blogging because think of how fun it will be to re-read when she turns 80.

Which got me to thinking.....

Have you seen The Notebook? Well, I'm totally imagining a movie called The Blog, where a handsome, older Jo (mmmm, played by Colin Firth with super- wrinkley make up on), reads to his ailing wife Meanie (duh, Charize Theron with just a little wrinkley make up on because Meanie is MUCH younger than Jo). Meanie is on an Anthropologie style chaise lounge, wrapped in the prerequisite upper middle class beige cashmere blanket and has perfectly styled still blonde hair.

Jo reads entries from Meanie's blog to her, with their loving daughters Grace (played by Jessica Biel, she's the most athletic looking actress I can think of) and Edie (Zooey Deschanel, google her, you'll get it) lovingly rubbing Meanie's shoulders, and they get all gooey and lovey with each other reminiscing about the stories from the blog.

And then after reading a few entries, they realize the bulk of the blog mocks them or is one big long complaint about them.

And then there is an awkward silence. Crickets if you will. Cue Celine Dion as Jo, Grace and Edie look at Meanie, with cocked heads and disgusted looks on their faces and file out the door. Grace re-enters, but only to grab the cashmere blanket off of Meanie.

And Meanie ponders the moment, then reaches for her social networking device (they will look really cool by then)and updates her Facebook status to read "WTF? you won't believe what they did now....."

Keep on blogging folks! It will give you something to talk about when you're old.

Bon Kid Bad Kid

The dynamics in a house of two kids, two girls, three years apart has
provided lots of blogging fodder (wtf? spell check doesn't recognize the
word blogging? How can my raison d'etre not even been considered a word?)

The more sophisticated they get, the more interesting the arguments get. I
never had much patience for who had what toy first, who hit who, etc etc,
and therefore tried as much as possible to ignore the cacaphony (I got to
use that word AGAIN!) around me. Now, I'm getting drawn into the ring
because I simply find it fascinating to witness just how much brain power
and effort they are willing to exert in order to get in my good books and
have the other removed from my favour.

Examples.

Edie: Mommy, who do you love more, me, or candy?
Me: Why you of course!
Edie: Haha "candy" is what I secretly call Gracie, that means you love me
morrrrrrrrrrrrre.

Me: Well good morning gorgeous!
Grace: 'morning - Hey Edie, did Mommy say good morning gorgeous to you?
Edie: No
Grace: Haha, Mommy thinks you're ugly!

See what I mean?

And they are like little detectives, sleuthing out things that the other
has done that may cause me offense. Ratting each other out if one has left
the lights on/not washed their hands/put their socks in the dirty laundry
etc etc. Proudly reporting to me all infractions, waiting for the
punishment to be handed down, and severely, SEVERELY disillusioned when I
don't sentence the criminal to life without parol. And they are soooo
offended when the tables are turned and they are the one being told on -
"Tattler!" they accuse, as if they have never once finked on their sister.

I honestly find it amusing, and love how it all gets shelved when there is
a mutual task at hand. They bury the hatchet because they know they need
each other to build the fort. They call an unspoken truce because a Wii
partner is required. Grace has even been known to help Edie go to sleep
when being baby sat and Edie has been known to be sure that Grace's iPod is
being recharged and that Grace gets a snack as well.

Sisters - so exhausting, but equally fascinating.

Mini Van Break In!

So last night I forgot to lock up my van and didn't put it in the garage, leaving it in the driveway instead. This morning when I was loading up the kids, I stepped back because something was amiss - the van had been turned upside down. Now, it did take a second for this to register because the van is usually something of a Petri dish at the best of times.

Once I realized what had happened, I didn't know whether to laugh or be really embarrassed. Here is a small inventory of what was strewn all over my beast on wheels:

1) Autobiography of Ozzy Osborne on CD;

2) Unauthorized biography of Angelina Jolie on CD;

3) Biography of Belinda Carlisle on CD (dramatically titled "My Lips - Unsealed);

4) David Sedaris' "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim" (redeemed!);

5) Rejected Shamrock Shakes (I was convinced they would love them, but they are pretty disgusting);

6) Baggies of portioned out roasted soy beans (emergency snack);

7) Box of books on their way to the good will store, including "Bible Stories for Beginners" (pretty sure the spine wasn't even cracked on that one) and a series of very sparkly "Rainbow Magic Fairy" chapter books" (Grace might or might not have used these to wipe her boots with. Not much interest in all things that sparkle and shine with that girl);

8) Stock piled "art" and "treasures" that Edie made me promise I would bring to work and decorate my cubicle with (had to hide that from her pretty fast!);

9) Hard as rock bagel remains;

10) Ariel hair ties that are a pain to fasten so I hid them from Edie in one of the consoles. At least she is happy the petty thefts found them;

11) A DS, which I'm sure they didn't steal because it has been attacked numerous times by a bedazzler. No true tough guy/girl could be caught dead with this electronic device;

12) Various game cartridges for Edie's Leapster with names such as "Princess Party" and "Let's Get Puzzled!" (what, no demand for those at the local pawn shop?);

13) and finally pennies. Lots and lots of pennies. Like a jackpot of pennies. I hate pennies so much, I remove them from my wallet regularly and put them in my coffee cup holder until I get around to rolling them for the kids (I would love to throw them in garbage but Jo said that act is illegal);

I bet my van is the worst car that they ever broke in to. As far as I can tell, absolutely NOTHING was taken.

Things I do that MUST drive Jo crazy:

1) Cram justonemorething into the garbage under the sink instead of taking it out the garage and put a new bag in the can;

2) Cram the teeny tiny compost container when it can't even fit another fuzzy blueberry in it because a) I don't know how to make the origami newspaper liner that Jo is so good at doing and b) I'm a little too lazy to bring it outside to empty it (it's still kinda cold outside guys);

3) My loading of the dishwasher. Lets just say it is a less than mathematical process. I'm an artsy fartsy girl and it's sort of a free for all how I do it. From what I've been hearing, some people are very particular about how they load the dishwasher - like anal retentive about it. Jo is one of these people (accountant, need I say more?), but he re-organizes it quietly without making a fuss about my shit effort;

4) My rotation of "stuff". Whether I move furniture around (constantly), try out new places for our artwork (shut up, I'm over 35, I can call it artwork), add new throw rugs/pillows/blankets/vases/candle sticks to our mix (I have an in at Pier 1 Imports), add/remove children on a whim (kidding), Jo rarely comments at all. He's very accepting of the instability of our household accessories and does not grow terribly attached to anything (well, he's grown a little attached to the kids).

I did find his breaking point though. He very calmly the other day asked me to try and make more of an effort to close my drawers after using them. I didn't know this was a bad habit of mine (and I'm surprised it is because an open closet door will cause me to breathe fire, spew venom and scamper on all fours to close it), but apparently Jo kept turning the corner of our bedroom and nailing his thigh on the corner of the open drawer. He bruises easily, and his leg had been taking a beating.

I upped his complaint with a complaint of my own, and let him know that my breaking point was almost reached and I might cut him if he insisted on cutting bread/bagels/english muffins free-style(no cutting board), leaving crumbs EVERYWHERE.

Since then I have been a saint and closing my drawers all the time. And Jo has been using the cutting board.

Ummm, not sure what the point of this post is, I guess I just felt chatty. Do you have any breaking points?

The sounds in my head

Ah dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun

*that's the sound of me practising my bass guitar. I started my lessons on
Tuesday. I'm probably the most excited person to ever strum the same string over and over and over again.

Cwaaaaaaaa! Cwaaaaaaaaaaaa! Cwaaaaaaaaa! Cwaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Cwee?

*that's the sound of the annoying effing crow that greets me every morning.
I imagine he's saying "cwaaaaaaaaaa! It rained A LOT last night!!!!!!"
"cwaaaaaaaaa! It's still bite ass cold outside!!!!!!!!!!!"
"cwaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!! You are so effing lazy you didn't go for your run this
morning!" (The "cweeee!!!!!!!" sound is the noise it makes when it feels
the little imaginary bb gun bullets I pepper it with)

Mommmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

*that's the sound of the mile long whine that seems to accompany my name
these days by both girls. Followed by a complaint that in their minds qualifies for a call to 911 (Can you just imagine? "Yes, hello, 911? My younger daughter just grabbed my older daughters' Bendaroo WITHOUT EVEN ASKING!!!!!!!!! Yes? Okay, okay, I'll remain calm. Okay, I think I hear the sirens now. Thank you, thank you so much for sending help. God save us all").

Tappety tap tip tap tap tap tappety

*that's the sound of me online shopping after the girls go to bed. I tell
them not to call my name for water/to fix blankets/adjust global
temperatures because I am very busy working on a Very Important Document
for work and can't be distracted. Ha. Get it? Meanoldmommy.

Bleep bleep bleep bleep bleep BLEEP bleep

*that's the sound of Mario bros. Wii coming from the basement where I have
taken to locking the children. Ha ha, if you know this sound now it's
stuck in your head.

thwwwwunk!

*that's the sound the cork out of my wine bottle is going to make tonight. Actually, I think it's a screwtop, but I don't know how to make that sounds. Craaaack? Twhiiiick? It's not working for me.


Have a great weekend!

Bleep bleep bleep bleep bleep BLEEP bleep..........

Random convo with Edie, lunch time:

Me to Edie: bleah bleah bleah bleah dee bleah and that is why boys have penises and girls have vaginas.

Edie: (looking super confused). But I've seen boys with vaginas before.

Me: huh?

Edie: Daddy has vaginas, lots of them!

Me: Whaaaa? (in my head - where the efffff is this going I don't think I want to go to there)

Edie: He wears them to bed!

(omg, she though pyjamas=vaginas. I need Geoffrey Rush to help me with my enunciation).

Last night’s lesson.

Dinner last night was horrendous. Not the meal itself, if was actually quite enjoyable (lemon butter chicken served on a bed of whole wheat couscous yum!) It was those damn children wreaking all kinds of havoc at the table. I had literally finished my meal, (and I’m a chew each mouthful a billion times before swallowing kind of gal) and they had not even put a dent in their meal due to goofing off, teasing each other, blowing bubbles in their milk and other nonsense that makes razors pop out of my knuckles, claws grow out of my toes and pop a new wrinkle out. This was not an isolated incident; in fact, it has become the norm lately with Jo and I getting angrier and angrier at the table (well, not AT the table, the table didn’t do anything wrong, just we feel angry whilst sitting at the table witnessing our offspring acting like feral beasts). So the scenario has become I slave away in the kitchen to make a nice meal, can’t enjoy it because the kids make me angry, then waste time sitting at the table in negotiations with them while I could be cleaning up and moving on with the evening. Funnnnnnn.

Last night, instead of losing my shit and freaking out, I quietly got up, cleared my dishes, went to my happy couch and picked up my magazine (new Rolling Stone with Justin Bieber on the front – interesting article on the Clash fyi). I also put on my headphones and completely tuned out the cacophony (haha I said caca) going on at the table.

Of course this action raised the eyebrows of the nine and under crowd. They HATE it when I ignore them. I simply stated that I had no desire to dine with them if they could not behave in an appropriate manner (I have to admit, I said it in the most condescending way possible) and when they could prove that they could meet my dining expectations, (I listed them again, even though they know perfectly well what they are) I would consider re-joining them. There were protests, tears (Edie, obviously) and “give us one more chance!” begging. Uh uh. Headphones back on, return to reading article. I didn’t put my music on as I wanted to hear the ensuing conversation. Grace eventually asked Edie about her bus ride that day, Edie replied. They conversed. They ate. They called me every two minutes asking if I would re-join them. I declined, as I had already finished my meal, and told them to focus on their own. When they were finished, they cleared their dishes without being asked. It worked.

I always forget that a bit of tough love works. It is a lot of work, you have to put up with a lot of shit, and if you are like me, made to feel soooo guilty about laying down the law (Edie has no problem accusing me of breaking her heart and screeching “you don’t even love me if you do dat!”). I am not going to lie, that shit works on me, she’s got me figured out. Grace pulls the old “all my friends are allowed to stay up late/watch this show/get Fruit by the Foot in their lunches” – again, sometimes this works. Pretty weak, right?

I was reading a great post by RudeCactus (Feb. 24 post) the other day and it really hit a nerve with me. I don’t want coddled, spoiled kids who don’t ever have consequences to their actions. I have been lazy lately in this department, and it is way too easy to become complacent and give them whatever they want, whenever they want, and let them win.

I’m putting on my suit of armour and putting an impenetrable cage around my heart. Meanoldmommy is back in town.

Letter to Grace on her 9th

My sweet, what a year. The year of electronics. The year we said good bye to toys and hello to iPods, DS’s and Wii’s. The year we finally let go and let you go on sleep-overs. The year we let you walk to your friends’ house all on your own. The year you stopped complaining and even started enjoying meals created for the family, and didn’t require a separate menu at dinner time. The year you became content to read to yourself at bedtime, proving yourself to be a voracious reader. The year I’m pretty sure I saw a boy flirting with you, not just playing with you – there was something more there, and your shy smile back at him makes me think you realize this as well. The year you didn’t necessarily want me volunteering every Friday at lunch time - the thrill of Mom popping in for a midday visit obviously disappearing.

With your impending move towards independence I have to make an effort to stay in the loop. Having a nine year old is easier in many ways – you are happy to go to the basement and play Mario Cart – but I have to get my butt down there more often and giggle with you and play Just Dance with you so you can see that I can have fun too. The other night you shyly asked me to read to you – I was taken aback but so happy you still wanted me. You are also slowly culling all of my skull accessories – my hats, socks, t-shirts – I love that you like this little part of me. You make me proud of the company you keep – so far oblivious to Girl Drama that can occur at this age.

I can’t help but compare myself to you at the this age – you are so much stronger than I was – unafraid to question things, more confident and more persevering. I could use negative words here – to question things could be misread as disrespectful; your confidence could be misconstrued as cocky and your perseverance mistaken as stubborn. It can be challenging at times to deal with these traits, but I honestly believe, for a girl, these are valuable traits that will get you far and I never want to discourage your voice from being heard.

I love you Gracie, happy birthday.

Meatloaf.

Not the singer. The food sillies.

Last night I made a meatloaf. When it was cooking it smelled oh-so-good. I was also roasting some sweet potatoes alongside. Really, the humble bungalow smelled like an honest to goodness leave it beaver 1960's home. There should have been a scratch and sniff sticker of my house - it smelled that good. I even had an apron on and playfully tousled the children's hair whilst they quietly did their homework at the kitchen table *ahem*.

Anyhooo, come dinner time you'd think I'd served up bowl of arsenic with a bit of ketchup when I presented the kiddies with their dinner. The barrage of complaints BEFORE THEY EVEN TASTED IT would have made Stephen Harper cry. I'm pretty tough and used of the abuse so I let them get it out of their ungrateful little systems before letting them know I didn't give a damn what their pathetically underdeveloped palates thought, this was what for dinner so deal with it and whipped off my apron to let them know crazy-mom was back. They ate it. Grudgingly. They cleared their dishes. Grudgingly. Then I tried it. Ummmm, not so good. It's not that it was bad, but it seriously lacked any, ummm, what's that word....oh yeah, flavour. And the oats in it did make it kind of ugly.

Now, I've had good meat loaf before. I've just never made a good one. I don't remember my Mom making meatloaf, so I can't go to her for a long loved family recipe.

This is where I need you. Please send me your tried and true, delicious, comforting, kid-friendly (well, in my house, I'll take kid-tolerated-won't-cause-them-to-dramatically-gag-and-pretend-to-die-which-leads-to-them-trying-to-outdo-each other-over-who-is-dying-the-most-agonizing-death meat loaf recipe. We are also a vegetarian friendly* household, so feel free to provide me with your best lentil loaf, quinoa-based, TVP recipe if it tastes good.

*well, they don't really know we are vegetarian friendly. I use so much meat substitute in my recipes, they have no frickin' idea. Ha.

After hours of analysing a stoopid boring spreadsheet for work the other day, I started to daydream about what it would be like to get paid for work I actually enjoy doing. Thus my official list of Things I Wish I Got Paid to Do:

1) I would like to get paid for the good two minutes I spend at night hovering over the girls' heads when they are sleeping Jedi-Mind trick like, in an attempt to wake them. I just like it when they open their eyes and sleepily smile or mutter something incoherent. I'm also a head smeller. It would be nice to get paid for that. Re-reading this I would like to get paid for writing run-on sentences.

2) Practising the "if I were famous this is the surprise face I would make" in the mirror (there are variations). I don't do this often, usually only after watching TMZ, and if Jo is out for the night (kind of embarrassing).

3) Building snow forts. I spent about three hours yesterday building one, kept on going long after the girls lost interest, revelling in comments from the folks walking by (I just realized their smiles may have been ones of pity, not admiration).

4) Colour coding my closet, and debating with myself whether I should organize it by length of garment, colour of garment or type of garment (current status is by type AND colour. It's working quite well thank you!)

5) Organizing my record album. Same issues apply as above, should it be organized by genre or alphabetical order? I should also get paid for time spent thinking about it. Like professional planning fees. I should also like to get paid for time spend wondering why I bought a certain album (The O-Jays come to mind).

6) Lighting candles. It currently looks like a candle factory barfed in my house because candles make me feel warmer. But it takes a long time light all these damn candles (especially when Edie follows me around and blows them out as I light them - hysterical game).

7) Time spent setting up Wii games. Not my forte. Don't actually enjoy this job. Should demand overtime.

8) Facebooking. I'm pretty good at it.

9) Taking shit away. This weekend I confiscated gum, a DS, and an episode of Max and Ruby. I wish I could say I don't enjoy this job, but I feel so f*&^ing powerful when I take stuff away. They just look at me like I'm God.

10) Counting Canada Goose coats. Did everyone get one for Christmas this year?????

Random...

I love grapefruit. I do not love grapefruit and coffee. Which puts me in a pickle and forces me to redefine grapefruits as a breakfast-y thingy.

I am on day 21 of my no-sugar/no booze "lifestyle" change. (All the experts say not to call it a diet and I like experts to tell me what to do, so...) I feel REALLY good. I mean, when Edie is headlining, in marquis lights "The Shit Show" at dinner time, I still kinda shake for a glass of red, but other than that it is going really well. The sugar thing astounds me - I'm pretty sure I had more sugar than water in my body over xmas, and now I don't even crave it. The "experts" are right. Feb. 1 marks the end of the "lifestyle" change, I'm really curious how that will go. Will I revert to old habits or cruise along as I am now?

Oh! I should mention as a result of this "lifestyle" change I nearly called 911 the other morning when I looked in the mirror and saw a dent it my stomach, and then realized that I wasn't broken, but an ab muscle had revealed itself! Sweet!

And now I bring you to the literary portion of our program *putting smart glasses on*

'Twas my quest in the new year to be well read, and pursue literature like Lindsay Lohan pursues coke (see how I did that? That's called a simili, you should put your your smart glasses on too).

Turns out you need time to read, which I don't have a whole lot of. So, I discovered books on CD, which I listen to on my commute to and from work. So far this year I have enjoyed:

I'm Down a Memoir by Mishna Wolf (realllllly funny)

The Secret Life of Marilyn Monroe by Randy Taraborrelli (kinda sad, but super interesting)

Symptoms of Withdrawal by Christopher Kennedy Lawford (v. interesting look at the Kennedy's - definitely does not shed positive light on them)

High on Arrival, by Mackenzie Philips (scandalous!)

Dispatches from the Edge by Anderson Cooper (hmmm, thought provoking)

All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriott (awwww, tee hee, cleans my brain after listening to Mackenzie Philips)

Into the Wild by John Krakauer (turned it off, much better to read than listen to)

Wolf of Wall Street by Jordan Belfort (currently listening to this - I pray for traffic jams. Sooooo good)

If you have any recommendations, books you think would transfer well onto audio, please let me know *smart glasses coming off*. I do like smut, so I won't judge if you suggest Tommy Lee's autobiography or something.

There. Random.

I think I have figured out what Edie has been put on earth for. Now that William Shakespeare is dead (well, it has been a few years) it occurs to me that we don’t have a great writer of tragedy. I suspect Edie is Shakespeare incarnate, but with a modern vocabulary (and slight lisp due to missing teeth). Who else could spin the mundane into epic tales of being wronged? Some examples:

1) When informed it was Grace’s turn for her skating lesson and not hers, the tears flowed, the whining built up to a climax of “THIS IS MY WORST SKATING DAY EVER!”

2) When informed her DS had to be recharged and would not function until recharged, the tears again flowed, and the whining progressed to crying and finally peaked at “THIS IS MY WORST DS DAY EVER!”

3) When having her teeth brushed, with a parent holding her little jaw still (this is a jaw that never stops, yes, it is necessary to hold it still) the sessions ends with a brief soliloquy of “IT FEELS LIKE YOU BROKE MY BONES!!!”

4) When denied a pit stop for hot chocolate for some misdeed, I’m pretty sure there was a Greek chorus in the minivan supporting her cries of “MY HEART IS TURNING BLACK! NOW IT’S TURNING GRAY! NOW IT’S TURNING YELLOW! NOW IT’S TURNING RAINBOW!” (We made the mistake of saying that it was nice that her heart was turning rainbow, this amped up the tears tenfold).

So, Edie is just cutting her teeth at being a great playwright. Maybe it’s not too early to get her started. I can just picture an audience of dressed up 5 year olds tearing up at the great injustice of being denied hot chocolate/DS/skating lessons/Max and Ruby.


*Oh and hey! Thanks for de-lurking! Always fun to get comments.

So a certain loyal reader (Holla C.D.!) complained that my frequency in posting is on the decline. I complained in my best whiny voice (he loves that) that nobody leaves me comments, nobody likes me, and I might as well go eat worms (oh WHERE does Edie get her dramatics from?)

It happens to be International (or National? Local? I dunno) De-Lurking Day. So give me the warm and fuzzies, say hi to me.....it would make me feel so good. And it will stop me from whining (well about blogging, I will still whine about lots of over things. I have a very hard and difficult life you know).

I am also including a picture of myself with a laser eye that I will cut you with if you don't leave a comment. *shiver*

And we’re off!

2011 is going to be my bitch. Well, that is the intent. The Meanie household has declared the month of 2011 to be “Dry January” in which no booze is consumed and no sugar ingested. I said it. It’s out there. Now that the DT’s are gone and I don’t want to lick sugar off of Grace and Edie’s fingers after they eat a cookie, I feel pretty good. And I’ve de-puffed. I’m not sure if any actual weight has fallen off (not the goal, really) but I’m not as puffy and squidgy. So, I don’t imagine my social life will be killer this month (hey, a sober Meanie can be fun, please still invite me places! I might suck on your wine cork though).

Early to bed is also part of the agenda, which I’ve been following but it’s really hard. Santa bought me Room which I have a VERY hard time putting down at night in order to achieve 8 hours sleep, and we were also given the entire series of 6 Feet Under. It is so hard to stop at one episode when all those little boxes are crying out to be watched. Discipline Meanie!

We also got all growed up over the holidays and bought a dresser for the Master Bedroom (sounds very important when in capitals). Seriously, my clothes were in plastic storage containers before. We also bought a bed frame for our bed, in the Master Bedroom. And curtains! And one of those blankets that goes on top of your real blanket, but you don’t actually use it, it just looks pretty. Our Master Bedroom looks like the Master Bedroom of 30/40 somethings now – not so college. Dare me to buy some useless pillows for the bed – just dare me to! I got a HomeSense gift card for Christmas and I’m not afraid to use it.

So we are off to a nice, healthy start. Oh, just so you don’t think I’m all full of myself and stuff I’m still a bit of a f*&^-up because:

a) I brought my laptop home over the holidays to do some work and forgot it at home on my first day back and

b) Yesterday I was pulled over by the police at a major intersection and......actually, that’s another blog post. Still too traumatized to write about it :)

Will I ever sleep again?

Sleep has always been an issue in our house. When the girls were wee, they slept amazingly well, but I was usually spinning with anxiety (post partum depression) and could never get a good night’s sleep. Once the anxieties were lifted, being a light sleeper oft kept me awake (I can hear a nose whistler from down the street). Finally, likely from sheer exhaustion of having years of no sleep, I became a star pupil at sleeping, until Grace developed her night time anxieties, which have awoken me most nights for the past 3 years. With some tools under our belts we are able to get her back to sleep much faster now, but some nights it was hours before there was peace.

Well, last week was a good week. No night time waking at all. Finally, an unbroken, 8 hours (if I was smart enough to go to bed at the right time) of sleep. Ahhh, I thought to myself. We will sleep again. We will be rested and that will give us the ability to laugh, play board games, talk about our feelings, wear things from the LL bean catalogue, use cloth napkins and shake our heads fondly at our childrens’ antics (what, isn’t that wall all normal families do)?

Well, my idyllic dream crashing down on me the other night when, while working at the dining room table, up past my bedtime, Grace came stumbling out her bedroom, glazed eyes and obviously not really “there”. She was sleep-walking. And she headed right for the front door, put on her fathers’ shoes (ha, that was kinda funny) and started pawing at the deadlock and door knob, trying to get out. Hmmm. We tried talking to her, with no success. Jo realized right away she was sleep-walking and was a pro in gently guiding her back to her room. I kept getting in her face trying to see if she registered me at all. It’s really strange seeing your kid in that state – it was like she didn’t even see me, and she didn’t speak, just made creepy little noises *shiver*.

Anyhooo, we happened to be up past our bedtime. What if we hadn’t been? What if we were tucked in our beds, sound asleep when Grace was heading out the door? Remember this dream? It’s a little too real for me.

That night I’m not sure I went back to sleep, pre-occupied with listening for her rise from her bed again. I even got up and checked on her a few times to make sure she was still there. Jo seemed more at ease with the whole situation, sleeping like a log beside me.

Thank god it’s Christmas time, and bells are easily accessible. We have them attached to points of exit of the house so we will hear a cheerful little chime before she again tries to enter the cold abyss.

I don’t like sleepwalking! It’s dumb, make it go away. Have you had experiences with it? What do you do about it? When will it go away? When will I sleep again?

Christmas fail!

Saw Cirque du Soleil in Kingston on Monday night (after a massive dinner) and declared Diet Time! after watching those sinewy bodies doing things no body should be able to do while I mowed on pastries, downing them with wine. Who the buck proclaims diet time during the Christmas season?

Started heading to work yesterday, but turned around because sitting in traffic was not my idea of a day at Disney and my book on tape had just ended, leaving me no choice but to listen to the radio (ears. bleeding). Fanstastic, I thought. This will give me a chance to wrap all the gifts! Wouldn't you know that I ran out of tape halfway through? And there were no more Jersey Shore's PVR'd. What a waste of a snow day.

Read the girls the Little Drummer Boy last night and cried. Who does that? For some reason the story made me so profoundly sad, and as we were singing the pa rum pum pum part I started crying, traumatizing the 8 and under crowd. Duh.

The advent activity for last night was star gazing. I wrapped my charges up and out we went in a blizzard. I was determined to see a star, as were they. Cloud coverage hindered that activity, so I convinced them a passing airplane was a shooting star yay! lets go inside now.

And now settle something for me - Jo's Santa wrapped every freaking item in his stocking, down to a toothbrush. My family's Santa did not. What does your Santa do? (Please say your Santa does it the Meanie way!) Keep in mind there is a tape shortage at my house.....

Frank Loyd Wright did not have children.

We live in an open concept bungalow. Very open. It is a late 1960’s
construction that used to have lots of little rooms that the previous owner
blew out to create one big open room. From my Station (the kitchen) I can
see all – what the 8 and unders are playing on the computer, what they are
watching on t.v., what they are eating, what caused the latest “I’m telling
on you!”. I can hear the bleeps of the DS and the blips of the Leapster.
At bedtime, I can even see who is sneaking another book when look-down has
been called. Sounds like a harmonious, idyllic situation, non? Non. It’s
driving me effing crazy. In an open concept home you have no place to call
your own. I had claimed the couch in front of the fire place as mine,
with my books, candles and special blanket my Mom made me spread out just
so. That lasted about a day until I sat on a Webkinz (oh you just know
where that rhinoceros horn went) and found a Polly pocket shoe at the
bottom of my wine* glass.

I can handle pretty much all of the above, particularly when I am self
medicating*. What I cannot handle is when my phone calls are interrupted
with 8 and under Drama (oh yes, I used a capital D). The other day I was
expecting a phone call for an update on a loved one’s operation. The call
came and as soon as I was being updated, Drama broke out. I could barely hear
the person on the phone due to the shrieks of injustice, mutilation and
torture that were going on in the background (see? Drama). I was
mortified. You would think the Angel of Death was visiting our bright
little bungalow. When off the phone, I discovered that the Angel of Death
was merely a pencil eraser crime, the eraser touching the 5 year old via the 8 year old. Most definitely no need for Drama. I was about to show Grace and Edie my
own little Drama. The scary, open a can of whoop ass kind of Drama. It is
not news to them that I want some decorum when I am on the phone or
entertaining. I reached deep into my thespian repertoire of Mom characters and opted for Scary Quiet Lady. I quietly walked over to them, phone still in hand. In my most pointed, quiet voice, I informed them that no computers would be played that night (I’m pretty sure Grace shouted out “I’m melting!” to that one) and that they would be spending the rest of the evening in the basement (to which Edie’s eyes grew even rounder).

Now one would think that medieval torture goes on in our basement. The resistance
movement against the basement is worthy of a chapter in a high school text
book. The girls avoid it at all costs. You would think that there are ghosts
clanging their chains in the closet, large spiders scurrying across the
floor and the Spectre Boredom always on the ready to pounce.

The reality is our basement was re-done with the kids in mind. A nice new berber, bright lighting, a television, comfy couches, a Wii, a play structure and an array of other toys I keep throwing down there akin to a donkey's carrot.

I know, Jo and I should be locked away for the conditions we expect the girls
play in. There’s a freaking play structure in my basement people! A play
structure!

So down they went, without a word (you don’t fuck with Scary Quiet Lady).
And lo and behold, they stayed. They played. They watched t.v. When I
told them to come up, they asked for 5 more minutes, please. When they did
come up, I’m pretty sure they were cleaner than when they went down and
with their manners re-charged. When they were in the basement, I sat on my
couch in front of the fireplace, wrapped in my blankie and genuinely enjoyed looking at magazines with pictures of open concept bungalows, in peace and quiet. And I was
re-charged as well, genuinely pleased to see them re-surface. So maybe I don't have a place I can call my own, but at least I can call 1/2 and hour my own. Sometimes.


(ugh, sorry about the layout on this - New Years resolution to clean up damn blog).

Best reaction ever:

So Grace and I were watching Fear Factor last night (this is her new favourite show) and the contestants were twin men vs. twin women. The whole theme of the show was boys against girls. At the end, the women won all the challenges. All throughout the show everyone kept exclaiming how they couldn't believe the women were beating the men.

At the end of the show Grace asked me why everyone was making a big deal about the women beating the men. I realized it has never occurred to my strong willed, athletic, intelligent 8 year old girl that sometimes it is assumed that men are better at some things than women are.

Yesssss.

Fuuuuuuuccccckkkkkk.

So todays to-do list:

Deal with the fact that it is Monday - check

Ice on driveway - check

Fall on driveway with sexy boots on - check

No longer feel sexy - check

Ice all over van - check

One ice scraper, two girls who want to help scrape - check

One five year falling right on her ass in a puddle - check

One five year not wearing splash pants because I was in too much of a rush to put them on her - check

Get to school and realize the back up pants I packed are actually the 8 year olds skinny jeans - check

5 year old takes about 10 hours putting on the back up pants - check

The nice man who treats me to valet parking at my lot is not in today - check

I have to park in the shittiest pot holiest spot in the lot - check

Get home, make high caloric comfort meal, everyone enjoys it - check (yay! bright spot!)

Get jammies on, 5 year proceeds to remind me that it is her turn to bring the sharing snack tomorrow, and it has to be celery - check

No celery in house - check

Drive to grocery store with 5 year old, 5 year old falls HARD in parking lot - check

5 year old insists on checking for blood by the foggy light in the middle of the parking lot - check

I chose to go to the grocery store in the sketchiest part of the 'hood - check

Tears and snot create dreadlocks in 5 year olds hair - check

Too late for a shampoo, spray untangler spray in wet hair instead - check

Check label, what I actual sprayed in her hair was Banana Boat SPF 30 sunscreen and have to proceed with shower after all - check

Rather than support me, family laughs at me - check

How was your Monday?

At least Edie thinks I'm good at something.....

Edie cried in frustration the other day complaining that she wasn't "any
good at anything!" She was in the process of trying to draw high heels on
the princess she just drew, and, well, let's just say the shoes would
satisfy any fetishist with a thing for stilettos. These shoes were bad
ass, but completely inappropriate for a princess (shout out to you Kate
Middleton, congrats on the engagement!)

I cooed and hugged the tears away, and taught her how to draw real princess
shoes - my signature ovals on their side with a line on the back of each of
them. Very smart looking. Edie looked up at me with her big blue eyes, a
solitary tear on the cusp of dropping from her eyelash and told me that I
am the bestest Mommy ever and good at everything I do. I thanked her
graciously, accepting the compliment, but it got me thinking, and the
thinking got me a little depressed. I'm actually not really good at
anything. I'm kinda average at a lot of stuff. I dabble in arts and
crafts, I'm okay at my job, I'm a pretty good Mom (but I get cases of the
yellsitis on occasion) and my next endeavour, to learn how to play bass
guitar (thanks to HellaStella) will likely prove to be another less than
stand out effort. I'm not trying to feel sorry for myself, I just haven't
had that a-ha moment yet dictating what I am great at.

I am good at appreciating other people's amazingness. I have an ear for
music, an eye for art work (and I do consider fashion to be art), and a
great understanding of literature. And I'm good at re-arranging furniture.
Poor Jo will stumble in after hours and bruise his shin on the ottoman that
I just had to move at eleven o'clock at night. But I don't want my
tombstone to read "Good at re-arranging furniture and pretty average at
other stuff".

It makes me a little sad, the older I get, because I know with training,
education and experience I very likely could have been a great at a few different
things that I'm truly passionate about, but I really feel like it is too
late to pursue because a) I'm getting older and b) financially, I just
don't have the luxury of quitting my job to focus on a new career.

Kind of a debbie downer of a post, but this is what is on my mind today.