Because you didn't ask......

I am feeling better, thank you! So wrong on so many levels. And my throat still kinda hurts but I am ignoring it (if I ignore my children they eventually go away, why should a sore throat be any different?) What a strange summer cold. Speaking of summer.....

The weather is glorious and I give the mighty third finger to those of you who are complaining about it. This is how summer should be. Speaking of hot.......

Our pool is clear and awesome. Do you know anyone who designs floating dinner trays? Cause it would be really convenient if we didn't have to get out of the pool to eat. Speaking of eating.....

Edie is driving me bananas with her finicky eating these days. She resists her meal then after we all done she then wants her plate back, wants be to feed her like a baby, etc etc. I hate dealing with food with the kids because I never know what the "right" message is to be sending. Clear the plate/don't clear the plate; eat some and get dessert; try something new or not...ugh. I don't want kids who end up with eating disorders because of something we did as parents that messed them up. Speaking of eating disorders.....

I clearly don't have one because I was walking the other day and felt something odd. I realize it was my thighs rubbing against each other. I am not cricket. My legs should not be rubbing together as a means of communication. I am a 37 year old woman who needs to resolve this stat! Speaking of being 37......

I am slathering myself in 50 spf these days in a fruitless effort to reverse sun damage from my mis-spent youth. Am seriously considering bringing my face into the shop for some maintenance. Have you contemplated this yet? Be honest! Speaking of being honest....

I am feeling less than inspired with the olde blog these days. Be honest, should I publish random shit or wait until inspiration hits and hit ya with doozy now an then? Speaking of blogging.....

I had every intention of attending BOLO this year (look it up you non-blog geeks) but something better came up. Seriously. A date with my dad (see item 4) and sister to go see the Gypsy Kings. For all those going, have fun!

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.

This is really strange. Last night I dreamt that Edie had been attacked by birds, they kept pecking at her back and she was screaming and crying. I finally got to her, scattered the birds, lifted her shirt and there were these horrible marks on her back.
Fast forward to this morning, Edie wakes up, complaining that her back hurts. How crazy is that?

Which nicely leads me to another childhood memory. I just remembered this crazy recurring dream I used to have. It involved a picture of the baby Jesus with pastel coloured triangle shapes that were stained glass as the frame. This was one of those dreams that felt so real, I could never be sure if it actually happened or not (well, it never could have happened because we didn't have a baybay jeeesus picture). Anyhooo, I would be sleeping, and in my dream I would have this urge to go to the hall (my bedroom was on the second floor). There in the hallway would be the picture Jesus just floating in the air. It would then float down the hallway, down the first little flight of stairs, and I would follow it. It would then float down the second flight of stairs, very slowly. I would follow it. Then mid-way down the stairs IT WOULD SPEED UP REALLY REALLY FAST AND CRASH TO FLOOR AND SHATTER IN A MILLION PIECES! (sorry for yelling, but I'm trying to convey how scary it was) and then I would follow, tumble down the stairs, and get all cut up by shards of baby Jesus glass.
Then I would wake up, in my bed.
I used to have this dream over and over again.

What's your recurring dream? Is it as freak-ay as mine?

Hunting Nazis.

So this weekend Grace had a playdate. I arrange playdates not so I can play with other people’s children, I arrange them to keep my own children out of my hair so I can do laundry, garden, clean, cook, read, rock back and forth in a corner and suck my thumb. Basically, play with my child so I can have a couple of hours to myself.

Within ten minutes of the playdate starting, the little girl visiting was all over me. Wondering what I was doing, telling me stories that didn’t appear to have any point to them, asking me for food, etc. Then Grace got in the mix, then Edie, and next thing I know I have a wide eyed audience of 8-and-unders, severely compromising my Facebook time (ummm, chello, do you think those witty status updates get dreamt up that easily?) This happens often, even though I’m a meanie, children seem to be drawn to me on these playdates
.
Go play! I commanded. Play what? They asked.

I listed items, told them to use their imaginations and t.v., DS and Wii were off limits. They eventually scampered off, but it is apparent that the brain cell responsible for dreaming up games for the 8-and-under crowd is underdeveloped with this crew.

Which brings me to an awesome memory. Nazi Hunting.

Growing up I had field across the street from my house that was being developed for housing. There were mountains of dirt, pits a whole body length deep and crazy obstacles everywhere. Everything about this site screamed “I AM A PERFECT PLACE FOR YOU TO DEVELOP AN AFFECTED GERMAN ACCENT AND PRETEND YOU ARE A POST WWII NAZI HUNTER!!!!”. My bestie and I made quick business of using this field to hunt down imaginary Nazis, jumping in pits when spotted by them, being snipers atop mountains and throwing grenades (chunks of dirt, or waiiiit a minute, maybe they were cow patties) at the imaginary offenders. We would tirelessly play this game for ever, perfecting our accents and pretty much making up history as we went along. I can’t remember what retired the game, we must have hunted the Nazis so effectively that there were no more to capture.

What makes me sad is I have NEVER heard my girls take on a heavy responsibility like Nazi hunting. Edie can talk the ear off a dust-bunny, I have no doubt the child has an imagination (or has a serious mental illness, jury's out on that one) but I have never seen either one engaged in a balls-out game of creativity and action.

I just may have to dust off the old Nazi hunting uniform and show these kids how it’s done.

Do you have an awesome game you played as a kid that just involved a keen imagination?

Alright, this post is really just for me. For when I'm reading this damn thing in 10 years, thinking about when my kids loved me.

Me: Humming "Here Comes the Sun" while tucking Edie in.
Edie: My brain is dancing to your humming.

Gaaack! The sweetness should be illegal.

The kiddies have failed to inspire/provide blog fodder for the past view, but you can indulge me (in me?) over here! New post.....

So quirky!

They both had me smiling today...

I was talking about having babies in the U.S. and how pricey it can me, and how my friend Paula had to "pay through the nose" to have just a normal hospital birth. Grace looked at me puzzled and troubled, and said "does it hurt to have a baby out of your nose?"

*ahem, Dalton, are you listening? In case us well intentioned parents are missing the big picture at home, sex ed in the classroom might be a good idea!*


And Edie, well, Edie just kept telling me this morning how much she love, love, loves her pinkies.

That's just awesome Edie. I love your pinkies too.

What colour is your parachute?

I’m not sure how this happened, but I have ended up being a circle in a square work environment, Everything about my job is counter-intuitive to me. It’s been a very personal thing for me as someone who has sort of breezed though things, professionally speaking. The people are quite nice, but I have to work really really hard to stay on top of the work, while I suspect others don’t struggle as much. Lately I have been wondering how I ended up doing what I do. In a world that makes sense, I would be employed doing something completely different, excelling at it, loving it and whistling while I work. Instead, lately, I feel sorta mediocre, not loving it so much, and sighing a lot while I work. I am the type of person who tries to make the best of things, and I am acknowledging that I am acquiring a whole new skill set in this job, even though it is not a skill set I really want. I try my best to smile through it all, but sometimes the pull to be at home with Edie on her “helping” chair assisting me with baking while Grace chats away in the background is so strong it hurts. If I was doing something I loved, that pull wouldn’t be so strong, I know, I’ve been there before where work is worth the sacrifice of not being there to get the kids off of the bus.

Before kids, I had a small company (read: I was the CEO, CFO, consultant and photocopier extraordinaire). I always worked at a salary job as well, but I would pick up these contracts and do what I loved to do. I recently picked up a contract on the side, and it was such a wonderful feeling doing what I love to do, being a circle and fitting into a circle. Does that make sense?

This is a bit of a ramble, I’m not sure what kind of feedback I’m looking for, I guess I just want to know if there are circles like me out there trying to fit into a square hole.

*Big sigh*

Did you grow up with dessert? We grew up with dessert. Not sand - that is desert (I had to look it up). Every night, we sat as a family in the dining room, with a table cloth, cloth napkins and all, to a three course meal. Dinner, salad, (yes, we ate salad second) and then dessert. And, in general, we had high expectations for dessert - when Mom on occasion would serve us fruit salad for dessert, it was greeted, from me anyways, with moans, dirty looks and all round exaggerated unenthusiasm (I think the sound Gaaaaaaahhhhhh! was produced). Looking back, we were so spoiled - I totally have memories of cakes and tarts and pies for dessert, like EVERY NIGHT - maybe my brother or sister will correct me on this one, but I'm pretty sure I'm right.

So I totally don't do that now, but dessert is definitely considered a "course" in our household. The problem is, every night was turning into ice cream night, cookies night and eat easter candy night. Well, I have laid down the law and "super-fun" desserts are to be reserved for the weekend, and a more balanced, healthy option will be offered during the week. Awesome, right? Awesome, except I have to deliver now. Little eager eyes, sold on the healthy lifestyle speech I gave last week are now expecting wholesome, but yummy, desserts on their plates after dinner. Help me out folks, give me some healthy recipes for desserts that kids will like (warning: Grace and Edie can smell flax from a mile away, errrr, so can Jo).

Bring them on! I'm counting on you! (If you want to make if for me too I will give you my address).

GirlaboutOTown recently presented me an award....I have never received a
blogging award before, and, well, I'm not sure I've received any award
before in my entire life (I was voted best feet in grade 7, I suspect it's
because the camp counsellor felt sorry for me because I hadn't been voted
for anything). Anyhoooo, thank you! I do enjoy reading GAOT's blog
(ouuuuch, unfortunate acronym) as she adds a touch of style to this town of
ours and I suspect her shoe collection could beat my shoe collection.

So, because we are adults, the award comes with rules. These are cool
rules though because it is to encourage us bloggers to continue spreading
the smiles and to get to know each other better in the process. Here they
are:

1. You must thank the person who has given you the award.
2. Copy the award logo and place it on your blog.
3. Link the person who has nominated you for the award.
4. Name 7 things about yourself that people might find interesting.
5. Nominate 7 other Kreativ Bloggers.
6. Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.
7. Leave a comment on each of the blogs to let them know they have been
nominated.

Mememememmemeeeeeee....Interesting or certifiable, you be the judge.

1) I learned a song called "Popcorn" on the piano when I was really little
(may 6 years old?) and to this day whenever I get nervous I play the song
on my finger tips. It makes me look wacko I'm sure but I guess I find it
soothing.

2) This is how I eat: I try a bite of each thing on plate once to determine
an order of favourites and then eat in that order. So, least favourite
goes down the hatch first, then mid-favourite, saving the bestest for last!
If I don't do this I am usually DEVASTATED that I saved something ick for
the end.

3) I can't sing. I really really can't. When I'm in the car alone I often
test my vocals to see if anything has changed since last time I tried. Of
course I consistently suck. It saddens me to no end that I can't sing. I
always feel like a vocal cord might snap when I'm trying and when it does snap,
released will the most beautiful tinkly voice ever that has been suppressed
by the evil vocal chord. Sigh.

4) My fantasy is to go to an open mic event, saunter up to a stool in front
of the microphone, and just belt out Piece of my Heart by Janice Joplin,
blowing away the crowd and everyone would be like oh my god I had no idea
Meanie could sing, did you? She's awesome and she looks so pretty when she
sings too and she's really nice and I really like her shoes.

5) When I run I'm usually plugged in and my MP3 is loaded with songs by
Social Distortion, Joan Jett and lots of rockabilly stuff and I often get
caught up in a daydream where I'm playing the bass on stage for one of
these bands in a really small club and I'm totally killing it and my girls
are even in the bar with little headphones on because I'm rocking so hard
and loud and I don't want them to get their hearing damaged. I'm always
wearing a white t-shirt and my leather jeans, but my hair changes
constantly in these scenerios and even though I don't smoke I have a ciggie
tucked behind my ear because it looks cool yo. I can run for a really long
time when I get a really good daydream going.

6) I have systems. Each person in my house has their own laundry basket to
make putting away laundry easier. I have a binder organized with all
household items in it so no bits of stray papers are on my counter top. I
have a calender for menus (including lunches) for each day of the week with
colums for grocery shopping so I can stay totally organized. I am a basket
freak with very specific tasks assigned to each tasket. Fuck with my
systems and I'll cut you.

7) Heat. I love heat. I love walking out the door and feeling the heat
hitting me in the face and spreading itself all over my body. I get
stressed if I feel a cool front coming in when it is supposed to be hot
out. I get so scared that I will be robbed of summer heat. I hate air
conditioning. I love a good cross breeze. I want my doctor to write me a
note saying that I need to work from home during the summer months because
of my extreme aversion to air conditioning. It makes me angry to hear air
conditioning, and even angrier when I feel outright cold/goose pimply. I
also hate wind. It drives me nuts, and it usually brings The Cold. There
is a difference between cross breeze and wind.

And now you know.

And I nominate:

mindful merchant because she does homework for me!
jdscrappy blog because we go way back and i think it's cool she is a
blogger
missmannered because we went to high school and i'm not sure how we
reconnected but here we are in the blogging universe together!
virtually there because she is about to have a baby and i'm sure she has
nothing better to do than this (hahahhaha)
lara at gliding through motherhood because she commented on my blog the other day for the first time and that's always neat for me to see a new name
pauline at brightestblue because she is a loyal commenter but i don't think i have ever met her before!
and sassyredhead because, well, because she is sassy!

of course i love and read many more blogs, but i'm just giving some love to some newish people in my favourites folder. Happy reading!

I found myself resting at home for extended periods this week, which drove me crazy bored. I found myself consoling myelf with my vinyl collection quite a bit, then my camera got involved, then, a new blog was born.

Meet my new baby! Not a mommy blog, my records don't talk back and provide me with "entertaining" fodder. But it sure is fun for me to pick through the collection and walk down memory lane.

If you are so inclined, join me, won't you?

http://stackomatic.blogspot.com/

"Whatever character you give your children shall be their future".

Ugggghhh. I just steeped myself a Yogi Tea, ever had that kind before? Best herbal teas ever, and they have a cute little mantra on each tea bag. This is mine tonight. And I'm fucked, and my children are fucked if it's true.

A little background. I usually like me as a mother, pretty comfortable with how I rule the roost and how I dole out praise and discipline. On Tuesday I found myself in the emergency room at the General undergoing a minor, but very painful procedure. I continue to be in quite a bit of a pain now, and didn't take my happy pills tonight because Jo had to go out and I wanted to be of sound mind when alone with the kiddies. Well, they would likely have been better off with me doped up. I was such a witch tonight, on those poor kids for every little infraction. How many mothers do you know get upset when their kid asks for another apple? Now you know one, and I don't blame you if you cut me out of your friend list. I'm not a yeller, and I yelled tonight. Grace actually took over bedtime and took Edie to the bathroom and got her organized for bed. Once I calmed down, I was able to tuck them in, apologize PROFUSELY for my sins. They forgave. They hugged. Grace said she understood, she feels that way when she had a headache. Edie asked me if I wanted a bandaid. They smelled good and they were fluffy.

So, I really hope I didn't teach my kids tonight the character of raging bitch, because they are so nice, I don't want them to spoil.

I hate hate hate it when my schedule is thrown off. I am a control freak. I like to control certain things in my life with a rigidity that would make Howard Hughes’ jaw drop. Okay, I exaggerate. But I do like to do things a certain way, at a certain time, in a certain order. I fully admit that I get all kerfuffled* when I am thrown off my path of comfort. If I detect a change of routine in my future, I like to introduce it slowly, delicately, as to not upset my fragile disposition too much.

The past few weeks have been utterly chaotic for me. I have had to work overtime, which throws a big fat pickle into my daily routine. I have not been able to exercise at all, plan the family meals adequately or do my laundry rotation (yes, I have a laundry rotation, shut up). Perhaps, most upsetting of all is I have missed the last two episodes of America’s Next Top Model. Oh, and the children, yeah, they are getting the short end of the stick as well.

The one good thing about all this is I have discovered something awesome. It’s called sleep. Have you tried it? I used to make a half-ass effort at sleep, staying up way past my bedtime and then waking up with the birds. But because the past couple of weeks have been so crazy for me I have been going to bed at 9:30-10:00, and waking up feeling rested and energized. I like sleep. And while the world continues without me while I’m sleeping, not much is happening, well, at least nothing that I can’t get caught up on when I wake up all perky and stuff in the morning.

And so, the glass is half-full, while I am not enjoying the little hell that is work right now, I am enjoying my new discovery of sleep.

How much sleep do you get a night? I was getting by on about 6 hrs (usually interrupted by a call for water/nightmare/random questions in the middle of the night) and I am discovering that 8-9 hours sleep feels like happy pills.

*growing up word, unique to my family?

lmshmp ciddhsfh adshf fsadhghui *chewing* gulp.

oh, excuse me.

what i was trying to ask is licorice allsorts - yes or no?

if yes, which little shape is your favourite one and why?

fdjasjfal fshgh shump *resumes chewing*

Toygate!

In true Meanie fashion, Edie has been in tears pretty much every morning this week because she wants to wear either a gown, tiara or carry a wand (or do all three at the same time) and we have said No! At the beginning of the school year, a letter was sent home, respectively asking parents to refrain from sending kids to school with toys/costumes. I totally get this, I can see the problems it could potentially cause (seriously, how many princesses can one JK class handle? How many lightsabers can be wielded until someone loses an eye (or at least until someone is lightly tapped by one, takes it the wrong way, and cries as if they have been stabbed by the most jagged of knives ever).

So, yesterday was no exception. And I was lucky enough to have the morning shift (gawd I hate the morning shift and long for my cubicle, coffee and silence). With Edie by hand (still teary from being banned of all things sparkly and ethereal), we walked into the daycare and lo and behold, did I not count 1, not 2, but 3 members of royalty happily having a most royal tea party. There was no mistaking that we were in presence of royalty, there were tiaras and sparkly dresses present – what more proof do you need? Edie’s eyeslashes must have grown an inch, and her tear ducts ramped up production needs as soon as she saw her peers in all their splendour. How could I deny her royal roots when her friends were allowed?

How indeed. I spoke with the daycare leader and asked her straight up what the fuck is the rule here because we certainly don’t need the drama at home if Edie is indeed allowed to express herself (I didn’t use the f-word, just in my imagination I did, all Goodfellas-like). The leader agreed with me and said she would speak with the other parents. And so, when I picked up my little charges yesterday, and hung out and talked with other parents while the kids played, there is no denying that I have officially caused Toygate 2010 at the school (Ihave not confessed my role in Toygate yet, I'm playing it cool).

Oops. But seriously, what would you do? Tell Edie to suck it up buttercup or do what I did and try and get down to the bottom of things?

Just a quickie to make you feel better about yourself on this fine morning….


Feeling a little bloated and frumpy this morning I put on my bestest skinny black jeans, super-fun ipod listening penguin belt and flattering black top (loose and tight in all the right places). Instantly I felt better, confident, ready to open a can of whoop on the day.

Fast forward to 11:30 a.m. I have yogurt dribbles down my shirt, hommus smeared on my jeans and when I went to the bathroom I had a crumb (chocolate, of course) on my cheek.

Ever have a day (morning) like that? so long confidence, hello safety of sun- deprived cubicle.

I am working this week, highly resentful and full of guilt. It is March Break here and while some kids are lucky enough to be sleeping in and going on fun trips (even if just a road trip) my poor kids are being schlepped to daycare for the whole day. It just isn’t an option to take time off work right now, fiscal year end, stakeholder review bleahdeeboringbleah, so the children suffer. I do have Friday off, however, this is the “funnest” day at daycare because, wait for it, wait for it, it’s pyjama day, movie day, and the government stipulated rest time of 1 hour is ignored! Hoorah! The girls want to go to daycare that day just to be able to give mandatory rest time a big fuck you (ahem, my words, not theirs, I hope!)

This brings me to a New York Story. I was staying in the Tribeca/SoHo area, lots of young families around and a couple of parks/schools nearby. My first afternoon there I found my Starbucks, found a park, and positioned myself for some hardcore people watching. Did I spot celebrities frolicking at the park with their young ones? Nope. Was I witness to a crime scene being filmed for Law and Order? Nope. Did I have to fight off talent/modelling agents, telling them I’m just not interested in fame and fortune? Yes, but that’s a given (juuuuuussssssttttt kidding). What I witnessed was the high ratio of little white children to little non-white women. The park was at capacity with nannies and their charges. I started talking to some of the nannies, asking about their jobs and their hours. They laughed at me when I asked what time the parents get home from work and relieve them of their duties. As clichéd as it sounds, the mothers of some of these children did not work. They were just busy with other things (insert nannies eye rolls here). Literally. Shopping, lunching, excercising, committee work, etc. etc.

I don’t consider myself a judgy person, but I can’t help but judge this. I guess I feel pretty raw right now, wishing I could be at home with the kids instead of working period. And these women obviously have the means to be at home, and choose not to. I totally get needing a day/few hours/minutes to yourself, but to engage someone else to look after your children on a full-time basis (some of these nannies see the children wake up and put them to bed) just kills me. I can see an argument against me, asking why I don’t insist on downsizing everything in our lives, but that just isn’t realistic right now, and I do feel the need keep up my “skills” in the workplace because you never know what the future holds – it’s a security thing for me.

Oh, and you should have seen how pimped out these NY strollers are. Probably more expensive than my mini-van!

I WILL blog about New York, I'm just a short snippet kinda girl and there is so much to say so I am going to wait until I have the energy to write all about it.

I am going to document what I bought though:

1) Pair of clogs (ummm, hellloooo, they are in alllll the magazines right now)

2) Adorable top that I want to look good on me, but doesn't because my boobs are too big, but if I wear three sports bras and strap 'em down it could potentially look like it's supposed to look.

3) Jeans. Jeans that make my legs look like they go on for miles and miles. Paired with les clogs and strapped down boobs-shirt, ooo-la-la.

4) Suit jacket. Made of sweatshirt material, lined with silk. It's freaking nirvana! I'm wearing sweats to work, but no one can protest because it has a fancy silk lining! Take that Mr. Man!

5) Balloon boats, fake poop and some other stuff (for my hyuk hyuk side).

6) Jeans that are more casual, but make me feel like I might look a little like Jennifer Aniston on a fat day, so that's good for me.

7) Fun things you can only buy in american grocery/drug stores like odd flavoured chips and stuff.

8) Marlboro (Lights, I'm just a little bad ass, and only about once a month).

9) An orange purse. You might want to lick it next time you see me. I might let you.

Okay, that's all I can remember, but I haven't blogged in ages and will use this post as a place holder.

Move over Corey.

Okay, you’ve heard of Bryan Adams, right? Well, when I was growing up, when Brian Adams was on the charts, so was Corey Hart. In my mind, we had to pick sides; we had to decide which one we liked. My little fist sized heart belonged to Corey Hart. Never Surrender made me cry, Boy in Box made me rock out (gawd, how embarrassing). I was that girl at his concert, booing Katrina and Waves off stage to make room for the Hart Attack (sorry Katrina, Walking on Sunshine really is a nice happy song!) I was also that girl who sobbed from the moment Corey walked on stage, prrrrrety sure he was singing to me (there was eye contact, I’m sure. And of course he would seek me out in the audience, what 20 something rock-star wouldn’t be looking for pre-pubescent pimply girl in rugby pants, sneakers and a paisley patterned sweatshirt? I mean come on!) And you can just imagine how I imploded when he threw a ball into the audience and I touched it. Sit with that for a moment, will you? I touched something Corey Hart touched. Girls around me touched my hand, the one that touched the ball, and cried because they had touched something that had touched something that Corey Hart had touched. It should be pretty clear now that there was NO time for Bryan Adams.

I recently picked up a record at Value Village by Bryan Adams called Reckless. I can’t tell you how much I am enjoying it! It is pretty awesome. I have called up other Bryan Adam’s songs on the ‘puter and I’m really digging them! Of course there is some cheese that I just can’t stomach, and I definitely favour his early stuff over what he has produced in later years. His early stuff is the stuff I missed out on when I was worshipping the almighty spikey haired, sweaty Cory Hart. This is probably for the best. I’m not sure my pre-adolescent psyche could have handled two loves like that.

As an aside, I wonder, at 11 years old, what I was hoping for if Corey Hart had invited me back stage? Some intense hand-holding? Cuddling on the couch while watching Degrassi Junior High? I wasn’t yet even close to having any knowledge of what could transpire between man and woman (ahem).

Ahhhh innocence.

Who set your heart aflutter when you were still drinking milk at bedtime?

(I just know some people are going to make fun of for this confession!)

Start Spreading the News…..

On Thursday morning I am going to scrape the playdoh from my fingernails, hang up my bus pass and work pass, jot down a few instructions and make some meals and stick-em in the freezer, trade in my sensible work clothes for something a little funkier and hop on a plane.

This is not an “I wish scenario” this is the honest to goodness bees knees truth.
I did something really good in a past life to have this coming weekend bestowed on me. I think Edie waved her little fairy wand and wished to have her meanoldmommy banished for a few days. And banished I am, banished for 4 days and 3 nights to New York freaking City. Oh, it gets better. My fancy girlfriend’s husband keeps an apartment in SoHo. The fancy girlfriend’s husband and my Jo conspired to send us worn out frauleins to the city that never sleeps to hang out, giggle, shop, go see a show, eat and hit every Starbucks we can. We only have one thing scheduled - that is to go see Jersey Boys on Saturday night – beyond that we are up for anything.

Have you been to NYC? What is a must-do experience in your opinion? I’ve been before, but only with kids in tow. Send your ideas – I’m keeping a list of things to do (including knowing where all the cushy bathrooms on our walking route for the inevitable pee-breaks).

This week was kind of the shits for me. Because I am smart and work a four-day work week, my week is now over. Because I am striving to be a half glass full kinda gal (it can be a half glass of hard liquor, right?) I am going to highlight the positive:

Things that made me smile this week:

Grace, looking at me accusingly
“Mommy, you laugh a lot”.

Edie explaining a picture that she drew to me of a box with lots of colourful blobs around it. Turns out it is a prototype (my word, not hers) of a butterfly machine she wants to make so she can crank out butterflies on a whim.

So many pretty shiny medals!

Sitting in massive over-stuffed chairs at Zoe’s (tucked to the left of the lobby at the Chateau Laurier) with some super-funny ex-colleagues, sipping on a whiskey sour and eating fancy cheese.

My mom talking about “the email” like she owns it.

Edie skiing and being all like “whatever” when she made it down the hill herself without falling/losing control.

Hearing one of Gracie’s friends saying “that’s so random” TOTALLY out of context.

Friends who are happy (I’m typing at you Mr. Friendly Neighbourhood Curator!)

Here’s to next week being better, and Go Canada Go!

(I need some of those Olympic mitts to bring to a friend in the States next week, if anyone has a lead, please let me know where I can get them).

You know what drives me crazy? Songs that have sirens in them when I’m driving. I always look the fool checking my side mirrors, rear view mirror, craning my neck to look beyond the front window and use my x-ray vision to look past the stoooopid van with no windows that is inevitably in front of me therefore totally obscuring my vision completely of anything 10 feet in front of me. I also have the girls turn off all DS’s and Leapster components so I can figure out where the siren is coming from. In split seconds I plan my good-citizen route as to where to pull over on the road in order to allow the emergency vehicle to pass and go save a life (all the while imagining the firemen/policmen/ambulance driver giving me a thumbs up for being so cooperative and then saying to each other “wow, why can’t all drivers be like her, and did you see how beautiful and poised she was? Whoever married her is a lucky man”.
And when I finally turn off the stereo to better detect where the siren is coming from, I realize that the siren was coming from my Run DMC CD.

D’oh.

And Now for Edie....

My little Edie Bikini, you are turning 5 tomorrow! I guess it’s time to stop treating you like my little baby (never!)

A few little things I want to keep in my Edie Archives forever:


I love how you tell me you love me before you go to bed, and you say love so many times that you run out of breath and heave a big sigh at the end, like you are completely spent.

I love the way you will exclaim that something is the most specialist thing to have ever been bestowed on to you, and then you offer to share it with whoever is in the room. It kills me, it is so sweet.

The way you look at me when you say you hate something, because you know I hate the word hate (hypocrite, I know) – that look shows me you will test the waters with me ten-fold in the future.

Okay, this actually drives me crazy, but I suspect it will be endearing one day. You are a messy child. The messiest little girl ever. You spill everything, you knock things down, your markers roll off the table constantly, your face is always covered in something, your always touching me with your grubby little hands, and you do all this with a tiara and princess dress on.

I love the way you call your stuffed dog Puppy Puppy Puff Puff, and you give him to me to sleep with because you feel badly that I don't have a stuffie. I love finding him on our bed.

I love that you call Lambey's fluffiest bits "The Soft".

I love that you don't walk, you hop, and I super-love that this past week even you noticed that you don't walk anywhere when you asked me if I noticed that you hop instead of walk.

I love how when you are sleeping, you look like you are hard at work, recharging your batteries.

What freaks me out is that I was such an insecure first-time Mom with Gracie, thinking that I was doing everything wrong, that I actually said out loud that I wouldn't have another child. Even when pregnant I was filled with doubt that I could do it all over again. My little girl, you've made it as easy as pie.

Love you to the stars Edie.

For Grace....

And so my dear, you turn 8 tomorrow, and your old, cliched mom just can’t believe how quickly time has passed.

Here are just a few things about you that I want to hold forever in my memory:


-Your thoughtfulness. I love love love, when posed a question that requires some thinking, the way you shift your gaze to the side, as if to block out all other stimulation, so you can give the question your full attention.

-Your interaction with Edie. While it hasn’t always been a bed of roses, this past year you have really grown into your role as big sister by reading to Edie, helping her with her “homework” and letting her tag along when you have a friend over. You still bug the crap out of her and tease her relentlessly, but the good and the bad is more balanced now.

-Your obsessive compulsiveness. Okay, I know I shouldn’t love this, but I appreciate how you need everything in order before you go to bed, with nothing on the floor and things tidied up on your desk and dresser.

-Your sense of style. Girlfriend, while your friends have been sucked into the vortex of all things sparkly, Hannah Montana-ey, Camp Rock-ey and Bratz-ey, you still like to cruise around in your velvet leisure suits. Awesome. This isn’t really new this year, but I love that you are true to your style.

-Your MP3 player! I took a chance and loaded it up with songs I feel are important to anyone just starting to listen to music, and am so tickled that you are partial to the Beach Boys, the Ramones and the Clash (I can’t put Social Distortion on there yet because he says fuck too much).

-Your diligence. You treat homework with respect, and for the most part enjoy the challenges you bring home. Except that time with the subtraction and addition patterns. That sucked.

-Your vulnerability. I don’t necessarily like being woken up at three in the morning, but I do love the confused little face that greets me when I go into your room. You don’t know what scares you, or why it scares you, it just does. And I love comforting you (and then waking your father to come lie with you because your bed is a single and mine is a king, so, y’know).

-Your attitude towards health. You are so aware of what is good for you and what isn’t. Your mantra is “healthy before junky”. You love candy, but you also know to balance things out.

-Your front crawl. God, you look so graceful doing it. I always looked like a baby giraffe going through heroin withdrawal when I did the front crawl. Likely still do. You just cut through the water.

-Your communication methods. You were so mad at me once this year that you stormed to your room and slammed your door. After a few minutes, something came flying out from under your door. It was a cartoon, frame by frame, outlining what a bitch I was being. I love that you used art as an outlet. I’m going to save that cartoon forever.

-I love that you still reach for my hand on our walks together. Those are tears of joy and love kiddo, nothing else.


These are a few things that stick out in my mind about you right now. There are a million more, and I wish I could tell you them all, pump you up with accolades for every day that you venture out into the real world. But you know what kid? You’re so awesome, you don’t need to hear it. The way you carry yourself, you unconsciously already know.

Love you to the moon.

Crap.
I have nothing to write about. I could tell you about the new wines my folks told me about that under $8 but that might bore you. I could tell you about my indulgent behaviour over the weekend, how I went to the Bytown to see a movie and then sat there when it was over and decided to stick around for the second feature, but that probably doesn't excite you (Tolstoy though man, pretty interesting cat). I could write about going to the canal on Saturday with Grace and a BOY, and Gracie being so pissed that she wasn't as good a skater as said BOY that I could see the steam coming out of her ears. And then tell you about the dinner with the BOY, by candlelight (is there any other way to eat chicken nuggets?) I could relay to you the divine conditions at the ski hill on Sunday that my hubbie and I enjoyed after we dropped the kids off for their lessons, but you don't want to hear how wonderful that one hour was, of not being hunched over a child, guiding them down the hill at a snails pace, and instead bombing and turning and feeling the mountain (now THAT was a long sentence). And you likely don't want to read about the trip to the canal today that I suspect was motivated by a chance meeting with a Beavertail (haha, nope, we were there purely for the fresh air and excercise).

Instead dear reader, I'm going to leave you with this, and let you decide if I'm the luckiest lady in the world or did something really, really tacky in a previous life.....

I’m kind of mad. Grace came home from Brownie’s last week a little upset because she said she didn’t shower enough. I probed a bit and apparently they were talking about personal hygiene and one of the things they said was that kids should bathe once a day. Maybe I’m going to get slapped here but this is certainly not how we role at our house. Particularly in the winter when they just don’t have the same opportunities to get dirty.

The kids used to get bathed daily when they were babes. But they were also a lot grosser then (poo, spit up) and it was also part of that all-important routine we had going on (bath, books, bed). Then they got older and all bowel functions were neatly deposited into the toilet and food remained in their stomachs. Now Edie has ridic dry skin, so unless she has rolled in jello and lint (don’t put anything past this kid) I try to limit her spa treatment to 2x a week. I still give her a little daily scrub to keep her clean, but her hair doesn’t get greasy yet, and she just doesn’t get all that dirty. Same with Grace. Gracie is our jock, she’ll sweat it out in the summer months playing soccer and doing track, but in the winter there just isn’t a whole lot opportunity to justify a bath everyday.

Personally, I tend to shower on a daily basis (not necessarily washing my hair each time) but I do roll around in jello and lint on a daily basis. Kidding, just checking to see if you were still reading. Okay, so I shower daily but I also have an unhealthy relationship with my treadmill that makes me sweat on a near-daily basis, so shower=good.

I resent this woman putting ideas into Gracie’s head about our society’s obsession with dictating our standards of clean. I have managed to talk her off the edge, but now I’m curious about other people’s habits – do you stir your kids in the porcelain cauldron on a daily basis?

Sometimes I get mocked for my internet addiction. But, here are a few good things the internet has done for me lately:

1) I copied this, recipe and later made it and the whole family ate it, and I felt like polishing my halo, because, y'know, lentils people, lentils is where it is at.

2) I turned MD for a few hours, diagnosing and arriving at the conclusion that Grace does not have pink eye (I would take off my stethoscope and smart glasses for more serious symptoms, don't worry).

3) I became Scorcese for a little bit and uploaded some home movies for friends and family to view on YouTube (whatevs, my Mom impresses easily - she thinks only I can do these things, therefore am a
computer AND filmmaking genius, why burst her bubble?)

4) I saved money by selecting a bunch of stuff online, proceeding to check out, and then not buying because for the masseeeve shipping expenses.

5) I burned some calories and dug up my old combat boots after watching this video.

6) I decided against this mascara and decided on this one instead after putting my smart glasses on and reading some reviews on this website.

7) I donated to Haiti.

8) I bust a gut watching this clip from the Golden Globes over and over and over again.

9) I sort translated some Norwegian stuff because I have a friend on Facebook who does her status updates in Norwegian, then all her Norwegian friends reply, and there are always lots of smiley faces and exclamation marks and my curiosity gets the better of me and I have to know what they are talking about!

10) I tried on different hairstyles from the 80's.

Being the multi-tasker (ADD) person I am, this all took place in about a 45 minute time span. I'm that good.

Oh man did I ever have a bad case of the Mondays.

First of all, it was Monday. I always find it hard to get back into the groove of things on Monday. The writing was on the wall at 7:00 a.m. at work when I knocked my coffee grains all over the common kitchen - do you know how hard it is to pick that shit up without a broom? And without a coffee in your system to deal with what just went down?

Work is, well challenging these days, and that Monday proved that challenging would be amped to shitshow. And I'll just leave it at that.

When I went to pick the girls up at daycare I was greeted not with hugs but rather a chorus of awwwws, what's for dinner and general crankiness (I guess kids can get the Mondays as well). Here's where it really gets high drama. Remember how mild it was last Monday? Well, the schoolyard had been cordoned off due to severe slushy conditions. Edie wanted to go play, and I said no. But I didn't say no quickly enough because she ran off into the slushy yonder, which was knee deep for her (yup, knee deep in icy slush) and she promptly lost a boot in it. Grace tried to help, but she also fell victim to the slush. I had to meander out there in my fancy work boots and rescue them. It felt like the last hour of the Titanic, only no cute Leo Dicaprio was helping me out. I had to carry Edie to the minivan, and Grace heroically carried both backpacks and Edie's sopping wet boot.

Could it get worse? You betcha! You know how your trunk allows you a certain amount of clearance so you don't smash your head on it when you stand up (too quickly due to mild rage)? Yeah, well mine decided not to go up all the way up for some reason and my head was punished for all the sins I have committed throughout my life.

So, into the safety of the car. Kids strapped in, check (Edie I suspect is mildly hypothermic at this point but I can easily distract her by shoving a Leapster in her hand....we call it a DS for 4 year olds, heh heh, she doesn't really get the difference yet). Anyhoooo, for all you mini-van drivers out there, did you pimp yours out with a "Magic Button"? The one that open and closes one of the back doors so you don't have to, god forbid, shut it yourself? We did, and loved it for years until the first week of January, when we had our car safetied, and the door was deemed unsafe (it was working fine for us), so we had to fork out much dollars to fix it. Yeah right, fix it. That Monday, when Grace pressed the Magic Button to seal us into our happy place, the door, shut. Then opened. Then shut again, then opened again. It took on a life of its own and seemed to be teasing me "Wanna go home, go ahead, oh! Hold On! Not yet! Now go, haha! Whoops! Not just yet little lady!" When I finally found the master switch and shut the beast of a door down, Grace started to cry a bit, worried that the door would open and expel her onto the road. Then Edie remembered that her foot was cold. Then I remembered that my head hurt and my feet were cold. I kept my tears in (I was close to the edge), reassured Grace (an emergency tootsie pop may have been involved) and drove off.

When we got home, I took a deep breath and ordered everyone out of their wet clothes and into some cozy jammies. Awesome. The worst part of the day was over. Time for bonding over a nice meal and cuddles on the couch. The girls scampered to their rooms and Edie called out to me. She needed help with her jammies. She lay on her bed, froggy style. I leaned over her to tickle her (god I’m an idiot). This kid loves a good tickle and reacts with her whole body. See where I’m going with this? One little poke in her armpit propelled her little tiny feet straight into my teeth up into my nose with the force of Hercules. I was okay, nothing broken, the chicklets felt a little tender, as did the nose, but no long-term damage.

It was at this point I let myself cry.

Who cleans up after you?

I love neat and tidy. I love organized and compartmentalized. Magazines like Style at Home, Dwell and Real Simple are like porn for me. And porn is fantasy, an escape from reality, something to daydream about. Because my house is nothing like the homes in these magazines. And that’s okay. I have kids who have developed a magic potion to multiply Polly Pocket accessories and make them go viral on our floors, in our closets, in our beds. I have a wonderful husband who has a very important collection of baseball caps (whatever) that live in the couch cushions, on my record player, the kitchen counter and the dining room table. And I’m not perfect. While I can never find a hair elastic when I need one, on any given day you can see them scattered under couches (getting humped by dustbunnies).

Weekends we do the big de-clutter. Jo calls them whirlwinds. Everything gets put back where it belongs. Children are placed in their rooms to put things away (which usually results in them taking more things out – on Saturday Edie re-discovered her bucket of 1000+ melt beads…..yayyyyy). And the house looks amazing.

But. Oh yes, there is a but. It lacks that pinesol smell. That one chemical smell I like because it means things have been scrubbed, sanitized, purified and cleaned. That smell has be lacking for a few weeks now as we have lost yet another cleaning service. I have gone through so many cleaning people throughout the years, after our last one left us (you know who you are) we have decided enough with it, we can do it on our own. Or can we? Growing up, I always had a cleaning lady. Her name was Doris. Her cleaning days were called Doris Day, haha, get it? So Doris came every Wednesday, she scrubbed and laundered, while I daydreamed and resented her for occupying the t.v. in the afternoon because she watched her soaps while she ironed. So I blame my childhood, which has resulted in me being so adverse to cleaning, and generally sucking at it.

And so, Jo and I are going to start doing it on our own. But cleaning a whole house at once is a daunting task. Our house isn’t big, but there seems to be a lot of space to clean. And so dear reader, I ask you, what is your strategy in cleaning? Do you tackle a room a day? Do you suck it up for 4 hours a week and just give ‘er? Or do you just fork out cold hard cash to someone to do it for you?

When you were a kid did you ever stick pantyhose on your head, flip it around and pretend it was long hair?

Did you ever fashion a paper clip into a retainer and stick it in your mouth and pretend you had orthodontics?

Did you ever convince yourself that your dolls and teddy bears actually did move out of the corner of your eye?

Sigh. While Grace was explaining the world of rhombus (rhombiis???) octogons, hectagons and some other gons during homework time, I was daydreaming about the above.

I looked hot with long (pantyhose) hair.

I’d never done a de-lurking thing before. I’m so glad I did – I’m not sure why it feels so good knowing that people are reading me, but it does! I’ve never been one who needs too much in the way of affirmation/accolades, but your comments made me feel really, really good. I have this great memory of my Nana, who would love nothing more than receive a letter from someone. When she received a letter, she would read it and reread it, relishing every word, read between the lines, and just really revel in the details of the letter. I feel that way – a keen appreciation for all the comments you left. Thank you.


This weekend I saw the damage that we have inflicted on Edie being the baby of the family. We decided this year is the year that the Meanie’s ski. All of us. Gracie is in her third year of skiing, and Edie in her first. Grace is in group lessons, Edie, being a 4-year old Mariah Carey, has been enrolled in private lessons. Last week was the first week, and there weren’t enough instructors, so Jo and I had to instruct Mariah ourselves. Little Miss Thing held on to our poles as we dragged her to the magic carpet to go up the bunny hill (god forbid she attempt to get here herself yo). We then helped her down the hill whatever way we could, pizza pie from the front, from the back. We employed hula hoops, ski poles, hand holding….you get the picture. So this week, there was an instructor, Carl (he’s French, how do you say Carl in French? Try it, it’s really hard). Carl is pretty much too cool for school. I fretted to him that Ms. Mariah had never skied on her own before. He was non-plussed. And so the lesson began. Carl said “Let’s go” to Edie and didn’t even offer a pole for her to hand on to! He made Mariah glide all the way to the Magic Carpet….and she did it! When Jo and I were on the chair lift, we looked down at the bunny hill to see what trick he was employing to help Edie ski down the hill. From the looks of things he said “and now you ski”. There she was, pizza pie-ing down the hill with no help at all! God only knows how many runs they did – once Jo and I saw that things were going well we scooted off and got a few runs in ourselves. At the end of the lesson, we picked up Edie. Carl said she did great and next week “we practice turns” and off he went. Jo and I looked at Edie, who morphed back into Mariah, held our her little hand and said “drag me”. And we did.

Who are you?

So this blog started off as way to stay in touch with family and friends from afar, who desperately needed information on my most exciting life as a public servant at large and servant to the under 10 set (and the over-40 set?) And they quickly bored of me and buggered off.

But there are a few out there who I know read me (Hi Alison! Hi Xup! Hi Hannah! Hi Nat! Hi Chantal (not strong in leaving comments, but you show me love on you reading list!)Hi Friendly Anonymous Curator (get yourself a blog), Hi Japanese Spammer (grrrr)!) and I love getting your comments, I really really do! But I'm curious who is else is out there reading, hanging on to every word I type?

It's Delurking Day, a day for those who don't normally comment to leave a comment and let bloggers know that you are reading - so please, let me know and tell me where you are from by leaving a comment! (Except for you robot spammer, you can go make robot love to someone else's blog).

Thanks!

(Ummmm, and if no one leaves a comment, Nat, Alison, Xup, FAC and Hannah, y'know, could you say hi so I can feel good about myself? Shanks.)


Son of a gun, this is good (at 2:05 he says fuck heh heh):

Make-em laugh…..

Awhile back over breakfast, I had too-quick conversation with the most knowledgeable Maven. I was complaining a little bit about Gracie’s explosive temper and uber-sensitive personality. Grace, though she has dead straight hair, reminds me of that poem by Henry Wadsworth Lonfellow (no I’m not that smart, I had to google it):

“There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good,
She was very good indeed,
But when she was bad she was horrid.”


Okay, I could never call my child horrid, but when she is unhappy about something, girlfriend can lose her shit like no other.

So, I was s’plaining this to the Maven and she mentioned the book “The Explosive Child”. She summarized the book for me, basically stating we need to lighten up a bit, see the humour, learn to laugh. I’m sure the 200 or so pages of this book goes into more detail, but I took Maven’s little pearl of wisdom and we’ve been applying it.

A case study: Last night Grace lost it because she couldn’t draw a PERFECT three dimensional image of a box containing markers (her homework simply required her to find something shaped like a rectangle in our house and render it on paper. It is Grace who places high expectations on herself and insists on taking it to the next level). So. She freaked out, pushed markers aside, stomped, cried and couldn’t be calmed down. Then she started to turn on her sister. We sent her to her room to calm down. She screamed all the way there, and screamed a bit while in there. We don’t time her out anymore, we just give ask her to go to her room and let her be the judge as to when she should come out.

Now, the old Meanie and Jo would call it a time out, banter back and forth with her, making the situation worse and worse, causing it to last much longer. Now, we simply knock on her door and ask her if she wants to talk. If she does, great, we work it out. If she doesn’t, we wisely walk away. The old us might take away a privilege in the heat of the moment, which really makes it worse. The new us talk it out after the fact, when things have calmed down, when she is in a more reasonable state. Without boring you too much, last night she came out of her room, a little sheepish looking. She mentioned that she screamed so loud her throat hurt. I told her I thought the dogs down the street probably heard it. We smiled, we laughed, we called it a doozy. She went back to her homework, finished it without issue. Later on, I explained that she would have some money docked from her allowance (she said some unacceptable stuff to Edie, who really was just minding her business when the bomb went off). She accepted this (of course she protested, there is no cure for 7 year old).

What is interesting is that since applying this new tactic, she is exploding less frequently, and is recovering more quickly from her outbursts.

Rambling post – I have to get it written before I forget……


As I was drifting off to sleep last night (normally I don’t drift, it’s more of a thud) and a most random memory lurched me awake. About 20 years ago (!) when I was in my OAC year in high school (do OAC’s still exist?) I was a peer counsellor to, well, my peers. I was selected to be a peer counsellor by my own over zealous guidance counsellor. At the time it was one of those experimental programs that schools are always doing, and I was chosen, along with 2 others, to be a counsellor. My mom must have leaked to my guidance counsellor that I had been an extreme fuck-up in my early teens. I suspect she did this for two reasons: 1) because she was proud that I had come so far and 2) so he would see potential danger signs of me fucking up again. This was my fourth, and final high school. The high school I would graduate from.

I had a small group of friends. I did not seek out the spotlight and was content to keep my head down, work hard, and graduate with good grades.

So. I was asked to be a peer counsellor. I imagine my counsellor thought that because I had messed up early on and came out on top, maybe I could talk to other “kids” and help them. I took my job pretty seriously. I was laughed at/mocked by some kids when I brought them NA or AA literature. I even brought a couple of kids to NA meetings and helped ship one off to rehab. Some acted too cool for school when we had our “counselling” sessions, but from what I can remember, they always showed up for our after-school appointments.

What lurched me out of near slumber last night was a memory of a certain girl who was appointed to me. I was asked to counsel a just-turned 14 year-old girl who was pregnant. Looking back now, she was so young and soooo vulnerable. When we first started meeting, she was very early on in her pregnancy. Her parents still didn’t know, nor did her boyfriend. We discussed all the options – abortion, adoption, and keeping the baby. Keep in mind that I was just 17 or 18 years old at the time, and I was counselling this girl on life-changing decisions. I don’t remember giving my opinion, one way or another. Abortion wasn’t something she wanted to do. I was with her when she told her boyfriend (oh my God he was so young!). I counselled her on how to tell her parents (what the hell did I know about this stuff!) I was there for her when she told her parents (she was sent packing, but soon after took her back home). I was there for her all throughout her pregnancy (we usually met in the smoking area as we were both smokers). Then one day she was gone. I asked my guidance counsellor about her and he wasn’t allowed to tell me anything. I was so pissed off. I knew more about this girl than anyone else. These adults had placed a HUGE responsibility on me that I took seriously; to counsel this girl throughout a highly stressful situation, and I was shut out.

So I lay awake last night, wondering about that girl (I don’t even remember her name). Did she adopt? Did she keep her baby? Her baby would be about 19-20 years old now. She would be about 34. Huh. I haven’t thought about her for years and years and years.

Gift Card dilemma
Hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and New Year! As usual, friends and family were generous beyond words, and there was so much love and warm fuzzies around me all Christmas season, I feel truly blessed. That being said, I was tempted to crush the myth of Santa Clause once or twice because “he” brought the girls the Wii, therefore they hold him in much higher esteem than they hold Jo and I. Oh well.

Family members were a little surprised that Grace is still a believer. It’s pretty standard for an almost 8 year to still believe, right?

On to today’s topic.

I wish my mind were as uncluttered as the girls. They received Gift Cards for Christmas. Each received an Old Navy g.c. and a Chapters g.c. In they marched to Chapters and Grace bought the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series (and read them ALL in a span of 5 days!) and Edie bought a paper-dog-complete-with-fairy-and-princess-costumes that she has been coveting (there was a day when I wondered to myself “Who buys this shit?” Now I know). At Old Navy, Grace bought some fleece stuff (a little affronted that Old Navy does not specialize in velvet) and Edie bought two sparkly tutu-like skirts (natch) in different colours. Done. Gift Cards spent. Onwards and upwards.

Me? I also received gift cards from Michaels (I’m crafty!) and Pier 1 (I oft get mocked at how much Pier 1 I have in my home). I also have a g.c. from LAST year for Holt Renfrew. I have issues with gift cards. I can’t seem to focus and decide what to buy with them. I literally get stressed out trying to decide what to purchase with them. I pick things up, put them down, break out into a sweat and return home empty handed. It’s like I’m scared that I will make the wrong decision. I’m scared new stock will come in and there will be something even better that I should have bought instead. I’m pretty much handing over my Pier 1 card to my brother to pick out some curtains for me. I have an idea as to what to get at Michaels, but the Holt Renfrew one is throwing me for a loop. It’s for $75, so I can either put it towards a nice something and pay a kajillion dollars to make up the difference, or I can buy some real nice beauty product.

There are a lot of beauty products to choose from. Any recommendations?

I hope all my 2010 problems are this tough.

Okay, don’t have anything in particular to write about, so I’ll throw out some random bits:

1) We have been doing the Christmas advent activity thing this year and lordy do the girls ever love it! I wrote out 24 activities for us to do each day leading up to Christmas, and by activity, I mean pretty simple, wholesome little tidbits such as making popcorn garland, writing our own Christmas book, making snowflakes for the window etc etc. In this day of DS games and a kajillion channels of children’s programming on television, I honestly thought this activity might lack the allure needed to keep Grace and Edie’s attention. Well, I couldn’t be more wrong. This is what the girls run to every morning, even before tucking into their chocolate advent calendar. They love seeing what little activity is in store for them on that given day. It warms the cockles of my Christmas-loving heart.

2) Parent-teacher interviews went well. Edie excels in “social arts” (read: she doesn’t shut up) and Grace is a sweet, considerate, positive addition to the class (!, ?, !)


3) I think it was on Facebook that I reached out and asked for book recommendations and someone suggested Anita Diamant. Soooo freaking good.

4) Thanks for the suggestions for songs to download for Grace. I downloaded a great collection, and would be lying if I said I didn’t cry a little when I listened to the gospel version of “This Little Light of Mine” I downloaded for her (that’s our special song). Am also wondering if “The Passenger” by Iggy Pop is entirely appropriate for a 7 year old.


5) The Christmas shopping is done, though online purchases have not yet arrived. Trying to stay zen-like about this but will blow a fucking gasket if they aren’t here by end of week!

6) Thursday is my last day of work for 2, two, deux, dos weeks. I am sooooo looking to this time.


7) Edie’s Christmas recital is tomorrow. Can’t wait to hear her belt out Jingle Crack, Jingle Crack, Jingle all the way (it will confirm all the other parents suspicions.

Errrr, yeah. That’s all I got.

I’ve almost finished my Christmas shopping for the kids. I have one thing left for Gracie, and that is an MP3 player. I’m tickled that at 7 she is digging music, and I really want to help guide her in the right direction here. I am not going to fight the inevitable that she is going to listen to High School Musical and Miley Cyrus, but I figure I can also download a few tunes of my picking that she will likely enjoy as well. I do want to keep it pretty innocent though, and that is where I would like to ask for your help. What classics do you think would appeal to a 7 year old? She loves the beat of Police on My Back by the Clash, and she also likes some Ramones songs, so I’ll put a few on there. I’m pretty well versed in punk rock, but not so much in other genres. So, what do you think? Any songs by, say, the Beatles you might suggest? Or the Monkeys? I want to keep it light and fun and GOOD so hopefully we can help instill a love of music in her. Throw me a few titles! Maybe I’ll expand my own tastes a bit.

Rant.

I don`t watch American Idol, don`t care about it at all actually, never have. That being said I am so fired up about this Adam Lambert issue that is going on. I can’t believe the hypocrisy of, well, lots of people, cancelling interviews with him, refusing to air the clip from the American Music Awards that caused the furor.

Madonna and Brittany kissed. Everyone was titillated. Countless numbers of singers have been overtly sexual and suggestive on stage, on t.v., in their lyrics, with some raised eyebrows but mostly big fat whatevs from the masses. Miley Cyrus, a goddess amongst the pre-teens has recently been humping the stage and pole-dancing her way across North America on her tour – have you heard very many complaints? She's 17.

So let's face it. Adam is catching hell because he’s gay and people can’t handle it and are crying for the children etc etc. You know what folks? I am also totally against my kids seeing gay sexual acts simulated on stage. I’m also against them seeing any hetero sexual acts on stage. You can shelter them from this kind of stuff. Turn off the t.v., or don't let them watch grown-up shows. But don’t hide behind the excuse that it’s too graphic for public consumption. Get over yourself, think about why you are really upset and try opening your mind up a little bit.


Peace.

p.s. Good Morning America cancelled Lambert's appearance on their show, and guess who they replaced him with? Chris Brown. Yes, that guy who beat the shit out of his girlfriend Rihanna. A much, much better role model for America. What a wonderful message that is sending out. Sweet Jesus this makes me mad.

Today The Maven wrote about cutting down her sugar intake and that of the members of her household. This coincides with a similar stance in our household. I should mention that this is a household where a morning vitamin used to be considered a treat, we now dole out sugary items on a daily basis. I’m not sure how Grace and Edie weakened our stance on candy/junk, but there was a day that we were really quite the puritans when it came to refined foods. So, because my timing has never been logical, I am, like The Maven, re-assessing what the family eats, right before the Christmas season (did I mention that I am hosting a cookie exchange party next weekend and have to bake 10 dozen cookies, for which, in return, I will receive 10 dozen sugary/fattening baked goods? Like I said, my timing is stellar).

So, here is my question to you: how do you feel about Splenda/other sugar substitutes? We (Jo and I) cut out refined sugars (based on the GI diet-thinking) a few years ago. We both trimmed down considerably (he had more to lose than me and he lost a ton). I never felt comfortable giving the kids Splenda/sugar substitute, so they were excused from my GI baking. It’s the whole rats getting cancer thing. Jo did tons of research, and sugar substitute companies slam sugar companies, and sugar companies slam the substitutes. Who do you believe? A diabetic friend has relied on substitutes for much of her life and she is no worse for wear. What is your opinion? How do you feel about sugar substitutes, particularly when it comes to giving it to your kids? I’m super-curious to hear your thoughts on this.

Eeesh, while many bloggers I follow have been dedicated to blogging every day for the month of November, I find myself with little to say. Here are some random bits:

-I was home with Edie for the past few days, she had the Flu. My heart broke into a million pieces every time she hugged me at random and said how much she loved being at home with me.

-My heart also broke into a million pieces when Grace was sad because she felt she was being ignored due to Edie being sick.

-Lately Grace has the ability to make me so very mad and so very happy, all in a five minute time-frame. Is this normal? I would prefer happy all the time.

-Threw Jo a 40th birthday party last Friday – rented out a legion hall, about 80 people showed up, there was a live band, a blow up doll, and lots and lots to eat and drink. A success! 3hrs sleep and a little hangover, not so successful the next day.

-My best friend flew into town AGAIN for the party and stayed the weekend (her husband works for an airline, she takes planes like I take the bus).

-I’m reading a book right now that I don’t like. Since I switched jobs I don’t have the same access to books like I used to. I may have to revisit the Library, I wonder if I have become any more responsible over the years?

-I watched a movie over the weekend called Observe and Report, it has a scene in it that is way too close to being a drugging/rape scenario, and it is supposed to be funny. Watched it with my girlfriend who was drugged/raped and Jonas. A very awkward moment.

-I’m kind of broke. Not a we are not going to be able to eat this week broke, but a we have to pay for the windows/trip to Chicago/car/daycare/40th birthday party. Yikes, maybe we WON’T be able to eat this week!

-To make me less depressed, and to thank you for visiting my blog, here is a picture of me riding a mechanical bull in Chicago.

One night I lied to my parents about where I was going and how I was getting there. I lied and said the parents of a friend were driving me and said friend to a local mall when we were actually heading downtown. And we were planning on hitchhiking there. As we were walking out of town with our little 14 year-old cork-thumbs stuck up looking for a ride, a car pulled over. It was a familiar looking car, I knew it well because it was my dad’s car. While not too happy about finding his daughter hitchhiking, my dad obliged to taking us to our destination. I wasn’t a nice kid then, and he was just trying so hard to keep things calm and smooth. I lied about our destination, as I wasn’t really allowed to go downtown, and had him drop us off at the closest local mall where there were buses – we told him we were going to be hanging out there for a while and then my friend’s parents would be picking us up. When we were sure that my Dad was gone and wouldn’t see us, we hopped on a bus and went downtown.
We got into all kinds of trouble that night, and I ended up lost and disoriented. I ended up sleeping in a house that was being in the middle of being constructed with a bunch of other kids. I was an upper-middle class kid from the burbs, these kids were authentic street kids with nowhere to go. I never called my parents to let them know that I had no intention of coming that night.
The next morning, I awoke, freezing cold, and tired of this adventure. I decided to hitchhike home. I had long lost my partner in crime and decided to go it alone. A very sketchy guy picked me up. My spidey senses were tingling – this was wrong, all wrong. But I wanted to go home. I got in the car, told him where to take me. He said no problem. It was a straight road, with only one left-hand turn that would take me home. When we approached the turn, I gave him a heads up that the turn was coming. He smiled. He blew past the turn and kept on driving. I think he might have also put his hand on my knee, or I could be making that part up, I don’t remember. I get butterflies in my stomach if I have to cross a busy street, imagine what my stomach was doing at this particular moment. I knew what he was going to do, try and do. I knew in my gut what was going on and I was scared shitless. My body reacted and I puked. I threw-up all over his passenger seat. He pulled over, cursed a blue streak and kicked me out of the car. I walked the rest of the way home, crying, dry-heaving – upset about so many things.
When I got home, I wasn’t greeted with anger. I was greeted with that kind of silence that exists when something has gone very, very wrong and there are no words.
The radio was on, and they were reporting that they had found the body parts of one of Paul Bernardo/Karla Holmoka’s victims encased in cement.
For all my parents knew when I didn’t come home that night, something unspeakable had happened to me.
I still feel so guilty for putting them through that.

Put it on the Christmas list…..

As soon as the kids realized that there was television beyond Treehouse and TVO Kids, they were exposed to the world of commercials. And this time of year, as the Christmas machine kicks into high gear, the commercials become even more shiny, sparkly and appealing. Edie shouts at each commercial break “I want that!” She also dictated to my sister last week at Costco a list that would put the most efficient shopper to shame – she pretty much wanted everything she saw that was pink (I’m sure even the massive shrimp rings were pretty to her).

Grace has been quiet compared to her sister. She wants some more DS games and some Lego. That’s pretty much it. Oh, there’s one other thing – she thinks she might also like a foster child. She has seen pictures of children on the fridge’s of friends and family and is intrigued. She has seen one or two world vision ads on television. She is starting to understand that the things we take for granted (pencils, books) are a rarity for some children. And so, she would like a foster child for Christmas. Now, my issue with this is who to do it through? Who is reputable? How do you know the money is going where it is supposed to go? Jaded old me needs to know that what we give is going to who needs it. Do you have a foster child? Who do you go through?

I’m not sure Edie is ready for a foster child yet. She would likely be aghast that some children in the world don’t have pink tutus and tiaras and insist on sending the aforementioned in the mail.