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.

Meanie’s Hallowe’en costumes, a random look back in time:

1) An arab (yes, my parents thought it would be a good idea to dress a 4-year old me up as an arab man, not sure where the inspiration came from that one)

2) A dice – this was actually pretty awesome in theory. My dad took a big box, painted it white, cut out some holes for my head and arms and glue some black dots on it. Where it wasn’t so awesome was when I wore it to school and couldn’t sit down because the box was too awkward, and I couldn’t take it off because I only had tights and a turtleneck on underneath. It was a long day.


3) A robot – again, my dad with a big box, spray painted silver. But wait, a trip to the hardware store was also made and that plastic coil-ey tubing was purchased for my arms and legs (you know the stuff you use to vent out from your clothes dryer) and was also spray painted silver. The garage was raided for bits of knobs and buttons for dials to be glued on. It rocked. I wore it to school convinced that I would win best costume, but some popular-with-the-teachers skank won instead for her oh so original raggedy ann costume. Whatevs. I knew I looked good.

4) A card. This was recycled from my figure skating days where my costume was a queen of hearts card. Hmmm, not sure why my parents didn’t put effort into things that year?

5) A punk rocker. Symbollic foreshadowing.

6) A hooker (cause yeah, it’s appropriate when you are 10 to dress up as someone who sells her body, Mom? Dad?)

7) Laurel of Laurel and Hardy. No idea what inspired this, but my girlfriend and I dressed up as the duo and got a lot of candy from the older folk.

8) A cop. Just a quick word to the wise – when under the influence, it is never a good idea to pull your toy gun on a real police officer. Just saying.

Well, I’m missing a few years here, but these are the ones that stick out for me. What was your best ever costume?

Reverse Bullying

Those of you have met Grace pretty much know that you don’t f*%$ with her. She has a keen sense of right and wrong, is a loyal friend, and stubborn as hell. Some of these traits, particularly in a 7 year old, can be a little, ummm, annoying, but without wanting to squish her spirit, we generally just try and guide her in the right direction, and more often than not, cross our fingers and throw back a shot of something strong until she moves out on her own.

Well, she came home the other day with a shiny Loonie and story to tell. When I asked her about said Loonie, she told me that a bunch of fourth graders were “bullying” her and her (very little) friend; they were telling them to get off the play structure, go away, called them babies, etc. So, was our little Gracie intimidated? Nope. She she throw punches? Nope. Did she cry and run to the teacher? No way. She demanded from the bullies a loonie in order for her and her friend to vacate the area. And they obliged. She reverse-bullied. I wonder if those 4th graders understand what had just happened to them.

Not sure if this is right or wrong, but I kind of admire her methods of extortion at such a tender age.