They're creepy and they're crawly, they're tiny and they're small-y, they're sneaky and elusive-the
LICE-Y FAMILY.
dunununu snap snap...
Yep. You read it right. Lice. the timing couldn't have been better as we geared up for Halloween. What better than some real creepy crawlies to add to the spooky spirit!
Hurricane Girlchild presented with lice about two weeks ago. I immediately began muttering a four letter swear word that begins with F and ends with K. Repeatedly.
You see, I was a Lice Virgin.
I am so oblivious to the little critters that I had to get a second opinion from my girlfriend, then a neighbour, then the almighty interweb. I had never in my life seen the little beggars or been in contact with them, let alone know how to even begin to deal with them.
After I stopped scratching, (the power of suggestion is amazing. You're probably scratching right now...)
my OCD kicked in, and before the poor kid could blink I had her head wrapped in a kerchief, beds stripped, a frantic phone call to spouse to stop at the pharmacy and laundry running in the hottest setting I could get.
A quick text to my girlfriend that runs the daycare centre where Hurricane Girlchild's classmates attend to advise of the cooties elicited a phone call in return that was mostly laughter and comments like "it's about time, you've had a kid in school and daycare for 10 years-you've dodged a bullet this long" etc etc. I guess when you work with kids, it's so common that you don't get in a flap. She was nice enough to congratulate me on losing my virginity, which was a pat on the back. I felt like I joined some sort of club.
I emailed the school to advise of the problem. Jokingly referring to the situation like winning the lottery, and Monday morning the children all had a letter outlining the treatment and prevention. Good job school!
When Spouse arrived home that day, medicated shampoo in hand he must have thought I had fallen off my rocker. The house was in chaos and I was a woman possessed. Out of breath, sweating and scratching imaginary bugs like a meth addict, I'm sure I was quite a sight. But my efforts were worth it, all beds were laundered and re-made by bedtime, Hurricane Girlchild bathed and treated and I'm sure I didn't scratch much in my sleep.
I raised the bar on nit picking, and now fully understand the meaning behind that term. Thankfully catching the nits before they became a problem was my only sanity that week. I am certain my head would have exploded if we had a full blown infestation in the house. My girlfriend who is a hair stylist said I was lucky to catch it early as she carefully combed through my own mess of hair to make sure I hadn't picked up the little bastards.
I discussed the situation with one girlfriend and described the lengths I went to to eradicate the cootie bugs and she laughed at me. Saying "don't you think you went a little bit overboard?" I asked her if she'd let her kid sleep over-her response. "hell no". So no, I think I went just overboard enough.
So after two weeks, still no sign of the little parasites. One treatment and one hell of a lot of laundry and the little bloodsuckers were gone as fast as they arrived, at least until next time.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Friday, October 11, 2013
What makes a man sexy? A 40 something mum type perspective.
Today I exercised. The applause is unnecessary but appreciated. Thank you.
While I walked on my treadmill I treated myself to some TV, which is unusual because daytime TV generally sucks. But I happened upon Oprah, and she was interviewing LL Cool J.
'sigh'
go ahead make fun of me.
Ladies Love Cool James.
I love Cool James. I have for ages. I grew up with him. He helped introduce a little suburban Canadian girl from the prairies to Rap music and opened the eyes of my friends and I to another world- urban America.
Plus, he is easy on the eyes, and in my opinion is getting better with age.
During the interview I was impressed with his honesty about being a ladies man, and the trappings that come with being a young celebrity, and I was not the least bit turned off by the thought of his conquests. He owned it, he was afterall attractive, wealthy and talented. Who wouldn't take advantage of the rock star lifestyle?
As I watched I was struck by how even after all of this time I still found him attractive. His smile is killer, but it's more than that, charismatic of course-but I think the fact that he has grown up was most attractive.
As I continued to walk to nowhere, feet pounding the rubber band beneath me I realised to my dismay that I may have grown up too. I wiped the sweat from my delicatley wrinkled brow (see how I made my aging face sound attractive there?) and I started to think about how much has changed in what I find attractive about men.
At 16 LL Cool J had me with his aggressiveness, swagger and the promise of a little bit of danger. He represented so much outside my little high school and a world away from the same old boys I had been surrounded by since grade school. I can imagine him whispering in my ear and my knees buckle. Now he pulls me in with his dedication to his family, his career and community. A 40 something mum sexy trifecta.
These are the same traits I see in my friend's spouses and neighbourhood dads. At the risk of sounding like a predator-these things are attractive. I smile when I see my girlfriend's spouse laughing and playing with his children. It makes me happy for her, appreciative that she has a partner so willing to be part of the children's world. Dads who coach sports, snuggle with thier little girls and wear crowns and have tea partys. It doesn't make them less manly, if anything it makes them more human. Not just a set of abs peeking out above a pair of jeans. In my eyes more substance and appeal.
Don't get me wrong-I dig the rock hard abs and strong arms. I could wax on for days about his smile and skin. I am human afterall. Just google LL Cool J and you will be bombarded with pictures of him without a shirt (I'll be in my room) But his longevity is due to his growth as a man. My girlfriends overall have chosen wisely. Men who once were aggressive, had swagger and may have been a bit dangerous are now partners and good fathers to children.
My male friends sharing traits with a sex symbol even though they may not share the same physique. Keep it up boys, remember it's ok to still show us the swagger once in awhile, and a little bit of housework will get you places.
Take a minute, click on the link below and get in the car with LL...you won't be dissapointed.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdizL4on-Rc
While I walked on my treadmill I treated myself to some TV, which is unusual because daytime TV generally sucks. But I happened upon Oprah, and she was interviewing LL Cool J.
'sigh'
go ahead make fun of me.
Ladies Love Cool James.
I love Cool James. I have for ages. I grew up with him. He helped introduce a little suburban Canadian girl from the prairies to Rap music and opened the eyes of my friends and I to another world- urban America.
Plus, he is easy on the eyes, and in my opinion is getting better with age.
During the interview I was impressed with his honesty about being a ladies man, and the trappings that come with being a young celebrity, and I was not the least bit turned off by the thought of his conquests. He owned it, he was afterall attractive, wealthy and talented. Who wouldn't take advantage of the rock star lifestyle?
As I watched I was struck by how even after all of this time I still found him attractive. His smile is killer, but it's more than that, charismatic of course-but I think the fact that he has grown up was most attractive.
As I continued to walk to nowhere, feet pounding the rubber band beneath me I realised to my dismay that I may have grown up too. I wiped the sweat from my delicatley wrinkled brow (see how I made my aging face sound attractive there?) and I started to think about how much has changed in what I find attractive about men.
At 16 LL Cool J had me with his aggressiveness, swagger and the promise of a little bit of danger. He represented so much outside my little high school and a world away from the same old boys I had been surrounded by since grade school. I can imagine him whispering in my ear and my knees buckle. Now he pulls me in with his dedication to his family, his career and community. A 40 something mum sexy trifecta.
These are the same traits I see in my friend's spouses and neighbourhood dads. At the risk of sounding like a predator-these things are attractive. I smile when I see my girlfriend's spouse laughing and playing with his children. It makes me happy for her, appreciative that she has a partner so willing to be part of the children's world. Dads who coach sports, snuggle with thier little girls and wear crowns and have tea partys. It doesn't make them less manly, if anything it makes them more human. Not just a set of abs peeking out above a pair of jeans. In my eyes more substance and appeal.
 |
| LL Having tea-seriously hot! |
Don't get me wrong-I dig the rock hard abs and strong arms. I could wax on for days about his smile and skin. I am human afterall. Just google LL Cool J and you will be bombarded with pictures of him without a shirt (I'll be in my room) But his longevity is due to his growth as a man. My girlfriends overall have chosen wisely. Men who once were aggressive, had swagger and may have been a bit dangerous are now partners and good fathers to children.
My male friends sharing traits with a sex symbol even though they may not share the same physique. Keep it up boys, remember it's ok to still show us the swagger once in awhile, and a little bit of housework will get you places.
Take a minute, click on the link below and get in the car with LL...you won't be dissapointed.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdizL4on-Rc
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Dumb and Dumber
Maybe I was just in a bad mood. Maybe I am making too much out of it. But yesterday I swear you could smell the stupid in my house.
The Boy had a friend over for a little while and the entire time the two of them spent together I could feel IQ points dropping. I'm no expert on 10 year old boys, nor would I want to be. But I seriously believe these two clowns were trying to 'out dumb' one another. I tired quickly of the one upmanship-the constant need to top the other guy with yet another stupid quip that made no sense and was not the least bit funny. If these exchanges contained any dialogue that was a bit smart I'm certain feelings would be hurt and a friendship ended. But the back and forth is so mindless and truly dumb that even they aren't hurt by it. Most of it is just talking for the sake of talking. Noise for noise sake. I can be louder than you.
Maybe this is a symptom of the times, apparently it's cool to be stupid- example Justin Bieber.
If any 12 year old girls want to troll and make comments and threaten my life go ahead. In 5 years you'll see what a jack hole he is and laugh with your girlfriends about what asshats you were for being 'Beliebers'. Don't get me started on his dumb ass pants.
But back to the idiots in my basement...body language,speech, terminology all changed while they were together. I may have to put my amateur scientist lab coat on and observe other subjects of the same age and see if this is an epidemic. Is it all for show? Or are these brainiacs actually 'dumbing down'? Perhaps it's brain trauma from shaking their bangs back into place? That will be a future health issue- necks damaged because of hair tossing. Mild concussions from the rapid head shaking and jerking done to make hair fall into face with out it looking like it was purposely done so.
Did 10 year old boys of my generation act as dumb? Probably. But I was 10 too and didn't notice because I was too busy imagining being married to Indiana Jones.
These are smart, funny, talented kids. They are athletic and articulate, interesting to talk to and very good company. So why when they are together do they regress to behavior of a spoiled 3 year old? Did I miss something here? Is it not OK to be handsome, funny and smart when you're with your friends.
OH WAIT! then you would stand out and be noticed- I get it. Herd mentality. It's easier to put the other guy down and stay under the radar yourself. Duh mom, now who's the stupid one. I can't wait for them to be teenagers. My alcohol intake will triple. I had better get on a liver transplant list now.
I'm crossing my fingers and hoping this is all for show. I would be embarrassed if my kid intentionally slowed his speech and responded to every question in school with a 'whatever' or an 'I know you are'. I feel sorry for the 10 year old girls that have to endure this mindless idiocy and smile and laugh and pretend to be enthralled.
The Boy and his friend are attending a dance this weekend. Friend said the girls at the dances spend all their time in the bathroom. I didn't have the heart to tell them it's because they have to get away from all of the stupid.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
The sound of silence
Shhh...be very, very quiet. Hear that? no? well that is the sound of peace and quiet.
This is something I could get used to. I am enjoying a cup of coffee, and aside from the gentle click of my keyboard and hum of the laundry machine my house is blissfully silent.
All of this quiet got me to thinking. I am never alone. As I shuffle from room to room, gathering kids toys and dirty laundry from hampers it dawned on me. I rarely if ever have any time alone. Yes I have an hour or so before bed sometimes when spouse isn't home and kids are tucked into bed, but they are still present - in the house. I am truly not alone.
The realization here is that I am the only one I need to please at this. very. second. I am not being hounded for juice or a snack, I am not being questioned about where an item of clothing is, a favorite toy's location or what is for dinner. I am alone, and can do as I please.
A hot cup of coffee actually finished before it went cold. Chores performed with out interruption. Time to contemplate a grocery list. This all seems very small in the big scheme of things, but huge in my now stay at home mind.
I know when I signed up for this marriage and mom thing I would be giving up a lot. I'm ok with that. But now with the house silent I am coming to grips with the fact that maybe I needed some time alone. Something thinking back on my life I have never had.
Part of the journey that led me to quit work and stay at home was due to the fact that I was tired of giving. Emotionally I was spent. It was my own doing. I allowed the demands of work, home, family and community to overwhelm me. I treat others the way I expect to be treated. I don't like people to go without, I want people to experience success and I will sacrifice for them to have it. In order to do that I gained a constant line up of people vying for my attention and time. With fewer demands, I sleep better now. Teeth grinding is a thing of the past.
I sound selfish. The things I am doing right now while I am home alone are still not really just for me, they are also for my family, but I am enjoying the peace and solitude with which I am able to accomplish these tasks.
As school was getting closer to starting I panicked. I feared I was going to be lost and without a purpose.
But a week into the school routine and Hurricane Girlchild in Kindergarten only in the mornings still does not allow me the luxury of more time than I can fill-trust me. But it does offer me a bit of peace. I think these mornings spent alone tripping over the cat and doing mundane things like laundry could be my reward for giving so much for all of those years.
This time alone is nothing to fear.
This is something I could get used to. I am enjoying a cup of coffee, and aside from the gentle click of my keyboard and hum of the laundry machine my house is blissfully silent.
All of this quiet got me to thinking. I am never alone. As I shuffle from room to room, gathering kids toys and dirty laundry from hampers it dawned on me. I rarely if ever have any time alone. Yes I have an hour or so before bed sometimes when spouse isn't home and kids are tucked into bed, but they are still present - in the house. I am truly not alone.
The realization here is that I am the only one I need to please at this. very. second. I am not being hounded for juice or a snack, I am not being questioned about where an item of clothing is, a favorite toy's location or what is for dinner. I am alone, and can do as I please.
A hot cup of coffee actually finished before it went cold. Chores performed with out interruption. Time to contemplate a grocery list. This all seems very small in the big scheme of things, but huge in my now stay at home mind.
I know when I signed up for this marriage and mom thing I would be giving up a lot. I'm ok with that. But now with the house silent I am coming to grips with the fact that maybe I needed some time alone. Something thinking back on my life I have never had.
Part of the journey that led me to quit work and stay at home was due to the fact that I was tired of giving. Emotionally I was spent. It was my own doing. I allowed the demands of work, home, family and community to overwhelm me. I treat others the way I expect to be treated. I don't like people to go without, I want people to experience success and I will sacrifice for them to have it. In order to do that I gained a constant line up of people vying for my attention and time. With fewer demands, I sleep better now. Teeth grinding is a thing of the past.
I sound selfish. The things I am doing right now while I am home alone are still not really just for me, they are also for my family, but I am enjoying the peace and solitude with which I am able to accomplish these tasks.
As school was getting closer to starting I panicked. I feared I was going to be lost and without a purpose.
But a week into the school routine and Hurricane Girlchild in Kindergarten only in the mornings still does not allow me the luxury of more time than I can fill-trust me. But it does offer me a bit of peace. I think these mornings spent alone tripping over the cat and doing mundane things like laundry could be my reward for giving so much for all of those years.
This time alone is nothing to fear.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
You can keep my things, They’ve come to take me home
You can keep my things / They’ve come to take me home...a famous line from one of my favourite Peter Gabriel songs.
I'm dealing with many 'things' this week in preparation for a yard sale I have decided to hold with my neighbour. Hosting a yard sale- eesh. Despite my better judgement and general loathing of garage sales and the like, I am busy gathering items to offer for sale to perfect strangers that I will invite into my yard, and allow to filter through my excess crap.
The Peter Gabriel reference is due to the fact that I slogged through our collection of CD's this morning in preparation for sale. I carefully examined each case and removed the empty ones, void of their contents due to thieves who helped themselves to the glove box of our car on numerous occasions. Seeing the empty cases made me sad. Lost is- in my opinion a great selection of music. Very eclectic and the soundtrack of many road trips for Spouse and I as we cruised through our 20's and early 30's -pre-kids.
We long ago abandoned owning a stereo system and recently sold enormous Cerwin Vega speakers that my husband was having an affair with for years while we waited for the kids to get older and less destructive before investing in another system to power them. I'm sure our neighbours will appreciate this sacrifice made by Spouse. Those speakers have great sound, but create enemies. We like our neighbours, but I'm certain they don't share our taste in music.
Even harder to part with was the CD's themselves. I carefully reviewed, examined and weighed the importance of each disk. I was suddenly channeling Rob the main character in High Fidelity by Nick Hornby (which BTW is a great read that I highly suggest) Each disk marks a moment in time, a location where we lived and documents a decade or so of life for Spouse and I.
How do you choose your favourites? It's like deciding which kid you like more. Spouse and I are both kind of music nerds, not as hard core as some and for the last 10 years out of the loop when it comes to current trends-but we know what we like and enjoy it. So I saved what I thought was iconic. Iggy Pop, Bruce Springsteen and Buffalo Tom. I salvaged all of the "Best of" Albums and the rare Live selections. Classics like The Jam, Billy Bragg and Wilco, all of the R.E.M. and Pearl Jam. I tried to be ruthless, knowing in my heart that I can likely find all of this music online somewhere. But something made me hang onto about half of the disks we had in our library. As far as decluttering an epic fail, but a small victory as I reluctantly part with some of the less favoured 'middle children'.
I will place these discarded, carefully sorted disks on a table in a week or so and hope that someone will walk up offer me a dollar or two. Deep down I suspect (and maybe secretly hope) that I will end up bringing most of the box back into the house and carefully place each one back into the library of those saved from the yard sale.
Alphabetized along with the U2 collection, wedged in between Hole, Ween and my Police collection (which will have to be pried from my cold dead hands).
I've saved the empty cases for reference. I have promised myself I will download all of those old favourites onto my iPod. Thank you iTunes.
I'm wiser.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UDDNH7GwAWM
I'm dealing with many 'things' this week in preparation for a yard sale I have decided to hold with my neighbour. Hosting a yard sale- eesh. Despite my better judgement and general loathing of garage sales and the like, I am busy gathering items to offer for sale to perfect strangers that I will invite into my yard, and allow to filter through my excess crap.
The Peter Gabriel reference is due to the fact that I slogged through our collection of CD's this morning in preparation for sale. I carefully examined each case and removed the empty ones, void of their contents due to thieves who helped themselves to the glove box of our car on numerous occasions. Seeing the empty cases made me sad. Lost is- in my opinion a great selection of music. Very eclectic and the soundtrack of many road trips for Spouse and I as we cruised through our 20's and early 30's -pre-kids.
We long ago abandoned owning a stereo system and recently sold enormous Cerwin Vega speakers that my husband was having an affair with for years while we waited for the kids to get older and less destructive before investing in another system to power them. I'm sure our neighbours will appreciate this sacrifice made by Spouse. Those speakers have great sound, but create enemies. We like our neighbours, but I'm certain they don't share our taste in music.
Even harder to part with was the CD's themselves. I carefully reviewed, examined and weighed the importance of each disk. I was suddenly channeling Rob the main character in High Fidelity by Nick Hornby (which BTW is a great read that I highly suggest) Each disk marks a moment in time, a location where we lived and documents a decade or so of life for Spouse and I.
How do you choose your favourites? It's like deciding which kid you like more. Spouse and I are both kind of music nerds, not as hard core as some and for the last 10 years out of the loop when it comes to current trends-but we know what we like and enjoy it. So I saved what I thought was iconic. Iggy Pop, Bruce Springsteen and Buffalo Tom. I salvaged all of the "Best of" Albums and the rare Live selections. Classics like The Jam, Billy Bragg and Wilco, all of the R.E.M. and Pearl Jam. I tried to be ruthless, knowing in my heart that I can likely find all of this music online somewhere. But something made me hang onto about half of the disks we had in our library. As far as decluttering an epic fail, but a small victory as I reluctantly part with some of the less favoured 'middle children'.
I will place these discarded, carefully sorted disks on a table in a week or so and hope that someone will walk up offer me a dollar or two. Deep down I suspect (and maybe secretly hope) that I will end up bringing most of the box back into the house and carefully place each one back into the library of those saved from the yard sale.
Alphabetized along with the U2 collection, wedged in between Hole, Ween and my Police collection (which will have to be pried from my cold dead hands).
I've saved the empty cases for reference. I have promised myself I will download all of those old favourites onto my iPod. Thank you iTunes.
I'm wiser.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UDDNH7GwAWM
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Lazy R Us
Hi, yeah I know it's been a while.
Well I've been busy, underwear doesn't wash its self you know. No one likes dirty gotch.
OK OK laundry isn't that time consuming.
I've also been keeping an eye on the numerous City crews who stand around that giant sink hole across the street, that at 8 or so months old still has not been repaired. At least now there are barriers and a shit load of lumber surrounding it. It fills an entire half a street so it slows the traffic if anything.
Speaking of City crews, don't get me started on the parade of trucks and workers that stand and stare at the massive scar that remains on my boulevard after a water main break last October. It now finally has some pretty pink paint. The purpose of the paint remains a mystery, but rest assured my eyes will be to the street.
I'm tempted to bury parts of a dismembered baby doll in the soil, just a foot or hand sticking out for the next crew of looky-loos just to see their reaction. Who knows maybe they'll actually fix something in response to zombie death doll.
Still not buying how busy I've been?
How about this, besides hiding from Church people that come to the door (a task that's harder than it sounds) I've been caring for kids. Feeding them, entertaining them, keeping them from killing each other and setting up the occasional slip and slide?
Still no huh. The doll thing took a lot of thought...no?
Would you believe that I've just been lazy?
WINNER.
Yep. Been lazy. Caught up in the routine of day to day with both kids at home. Don't judge me. I have made an attempt or two to write, but the interruptions are relentless. The phone, the door, my kids, their friends, most days it's just easier to jot down an idea and save it for later then bugger off to the pool.
Don't feel sorry for me? Jeez. I'm dealing with a lot of stuff you know.
I am an Equipment Manager. Psychologist. Relationship Therapist. Wardrobe Stylist. Party Planner. Tutor. Personal Assistant, Chef and a Preschool Teacher.
I think I deserve to be a little lazy now and then. Still not buying it huh?
LAZY. Pure and simple. Savoring daylight hours spent in the sun with my brats. Enjoying watching their skin slowly turn brown and laughing at the electric blue Freezie smiles on their faces. I've learned that scraped knees are easily cured with a kiss and ice cream and it's OK to stay in PJ's all day and watch movies.
I'm relishing this time and know I'm spoiled for getting to spend it with them.
And you'd be SO proud of me. I rarely yell. REALLY. Well OK I've been known to scream a bit. Cut me a bit of slack, July and August spent with two kids can be, um, "challenging".
School is starting in a few weeks. 19 days to be exact. But who's counting.
Well I've been busy, underwear doesn't wash its self you know. No one likes dirty gotch.
OK OK laundry isn't that time consuming.
I've also been keeping an eye on the numerous City crews who stand around that giant sink hole across the street, that at 8 or so months old still has not been repaired. At least now there are barriers and a shit load of lumber surrounding it. It fills an entire half a street so it slows the traffic if anything.
Speaking of City crews, don't get me started on the parade of trucks and workers that stand and stare at the massive scar that remains on my boulevard after a water main break last October. It now finally has some pretty pink paint. The purpose of the paint remains a mystery, but rest assured my eyes will be to the street.
I'm tempted to bury parts of a dismembered baby doll in the soil, just a foot or hand sticking out for the next crew of looky-loos just to see their reaction. Who knows maybe they'll actually fix something in response to zombie death doll.
Still not buying how busy I've been?
How about this, besides hiding from Church people that come to the door (a task that's harder than it sounds) I've been caring for kids. Feeding them, entertaining them, keeping them from killing each other and setting up the occasional slip and slide?
Still no huh. The doll thing took a lot of thought...no?
Would you believe that I've just been lazy?
WINNER.
Yep. Been lazy. Caught up in the routine of day to day with both kids at home. Don't judge me. I have made an attempt or two to write, but the interruptions are relentless. The phone, the door, my kids, their friends, most days it's just easier to jot down an idea and save it for later then bugger off to the pool.
Don't feel sorry for me? Jeez. I'm dealing with a lot of stuff you know.
I am an Equipment Manager. Psychologist. Relationship Therapist. Wardrobe Stylist. Party Planner. Tutor. Personal Assistant, Chef and a Preschool Teacher.
I think I deserve to be a little lazy now and then. Still not buying it huh?
LAZY. Pure and simple. Savoring daylight hours spent in the sun with my brats. Enjoying watching their skin slowly turn brown and laughing at the electric blue Freezie smiles on their faces. I've learned that scraped knees are easily cured with a kiss and ice cream and it's OK to stay in PJ's all day and watch movies.
I'm relishing this time and know I'm spoiled for getting to spend it with them.
And you'd be SO proud of me. I rarely yell. REALLY. Well OK I've been known to scream a bit. Cut me a bit of slack, July and August spent with two kids can be, um, "challenging".
School is starting in a few weeks. 19 days to be exact. But who's counting.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Not that there's anything wrong with that...
Fans of Seinfeld will understand the title of this blog. The subject matter will make some angry and some cheer, but it is something that affects my kids and bothers me so I felt I had to write about it.
The word GAY. G.A.Y. gay gay gay gay gay! GAY! does it bother you?
Does it bother you when you're called Gay even when you're not gay? Does it bother you when you hear someone call something gay as if it is a negative thing?
Drives me up the wall.
Gay has lost it's old definition see 2 &3 and as Oxford reads, please note 4.
adjective
I've heard the word Gay thrown around as a negative a lot lately. Not by Spouse and I but by the under 12 crowd. I've heard the term used in a negative way (see 4 above) so much lately that I lost my temper the other day and snapped. Losing myself in a tirade that Rosie O'Donnell would be proud of.
I got tired of the word being used as a negative thing. I reminded the under 12 crowd that people who are Gay are all around us. They are our teachers, coaches and friends. Members of our family are gay- and you may not even know it. That rock star and actor you think is so cool? GAY. G.A.Y. Gay or not all people deserve our respect, so I strongly suggested that the word not be used to describe something negative-or used as a personal insult.
I've heard the word used less and less in my presence after my little rant, I know that it isn't used in my home in a negative way and I hope it isn't in your home either. If Gay is a negative thing in your world, do us all a favour and keep that to yourselves. Keep little Jimmy or Bobby in check and remind them that regardless of what you may think is wrong or right, using that word as an insult is lazy. Our language has so many better words to use to make someone cry. (insults- an ongoing battle, on the mom list of things to address)
I'm pretty confident that most of the under 12 crowd is still unsure of the true meaning behind "being Gay", as parents we try to inform them as best we can-I hope we are doing our Gay friends and coworkers, family and community members a service. And although I can't often control what's happening on the playground I can control what is happening in my own backyard.
My next war to wage. Retarded. Wait for my rant on the misuse of that particular word. You may want to seek shelter.
Even the Queen herself offered her approval to same sex couples today.
So really, there isn't anything wrong with it. Her Majesty says so.
The word GAY. G.A.Y. gay gay gay gay gay! GAY! does it bother you?
Does it bother you when you're called Gay even when you're not gay? Does it bother you when you hear someone call something gay as if it is a negative thing?
Drives me up the wall.
Gay has lost it's old definition see 2 &3 and as Oxford reads, please note 4.
adjective ( gayer, gayest)
noun
I've heard the word Gay thrown around as a negative a lot lately. Not by Spouse and I but by the under 12 crowd. I've heard the term used in a negative way (see 4 above) so much lately that I lost my temper the other day and snapped. Losing myself in a tirade that Rosie O'Donnell would be proud of.
I got tired of the word being used as a negative thing. I reminded the under 12 crowd that people who are Gay are all around us. They are our teachers, coaches and friends. Members of our family are gay- and you may not even know it. That rock star and actor you think is so cool? GAY. G.A.Y. Gay or not all people deserve our respect, so I strongly suggested that the word not be used to describe something negative-or used as a personal insult.
I've heard the word used less and less in my presence after my little rant, I know that it isn't used in my home in a negative way and I hope it isn't in your home either. If Gay is a negative thing in your world, do us all a favour and keep that to yourselves. Keep little Jimmy or Bobby in check and remind them that regardless of what you may think is wrong or right, using that word as an insult is lazy. Our language has so many better words to use to make someone cry. (insults- an ongoing battle, on the mom list of things to address)
I'm pretty confident that most of the under 12 crowd is still unsure of the true meaning behind "being Gay", as parents we try to inform them as best we can-I hope we are doing our Gay friends and coworkers, family and community members a service. And although I can't often control what's happening on the playground I can control what is happening in my own backyard.
My next war to wage. Retarded. Wait for my rant on the misuse of that particular word. You may want to seek shelter.
Even the Queen herself offered her approval to same sex couples today.
So really, there isn't anything wrong with it. Her Majesty says so.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Are we there yet?
"Mom how come it takes so long to get to somewhere on a trip and getting home goes so fast?"
This question along with 427 'are we there yet?s' and 689 'howwwwmuuuchloooonnnnggggerrrrr?s" started off our first week of summer holiday. Spouse and I made it all the way to our destination by car, only once considering leaving one or both children on the side of the TransCanada Highway. The thought of which gave us great joy and we laughed and laughed and laughed. Of course we'd never ACTUALLY do it. But be damned sure we thought about it.
Despite my packing snacks, books, markers and colouring books. A fully charged iPod and Nintendo DS WITH an assortment of games, a mom and dad who are both awesome at Eye Spy, crack license plate bingo players and are old hands at counting road kill, the kids were still annoying and restless.
This is what I have to look forward to all summer. Spouse and I just cranked the tunes, held hands and looked down the highway.
The Boy is hell bent on fitting everything he can into this first week off of school. I'm not going to lie- he's driving me nuts. Nagging me with activities he wants to do, things he wants to see and bugs me relentlessly about all of the above. I'm about to hit him over the head with the calendar and count the days of the month, assuring him we will have time to do all the fun stuff he 'HAS TO DO'!
In good time I keep telling him, we have ALL DAY. ALL WEEK. ALL MONTH.
I just want to get caught up with lake laundry and prepare for next week. No small task.
All 3 of us away at the beach. It's like planning a military offensive, and it all has to fit in the trunk of the car.
Maybe it's my own fault, we are always running to an activity or a social event. Perhaps The Boy is on the same treadmill I have been on and needs to slow down, or maybe it's as simple as the trip somewhere taking longer because of the excitement. Maybe he's so overwhelmed by having little to no schedule that's he's going hog wild and in the process driving me to drink. More.
Spouse and I were considering a road trip this summer. After this first short trip in the car with both kids, we have had a change of heart, after all it is supposed to be a rest and holiday for us too isn't it?
We'll see where the wind takes us, we have all month to play and take it slow. I just need to get The Boy on board and have him wind down a bit, if he doesn't die from boredom first.
I still get the giggles thinking about Hurricane Girlchild left standing roadside with a Koolaid Jammer and a Rice Krispie square. Don't judge, the image is stunning. Her tiny silhouette growing smaller as the car continues down the highway. She'd probably end up adopted by a family of bears, teach them show tunes and be entertaining campers and stealing picnic baskets by late July.
I don't think the Ranger's gonna like this Yogi....
This question along with 427 'are we there yet?s' and 689 'howwwwmuuuchloooonnnnggggerrrrr?s" started off our first week of summer holiday. Spouse and I made it all the way to our destination by car, only once considering leaving one or both children on the side of the TransCanada Highway. The thought of which gave us great joy and we laughed and laughed and laughed. Of course we'd never ACTUALLY do it. But be damned sure we thought about it.
Despite my packing snacks, books, markers and colouring books. A fully charged iPod and Nintendo DS WITH an assortment of games, a mom and dad who are both awesome at Eye Spy, crack license plate bingo players and are old hands at counting road kill, the kids were still annoying and restless.
This is what I have to look forward to all summer. Spouse and I just cranked the tunes, held hands and looked down the highway.
The Boy is hell bent on fitting everything he can into this first week off of school. I'm not going to lie- he's driving me nuts. Nagging me with activities he wants to do, things he wants to see and bugs me relentlessly about all of the above. I'm about to hit him over the head with the calendar and count the days of the month, assuring him we will have time to do all the fun stuff he 'HAS TO DO'!
In good time I keep telling him, we have ALL DAY. ALL WEEK. ALL MONTH.
All 3 of us away at the beach. It's like planning a military offensive, and it all has to fit in the trunk of the car.
Maybe it's my own fault, we are always running to an activity or a social event. Perhaps The Boy is on the same treadmill I have been on and needs to slow down, or maybe it's as simple as the trip somewhere taking longer because of the excitement. Maybe he's so overwhelmed by having little to no schedule that's he's going hog wild and in the process driving me to drink. More.
Spouse and I were considering a road trip this summer. After this first short trip in the car with both kids, we have had a change of heart, after all it is supposed to be a rest and holiday for us too isn't it?
We'll see where the wind takes us, we have all month to play and take it slow. I just need to get The Boy on board and have him wind down a bit, if he doesn't die from boredom first.
I still get the giggles thinking about Hurricane Girlchild left standing roadside with a Koolaid Jammer and a Rice Krispie square. Don't judge, the image is stunning. Her tiny silhouette growing smaller as the car continues down the highway. She'd probably end up adopted by a family of bears, teach them show tunes and be entertaining campers and stealing picnic baskets by late July.
I don't think the Ranger's gonna like this Yogi....
Monday, June 17, 2013
Summer of Love?
Girls have been the theme around our house lately. The Boy and his friends talk about girls, giggle about girls and tease each other relentlessly about girls.
These wee men are only 10, just going into grade 5. Does the opposite sex matter when you are 10?
I'm getting old. I can't remember.
My fear has always been that I will raise a boy who is an ass. I don't want my kid to be the guy that breaks hearts and leaves them crying. On the other hand I don't want him tied down to one too early, never seeing who else is out there. I'm a firm believer in experiencing life and enjoying youth. I'm rushing things, but all this girl talk has me thinking ahead to his teen years, which really aren't that far away. I recall Grade 6 being a year where hand holding started and we used to go for walks with boys and talk and laugh for hours. Nothing ever really happened, it was always friendly and extremely awkward, more often than not your time with that special someone was spent while in the safety of your group of friends. Playing games and chasing around.
Can't it stay like that forever?
I love early summer, the Lilacs are in bloom and their smell is overwhelming. I first kissed a boy under a lilac tree. That memory will stay with me forever. It's funny how certain smells can be attached to a time or person. This time of year always takes me back. I see young people I know from the neighbourhood out walking together and sitting in the park across the street. Playfully poking at each other, too afraid to go for a hand hold or sneak a kiss, but still getting to touch. Feeling that rush when an arm brushes against another or allowing legs to touch while they sit and share a Slurpee.
Some things never change.
Will my son be that memory for a girl somewhere in our neighbourhood someday? I hope so. It's hard to imagine him being Don Juan as he stumbles around the house, grunting replies and eating us out of house and home while wiping his dirty hands on his clothes.
While I was going through some paperwork the other day I discovered an old diary of mine. This book was a gift from an auntie who inscribed it with the most amazing words.
Of course I had to read my diary entries. My childish handwriting dating from 1982 and onward. Recorded are some of my first babysitting gigs described in detail, my excitement for a Christmas concert at school that we had been practicing for weeks. As I continued scanning and reading the dates neatly written on the top of each page the years passed and along with my handwriting my journal entries changed too. Boy's names started to creep into my writing. My age at this point-13-only three years older than my son.
Holy mother of pearl.
Along with wishes for a certain boy to notice me, I was surprised at notes I had kept inside that book. One in particular touched me as it was the first time I had been asked on a date, not done in person mind you but the invite carefully written out by hand on lined paper. That boy's telephone number clearly at the bottom for me to call and RSVP. I wonder if I called that number today if that boy's parents would answer the phone? Did I call him? I can't remember- I hope I did, or maybe I was so overwhelmed by being asked out by an older boy (GAWD) I lost my nerve. I hope I didn't hurt that boy by not reciprocating his affection. Did I have the balls to talk to him, or at least write him a note back? Does that boy-now a 43 year old man look back like I am now and is he curious about 'what if'?
It makes me wonder if my son's female classmates have little diaries that they are dutifully recording within details about birthday parties and weddings they've attended. Too soon their journal entries will likely be similar to mine.
Will my son's name be within those pages? Will kind words surround his name?
The Boy listens to brooding 80's music with me. He laughs when I sing along and try to get him to dance with me. Every song carries a memory for this old mum. Taking me back to school dances, days spent at the beach, house parties in family homes while moms and dads kindly sat upstairs not interrupting except to bring snacks. All of the music is new for him as it gets remixed into hip hop songs and covered by the latest Disney child star. Will these same recycled songs be his soundtrack for his teen years?- fittingly so. He has all of these experiences to look forward to.
"Is it bad that I have friends that are girls?" asks the boy
"No son. It's wonderful that you have friends that are girls. Always be their friend. They'll need you to be their friend."
So begins what could be the "Summer of Love" around here. The girls present themselves at the door and politely ask if The Boy is home. I hear their laughter and teasing each other from across the street in the park. Someday when one of those little girls smells a certain bath soap or maybe even Lilacs, The Boy - my boy will come to mind and hopefully she will smile.
These wee men are only 10, just going into grade 5. Does the opposite sex matter when you are 10?
I'm getting old. I can't remember.
My fear has always been that I will raise a boy who is an ass. I don't want my kid to be the guy that breaks hearts and leaves them crying. On the other hand I don't want him tied down to one too early, never seeing who else is out there. I'm a firm believer in experiencing life and enjoying youth. I'm rushing things, but all this girl talk has me thinking ahead to his teen years, which really aren't that far away. I recall Grade 6 being a year where hand holding started and we used to go for walks with boys and talk and laugh for hours. Nothing ever really happened, it was always friendly and extremely awkward, more often than not your time with that special someone was spent while in the safety of your group of friends. Playing games and chasing around.
Can't it stay like that forever?
I love early summer, the Lilacs are in bloom and their smell is overwhelming. I first kissed a boy under a lilac tree. That memory will stay with me forever. It's funny how certain smells can be attached to a time or person. This time of year always takes me back. I see young people I know from the neighbourhood out walking together and sitting in the park across the street. Playfully poking at each other, too afraid to go for a hand hold or sneak a kiss, but still getting to touch. Feeling that rush when an arm brushes against another or allowing legs to touch while they sit and share a Slurpee.
Some things never change.
Will my son be that memory for a girl somewhere in our neighbourhood someday? I hope so. It's hard to imagine him being Don Juan as he stumbles around the house, grunting replies and eating us out of house and home while wiping his dirty hands on his clothes.
While I was going through some paperwork the other day I discovered an old diary of mine. This book was a gift from an auntie who inscribed it with the most amazing words.
"Within these pages record all those moments of innocent days that soon will be no more."
Words lost on a girl of 10 but very poignant 32 years later. Of course I had to read my diary entries. My childish handwriting dating from 1982 and onward. Recorded are some of my first babysitting gigs described in detail, my excitement for a Christmas concert at school that we had been practicing for weeks. As I continued scanning and reading the dates neatly written on the top of each page the years passed and along with my handwriting my journal entries changed too. Boy's names started to creep into my writing. My age at this point-13-only three years older than my son.
Holy mother of pearl.
Along with wishes for a certain boy to notice me, I was surprised at notes I had kept inside that book. One in particular touched me as it was the first time I had been asked on a date, not done in person mind you but the invite carefully written out by hand on lined paper. That boy's telephone number clearly at the bottom for me to call and RSVP. I wonder if I called that number today if that boy's parents would answer the phone? Did I call him? I can't remember- I hope I did, or maybe I was so overwhelmed by being asked out by an older boy (GAWD) I lost my nerve. I hope I didn't hurt that boy by not reciprocating his affection. Did I have the balls to talk to him, or at least write him a note back? Does that boy-now a 43 year old man look back like I am now and is he curious about 'what if'?
It makes me wonder if my son's female classmates have little diaries that they are dutifully recording within details about birthday parties and weddings they've attended. Too soon their journal entries will likely be similar to mine.
Will my son's name be within those pages? Will kind words surround his name?
The Boy listens to brooding 80's music with me. He laughs when I sing along and try to get him to dance with me. Every song carries a memory for this old mum. Taking me back to school dances, days spent at the beach, house parties in family homes while moms and dads kindly sat upstairs not interrupting except to bring snacks. All of the music is new for him as it gets remixed into hip hop songs and covered by the latest Disney child star. Will these same recycled songs be his soundtrack for his teen years?- fittingly so. He has all of these experiences to look forward to.
"Is it bad that I have friends that are girls?" asks the boy
"No son. It's wonderful that you have friends that are girls. Always be their friend. They'll need you to be their friend."
So begins what could be the "Summer of Love" around here. The girls present themselves at the door and politely ask if The Boy is home. I hear their laughter and teasing each other from across the street in the park. Someday when one of those little girls smells a certain bath soap or maybe even Lilacs, The Boy - my boy will come to mind and hopefully she will smile.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
The ultimate in domesticity
Today I did some thing that I have not done in years. I kid you not. Years.
I ironed.
My iron was received as a wedding gift a century ago, and still has that 'new iron smell'. When I pulled the ironing board out Hurricane Girlchild said 'what's that?" and promptly tried to climb it.
My poor spouse has been carrying the burden of a wife that does not iron, and in my defense I have not had to in many years because I have been blessed with a Mother in Law that LOVES ironing. (she also was a professional drycleaner, talk about crisp seams!) Spoiled, yes. Ashamed, never.
The Spouse's need for a freshly pressed shirt for an event he's attending this evening was the catalyst for the ironing experiment. I am an emergency iron-er. Only by necessity, and poor Spouse has been known to have to go and purchase a new shirt on the same day as he needed to wear it because of my gross lack of ironing ability.
So while I had the ironing equipment (is that the right term?) out I figured I may as well iron the other couple of shirts hanging there waiting to be pressed. Who am I kidding, there was 13. I never said I was the best wife in the world.
Don't judge me.
I've never really enjoyed ironing. I figure it's because I've never been really good it. As I worked on shirt number 4 I was reminiscing about the days when I used to wear a uniform to work and only pressed the sleeves and collar as that was all you could see under my very smart vest and scarf-neither of which required pressing. Next time you check in at an airline, check out the hungover looking ticket agent's uniform and see for yourself.
It was during shirt number 8, a stylish Kenneth Cole that I chose for Spouse that I realised I needed to thank my grade 9 Home Economics teacher. If it wasn't for her and my lame attempt a sewing a shirt a success only because of her expertise, I wouldn't even know how to iron. I recall it like it was yesterday standing there in a hot, second floor classroom ironing a freshly sewn seam. Thinking to my 13 year old self "I'm SO going to have people that do this for me someday..." Little did I know.
So ten shirts down, and I have to admit I actually enjoyed my afternoon spent ironing. I didn't get much else done around here, but I did enjoy seeing the fruits of my labour crisply hanging beside me. It gave me a sense of accomplishment like nothing else around here does. My creases and collars cannot be undone by Hurricane Girlchild or The Boy. I found it to be quite therapeutic, quiet, peaceful work. Just me and my thoughts. No wonder my Mother in Law likes it so much.
The Boy just walked in from school and saw the iron and ironing board still out behind me.
His first words "is Nana here?"
I ironed.
My iron was received as a wedding gift a century ago, and still has that 'new iron smell'. When I pulled the ironing board out Hurricane Girlchild said 'what's that?" and promptly tried to climb it.
My poor spouse has been carrying the burden of a wife that does not iron, and in my defense I have not had to in many years because I have been blessed with a Mother in Law that LOVES ironing. (she also was a professional drycleaner, talk about crisp seams!) Spoiled, yes. Ashamed, never.
The Spouse's need for a freshly pressed shirt for an event he's attending this evening was the catalyst for the ironing experiment. I am an emergency iron-er. Only by necessity, and poor Spouse has been known to have to go and purchase a new shirt on the same day as he needed to wear it because of my gross lack of ironing ability.
So while I had the ironing equipment (is that the right term?) out I figured I may as well iron the other couple of shirts hanging there waiting to be pressed. Who am I kidding, there was 13. I never said I was the best wife in the world.
Don't judge me.
I've never really enjoyed ironing. I figure it's because I've never been really good it. As I worked on shirt number 4 I was reminiscing about the days when I used to wear a uniform to work and only pressed the sleeves and collar as that was all you could see under my very smart vest and scarf-neither of which required pressing. Next time you check in at an airline, check out the hungover looking ticket agent's uniform and see for yourself.
It was during shirt number 8, a stylish Kenneth Cole that I chose for Spouse that I realised I needed to thank my grade 9 Home Economics teacher. If it wasn't for her and my lame attempt a sewing a shirt a success only because of her expertise, I wouldn't even know how to iron. I recall it like it was yesterday standing there in a hot, second floor classroom ironing a freshly sewn seam. Thinking to my 13 year old self "I'm SO going to have people that do this for me someday..." Little did I know.
So ten shirts down, and I have to admit I actually enjoyed my afternoon spent ironing. I didn't get much else done around here, but I did enjoy seeing the fruits of my labour crisply hanging beside me. It gave me a sense of accomplishment like nothing else around here does. My creases and collars cannot be undone by Hurricane Girlchild or The Boy. I found it to be quite therapeutic, quiet, peaceful work. Just me and my thoughts. No wonder my Mother in Law likes it so much.
The Boy just walked in from school and saw the iron and ironing board still out behind me.
His first words "is Nana here?"
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Time Warp
I can hear Hurricane Girlchild upstairs playing. She is looking at a calendar and joyfully counting the days that she goes to school. Singing the days of the week song, SundayMonday, TuesdayWednesday,
Thursday, Friiiiiday, Saturday...
Her song is not just background noise but a reminder to me about the passage of time. I realised it's the beginning of June. I have been so consumed with soccer games, football practices and my days revolving around meals and the whims of a four year old that I kind of lost track of time.
A small miracle for me to lose track (as long as you don't count that couple of hours back in high school that I lost at my graduation party) but because I have always been very mindful of time, and schedules and the 'big picture' always a month ahead on the calendar, planning right down to the last half hour of every day. I looked at the calendar today and the end of the school year reared it's ugly head and throat punched me.
June is notoriously busy for us as a family, many birthdays and lots of sports, school field trips, trying to fit in a weekend at the lake here and there. This year it is no different and we will be exhausted by the end of it.
Our reward will be July- lazy, hot and un-scheduled.
When I flipped the calendar I went into panic mode and have spent the past two days planning, reverting to my old hyper organised self.
The Boy's birthday is coming, his birthday celebrations tend to go on for DAYS, chalk one up for being the only grandson. Party like a rock star! I have also been a good parent and arranged for tutoring over the summer which will float like a lead fart once I break the news to him. Hardcore 3 days a week, two hours a day for the entire month of August...insert evil laugh here. Throw in a hockey camp and August c'est fini!
Spouse in his tactful way asked me last night when we finally got to sit down face to face, how I was doing on my 'list of shit to do' . I created the list of twenty or so projects when I stopped working and I have to admit I'm not as productive as I had hoped to be. I easily became caught up in the routine of laundry, meals, housekeeping, coaching soccer and keeping everyone on track that some of the more ambitious projects are still undone. My intentions are good, but when Hurricane Girlchild asks if we can have a spa day, I put off painting the bathroom and paint her toenails instead.
Hurricane Girlchild just made herself a PB& J sandwich with no help and gleefully walked away from the table all proud of herself. Her last class of Pre K looms. Kindergarten classes begin in September.
A lazy summer is all we have left. I will do everything in my power to make it laziest, stickiest, sun tan-line-iest summer I can. With every crack of my knee joints and each time I see my reflection in a mirror I am reminded how quickly the time is passing.
If anyone finds the last five years of my life can I have it back please?
Damn it Janet- keep dancing
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rtkdo7bOmJc
Thursday, Friiiiiday, Saturday...
Her song is not just background noise but a reminder to me about the passage of time. I realised it's the beginning of June. I have been so consumed with soccer games, football practices and my days revolving around meals and the whims of a four year old that I kind of lost track of time.
A small miracle for me to lose track (as long as you don't count that couple of hours back in high school that I lost at my graduation party) but because I have always been very mindful of time, and schedules and the 'big picture' always a month ahead on the calendar, planning right down to the last half hour of every day. I looked at the calendar today and the end of the school year reared it's ugly head and throat punched me.
June is notoriously busy for us as a family, many birthdays and lots of sports, school field trips, trying to fit in a weekend at the lake here and there. This year it is no different and we will be exhausted by the end of it.
Our reward will be July- lazy, hot and un-scheduled.
When I flipped the calendar I went into panic mode and have spent the past two days planning, reverting to my old hyper organised self.
The Boy's birthday is coming, his birthday celebrations tend to go on for DAYS, chalk one up for being the only grandson. Party like a rock star! I have also been a good parent and arranged for tutoring over the summer which will float like a lead fart once I break the news to him. Hardcore 3 days a week, two hours a day for the entire month of August...insert evil laugh here. Throw in a hockey camp and August c'est fini!
Spouse in his tactful way asked me last night when we finally got to sit down face to face, how I was doing on my 'list of shit to do' . I created the list of twenty or so projects when I stopped working and I have to admit I'm not as productive as I had hoped to be. I easily became caught up in the routine of laundry, meals, housekeeping, coaching soccer and keeping everyone on track that some of the more ambitious projects are still undone. My intentions are good, but when Hurricane Girlchild asks if we can have a spa day, I put off painting the bathroom and paint her toenails instead.
Hurricane Girlchild just made herself a PB& J sandwich with no help and gleefully walked away from the table all proud of herself. Her last class of Pre K looms. Kindergarten classes begin in September.
A lazy summer is all we have left. I will do everything in my power to make it laziest, stickiest, sun tan-line-iest summer I can. With every crack of my knee joints and each time I see my reflection in a mirror I am reminded how quickly the time is passing.
If anyone finds the last five years of my life can I have it back please?
Damn it Janet- keep dancing
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rtkdo7bOmJc
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
You can't buy happiness but you can buy cupcakes. it's kind of the same thing.
Happiness is...
Hard to define and sometimes even harder to achieve. It differs for everyone, and changes day to day.
Is happiness making confetti cupcakes at 9:30 in the morning on a Wednesday. Hurricane Girlchild seems to think so.
Maybe we all need to take a page out of the 5 year old's handbook for life. If it makes you happy do it. Everyone else be damned.
Can you imagine the chaos? self indulgent. hedonistic. blissful. chaos.
But it's not that easy. We are adults, and have responsibilities. That's what runaway weekends to Vegas are for.
What brings me to write about this is a 'conversation' I had with a dear old friend yesterday. By conversation I mean an instant messaging exchange, which isn't really a conversation at all, but if you know someone well enough you can get a lot out of the words they type- it challenges a person to be descriptive and explanatory. I read the words in their voice, I can imagine their facial expressions and feel their tone. It was a bit of a fluke that we both found ourselves online at the same time-and I was pleased to see his name come up as we haven't spoken in ages.
But in the first sentence he wrote I could feel his sadness, like a hand reaching for yours in the dark.
"Shan you there?"
Not the common- hey how are you? or HI! what's going on?
I'm here. I'm always here.
During our exchange, I discover that Dear old friend has found himself at the end of his rope. Now hating the big city he has called home for many years and is looking for a change. I can still taste the bitterness of his words describing the hatred for his current home. He plays with the idea of moving to another province in search of some peace and happiness. His language made me sad for him, wishing I could reach out and offer a hug. I could almost hear the despair in his voice as he typed and typed and typed. Opening up to me, with frustration regarding his circumstance.
Why don't you just come home? I ask. You can always come home.
Not able to pursue his dream here. No appropriate work in his field... says Dear old friend 'The Musician'.
So the question that I ask myself is this-where do you even begin to look for happiness? Especially when you are pursuing a dream. At what point do you let go of your dream and take work to pay the bills and do your music part time? Or do you dedicate everything to your craft and passion and focus just on music?
I don't envy Dear old friend's need to make a decision to move. Picking up and relocating at this point in my life seems like an arduous task. Re establishing yourself in a new city, especially as an artist seems frightening to me.
It also begs the question- will the situation be any better elsewhere?
Is true happiness something that will be found in a new city? Or, is it simply the pursuit of happiness that keeps one from looking around and realizing that maybe you already have all you need in order to be happy- at least for today?
These are questions that can't be answered for Dear old friend during an instant messaging chat or even as I write this blog. From the language used I can tell his mind is already made up. A move is in his future.
We want what is best for our loved ones, friends and family alike. Do we want them to give up on their dreams and pursue a life more ordinary if that will create peace and happiness for them? Is stability the key to happiness? or is chaos? Depends on the day - and maybe, just maybe that's the trick, waking each day and looking around for your 'happy' if that means eating cupcakes for breakfast on a Wednesday or Thursday or Friday.
Fortunately for him- have guitar case will travel. Nothing tying him down. Those of us here in the Heart of the Continent will be waiting- with open arms.
Hard to define and sometimes even harder to achieve. It differs for everyone, and changes day to day.
Is happiness making confetti cupcakes at 9:30 in the morning on a Wednesday. Hurricane Girlchild seems to think so.
Maybe we all need to take a page out of the 5 year old's handbook for life. If it makes you happy do it. Everyone else be damned.
Can you imagine the chaos? self indulgent. hedonistic. blissful. chaos.
But it's not that easy. We are adults, and have responsibilities. That's what runaway weekends to Vegas are for.
What brings me to write about this is a 'conversation' I had with a dear old friend yesterday. By conversation I mean an instant messaging exchange, which isn't really a conversation at all, but if you know someone well enough you can get a lot out of the words they type- it challenges a person to be descriptive and explanatory. I read the words in their voice, I can imagine their facial expressions and feel their tone. It was a bit of a fluke that we both found ourselves online at the same time-and I was pleased to see his name come up as we haven't spoken in ages.
But in the first sentence he wrote I could feel his sadness, like a hand reaching for yours in the dark.
"Shan you there?"
Not the common- hey how are you? or HI! what's going on?
I'm here. I'm always here.
During our exchange, I discover that Dear old friend has found himself at the end of his rope. Now hating the big city he has called home for many years and is looking for a change. I can still taste the bitterness of his words describing the hatred for his current home. He plays with the idea of moving to another province in search of some peace and happiness. His language made me sad for him, wishing I could reach out and offer a hug. I could almost hear the despair in his voice as he typed and typed and typed. Opening up to me, with frustration regarding his circumstance.
Why don't you just come home? I ask. You can always come home.
Not able to pursue his dream here. No appropriate work in his field... says Dear old friend 'The Musician'.
So the question that I ask myself is this-where do you even begin to look for happiness? Especially when you are pursuing a dream. At what point do you let go of your dream and take work to pay the bills and do your music part time? Or do you dedicate everything to your craft and passion and focus just on music?
I don't envy Dear old friend's need to make a decision to move. Picking up and relocating at this point in my life seems like an arduous task. Re establishing yourself in a new city, especially as an artist seems frightening to me.
It also begs the question- will the situation be any better elsewhere?
Is true happiness something that will be found in a new city? Or, is it simply the pursuit of happiness that keeps one from looking around and realizing that maybe you already have all you need in order to be happy- at least for today?
These are questions that can't be answered for Dear old friend during an instant messaging chat or even as I write this blog. From the language used I can tell his mind is already made up. A move is in his future.
We want what is best for our loved ones, friends and family alike. Do we want them to give up on their dreams and pursue a life more ordinary if that will create peace and happiness for them? Is stability the key to happiness? or is chaos? Depends on the day - and maybe, just maybe that's the trick, waking each day and looking around for your 'happy' if that means eating cupcakes for breakfast on a Wednesday or Thursday or Friday.
Fortunately for him- have guitar case will travel. Nothing tying him down. Those of us here in the Heart of the Continent will be waiting- with open arms.
Monday, May 13, 2013
I want to be a cowboy
Today Hurricane Girlchild asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.
I didn't have the heart to burden her with the fact that I haven't really grown up, and truth be told I still have the question unanswered in my own head.
I'm hopelessly immature, farts make me laugh. Out loud. I get endless amounts of joy from disgusting poop stories and I laugh when people fall and run into things. I am helpless when it comes to sexual innuendo and I love a good dirty joke. Grown up. Not a chance. I am a 13 year old boy.
So what do I want to be when I eventually grow up? I have to go back in time and reflect.
I studied at University thinking I would be a teacher. I love working with kids, and have done so as long as I can remember. But life called me away from school and I did some adventuring instead.
Then I enrolled to start Nursing. I abandoned that path in order to take a chance on being a small business owner with Spouse. That was an education that couldn't be paid for, and we learned a lot.
Then my career as a mom began. We waited longer than most of our friends to start our family, but I'm grateful that I did a lot of living before I started punching that clock. Some days it's a thankless job, but I see the benefits around me everyday, and know that I am doing a good job, even though my kids are sometimes a pain in the ass.
I have a long list of 'shit I'm good at' but no real passion to speak of. I am house proud and love to spend time with my family. I am learning to not put off writing and fear the feedback. I am seeing a blank page on the screen as a challenge, although I have to resist filling the empty lines with belly laugh inducing poop stories. Is writing my passion? perhaps it is beginning to be.
IF I could be anything in the world - and have a dream career. I would write. I would travel the world and write amazing travelogues and experience people and lands far away. Tasting exotic foods and walking endless markets full of spices and textiles. But kids don't fit in with this vision. I can't imagine walking with a hot, whiny 5 year old through Morocco's Djemaa el Fna or Merkato in Addis Ababa.
The Boy would starve, because of his reluctance to try new foods and his epic aversion to vegetables.
Still writing. But in a basement in the Heart of the Continent. Dreaming that someday my kids will be able to travel with me to these wonderful, hot and seductive far away lands.
Do I currently have a dream job. You bet. I'm a mom. It was also always my dream.
I think I may have to start writing about sticky South American jungles in my backyard, and the barren landscape of the African deserts in our sandbox. The dress up box is my ticket to visiting with exotic people from around the world. The internet is my recipe book for new and exciting dishes made with spices I cannot pronounce but can buy at the bulk barn rather than an endless open air market jammed with shoppers.
So what do I want to be when I grow up? A proud mom, with amazing kids that look back on their childhood and laugh. Or a cowboy. I've always wanted to be a cowboy.
I didn't have the heart to burden her with the fact that I haven't really grown up, and truth be told I still have the question unanswered in my own head.
I'm hopelessly immature, farts make me laugh. Out loud. I get endless amounts of joy from disgusting poop stories and I laugh when people fall and run into things. I am helpless when it comes to sexual innuendo and I love a good dirty joke. Grown up. Not a chance. I am a 13 year old boy.
So what do I want to be when I eventually grow up? I have to go back in time and reflect.
I studied at University thinking I would be a teacher. I love working with kids, and have done so as long as I can remember. But life called me away from school and I did some adventuring instead.
Then I enrolled to start Nursing. I abandoned that path in order to take a chance on being a small business owner with Spouse. That was an education that couldn't be paid for, and we learned a lot.
Then my career as a mom began. We waited longer than most of our friends to start our family, but I'm grateful that I did a lot of living before I started punching that clock. Some days it's a thankless job, but I see the benefits around me everyday, and know that I am doing a good job, even though my kids are sometimes a pain in the ass.
I have a long list of 'shit I'm good at' but no real passion to speak of. I am house proud and love to spend time with my family. I am learning to not put off writing and fear the feedback. I am seeing a blank page on the screen as a challenge, although I have to resist filling the empty lines with belly laugh inducing poop stories. Is writing my passion? perhaps it is beginning to be.
IF I could be anything in the world - and have a dream career. I would write. I would travel the world and write amazing travelogues and experience people and lands far away. Tasting exotic foods and walking endless markets full of spices and textiles. But kids don't fit in with this vision. I can't imagine walking with a hot, whiny 5 year old through Morocco's Djemaa el Fna or Merkato in Addis Ababa.
The Boy would starve, because of his reluctance to try new foods and his epic aversion to vegetables.
So where does that leave me?
Still writing. But in a basement in the Heart of the Continent. Dreaming that someday my kids will be able to travel with me to these wonderful, hot and seductive far away lands.
Do I currently have a dream job. You bet. I'm a mom. It was also always my dream.
I think I may have to start writing about sticky South American jungles in my backyard, and the barren landscape of the African deserts in our sandbox. The dress up box is my ticket to visiting with exotic people from around the world. The internet is my recipe book for new and exciting dishes made with spices I cannot pronounce but can buy at the bulk barn rather than an endless open air market jammed with shoppers.
So what do I want to be when I grow up? A proud mom, with amazing kids that look back on their childhood and laugh. Or a cowboy. I've always wanted to be a cowboy.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Mom is da Bomb
Our family recently welcomed two new and very beautiful babies into it's large and dysfunctional fold.
My young cousins are enjoying the first few days and weeks of parenthood. Those halcyon days when you hold this mewling human in your arms for hours and wonder how on earth you were allowed to go home with it, let alone be left in charge.
I'm waxing nostalgic, as the Xbox blares in my ear and my oldest child ignores my pleas for him to get ready to go back to school. Hurricane Girlchild bugs me relentlessly about another baby in the house and I adamantly refuse her offers of helping to take care of her new baby sister or brother. This kitchen is closed. I'm far too long in the tooth to be welcoming another wee one. We will enjoy the new baby bundles that visit and we can babysit so tired new parents can have a nap or have some very important couple time. That's a thing that mom's learn, better than any card or bouquet of flowers- the gift of time.
Speaking of gifts, Mother's Day is coming just in case you were blissfully unaware of the mountainous card and flower displays in every drug store on the planet. Mom's should be celebrated, which got me to thinking about all of the super cool chicks I know who are moms, want to be moms and all things mom related.
I am proud to call among my 'posse' of super coolio broads -single moms, step moms, adopted moms, wanna be moms, those who miss their moms, old moms, new moms, working moms, stay at home moms and four legged baby moms. It's a mommy wolf pack.
I am fiercely proud of the bitches I call friends. They put up with my shit and me calling them bitches because I love them and they are well, bitches. I am called bitch right back. Those chicks are tough and they'll cut you if you get in the way of their mommy-ing. Not a street gang kind of cut you- but more a Volvo driving soccer mom kind of cut- like running her cart into your car in a parking lot or something else just as covert. I told you they were bitches.
After drinks with my 'gal pals' as Spouse affectionately calls them, I always walk away amazed at their strength and patience. These woman can and will do anything. The laundry list of demands on these chicks is overwhelming. The challenges of ex wives and baby mommas, blending families or raising kids on their own- it blows my mind. The moms who are learning to give all they can to their special needs kids and don't forget the mom who is fighting cancer.
Add to this all of the day to day mom shit that has to be dealt with like running a household, working, volunteering and being a partner, daughter, sister or aunt. There's a lot of shit going on.
So as I hang up the phone after a conversation with my own Grandmother who is so excited about her two new GREAT Grand babies ( number 9 and 10- wow.) I can't help but think about how lucky I am to be surrounded by my own group of Mothers- Grandmas, Aunties, Mother in Law and Mom.
They are all bat shit crazy, parenting will do that to you.
Aside from being insane, these are the women who taught us to be strong and good to each other, because every mom needs the support.
moms put the 'HER' in Hero.
My young cousins are enjoying the first few days and weeks of parenthood. Those halcyon days when you hold this mewling human in your arms for hours and wonder how on earth you were allowed to go home with it, let alone be left in charge.
I'm waxing nostalgic, as the Xbox blares in my ear and my oldest child ignores my pleas for him to get ready to go back to school. Hurricane Girlchild bugs me relentlessly about another baby in the house and I adamantly refuse her offers of helping to take care of her new baby sister or brother. This kitchen is closed. I'm far too long in the tooth to be welcoming another wee one. We will enjoy the new baby bundles that visit and we can babysit so tired new parents can have a nap or have some very important couple time. That's a thing that mom's learn, better than any card or bouquet of flowers- the gift of time.
Speaking of gifts, Mother's Day is coming just in case you were blissfully unaware of the mountainous card and flower displays in every drug store on the planet. Mom's should be celebrated, which got me to thinking about all of the super cool chicks I know who are moms, want to be moms and all things mom related.
I am proud to call among my 'posse' of super coolio broads -single moms, step moms, adopted moms, wanna be moms, those who miss their moms, old moms, new moms, working moms, stay at home moms and four legged baby moms. It's a mommy wolf pack.
I am fiercely proud of the bitches I call friends. They put up with my shit and me calling them bitches because I love them and they are well, bitches. I am called bitch right back. Those chicks are tough and they'll cut you if you get in the way of their mommy-ing. Not a street gang kind of cut you- but more a Volvo driving soccer mom kind of cut- like running her cart into your car in a parking lot or something else just as covert. I told you they were bitches.
After drinks with my 'gal pals' as Spouse affectionately calls them, I always walk away amazed at their strength and patience. These woman can and will do anything. The laundry list of demands on these chicks is overwhelming. The challenges of ex wives and baby mommas, blending families or raising kids on their own- it blows my mind. The moms who are learning to give all they can to their special needs kids and don't forget the mom who is fighting cancer.
Add to this all of the day to day mom shit that has to be dealt with like running a household, working, volunteering and being a partner, daughter, sister or aunt. There's a lot of shit going on.
No wonder we drink.
They are all bat shit crazy, parenting will do that to you.
Aside from being insane, these are the women who taught us to be strong and good to each other, because every mom needs the support.
moms put the 'HER' in Hero.
Friday, April 26, 2013
haven't I done this before?
Like many families this past week we have been fielding questions regarding terror attacks and trying to make sense of the recent Boston Marathon sadness.
The Boy is very sensitive, and tries to understand why people would want to hurt or kill strangers that did no harm to them - at an event no less that celebrates human kind and it's total amazing-ness 26.2 miles for crying out loud! that's fricking incredible- people from all over the globe come together to do that!
Humans rule!
Spouse and I fumble around for reasons that will make sense to a 9 year old, so he can wrap his head around it, but there really is no grey area for a little boy, it's all black and white - and discussions about ideology, religion and radicals seem to just confuse him more.
Maybe we shouldn't allow him to watch the news, perhaps we are better off keeping him sequestered and ignorant of the world and it's problems. I think that may be a fool's errand.
For the record we do not allow viewing of CNN, I find their style of delivery exceedingly alarmist. The poor kid would be an emotional mess and a candidate for anxiety meds. Anderson Cooper is easy on the eyes, but the fear mongering is enough to even make me want to crawl under my bed, and I'm a cold hearted bitch.
So the other day while we watched highlights of the capture of the suspects, in between his rapid fire questions I tried to explain to him why these men would want to do such a thing, but along with the rest of the world, not knowing myself exactly why.
I looked The Boy in the eye and explained that terrorism takes many forms, and isn't always like September 11 when the terrorists attacked New York City and hijacked all of the airplanes.
His response "blink, blink, blink." blank stare.
I forgot, because I've 'done' this before, experienced it live in my living room, felt the fear and seen the resulting chaos. I've had this experience, he has never, ever seen anything like this before.
Holy shit- I forget he's only 9. Here I am trying to give him something to relate this tragedy to and he has no idea what the hell I'm talking about. HE WASN'T EVEN BORN THEN. Jeez Louise, good job opening that can of worms, give your head a shake Mum. If the poor kid was struggling to wrap his head around this act, good luck trying to explain a huge religion based organisation that wants the entire western way of life destroyed.
I won't allow them to destroy our little part of the world. I am attempting to teach The Boy tolerance and understanding by relating these acts to school yard affairs. It may not be the best way to give this sort of event weight, but it is a way that The Boy can relate how these men were feeling to his own feelings sometime. Bullies are bullies whether they be in the schoolyard a Government or a Terrorist. The only thing you can control is how you react, learn to work within the system to achieve change rather than attempting to destroy it..
I think he's got it. A 9 year old boy's take on the world, "those guys acting out like that was wrong. Those poor people shouldn't have had to die." Good enough for me, it's the world as he sees it.
He told me yesterday that he wants to be a Police Officer and help people.
My work here is done.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Making your own is as easy as 1...2...3...fuck me.
I made the mistake the other day of 'liking' a facebook page. Regret is a polite way of saying how I feel about this unfortunate choice.
I 'liked' this page thinking it couldn't be all bad, the chick who runs it used to be a fucking video jockey on a music network in the 80's for jebus' sake. ROCK N ROLL!
Her tips and tricks and parenting stories will be cool and edgy and wicked awesome. Because she was cool and edgy and wicked awesome.
KILL. ME.
posts like
'what's your favourite pasta_____________" fill in the blank. for real?
'what's your favourite colour?___________" if I saw 'purple!' in the comments section one more time I was going to hang myself.
It took a lot of restraint to not be a sarcastic bitch and respond to these stupid questions with answers like "The Tre Formaggii at Cin Cin on Robson" and "Anti establish Mint"
What is this grade 6 and we're passing 'get to know you ' notes? I'm expecting the next status update to be
"have you ever kissed a boy?
Seriously.
15 thousand moms getting this daily update twaddle -get your heads examined.
So after two days I am attempting to 'unlike' this facebook page-and cannot. "oops something has gone wrong. try again later" bite me facebook. I want this drivel off of my news feed. STAT.
Now I'm sure Video Jockey cool chick has some administrator running the page for her. Most likely a clueless intern, under 25, grasping for ideas to post to the 'mummy' crowd. Make your own soap- chambray and floral skirts-recipes for shit like Basil & Peach Bocconcini Salad - "a quick side dish" and articles about Tori Spelling and her post baby bikini bod. Is it putting too much pressure on women to get back into shape after childbirth? You know what? it is, and I'm sure her surgical team would agree. AND I DON'T CARE.
Obviously this page is too upscale for me. I would love and enjoy the Basil & Peach Bocconcini Salad. My spawn wouldn't. I'm certain Spouse would raise an eyebrow then ask me what Bocconcini is.
I use the net as a resource. I look for new dinner ideas that my picky kids and Spouse will actually eat. I look for ideas on organisation, research learning disabilities and dealing with tantrums and thumb sucking.
I don't care that every yummy mummy in the GTA "ABSOLUTELY LOVES PURPLE' don't forget the exclamation marks!!!!!!
I will continue my attempts to unlike this page. My heart is a little bit broken, I SO wanted to support a Canadian Woman and fellow mom. I am apparently not part of the 'in crowd', and refuse to join the yummy mummy over achiever's club. My Video Jockey has lost her edge. It's a shame- it's like a snapshot from the Stepford wives. My VJ crush has ended.
Let's get real 'yummy mummies' I'm sticking to the The KISS method.
Keep It Simple Stupid.
I'm going to keep providing healthy, simple meals, seek solid, common sense child rearing and relationship advise from my own team of 'experts' -my friends and family that have raised kids and not gone to school for a hundred years and lived a life. I'm going to continue to be my mom self, cool and edgy and wicked awesome.
Purple is SO last year dumbasses. ORANGE is in.
I 'liked' this page thinking it couldn't be all bad, the chick who runs it used to be a fucking video jockey on a music network in the 80's for jebus' sake. ROCK N ROLL!
Her tips and tricks and parenting stories will be cool and edgy and wicked awesome. Because she was cool and edgy and wicked awesome.
KILL. ME.
posts like
'what's your favourite pasta_____________" fill in the blank. for real?
'what's your favourite colour?___________" if I saw 'purple!' in the comments section one more time I was going to hang myself.
It took a lot of restraint to not be a sarcastic bitch and respond to these stupid questions with answers like "The Tre Formaggii at Cin Cin on Robson" and "Anti establish Mint"
What is this grade 6 and we're passing 'get to know you ' notes? I'm expecting the next status update to be
"have you ever kissed a boy?
Seriously.
15 thousand moms getting this daily update twaddle -get your heads examined.
So after two days I am attempting to 'unlike' this facebook page-and cannot. "oops something has gone wrong. try again later" bite me facebook. I want this drivel off of my news feed. STAT.
Now I'm sure Video Jockey cool chick has some administrator running the page for her. Most likely a clueless intern, under 25, grasping for ideas to post to the 'mummy' crowd. Make your own soap- chambray and floral skirts-recipes for shit like Basil & Peach Bocconcini Salad - "a quick side dish" and articles about Tori Spelling and her post baby bikini bod. Is it putting too much pressure on women to get back into shape after childbirth? You know what? it is, and I'm sure her surgical team would agree. AND I DON'T CARE.
Obviously this page is too upscale for me. I would love and enjoy the Basil & Peach Bocconcini Salad. My spawn wouldn't. I'm certain Spouse would raise an eyebrow then ask me what Bocconcini is.
I use the net as a resource. I look for new dinner ideas that my picky kids and Spouse will actually eat. I look for ideas on organisation, research learning disabilities and dealing with tantrums and thumb sucking.
I don't care that every yummy mummy in the GTA "ABSOLUTELY LOVES PURPLE' don't forget the exclamation marks!!!!!!
I will continue my attempts to unlike this page. My heart is a little bit broken, I SO wanted to support a Canadian Woman and fellow mom. I am apparently not part of the 'in crowd', and refuse to join the yummy mummy over achiever's club. My Video Jockey has lost her edge. It's a shame- it's like a snapshot from the Stepford wives. My VJ crush has ended.
Let's get real 'yummy mummies' I'm sticking to the The KISS method.
Keep It Simple Stupid.
I'm going to keep providing healthy, simple meals, seek solid, common sense child rearing and relationship advise from my own team of 'experts' -my friends and family that have raised kids and not gone to school for a hundred years and lived a life. I'm going to continue to be my mom self, cool and edgy and wicked awesome.
ROCK N ROLL!!!
Purple is SO last year dumbasses. ORANGE is in.
Friday, April 19, 2013
"Pam call my Mom!"
I've been itching to write, keeping me from it is an extra body in the house this week that's kind of been cramping my style.
Spouse has been home- with a 'MAN COLD'. If you've never had one it's a debilitating disease. Characterized by lots of audible moaning and groaning, rendering the sufferer weak and infirm. Strict bed rest is required in order to shake the 'man cold' aka couch and video game rest-this plague is known to sap the energy and goodwill of the victim's partner as well. It is a terrible illness and needs to be eradicated. I may organize 'Mancoldstock', or 'Mancold AID' in order to raise funds to help and fight this awful plight on man kind.
Now I don't mean to poke fun. I have been with this man for a century and know the routine by now. I just end up calling everything he catches a 'Man Cold' because it almost always ends up with him running to the Dr. and needing meds.
I've had the same sucky sinus infection that he currently has and I wouldn't want to be sitting at the office either. But, I did. I would drag myself into the office, or work from home. Yet I never would get much work done at home because as soon as The Boy found out I was going to be home he would suddenly catch a mystery ailment and require some nursing. Spouse would call 15 times a day to check in and quite often find his way home on days when I was 'resting' interrupting what little quiet time I may have enjoyed.
I'm just that popular.
On the other hand I am my own worst enemy. On days when I was home sick, I would often be able to make my way to the laundry room and get a load or two in. I would break out the bleach and give everything a good once over so no one else would catch the bug. Scrubbing toilets and door handles, in hopes that I would exterminate the disease in my house.
That's what makes a 'man cold' different I think. All work screeches to a halt, the sofa becomes a makeshift shelter and the XBox gets a workout. "Pam call my mom"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPhQ_pQXU1M
this ad is genius.
I get nervous when Spouse spends this much time at home. I can see the wheels in his head turning.
What this means - projects are coming.
His view from the prone position on the couch this week was up the basement stairs to our back entrance way. A disregarded part of the house, left alone while we tried to renovate the rest. Now that the meds have kicked in and he's able to act human and actually hold a conversation, we 'discuss' his plans. His sole focus is on the neglected entrance. Debate and review. Eye roll and sigh. Reel things in. Discuss, debate, review...you see a theme developing here?
This is what I dread. I play nice and allow him to think his ideas are 'new' and have never crossed my mind. Meanwhile, I have already mentally redesigned the entire house from floor to rafter complete with paint colours and flooring choices. I have a note book to prove it.
It's like a dance, but I'm leading, although he doesn't know it. After a century of marriage you get savvy. I am usually able to negotiate and get my way on these projects- achieving the results I had always planned. This project however was NOT on my priority list around here. So goodbye Urine yellow circa 1977, which covers Avocado green a'la 1965, who knows what lies beneath that...Next time he gets a cold, I'm going to strongly suggest he go into the office.
Spouse has been home- with a 'MAN COLD'. If you've never had one it's a debilitating disease. Characterized by lots of audible moaning and groaning, rendering the sufferer weak and infirm. Strict bed rest is required in order to shake the 'man cold' aka couch and video game rest-this plague is known to sap the energy and goodwill of the victim's partner as well. It is a terrible illness and needs to be eradicated. I may organize 'Mancoldstock', or 'Mancold AID' in order to raise funds to help and fight this awful plight on man kind.
Now I don't mean to poke fun. I have been with this man for a century and know the routine by now. I just end up calling everything he catches a 'Man Cold' because it almost always ends up with him running to the Dr. and needing meds.
I've had the same sucky sinus infection that he currently has and I wouldn't want to be sitting at the office either. But, I did. I would drag myself into the office, or work from home. Yet I never would get much work done at home because as soon as The Boy found out I was going to be home he would suddenly catch a mystery ailment and require some nursing. Spouse would call 15 times a day to check in and quite often find his way home on days when I was 'resting' interrupting what little quiet time I may have enjoyed.
I'm just that popular.
On the other hand I am my own worst enemy. On days when I was home sick, I would often be able to make my way to the laundry room and get a load or two in. I would break out the bleach and give everything a good once over so no one else would catch the bug. Scrubbing toilets and door handles, in hopes that I would exterminate the disease in my house.
That's what makes a 'man cold' different I think. All work screeches to a halt, the sofa becomes a makeshift shelter and the XBox gets a workout. "Pam call my mom"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPhQ_pQXU1M
this ad is genius.
I get nervous when Spouse spends this much time at home. I can see the wheels in his head turning.
What this means - projects are coming.
His view from the prone position on the couch this week was up the basement stairs to our back entrance way. A disregarded part of the house, left alone while we tried to renovate the rest. Now that the meds have kicked in and he's able to act human and actually hold a conversation, we 'discuss' his plans. His sole focus is on the neglected entrance. Debate and review. Eye roll and sigh. Reel things in. Discuss, debate, review...you see a theme developing here?
This is what I dread. I play nice and allow him to think his ideas are 'new' and have never crossed my mind. Meanwhile, I have already mentally redesigned the entire house from floor to rafter complete with paint colours and flooring choices. I have a note book to prove it.
It's like a dance, but I'm leading, although he doesn't know it. After a century of marriage you get savvy. I am usually able to negotiate and get my way on these projects- achieving the results I had always planned. This project however was NOT on my priority list around here. So goodbye Urine yellow circa 1977, which covers Avocado green a'la 1965, who knows what lies beneath that...Next time he gets a cold, I'm going to strongly suggest he go into the office.
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Wednesday, April 10, 2013
In...a...MINUTE!!!!!!
If procrastination was an Olympic sport The Boy would be the Michael Phelps of the event.
I have just sent him packing off to school after fucking WWXXXXXXII. We have more arguments than WWE has smackdowns and it makes me weary.
I'm pretty sure half the time he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and I think that's what frustrates me the most about it. He has three things to do in the morning. THREE.
Eat
Dress
Get to School on time.
I've even resorted to writing these 'tasks' down and posting them on the fridge as a reminder for him. But day in, day out, the first hour of my day is spent arguing about his 'ailment of the day', what's for breakfast, the amount of time it takes to eat that breakfast, the amount of time it takes to get dressed, what footwear will be allowed by me, choosing a touque (a knit hat) and a half a dozen or so other small arguments about non essential things - at the very point where my blood pressure has finally hit the roof and there is no time to spare, he requests a ride to school.
Are you fucking kidding me?
First off I haven't had a coffee yet. Don't mess with me until I've had at least one cup. Even Spouse knows that rule.
So because you danced around in your gotch, picked at your breakfast, changed your shirt 6 times, punched the Hurricane, admired yourself in the bathroom mirror and wandered aimlessly through the house for 10 minutes all the while I am in the back ground chirping, let's get moving, let's hustle, you're going to be late...after all of this you WANT A RIDE? A 2 minute ride? to the school? that's a block away?
Did you fall and bang your fucking head?
This morning routine is nothing new. It's been going on for ages. I had to stop and ask myself how on earth I did this every single damned day when I was working. Getting both The Boy and Hurricane dressed and fed, my self showered and dressed and then all of us including King Procrastination out the door.
The only thing that has changed is that he is walking to school now. The 'dump and run' of this working mom is no longer.
Many a morning I was ready, in the car - with it running, while King Procrastination lumbered down the walk. Every halting step of his making my blood boil as I watched the clock. I can only imagine my face as it appeared to him through the glass, like some demented mime screaming with no sound. I'm surprised he never broke down into laughter.
Now that I've had a cup of joe, and slowed my breathing, I'm rethinking my tactics. You see, we've recently been advised that The Boy has a Learning Disability, memory deficiencies and a small chance that he's ADD. (a story for another time) This new insight into his mind and the way he thinks gives us some new tools to work with and a new perspective for getting him to stay on task. I just have to remember to breathe.
This week's lesson will be a refresher on respect for others, accountability and being responsible.
THREE things, I'll make a list and post it on the fridge.
I have just sent him packing off to school after fucking WWXXXXXXII. We have more arguments than WWE has smackdowns and it makes me weary.
I'm pretty sure half the time he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and I think that's what frustrates me the most about it. He has three things to do in the morning. THREE.
Eat
Dress
Get to School on time.
I've even resorted to writing these 'tasks' down and posting them on the fridge as a reminder for him. But day in, day out, the first hour of my day is spent arguing about his 'ailment of the day', what's for breakfast, the amount of time it takes to eat that breakfast, the amount of time it takes to get dressed, what footwear will be allowed by me, choosing a touque (a knit hat) and a half a dozen or so other small arguments about non essential things - at the very point where my blood pressure has finally hit the roof and there is no time to spare, he requests a ride to school.
Are you fucking kidding me?
First off I haven't had a coffee yet. Don't mess with me until I've had at least one cup. Even Spouse knows that rule.
So because you danced around in your gotch, picked at your breakfast, changed your shirt 6 times, punched the Hurricane, admired yourself in the bathroom mirror and wandered aimlessly through the house for 10 minutes all the while I am in the back ground chirping, let's get moving, let's hustle, you're going to be late...after all of this you WANT A RIDE? A 2 minute ride? to the school? that's a block away?
Did you fall and bang your fucking head?
This morning routine is nothing new. It's been going on for ages. I had to stop and ask myself how on earth I did this every single damned day when I was working. Getting both The Boy and Hurricane dressed and fed, my self showered and dressed and then all of us including King Procrastination out the door.
The only thing that has changed is that he is walking to school now. The 'dump and run' of this working mom is no longer.
Many a morning I was ready, in the car - with it running, while King Procrastination lumbered down the walk. Every halting step of his making my blood boil as I watched the clock. I can only imagine my face as it appeared to him through the glass, like some demented mime screaming with no sound. I'm surprised he never broke down into laughter.
Now that I've had a cup of joe, and slowed my breathing, I'm rethinking my tactics. You see, we've recently been advised that The Boy has a Learning Disability, memory deficiencies and a small chance that he's ADD. (a story for another time) This new insight into his mind and the way he thinks gives us some new tools to work with and a new perspective for getting him to stay on task. I just have to remember to breathe.
This week's lesson will be a refresher on respect for others, accountability and being responsible.
THREE things, I'll make a list and post it on the fridge.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
OH MY QUAD!
Today I was engaged (polite way of saying goaded) to participate in a 30 Day squat challenge. What started out as me being a wise ass (no pun intended) cracking jokes on facebook has turned into the beginning of some long overdue daily exercise. Many of you have probably seen this floating around the internet, on facebook and in emails. When I searched for this image, hundreds of them came up, one for every month, some for squats, some for sit ups, some for other things that looked like they really hurt.
My loving Spouse is very kind and assures me I'm actually much more like this stunner. In my eyes she truly is beautiful. Milky skin, ample breasts and a large curvy bottom. (Very slap-able.) Ultra feminine.
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| I personally like the name SQUATAGEDDON |
This image happens to not have a picture of a 25 year old fitness model in the centre of it doing a squat. I didn't need (or want) to look at her perfect backside any longer. I'll refer to her image when I need to correct my form while doing my daily squats. (I may or may not pretend I'm biting her perfectly airbrushed bottom while I'm squatting)
I'm fat, I'm over 40 and I am having a love affair with my sweatpants. (pants that rarely see sweat except maybe when I vacuum) I know I need to look after myself better. With some self discipline this is a great way to start. Boot Camp isn't for me right now, besides I fucking hate burpees.
(If you don't know what those are you need to google it, and get on the hate wagon with me)
I feel like I look much like this. Put some heels on me and I'm a goddess, or just a pig on stilts.
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| There's a lot of time and money invested in this body. |
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| racy- I like it! |
This gorgeous lady is probably a North American size 10 but by today's Hollywood standard, enormous, tabloid fodder, and considered to be overweight- by who I'm not sure, some business people somewhere I suppose who are imposing a standard of beauty in order to sell under sized clothing they disguise as 'slim fit' which actually translates to we're in this to make more money, and it's not enough that this crap clothing is made overseas, so in order to make even more money we're cutting corners and cutting fabric.
'slim fit' - my big white ass.
This womanly figure my friends is my goal.
So as part of my promise to myself when I began this stay at home journey, I am going to start exercising. Starting with my friendly cross country squat challenge- I am attempting to finally shed this baby weight that I've been lugging around for 10 years. I promise not to Susan Powter you with all of my success.
"STOP THE INSANITY!" let's be realistic, I love potato chips, red meat and most of all booze.
I'm not going to be running any marathons, doing Iron Man races or downing crazy medicinal shakes.
I like to jiggle when I walk
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Hangin' in a sweatbox with my shorty
Thanks to a very kind local radio personality (LTI you rock! and your wife is adorable) my cred with the shortys went up about 100% yesterday. We were lucky enough to be given tickets to see a hip hop show, headlined by an artist The Boy really likes, and share his very first concert experience together.
Once again solidifying my title as WORLD'S OKAY-EST MOM.
Spouse and I are old concert goers from way back. So we knew what to expect and were prepared for questions that The Boy might have while out at the show.
I could tell that The Boy was a bit over whelmed. I was forced to stop and view the experience that I have had a hundred times through his eyes and have to admit, he was a good sport and showed as much patience as a 9 year old boy could muster with eyes wide open. This was something very new, and not an NHL Hockey game viewed from a luxury suite, or cushy symphony seats. (spoiled kid)
This seemed dirtier, for lack of a better word.
The list of experiences roll like this
- the waiting. rush seating, (or standing). Hanging out in a cold line up with a bunch of rowdy older teens and twenty somethings. Patience is a virtue and the concept of not having a seat number was a little hard for him to grasp. I was very reassuring. "there will be enough room for everyone- I promise"
-being searched at the door. Door staff were great and allowed The Boy to go through with me, a benefit of being 9. Eyes rolled while Mum joked with the female security staff about the amount of crap in my 'mom' purse and how it's a catch all for our kid's junk. "why do they have to search my hat? I'm just a kid?" Meanwhile I'm thinking, be grateful they didn't make you remove your shoes and socks, show your waistband, look inside your mouth and pat you down little buddy.
-being singled out in line by kind security guard. I could tell he was almost mortified when the friendly security guard asked The Boy if this was his first concert. Busted, as all eyes turned to see him and smile. "It's gonna be loud buddy" said kind security man. The Boy's eyes almost popped out of his head, heeding the warning, and he glanced over his shoulder to me looking for reassurance that this was going to be OK.
"No louder than Monster Trucks man"
- Pink Gorilla suit guy. There's one in every crowd and I take that for granted. "why is that guy dressed in a pink gorilla suit?" obvious question. Answer. not so obvious as I struggled to come up something that made sense to a very sensible kid. I said that he probably wears it to every concert, and sometimes to school. The Boy and I laughed.
- Swearing. Yes it's Hip Hop and there's tonnes of it. The Boy is subjected to enough of it around the house to understand the context, and knows better than to repeat what he hears. He can thank me, the world's Okay-est Mom and Spouse for that lesson. However I'm pretty sure he wasn't expecting how many
f-bombs and times the word shit were actually used.
-Weed. The big one, I knew it was coming. The ever present smell and the always entertaining spectacle of a rush of security guards tackling a pot smoker. Pure joy for me, because I do love being witness to a good behind the back tackle. But something completely foreign to The Boy. and for that I am glad.
The topic was briefly discussed while we walked to the car from the theatre, 'what was that smell?' asked the boy. The venue was small and I have to admit, even the smoke got to me after a while (my age is showing). But not the worst exposure to weed I've ever encountered by a long mile. I tried to explain in simple terms weed, pot, grass, dope. Grasping for words he may be familiar with and very relieved when he looked at me like a deer in the headlights. He had no fucking clue. WINNING.Yo.
I did my very best to fit in and not embarrass The Boy.
I used restraint and didn't resort to my 'street' language by starting and ending every sentence with 'yo'
yo, parking was sketchy, yo.
I even looked up how to dress properly for the event. You can find anything on the internet.
http://www.wikihow.com/Dress-Like-a-Rapper
So The Boy is returned, no worse for wear, and early no less.
He pulled the pin, was tired and was very surprisingly responsible knowing it was a school night -
and appears to have very little scarring.
we are safe and sound, back in our crib, yo.
I could have stayed though....yo. cuz that's how I roll.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Party Animals
I can't make this shit up.
I just turned the corner and entered the laundry room to find Hurricane Girlchild perched dangerously on top of an overturned laundry basket, reaching for a juice box on a shelf that is easily 5 feet high.
"What are you doing?" I calmly ask.
"Nothing" is the response.
Hm. I wonder if the staff at Children's Hospital would buy that as an answer? Ma'am how did your daughter smash all of her teeth out and ruin her face? She was doing Nothing. really.
All I can think is Great. More ammunition for the authorities.
The other night while we tidied up after dinner we could hear beer cans clinking. Now, if you know us this isn't a strange sound in our home and wasn't the least bit disturbing to us except both adults in the house were together upstairs.
Spouse poked his head down the stairs and caught this. Hurricane Girlchild playing with a flat of empties.
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| Judging by the nudity on the loveseat beside her it was going to be quite a shaker. Not to mention Dora and Boots already passed out on the floor. |
What could she be possibly be doing with those we asked each other. Because we are a little demented we waited it out and this is what we saw.
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| I was afraid to ask what the Banana was for. |
When questioned about the beer cans and stuffed animals Hurricane responded with much glee and dancing about "It's a party!" We of course started to worry about what she sees as adult role models drinking beer and having a "party". In our minds quickly analyzing how often we drink, and how much we are exposing the kids to.
Guilt quickly overwhelming me.
So I asked Hurricane how come her animals were drinking beer. "it's not beer mom" was her reply- "They're having juice." "and they need some cookies- can I have some cookies?"
Who am I to say no?
Besides I was so relieved to know we hadn't scarred the kid for life. "COOKIES FOR EVERYONE!"
Despite the nudity and unexplained presence of fruit it was a relatively quiet affair and the party was tidied up after last call and the cookies were gone.
Then Stuffed Dog said
"I DON'T CARE WHERE YOU GO BUT YOU CAN'T STAY HERE!" move toward the doors ladies and gentlemen...
I dodged a guilt ridden bullet, and was once again reminded that I'm not the worst mom ever and our kids have wicked imaginations.
Ladies. It's not an after hours club- hit the bricks. I'll call you a cab.
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