Harmzie's Way

Don't Poke Mama Bear

2011-07-26T23:00:00.004-05:00

You never know how lucky you are... until you know how lucky you are. If you're REALLY lucky, you get to appreciate how lucky you are and not just how lucky you were. You know? No. Okay.

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We get home to a dark, quiet home. The kids are at my folks place. The place it kind of messy. I quickly rearrange some furniture so that the "reclining" chair is in front of the TV and ease him into it. His face suddenly drops even more than it has been in the last day or so.

"I just caught my reflection in the (powered-off) TV". I've been rubbing his head constantly for two days, as it's one of the few things I can do that doesn't hurt, so his hair is standing straight up like a 20 year old punk kid with an unlimited supply of Axe hair gel. It's kinda funny (all he's missing is the horrible white sunglasses), but the massive brace attached to his head, neck & back, and the hideous hospital gown (shirts don't fit very well over the contraption) leave him understandably less than amused.

I look him right in the eyes "It could be a lot worse." He shoots me the fuck-off-with-your-glass-half-full-bullshit look. I shoot him back the who-the-fuck-do-you-think-your-(um)-"talking"-to look (we have a lot of conversations without words - the word "fuck" is in most of them, oddly). "It could be a lot worse." His expression softens a little, and he kind of agrees. Though small, it's a significant concession.

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He took a header from his bike into a tree on a local back trail. He was training hard, so pushing the limits. I remarked that for the number of years he's been doing this, and how hard he pushes himself, it's actually pretty impressive that this was our first Emerg trip. But it was a lulu.

He was riding with a good friend in the health industry - who doesn't mess around - who called paramedics. The paramedics didn't mess around & immobilized him. Strapped him to a board. He was stuck on that board for hours until a doctor "cleared" him. Not messing around. Lots of checks & observations. Can you feel this? Pull that; Push here; Grab my hand. Not messing around. Then an x-ray. Yay! No fractures! Except, you know, the neck area picture is a little fuzzy, but it's probably okay.

What?

"Well, there's nothing showing and I can't say 100% that it's clear, but all his reflexes, & muscle responses & sensations point to nothing being wrong."

"What do we need to do to be 100%?"

"Trauma assessment downtown."

"So?"

"Well, they might not take him.They're often very busy. Auto accidents are a priority."

"HIS HEAD HIT A FUCKING TREE AFTER FLYING OVER HIS FUCKING HANDLEBARS. ASK THE FUCKING QUESTION."

(I might have had an external filter that made that sound a lot nicer coming out.)

"I could try."

"Please." Max was not terribly impressed. He just wanted to go home. To go for further assessment meant back on the board (protocol), and not off until ANOTHER doctor re-clears him, hours later.

"Good News! They'll take him!"

"Excellent. Thank you."

Turns out he has fractured two vertebrae in his neck - C6 & C7. Despite a rather scary-sounding "fragment" within C7, he has (so far) dodged surgery, but will be in a back-neck brace - a CTO (cervical thoracic orthosis) - for four-to-six weeks. Obviously, I'd prefer to have been wrong.

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So we're home. Recovery will be one day at a time. But I'm constantly reminded of the scary fact that an inch one way or the other; a turn of his head or twist of his body in another direction; a few feet per second more (or less?) and things could have been much different. Is that glass-half-full? Positive thinking? Optimistic? If you know me, you'll already know I'm not exactly Pollyanna (I don't even know who that is. She sounds like a tool). I just that can't even begin to process any other of those alternatives (except, you know, LESS pain & suffering on his part), so we'll be content with this one for the time being.

31 Songs

2011-03-20T19:12:00.003-05:00

Yet another wonderful meme from Nenette. Perhaps someday I’ll become brave and/or inspired enough to have an original subject. But for now, I like music, so here’s my list. I think you were supposed to discuss a song a day for a month, but that sounds like commitment. Also, I might have added a couple of categories.

day 01 - A song from the first album you ever brought: Video Killed the Radio Star – the Buggles. Before it was MTV’s first song. WAY before. It was on my “Rock 80” K-Tel album. I would have thought I would have hated it by now, but I still like that song. Event better by Radiohead.

day 02 - Your favourite single: I don’t have a favourite single. I waffle between liking current, classic, bad pop, sappy drippy crap and heavy, hard rock. The one consistency is I won’t listen to country. OK, Wish You Were Here – Pink Floyd.

day 03 - Your favourite album track: Secret – Maroon 5. It’s very, um… sensual.

day 04 - A song by the first band/artist you saw live: Lucky Ones – Loverboy. [Sigh] I know. I was 13. Gimme a break.

day 05 - A song from your teens/childhood: Here Comes the Rain Again – Eurythmics. I got up at 3:00 am to watch the “video segment” of the Labour Day telethon put on by the local rock station. They played this video. Then I went back to bed, happy. Didn’t understand a damn thing about it, but it was just so cool to watch a video.

day 06 - A song by your favourite band/artist: 38 Years Old - The Tragically Hip. “See, my sister got raped, so a man got killed”. This could go under the “best lyric” category too.

day 07 - A song that reminds you of a season: Fire & Ice – Pat Benetar. Uh… Winter? Really, just wanted to get a Pat Benetar in here.

day 08 - The song you play the most on your mp3/iTunes/etc.: Technically, it shows up as Gettin’ Over You - David Guetta & Chris Willis, featuring Fergie & LMFAO. But it’s possible that my daughter is tainting my results. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

day 09 - Favourite new release (has to be less than 2 months old): Whatever Doesn’t Kill Me – Finger 11.

day 10 - An awesome driving track: Radar Love – Golden Earring.

day 11 - A song that reminds you of your best mate(s): The Baseball Song - Meatloaf. Some of my besties even know all the words to the play-by-play. Yes, I know it’s Paradise by the Dashboard Light.

day 12 - A song that makes you laugh/smile: In Your Eyes – Peter Gabriel

day 13 - The song that contains your favourite lyrics: Crossfire – Brandon Flowers. “Our dreams will break the boundaries of our fears”. Also: “Lay your body down, lay your body down, lay your body down… next to mine”. OK, that one sounds pretty basic in writing. Sung, it’s really nice.

day 14 - Your favourite acoustic cover/track: Overkill – Colin Hay.

day 15 - A song of an album that has brilliant cover art: Time – Pink Floyd (Dark Side of the Moon). While I still had “student-deco”, that was a staple of my décor.

day 16 - Your favourite TV theme tune: Mad About You. Maybe I just liked the show.

day 17 - A song that reminds you of a holiday: Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel – The Broslofskis with Stan & Eric. South Park. Yuh-huh.

day 18 - A song that makes you think of a family member: White Wedding – Billy Idol. My dad wanted me to play this at my wedding. Yeah, he’s heard it and he knows what it’s about.

day 19 - A song you never get sick of hearing: Crossfire – Brandon Flower.

day 20 - A guilty pleasure song: Take it Off – Ke$ha. This song angered me as it was to the tune of “In the Land of France Where the Ladies Wear No Pants”. And then I started liking it. And then I was ashamed. And then I stopped caring. And then I bought it. And now I’m back to ashamed. Wait! Nope, don’t care.

day 21 - A song you can’t help but sing along to: Lovin’ Touchin’ Squeezin’ - Journey. I don’t even really like that song. Oh, who am I kidding? Just about any song that comes on the radio. Yeah, I’m “that guy”. In the car next to you… And who am I kidding? I love that song.

day 22 - A song that reminds you of your bf/gf/partner/etc: Ain’t No Other Man - Christina Aguilera.

day 23 - A song you play when you want to relax: Into the Mystic – Colin James. I heard this once on the radio when I needed to relax and didn’t know it and it was magical, so I bought it.

day 24 - A song you play before a night out: Wild Flower – the Cult.

day 25 - A song from a band/artist you’ve just ‘discovered’: Crossfire – Brandon Flowers. Okay, so he’s the singer for the Killers, but apparently they wanted to take a break & he didn’t & I love this song. This song might be kind of haunting me. I’d also file this under “A song that nobody seems to get but me”, since I keep playing it for people, and they keep responding “meh”. Morons. All of you.

day 26 - A song off of the last album you brought/last track you downloaded: Paranoid Freak – The Trews (SO glad I bought that after T’Pau, so I don’t have to cop to that).

day 27 - A song no one would expect you to love: The Fear – Lily Allen. The explicit version. Of course.

day 28 - A song you would sing at a karaoke night: not opening this up for debate, lest someone actually hold me to it.

day 29 - A song that makes you sad: Save a Prayer – Duran Duran. But it’s a “good” sad.

day 30 - Best angry song: Harder to Breathe – Maroon 5. “Not fit to fuckin’ tread the ground that I am walking on”. You can’t help but feel better growling that. Of course, depends at whom you are angry, because in the next verse “clutching your pillow and writhing in a naked sweat; hoping somebody, someday will do you like I did” doesn’t apply for me. Usually.

day 31 - Your least favourite song: Pretty much anything by the Guess Who, Or Burton Cummings; Michelle – the Beatles. I know! I’ve never really liked that song. (I prefer My Michelle, by Guns ‘n’ Roses)

day 32 - Best use of bagpipes in a song: It’s a Long Way to the Top if You Wanna Rock ‘n’ Roll - AC/DC. Duh.

day 33 - Your favourite song of all time: Solsbury Hill – Peter Gabriel.

31 Movies

2011-02-10T23:06:00.003-06:00

I just wanted to see if I could name 31 movies. And possibly send a ripple through the Internets with a post from this source. (Start small, nice & light. See where it goes!)

This was under the direction of Nenette, who, herself, stole borrowed it. She's the source of my bestest memes.

Day #1: Favourite Movie – The Shawshank Redemption.

Day #2: Least Favourite Movie – The Crush; Crash. Anything David Lynch.

Day #3: Favourite Comedy – The Landlord (Will Farrell). OK, so it's only 2:21 long, a real one: Talladega Nights - The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. "I can't do 'this' (hand gestures to self) and 'that' (hand gestures to kids)" I use that All. The. Time.

Day #4: Favourite Adventure – LOTR. Once you get past the Ghost Pirates, and realize you can just sit and watch Orlando Bloom and Viggo Mortensen for 9 hours, all is well.

Day #5: Favourite Horror – None.

Day #6: Favourite Suspense/Thriller – Toy Story III. Seriously! At the end, I thought I was going to have a stroke.

Day #7: Favourite Animated Movie – Kung Fu Panda. There is no secret ingredient.

Day #8: Favourite Guilty Pleasure – Troy. Except I don't feel guilty. It still counts if I *should* feel guilty, right? right?

Day #9: A Movie You Never Expected to Love – Pulp Fiction; The Dark Knight.

Day #10: Biggest Let-Down – Charlie's Angels. Although, to be fair, I didn't expect much. Yet, still, it disappointed.

Day #11: First Movie You Saw In Theatres – Phantom of the Paradise. I think. There was probably something earlier than that.

Day #12: The Last Movie You Saw in Theatres – Monsters vs. Aliens (I don't get out much)

Day #13: Favourite Documentary – Fight Club.

Day #14: Favourite Satire – Legends of the Fall. There's no other way to watch that movie.

Day #15: A Movie with Your Favourite Actor – Elizabeth – The Golden Age.
Cate & Clive

Day #16: Favourite Movie Based On a Book – Fight Club

Day #17: Favourite Movie with an Actor You Hate – Inception. Can't stand Leo.

Day #18: Movie You Can Watch On Loop – Groundhog Day. Seriously. Also, Shawshank.

Day #19: Favourite Movie Based On a Historical Event – Defiance, Munich.

Day #20: Favourite Movie Based On A Historical Figure – Elizabeth

Day #21: Favourite Musical – Grease. In fact, the only musical I come close to liking.

Day #22: Most Over-Rated Movie – Titanic. And yes, I've yet to see it.

Day #23: Most Under-Rated Movie – Defiance. It was better than Schindler's List, in my opinion.

Day #24: Movie With Best Soundtrack – The Matrix

Day #25: Favourite Black and White Movie – Casablanca

Day #26: Cheesiest Horror Movie – All of them. Any of them.

Day #27: Favourite Oscar-Winning Movie – Gandhi

Day #28: Favourite Made-For-Television Movie – Thorn Birds. Shut up.

Day #29: Favourite Movie Based on a Television Series – Starsky & Hutch

Day #30: Favourite Re-Make – I'd like to see Inception remade with anyone but Leo. Even Carrot Top. Or Emo Phillips.

Day #31: Favourite Sequel – Empire Strikes Back

There it is. It wasn't as hard as I thought! Now show me yours. In the comments or your own link.

Crazy! Search! Terms!

2010-10-11T22:00:00.009-05:00

Some blogging people end up with fantastic posts about all the *whacky* search terms used to find their blogs. Things seemingly unrelated, but probably connected somehow by the spaghetti of connections - both hard wired and programmed - that hold this bizarre internet together. We need to explain things, to figure out *what* in my series of characters strung together caused this connection? WHAT? HOW DID YOU GET HERE?

Not me. I'm just glad I wrote this post a while back, or I'd get no hits at all.

I'd like to think that, though I've temporarily derailed their quest(s) for - uh - higher learning through teh internetz, they've gained something. And if one - just one - pauses to think about what they're doing to -- ahahahahahaha!!! oh mercy.... good one Harmzie.

In reality, I get a great thrill out of yelling "HA! SUCKER!" every time I see a hit with that source.

I'm shallow.

I'm good with that.

Do-As-I-Say Parenting

2010-10-02T11:36:00.004-05:00

We went out for a family dinner last night. A little reward for the kids taking one for the team for the past couple of weeks: they had to be shipped off early to before-school daycare to accommodate a little blip in our logistics. We negotiated that in early. Plus some books to read in the hour before school for Norah. They drive a hard bargain.

So the conversation turned to swearing. What? We managed to use the fact that we were out at the "Fanciest Restaurant in Town" (the children use the fanciness of restaurant bathrooms as their gauge and this one is off the charts. Food's ok too) to steer us away from the usual burping & farting conversation.

Max: "so what swearing have you heard Mom & Dad say?" Nothing like asking a loaded question.

Norah: "Well, when driving, Mom has said 'bloody hell!'"

Me: "'Bloody'? That's not even a swear!" [phew]

Norah: "and also 'son of a *bleep*'" (she self-sensors, even when singing along to songs on the radio that have the "soft-swears" in them)

Me: "Well, ok. That's probably not the best"

Max and I exchanged some knowing glances indicating disbelief that this would be the worst that they've heard from us. Really, we try hard - Max tries harder than me - but quite regularly the *real* baddies slip out in whisper and somewhat-less-than-whisper form.

So today, Norah & Pepper were folding our hand towels on the couch (it's one of their jobs. Don't go thinking they just cheerily attack this job or anything). Norah mentioned something sticky on the couch and went to get a wet cloth to deal with it (ok, THAT I'm pretty pleased with).

Norah: "Goddammit! It won't come out"

Me: "WHAT WAS THAT?"

"The sticky stuff. It won't come out"

"No, I mean what did you SAY?"

"I'm trying to wipe it, but it won't come out!"

"[sigh] what. did. you. say. before. that?"

silence and wiping.

"Goddammit, it's still not coming out"

"THERE! Do not say that!"

[nonplussed]"ok, how about 'oh my god'?"

"how about 'oh my gosh'?"

"Whatever. I got most of it out anyway."

It's a work in progress.

Peanut Butter

2010-09-07T09:43:00.005-05:00

I don't let the kids watch Family Guy (I do have lines)(they may be fuzzy)(and distant)(but they're there) but I showed them this:

... and then the "original" (or some variation):

Both were big hits. But then came the challenge of finding out how many times in a row the phrase can be repeated.

We haven't reached it yet, but I DO have this nice pen hanging out of my ear.

Things that make me happy

2010-08-12T00:28:00.009-05:00

I've been in a funk.

Mostly a blogging funk, but when we had to cancel the family road-trip to the west coast (breaking my mom's heart) due to automobile kerfluckedness, THEN suffered a self-imposed home-exile due to abhorrence to dealing with lice or lice-related issues any more than we had to. We did some fun stuff on our holidays, but still, it was no road-trip, and couldn't even be considered a bait-and-switch.

Then there was BlogHer. I didn't go last year, it didn't even occur to me to go (it did occur to me to make fun of it). This year was the same, except it DID occur to me to go. I'd befriended some pretty cool people in February (I mean IRL, they were already befriended) and there were mutterings of several of them going. Plus it was in New York. NEW FREAKING YORK! I don't have a bucket list, but if I did, going to New York would be on it (Chicago? check). I would have loved to see them all again & party in New Yawk. Seeing the photos, and even the videos, made me so sad I was shocked at myself. There isn't necessarily "always next year", as the people I want to see won't necessarily be there.

I decided to battle the crappy feelings by taking Nenette's lead (sure it was a month ago. I told you: blogging funk. I PASSED UP A MEME for crying out loud!) & coming up with some of the simple things that make me happy. I used her criteria: none of the obvious – family, friends, socio-economic status...

The happy list (in progress):

Pasta, specifically spaghetti, with butter & salt
My Ecco shoes – I've always heard tell of the magic shoe that feels like pillows on your feet. These are them, for me.
My bed. I was nearly 40 before I threw a hissy fit and got – no, invested in a real bed. Not going into what we had before, because this is about what makes me happy!
Sushi. With my GFs; with Max; with the kids; when Max makes it; with my sister. All are completely different experiences and all make me happy.
My sister's expecting. In February. I'm so freaking excited, but it's just not What We Do to be all weepy & squealy (besides, she'd slap me). I'm glad Norah did that when she found out. It was like I was jumping and squealing vicariously through her. She is going to kick my ASS for putting it here. HA! If she ever read it!
Taking photographs (with film). Haven't done it (really done it) in a long, long time, but it did make me happy.
Minesweeper. Shut up.
Washing my face. After some 35 years of fighting with skin products, I was looking up some Major Home Exfoliation Ritual that I think I found through Bionic Beauty and at the end of it they said, "or just use a rough face cloth & hot water" (???) so that is all I do now and it feels sooooo good. Add a touch of light moisturizer, and it sure doesn't hurt the happiness scale that Max says "mmm you smell so good"
Elizabeth I
Lasagne
My parents' cottage lot. It has coexisting promises of a future of family gathering & relaxing solitude at the same time.
xkcd
Getting @ replies
When the clock reads 12:34
Seeing hot-air balloon in the sky (haven't seen any this year, wtf?)
Painting my toes. Well, ok, my toe-nails. Although with my skill-level, I should just stick to calling it "painting my toes". But whatever, it makes me happy.
Getting a pedicure. Thanks to Rougie, I'm going to go by myself on my birthday (unless I get a better offer???)
Working in the garden

Wow. Lots of simple stuff makes me happy. What makes YOU happy?

(OMG! I really want some buttery/salty pasta RFN!)

Infestation

2010-08-02T00:31:00.002-05:00

Non-stereotypically of girls, I don't mind bugs. Bugs who bother me – eat my food or my person or that of my family & friends, or hang out in our immediate space – must die. It's simple. But they generally don't creep me out^[1].

That was before lice. The other day I found a creepy crawly in The Boy's hair. And I lost my shit. It's been four days now and it hasn't found its way back.

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It seems like I'm now in this exclusive club that includes, oh I don't know, EVERYONE! My casual discussions this week:

"Oh yeah, we were sitting eating breakfast and I saw this bug dart out of her hairline on her forehead"

WHAT WHAT WHAAAAT???

"He said 'Mom, my head itches' and he hadn't had a shower for a few days so I scrubbed his scalp extra and when he got out he said 'MOOOOM it still itches!' so I checked him closer and yeah, he was crawling with them"

HOW DID YOU NOT BURN YOUR OWN HOUSE DOWN???

"She must have got it from a new hat I let her wear without washing it. She was crawling with them"

NOW *I* WANT TO BURN YOUR HOUSE DOWN!!! AND MINE!!!

Rational thought eventually kind of took over with the realization that washing every single washable item in the house seventeen-thousand times is STILL EASIER TO MANAGE than rebuilding with null-and-void insurance and a jail-term for arson (full disclosure: Max hid all the flammable implements).

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I understand that it has nothing to do with your cleanliness, or tidiness or how good or not good your parenting is. Believe me I understand this. With the nearly monthly letters sent home saying "someone in your child's class has lice, blah blah blah" they really try to hammer that home (rightly so). Besides, if it DID have anything to do with my ability as a housekeeper, I would have had lice since – oh, I don't know, my early 20s. But that doesn't keep me feeling like a filthy hobo (and not the sexy kind, that the gentlemen seem to find so endearing); OR my family from treating each other like lepers.

All told, I think it was caught extremely early. The cases above are more likely what would have happened if there hadn't been a miraculous fluke of me inspecting Stewie's scalp, as he'd been having some seborrhoea (what's called "cradle cap" in babies – also gross, but y'know, not a MOTHERFUCKINGPARASITE). [Aside: I now have a rock-steady handle on the scalp-health of everyone in this family.]

I bought the treatment (cornered and grilled the pharmacist for about half an hour) and applied it, then decided to go a little more CSI on everyone else. Norah turned up positive. Max & Pepper are negative (so far). Myself? It took the awesome nerd-slinging power of the microscope^[2] to overwhelm my denial with scientific proof, so I've been treated too. (He climbed into bed in the morning before I found them. The little bastard is so snugly! And he still says "I wuff you, Mummy")

We'll treat again, as directed: 7 days after first treatment. And, by all accounts, about six to eight weeks from the "all clear", I might slow the meticulous checks down to every other day. Until then, I toy with the idea of shaving my head, but I can't seem to find any sharp implements, either…

^[1] Don't test that, I said "generally"

^[2] What, you don't have a microscope in your home? Get off the internet & don't try and call yourself a nerd until you've rectified the situation. Electron not necessary.

Live Tweeting the spectacle:

Found head lice on The Boy. From what I've read, for the amount of bugs I now feel crawling all over me, I'd expect to be way higher.

Lice: I mean, it's not like the bed didn't need vacuuming anyway, right? RIGHT?

Bad: Kid-with-brush-cut having lice. Worse: Kid-with-long-hair-who-hates-brushing-it-like-ever confirmed. Better: 3 of us remain pure.

Also: motherfucking headache.

Also: hot water tank (which was never really resolved) acting up. KIND OF NEED HOT WATER TO KILL IT ALL.

Did I mention motherfucking headache?

New challenge: keep lice-free kid from picking through the head of infested one.

I really should have read through fine-print of the EULA for Parenting. Instead, we were all "oooo babies are soooooo cute!" [ACCEPT]

Are lice treatments tax-deductible? How about the booze treatments? You know. For me.

OH: "don't threaten your sister with your head". OK, it was me. I've just gone to my happy-place & am laughing at everything I'm watching.

OMG!!! This changes everything: "Stop [current offensive behavior] or you'll catch lice from your brother". How long can I pull this off?

If 10 yrs ago you had told me I'd be vacuuming pillows at midnight, I'd have said "who the hell are you?"

Also: "maybe you could foretell something a little more useful? Like what kind of car I'll be driving?"

Holding On By Letting Go

2010-07-04T01:19:00.001-05:00

It was our anniversary yesterday. 17 years.

If some crazy old time-machine version of myself had told me 20 years ago that I would be married for this long, I would have either (a) not believed them, because hey, who believes crazy old versions of themselves claiming to have a time-machine? Or (b) stood on the edge of a lake and yelled "in your FACE Cosmos!" given that I came from the failed marriage of two people themselves products of failed marriages. Probably both, because "a" is pretty insurmountable, but I probably couldn't pass up the opportunity to yell "in your face" to anyone, let alone someone as daunting as The Cosmos (plus, when faced with time-machined versions of yourself, you may as well act out in equally crazy ways).

I don't feel very "in your face" though now. If it all fell apart tomorrow, it would still be a failure and History would have its way, repeating and all. So of course it's still a work-in-progress (Grandparents #2 split after over 30 years – though by all accounts 30 miserable years, marriage-wise).

It's best not to try and keep score with TC (it tends to have the upper hand, being Cosmos and all). So rather than try & beat odds and battle statistics, we've opted to work within and enjoy the ride. That's not a euphemism for anything (unless it is).

***

Yesterday, we didn't celebrate. We split off and I handled Stewie's fifth birthday party (mini-golf with seven 5 & 6 year olds and a 10 year old helper – HELP!) and he sheparded Pepper through a softball tournament (eight hours in scorching tropical heat with my sister's un-air-conditioned car. Hard to say which is the short straw.) Then, he had a stag to go to (Me: [snide, probing-but-indirect remarks intended to sniff out what's on the "menu"] Him: "We're watching Ultimate Fighting" Me: "is it girls fighting?" Him: "Wow. That *would* be Ultimate!" Me: [sigh][punch]).

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Except maybe a Spa day.

And maybe I'll go whisper "in your face" at the edge of a puddle.

My First Venn Diagram

2010-06-29T22:29:00.010-05:00

I was about 12 when I created my first Venn diagram (that I remember). I didn't realize that that's what I'd done, nor did I (shocking Nerdlinger admission) actually *draw* it out.

I was in the bathroom, probably sitting on the toilet (though that point is not particularly relevant). I was playing with the plunger (remember, 12) when I stuck it to the floor & pulled.

Up popped a floor tile.

"dammit!"

OK, I might not have cursed, but it was entirely possible - and possibly, you know, worse, as I'm pretty sure I've been a potty-mouth since I could talk. If I did, I *might* have been smart enough to keep it under my breath (but no guarantees).

"DAMMIT!!" Because I suddenly realized the following Reasons I Am Busted:

(Thank you, thank you. Yes, it's good to be back. OK OK, put down that rake, violence will solve nothing)

Influence

2010-03-28T21:54:00.012-05:00

One hundred years ago today (March 29), my Grandma was born.

Left: She and I at her London Street house c. 1969; Right: About 30 years later, months prior to the emergence of her first great-grandchild

Grandma's been gone for just over four years, and I miss her terribly. But her mark on my life was indelible, so since she has passed, I have had far less of a sense of loss than I imagined I might. She has really not gone anywhere.

As a woman of my generation and socio-geo-nomic upbringing, it's easy to become complacent about my lot in life. It's easy to wave off the fact that I vote and have an education and a decent job. That I am surrounded by people who accept it as a natural decision of circumstance within a family, that the father be at home with the kids. Or the mother.

There are two kinds of people (yes, I said "people") who have put me here today: there are those who spoke out & marched & fought & litigated & fought & marched some more; and there are those who just did. Grandma just did. Every day.

The Three Lessons From Grandma, that she never, ever said out loud:

Get yourself an education. And don't stop.
NO ONE can make you feel inferior without your permission (I realize that Eleanor Roosevelt said that, but Grandma lived it)
Do not take yourself too seriously, dammit!

Without words, every one of those lessons has been threaded through my person, as I've tried to emulate her spirit in an entirely different life & time. #2 is hard, but I think I'm doing OK.

**************

Happy Great-Grandma Norah Day!

(Pepper named the day, on Grandma's first birthday after she passed. She saw it marked on the calendar, she decided we should do something about it. So we did!)

Class

2010-03-26T22:46:00.002-05:00

Yesterday (Thursday) afternoon, I'm sitting in a colleague's office. We'll call him "Him". By way of background, we may have been known to banter a little. I might have just been riding him for stammering when I asked him what his wife did (he was really only pausing to determine into how much detail to go).

Him: "OK, so I'll get this [answer/drawing/chain letter] back to you tomorrow."

Me: "I'll be away all day tomorrow"

Him (faking incredulity): "How come YOU get a day off?!"

Me (getting attitude)(I know, strange): "*Actually*, I'll be in class all day. Saturday too."

Him (feeding on my attitude): "Really? Is it dance class?"

Me (now mustering all the bring-it-the-fuck-on-asshole I can)(possibly going for a smidgen of shock-value)(I can't say for sure)(it was a pretty snap decision): "Yes. It's pole dancing."

Him (not skipping a beat): "I didn't know you're Polish!"

Composure decimated.

I love my co workers (not like that)(don't tell them).

Parenting... It's All About Communication

2010-03-24T21:33:00.005-05:00

I yell: "STAND STILL SO I CAN TAKE YOUR PICTURE!":

I whisper: "chocolate chips":

(Actually, everything in all of life is all about communication, but that's a topic for a different post. One filed under "d'uh".)

Breathe

2010-03-21T22:40:00.002-05:00

If you look to the upper right of your screen (assuming your screen looks anything like mine, which might be a huge assumption, me being only technically ept (how come "ept" isn't the opposite of "inept"?) enough to get myself into serious trouble and not necessarily out of it), you may notice the bio saying "something, something wife/mom/engineer something something". That might lead you to believe that I have some answers or at least suggestions about "balancing it all". HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! [cack-choke-cough]
Ohhhhhhmercy… (Sucker).

Really, that was just a lure to reel in those who might also have some ideas/notions/ANSWERS (preferably EASY answers) and then I could check them out, absorb them, and then I'D have life-balance, and then I could stop blogging and just sip G & T in my perfectly life-balanced back yard (where it would always be a beautiful day)(and summer)(and that perfectly balanced lounge chair would show up on sale, too). Or, OR I could keep blogging about frivolous stuff (without feeling guilty about it)(or feeling guilty about not feeling guilty about it)(and so on).

So anyways, that hasn't panned out (my GAWD you people have a lot of problems!) and I've had to resort to the HARD way (sometimes known as "the only way"). Which pisses me off. Well, not really. Except on some level. Maybe the level where I thought there was another way. This post is making less and less sense. I wish there was some kind of an edit button.

Was there a point? Kind of, though maybe not a strong one. I went in to work today (yes, Sunday). Work is nutty. Like, kind of surreal nutty. I went in to get a handle on it. On my way in, I was kind of pouting. "It's Sunday morning. I want to be lounging in bed, doing my Sudorku, or crossword" (no, that's not code)(or is it?)(no, unfortunately, it's not). After four hours of pretty successful focussing and dragon-slaying, I returned home. We were heading out to my folks place and it occurred to me that I had to switch gears (from engineer) and be those other things. Given the success of the day, and how I was looking forward to spending some (albeit short) time with my family, I started to think that maybe it IS about focus. Be in the moment.

There it is, an easy answer: Breathe, and move on. And breathe again.

[But not when you put the glass up to your mouth, because that will make you choke, and that is just a waste of perfectly good gin]

Do you have any more easy answers? Please?

Chicago

2010-02-28T17:50:00.007-06:00

Alternate title: The one where I do not get knifed in my sleep.

It's funny how things go.

Just over a year ago, and really new to blogging, I random Googled something for work (at work – I truly wish I could remember what it was. I imagine it's one of those things that ends up on your "what the HELL kind of people are out there" Google hit-list posts) and hit Chris's post about a dead betta fish. I sent myself the link home with the message "check this out later" (hey, I can recognize quality, even when it's disguised as dead fish). Several days (weeks?) later, I saw my email to myself & went browsing again. This time, a bizarre comment caught my eye; so of course, I followed it (duh). There, I met Marshall. I left some kind of obnoxious comment on HIS blog and the stupid fucker replied (his first mistake) (it took me several more visits and some poking around the rest of his site to figure out that he's a -- REAL -- LIVE -- AUTHOR --)(Who's the stupid fucker now? You ask) (Don't ask! MY story. Everyone ELSE is the stupid fucker in MY story) (Get your own blog.)

So I tormented Marshall for a few months and I'm sure he was regretting his personal policy acknowledging every idiot with an internet connection who comments on his (fabulously quirky, clever & funny – just like his books) blog. Then (I can only assume) he sent his daughter after me. And for some (awesome) reason we hit it off. On twitter. (I still torment Marshall, but not very often, because he posts even less frequently than I do. I KNOW!! We're thinking of taking away his card).

In the mean time, I can't remember how I stumbled across AndreAnna. She just kind of seeped into my (albeit online) life. Because we were separated at birth. And 12 years. Some conversation or another migrated toward visitation jokes. She said "absolutely you come here and drink on my patio" and then "No. I mean it." And I knew she did. I had learned even by then, you don't question her.

So, long story short, and several "we should DO this" convos later, the three of us decided IT WAS ON. We picked a neutral zone – one that I could fly to directly, and a place that I've always wanted to go – Chicago. Cass and Sara said "HELLZ-YEAH, I'm in!" And it was done.

And then the Chicago contingent joined in. And Holy-Dinah! Suddenly the Whole World of Blogging had faces and names, and kids, and spouses, and exes, and parents, and lives. (Well, MY blogging world does. The rest of you are still robots. Very well-spoken, raw, snarky, hilarious bots, but still).

Given the course of actions over the previous year, it made perfect sense to me to hop on a plane & go. More importantly, it sat well with Jiminy Cricket Max. Had he given me one furrowed brow, I might not have given it a second thought (the cookies probably didn't hurt the case for there being a rational human being at the other end of the line. Yes, I use the term "rational" loosely.)(Cookies also came from Rougie – which helped the cause too – but I didn't blog about it, because, remember? I suck at this)

But try explaining that to the "outside" world. "You're going WHERE? And WHY?"

What most (including myself initially – and as I'm trying to rationalize this to others and myself) don't really get is that this (blogging/twitter) realm, can be not unlike friendships IRL. Some people you glance at; nod respectfully at; are aware of each other's work; despise, but can't turn away from; (despise and CAN turn away from); and, yes, grow with.

So, blah blah blah. I went to Chicago, drank an s-load, tried an Irish Car Bomb (wasn't exactly converted), ~~climbed~~ ascended "Big John". Met & hung with some really cool folks. HERE are my photos.

I had plenty I wanted to say about the fabulous time I had, but [something something busy/lazy asshat excuse] and all these ladies did a better job of it than I could anyway. Please go read, view the photos (the best & loveliest are by Cass) leave them obnoxious comments. Say hi for me & tell them I miss them:

Belle Plaine Living
Cass. Just Curious.
Annabelle Speaks
Chez Rougie
Lilsaej
McMama's Musings
Back To Me
Pseudostoops
AndreAnna

P.S. the "Alternate Title"? A nod to actual reactions I got when telling folks "I'm going to Chicago to meet up with people I've met on the Internet". I fully deny presenting the facts to them in a way which may or may not have elicited such a reaction. No YOU'RE inflammatory.

Balentimes

2010-02-24T18:24:00.006-06:00

A few years ago, due to some unusual circumstances involving no one together that evening (plus Grandma in town for a visit), I decided to instead have a special family Valentine's breakfast. The more I explored the idea, the fancier and the idea grew. Our best china, champagne glasses for the orange juice, table confetti, flowers...

The funny part was that it was all very simple, and easily doable (even for me!) I had no idea what to have for a Valentines themed breakfast so I landed on biscuits. Made them heart-shaped, added whipped cream & fresh fruit (we splurged in the dead of winter)

The kids loved it, and the idea stuck. We've done it every year since.

This year, we were going to be at my parents' for a sleepover (unrelated to Valentine's day, but a different manufactured holiday combining Norah's birthday, Chinese New Year and mostly our desire to get together and make home-made ravioli one night an pad-Thai, chicken curry & spring rolls the next), and the kids got concerned about what we were going to do about our Balentimes breakfast!

So we took it on the road.

**UPDATED** see link to Pad-Thai ~~recipe~~ method!

OLYMPICS!

2010-02-23T00:36:00.003-06:00

*Chicago post coming. Keep your pants on. Unlike you could in Chicago*

When I was 8 years old, I drove across the country with my aunt (how I was there is a long, weird story that is not relevant and I'd probably get wrong anyway, being 8 and all – I mean, technically, she drove so I've already screwed that part up). Every place we stayed, the TV was full-time Olympics. Yes it was colour. I saw swimming and running and horses (hey, I know, go figure, but it was cool to an 8-year-old).

Most significantly, I watched Nadia Comăneci score a perfect 10. I had a hero and I was hooked.

I got home and somehow the planets aligned to get me into gymnastics class at the University. That room was a dream world. They had every exact piece of equipment that had been brought to life by Miss Nadia. I bounded around, flipped & frolicked, swung & twisted. I WAS an, no THE Olympic champion. I WAS Nadia. Of course, no one tapped me on the shoulder. No one pulled my dad aside and chatted with him while I wondered what they were talking about. There was no one-on-one attention, but 8-year-olds don't notice those kinds of trivialities. We're on FIRE BABY.

***********

I LOVE the Olympics. Time stands still. For two weeks! Everything is my little hopeful 8-year-old self coming to life within each competitor. And no, not just the Canadians.

The bronze medalist that is more surprised than anyone.
The gold medalist who is known to be head and shoulders above all others and yet is still genuinely amazed at their score/rank/finish.
The silver medalist who is clearly disappointed in their performance.
The competitor who never really had a chance, but is hounded by their home-media as a rock star, because it's THE OLYMPICS!
Holding your breath as the figure skaters make their jumps – wanting them to nail it so badly you can taste it yourself (even when part of you wants to see them land on their ass so your own can squeak ahead).
Competitors persevering through injury to STILL come out on top. I'm looking at you Petra Majdič, Silken Laumann, Kerri Strug... did I miss any one? Or thirty? This is to say nothing of the invisible demons being cast aside at every turn.
The come-from-behind-because-everyone-else-has-crashed-and-you-stayed-the-course victory (I think snowboard & ski cross are my new favourite sports).
Feeling your adrenalin spike, ever-so, when you hear the starter's "pistol" (what the hell is that thing they're using now? It looks like something from Space 1999. Space 1999 is so 11 years ago!)
The rapid about-face, among the competitors, from the kill-or-be-killed focus during completion, to genuine elation for your rival for the best run of their career.
Commentators who have to fill two weeks of air time that end up saying things like "she is among the best in the world" Really? At the Olympics? Huh.
And for all the positives, there are the failures. Those that brought it this far and just could not slay that last dragon. They bring to light how significant the victories are. I feel immense pride for their accomplishments to bring them so far.

***********

When I was in my 20s – probably mid – I was chatting with my grandmother. The conversation turned a little reminiscent. She laughed, "remember when you were taking that gymnastics class? One time I came with your dad to pick you up and was watching you at the end of class. Oh my goodness. You were the most awkward and graceless, gangly little thing out there. I felt so sorry for you!" Clearly, she figured I was old enough for the truth. I didn't have the heart to tell her I would not ever be. And my denial – in the form of multiple versions of "if only …" – rages on. Every two years I get to suspend all reality and re-view the world through those 8-year-old eyes. They tend to be a little weepier now.

On the weekend, I caught a glimpse of my kids outside "speed-skating" on the sidewalk...

Cooties

2010-01-31T21:16:00.001-06:00

We sit at dinner. Max is at work, so it's just the remaining four of us. Dinner has pretty much wound down. "Does anyone want any more salad?" I ask. Of course, the answer is no. (I mean, salad! It's delicious, but they're children, inexperienced in the wonders of salad.)

So (remember, no Max, so I don't have to use Queen's lunch etiquette – because he's ALL about the correct fork), I grab the bowl and start digging in (with a fork. What? Do you think I'm an animal?)

Pepper: "ew!! Gross!! Mom cooties!"

Norah: "Mom put the salad together. She actually *touched* it all"

Pepper: "EEEWWW!! MOM COOTIES"

Me (deadpan): "You realize I gave birth to you"

Pepper: [blank stare]

Me: "Every *part* of you has touched ME" [effective pause & intonation when stating "me"]

Pepper: [turns slightly green]

Norah: "Yeah, Pepper. And you KNOW where babies come from, too"

Pepper: [turns *really* green & fakes retching into a garbage can]

Me: "Relax. You've taken at least 1,000 baths since then. You're clear. As am I."

Stewie: "COOTIES, COOTIES, COOTIES!!!"

Well Red (not a typo)

2010-01-26T23:16:00.005-06:00

So apparently this blog thing, like a pet (or so I would suspect) requires attention and feeding. Kids too, so all the books tell you. Or so other parents tell me the books say. Because, you know, the reading.

So I've been receiving nasty, passive-aggressive reminders from Blogging and Family Services [BFS - haw!] that it's time to attend to this dying pet before it gets taken away from me. And then I grow old alone -on the Internet - with no one to love me - on the Internet - and I have to rely on humans for contact. As an engineer, you can see the problem I'd have, so I'll be good!

So the outreach program outreached to me via my blogging mama Nenette. When Nenette tells me to jump, I say "how hi?" And she says "don't you mean 'how high?'" And I say "yes mistress" And so on. I think I might be digressing a little. Mostly, she knows I am a sucker for a meme.

This one has something to do with taking pictures of red shit. Well, not red shit, but shit that is red [hey, that's not better]. It would be helpful now if someone would shake me and say "you know you can edit this, right?", but I'm in kind of a stream of consciousness kind of mood. I'm so sorry. You can go if you want.

So here's all my red crap. I saw this meme and thought "Yeah!!! I LOVE red" and then looked around and saw that most of my home and wardrobe is black, white & brown (and variations)(well, of brown, since black and white are pretty well defined)

BUT it's those splashes of red that make me love that colour. [YES THAT'S A WORD!! Shut up Blogger, you let me have a google.ca home page, but you don't really mean it.]

So I gathered several of my favourite [THAT is a word too!!!] red things and assembled them on my bed. Please don't read anything in to that. It's just the tidiest surface in my home for taking pictures of stuff. I think it was supposed to be 7 red things. Turns out I'm either not good with counting, or not good with rules. Or lazy. Whatever.

Of course, every single one of these items has a story...

(1) Red bed sheet. When we moved into our house in 2001, I decided that Norah's room should have a simple theme of Primary Colours [I swear, Google spell check I'm going to fucking snap on you]. Well, just try and find primary coloured bedsheets. I did. This looks pristine, because it's never actually been used. I've only ever used the fitted sheet and a duvet with a cover, since that results in a bed actually being made every so often (I mean, by me).

(2) This is one of my very (very) few pieces of jewelery. I bought it from a former boss's daughter who brought back a bunch of jewelery from New Zealand (or Australia? I forget because I probably wasn't listening, I was drooling and groaning: "oooooo... preeeeeetty")

(3) M.A.C Viva Glam VI. At least I think it's VI. The two digits (they're roman numerals, so YES they're digits!) wear off, and I can not ever remember whether it's IV or VI. BUT as scary as those ladies at the M.A.C counter look, they know their shit! I walk in and say "I need a Viva Glam IV" and they kind of stare at my face and say (this has happened more than once) "are you sure it wasn't Viva Glam VI?" Like they know IV just wouldn't work for me. I DON'T EVEN KNOW THAT!!! So, yeah. you had me at Viva Glam whatever. It's the only colour I wear. If I'm going bolder, I do it with the lip pencil.

(4) This is possibly THE best -- game -- ever. I picked up Apples to Apples Junior because a friend/coworker recommended it, and was she ever right. With this game, a group of ALL AGES can have a seriously great time. The only real requirement is reading.

My family sets up nights to come over and play Apples to Apples with the kids (and we're allowed too). This game was so popular that one Birth/mas I picked the adult version for my sister. And no, it's not p0rn. It's just more mature themes. I want to just keep going about this, but maybe I should do a separate post. If anyone wants to provide ME with the grown-up version of the game, I could do a review? hmm? hmm? Wait. I already said it was awesome. I suck at this whole Internet marketing crap.

(5) This is one of my favourite shirts (blouses?) Way back when Jacob was only in Toronto & Vancouver, my then high-school-aged sisters were all "Waaaw! Jacob is AAALL that AND a bag of chips" and I was all "what the hell is Jacob?" (with it, I have always not really been).

So every trip that anyone ever took to TO, Vancouver or Montreal, was required to stop for souvenirs. So my dad did one time and dropped off mine & my sister's when she was living with me. It was this and a kind of plainish t-shirt (still very nice). He dropped off separate bags with instructions on which was which. When we opened them, we both (I'm sure) silently thought they had been mixed up because mine was WAY cooler and hipper than hers. But I just shrugged and quickly said "awesome!! I LOVE it!" And then she proceeded to borrow it any time she could! (Which was a fine trade). It's still in great shape and I even wore it last Saturday on my date with Max (whole other story: kids were pissed that we waste time on such frivolities)

So anyways, fast forward to Jacob opening locally and now it's pretty much the only place I can get clothes that fit me (they sell suits as separates, and go down to size OH LOOK SOMETHING SHINY!!)

(6) These are my notebooks.

The spiral one is where I write crap down that I have to get out of my head and I can't get on to our computers (yes, plural. I suspect it will get worse before it gets better). Also scratch lists, sketches of other posts that don't have form yet. Also, the beginnings of Rougie's requested nerd graph. It hasn't been forgotten. That's just how I roll. I'm not proud of it.

The *nice* notebook is the one that we are using to organize our lives. We started with family meetings (idea courtesy of Nicole, the Planning Queen) and putting our notes in a formal book. We've been lax with that for a while (though we have to revisit it, because it was a great thing to do), but we have been having regular planning meetings to map out projects or tasks that would otherwise just get done "later". We list a small number of accomplishable tasks like sorting through that pile of crap on the table behind me that's NOT staring me in the back of the head saying "What the fuck? A blog post? Are you serious?" I figure when piles of crap are talking to you, the best thing to do is pretend they aren't. Or start swinging at them with an ax. But I don't happen to have an ax (note to self: get ax).

(7) This is the suitcase; that carries the clothes; that Harmzie will bring; when she goes to Chicago; and meet up with her bloggie friends; and try an Irish Car Bomb for the first time (it's a drink, people... I think.)

If we decide that we have to bring the ball-gowns, the Victoria's Secret wings or the oversized inflatable Grey Goose bottle, I also have the next size up in the same colour.

(7a) (Late entry) Was inspired by Rougie's similar photo essay. Also by the fact that I'm pretty sure it's the same colour and brand. I KNOW!! It's like we were separated at birth. And 7 years.

This is my fave toe colour. Every time Margo & I go for a pedi, I think "I'm doing something different, and then I go with OPI's "Edinburgundy". Or "Vodka & Caviar". (Margo, incidentally, usually goes with "I'm Not Really a Waitress". I could totally be a waitress. Except for all the personabilty things. And the servitude. And the requirement to not say things like "get your own fucking water!")

There it is. Now the instructions tell me to tag a bazillion (yes, some duplication. But I really want to see your red pics)

AndreAnna @ Diary of a Modern Matriarch

McMama @ McMama's Musings

Nicole the Planning Queen

Marymac @ Pajamas & Coffee

Juli @ Wellington Road

Cass. Just Curious

Samantha @ Back to Me

Go, minions...

[sorry about the formatting. It did one thing with one batch of pictures and another with the other. The codes are like a mile long and I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT ANY OF THEM DO. So yeah. Totally zonked. Zonked means tired]

The Mark(er) of Integrity

2010-01-06T23:23:00.009-06:00

The girls got these from Santa in their stockings (one each - duh!):

What they said on the package:

What would make more sense to have them say on the package:

O Tannenbaum

2010-01-03T01:08:00.007-06:00

I dismantled and put away the tree yesterday. As much electricity and excitement as surrounds the annual assembly of the tree, its putting away is the time that affords the most reflection.

Putting up the tree is usually done in the midst of about 17 other things on the list. It's done on THE night that has been scheduled for it as THE ONLY time that it can be done between x, y, & z Holiday Affairs. It's fun and is not rushed, but it's done with purpose and a certain urgency. It's also an exercise in "wait, no- put that... hang on -just- PUT THAT BACK IN THE BOX UNTIL---" and so on. But it IS fun. Really.

(life: spread on the table, with a little help from my friend Peter)

Taking it down, however, is done because it's time, and because we need the dining room back. Considerably less urgent. Also, it seems to be regularly done at a time when I am seriously ~~hungover~~ mellow.

With that frame of mind, I set about removing every single item, and reflecting upon its origin. It is not insignificant that it comes at a time when there are plenty of *new* distractions around [ahem]WiiFit/DS[ahem] that are far more exciting than a boring old box of decorations.

------------------

We first got a tree the first year we were married, because that was the first year we decided to embark upon our Annual Christmas Party (keeps the number of parties easier to remember, as it's the number of years we've been married, which is now - um - a number that is quite impressive in its magnitudinousness, but I won't be sharing for uh... privacy - no, not math - reasons). We only had a few little decorations we had received as part of a wedding present (excellent idea for a wedding present, by the way!)

Because we lived in an apartment with "rules" (turned out we were the only ones who followed them), we went out & bought a nasty plastic tree which actually looked not too shabby. We bought some plain but pretty decorations - red & gold bead garlands and red & gold glass balls. The tree looked absolutely perfect - and just like the lobby of an stark office building. BUT, it was great, as in the back of my mind, I knew that it was something that had to grow with us.

And grow it has.

In a couple of pre-child years, I took it upon myself to buy & paint a whole bunch of plaster & wooden pre-fab decorations (upper right in the photo). The second year, we gave away many of the little plaster ones as party gifts (I think the only time we ever gave out party favours). They are some of my favourites to reflect upon, as it reminds me of some of the things I DID do pre-children that I could not very well do now. Like I didn't just sit around watching Law & Order the whole time.

Others have come from friends as small "cheat" gifts. We have always had a no gifts agreement amongst our friends, but some have periodically figured there's a loophole for Christmas decorations; it's not a "gift" if you hide it for 11 months of the year!* (Also, it's not a gift if you can ~~chug it~~ consume it within fourteen days...) (Also, I think it's possible most people refer to these "cheat" gifts with the more politically sensitive term: "host" gifts. I'm not very good with semantics sometimes. Or grace.)

One year I added a flock of crystal-y geese. Not so Christmassy, but wintery and pretty. Also, a "band" of little cherubs with different instruments.

When we moved into our house, we switched to a real tree (that is to say, the "naturally grown & unceremoniously chopped down and dragged in a death-march to our door" tree, as Norah would be quick to point out that our plastic tree is, in fact, "real", as well). The first thing we invested in on that front was a magnificent Lee Valley Stand - tree has *never* even wobbled or given a hint of tipping (says "no longer available" gasp!) - and the tin stars and tin-tinsel as well.

Then came the kids decorations. They make them at school and at home. There are some with snapshots of time (a handprint or hand printing). They spend hours every year making snowflakes (my favourite is the "pizza snowflake" - draw a pizza and then make a snowflake out of it) and poke them on the ends of branches. This year Norah bought a book of Christmas crafts at the book fare and all three of them made several spectacular items.

In more recent years, my dad has seemed to perpetuate a very informal tradition of showing up one day in early December with a new decoration from 10,000 Villages for each of the kids. I probably wouldn't have even realized that it was a regular thing, except for the moment we spend with each one at take down time.

Lastly, every year, my cheap, bargain-hunting-born-&-bred local instincts have sent me out after Christmas, nabbing those 60% off decorations here and there. Just those things that are absolutely stunning (and - since it's 60% off - no longer make me choke on what they "normally" expect you to pay). This year, I've picked up some lovely snowflakes (three different patterns, representing the fact that all snowflakes are different!)(OK, so I couldn't find matching ones), and some TINY DISCO BALLS! I was thrilled to find some last year, only to discover this year that they weren't actually hanging decorations, but meant to just toss in a bowl (a bizarre concept if you ask me, but they're in a bowl, as directed). It's like an early Christmas present when you crack open the box next year, because I never seem to remember what I got the previous year.

------------------

So yeah! Took down the tree yesterday & got totally retro and introspective. I swear I wasn't high, either. But Peter totally was.

*[NOTE to Those Who Might Think They Have a Brilliant Idea: This is not a hint! I'm quite happy with the current rate of growth of our collection]

And to all a good night...

2009-12-24T21:03:00.010-06:00

The spread left for Santa:

Dear Santa

Thank you for giving to children from everywhere gifts and joy no matter if they are Irish* or Chinese or whatever. Since you give some Christmas to everybody we want to give some to you. Merry Christmas and a happy new year!

From Max Harmzie Norah Pepper and Stewie

P.S. Pepper says Hi**

*The last NORAD update I had given them was that he was just in Ireland, she's always got China on the brain since Grandma was teaching there until last spring. Just a theory of mine.

The Volcano

2009-12-23T01:08:00.002-06:00

For as long as I can remember, I've eaten my mashed potatoes by piling them up, carving a little hole in them and filling the hole up with gravy. It just makes sense. This way, you get maximum efficient use of your plate (especially important in buffet situations) with minimum risk of gravy infiltration to other food – just gross (half of you are now sitting there nodding "oh, that's just obvious"; the other three are face-palming "WTF? You are bent lady!" that second half of you can just bite me)

Growing up, my family mostly ignored accepted this. I have received some blank stares and probably some rolled eyes when I wasn't looking. Mostly, just "oh, that Harmzie – has to make her little mashed potato volcano!" They openly mock me (NB: this is just regular, every day, normal family interaction - it's why I have the stomach for the Internet) – albeit quietly – but I'm certain they realize the genius of my arrangement as I see them Easter, Thanksgiving & Christmas dinner after Easter, Thanksgiving & Christmas dinner, their little piles of mashed potatoes sporting increasingly larger divots in their tops. They make sure their gravy runs over so it doesn't look like they did it on purpose, but I'm watching...

My girls noticed this early in their mashed potato consumerism phases. Not having the years of family politics and baggage to impede them, they quickly embraced the brilliance of The Volcano. Mashed potatoes are one of their favourite and most highly anticipated foods in the dinner cycle. Sadly, Stewie will not eat mashed potatoes, even with the entertainment they bring to the table [snort].

Usually, they are content with piling the potatoes, smooshing out the hole and watching the gravy fill the void until it *just* runs over the edge – the smaller the trickle, the better (this whole issue may actually be the reason Pepper did her volcano project last spring). The other night though, things were a little more... interesting.

I had built the perfect volcanoes for each of them. I mean, textbook. One tiny stream of lava running down a craggy mountain face. Pepper took her fork (she used a fork! I'm so proud) and grabbed a tiny blob of potatoes and put it smack in the lava's path.

"Oh no! The lava is heading right for the city!"

Norah quickly followed, noting a city in her lava stream. "Oh... they're toast"

Pepper was madly trying to save her city by redirecting lava flows. I noted her city was right on the edge of her plate. "You know," I commented, "as the chief engineer, if any lava gets on the table, YOU'RE the one responsible – and in big trouble." She looked at me blankly. "You can *direct* your lava flows. Do you see how your sister's city is toward the middle of her plate?" More blank. "Don't get gravy on the table!"

Norah had moved on. "Look Pepper, my volcano has exploded, taken out the city and is now a delicious lava and ash tornado"

Throughout all of this – including the naming of Mount Potato, Mount Chick(en), Mount Bean (we had green beans, too), plus a dozen more including Mount Norah, Mount Pepper, Mount Stewie, as well as each of their friends on our street AND in school... AND several other food varieties we were not having that night... – Stewie was watching intently while gnawing on his drumstick – the only thing from this delicious and entertaining supper to pass his lips. At one point, he stood in his chair and announced that he would have some mashed potatoes too, but that he didn't want to eat them. Before I had a chance to shoot him down in a fiery ball of momtastic you-can't-have-food-JUST-to-play-with-it, BOTH Pepper and Norah chimed in with a matter-of-fact "No, you can`t just play with a volcano, you have to eat it too"

"Oh," he replied, and sat back down, continuing to watch & gnaw on his drumstick.

And I just wrote an entire post about mashed potatoes.

Girly Bible

2009-12-12T01:43:00.003-06:00

Girly Bible

Rules for Girls

Reprinted (verbatim – as is the title) with permission from the author.

******************************************

Never talk about vilolince
Never think vilolince is funny
Never kiss a boy under the age of 12 (unless they are relitives)
Never tell secrets to those you don't know
Pay no attention when the "boy show" is on
Always eat & talk (not at the same time) for the girls show
Never be rude
When you have a crush on a boy be nobody but yourself
Always be yourself
Be clean
Don't' change the rules in this book (And I mean it!)
Obey the rules
Take care of what you have
Friends don't fight
Friends don't be meen to each other
Friends look out for each other
Play fair
Ignore those who are annoying
Be careful what you say
Be calm
Face your fears
Boys don't live by these rules
Never expect anything in return
Don't make fun of people
Chear on your teammates & friends
Don't play with matches
Stay fit
Dress apropitly for the wether
Don't listen to advratisements
Mute ads
Get your butt of the couch and go outside
Don't do things without asking your parents (unless your 18+)
Be neat
Be careful what you wish
Do what you want to do
Girls are not lazy
Don't cry over spilt milk
What you say is what you are
Nnnnnnnnneeeeeevvvvvvvvveeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrr no matter what obey the boy bible.
Don't talk to strangers
Obey rule #40
Be a good girl all the time.
Ignore boys
Consentrate
Remember all the rules!

Norah – age 9

******************************************

I didn't write this. I didn't even encourage its writing. I didn't even know about it until it was well under way. But it is extremely encouraging to note the influence we have had on its creation. Several of these rules we *regularly* deal with *considerable* flack on. The violence ones are humorous, considering the frequency of sister-clocking which occurs around here. We're still working on implementation of the rules, I suppose.

***Update***

I hit "publish", snap the computer closed and roll over to go to sleep. Max reaches out with big bear arms and pulls me in for a big bear hug. He giggles lasciviously "is THIS in the Girly bible?"

"No," I say "This will be in the new testament, which she doesn't know she has to write yet."

(I Had a Fabulous, Witty Title but I Forgot It)

2009-11-17T22:21:00.006-06:00

I hate my bad memory. I try and make up for it with emails to myself & post-its everywhere. My memory is so bad sometimes that I don't recognize my own reminder notes. I noticed an email at home with the subject "BRING BACK CORDS". My first thought: "motherfucker, who the hell is sending me some internet petition to restore corduroy pants to fashion A-lists?" Looking further, it was I, reminding myself to return the recharger cords for my phone & headset to the office. I had brought them home to be able to use them during my holidays.

If recalling something bugs me, it really bugs me until I remember it. I recall phoning my dear husband and screaming "HE'S OUR DENTIST!!" I'm sure he would have said "who IS this?" if not for call display. Even then...

We had seen a very familiar man completely out of context and it tortured me all day. I was quite ashamed as I got to the point of picturing this man in various forms of garb "suit & tie?" No "jeans & T?" No "safety vest & hardhat?" No.

I was starting to question my motivation for this avenue of thought (it's possible that some may consider the gentleman to be hottie hot hot perhaps somewhat attractive) except that I said to myself "it's not like I've imagined him in a Speedo" except – dammit, there it is. Sorry self.

I made it to "scrubs?" (don't ask why, I don't remember) when, wait a minute, there's something there… The "out of context" was at the funeral of the parent of a friend. A friend who used to work for that dentist. Her recommendation was how we had hooked up with him.

Do you have any tips for um... what was I talking about again?

Remembrance

2009-11-11T10:59:00.000-06:00

His name was Charles Raymond Bradley and he was a Petty Officer with the Royal Canadian Air Force. He was my Grandmother's baby brother and the youngest in the family. I don't know exactly how old he was, because even though I had the presence of mind to pay some attention when my Grandmother spoke, I did NOT have the presence of mind to write these things down. He looks pretty young here.

He was a navigator on a bomber, and part of a fairly successful team – at least according to my only (possibly somewhat biased) source. My Grandmother told me frequently how after every successful mission, the crew each got an egg for breakfast. This was a big deal, as eggs were a rare commodity at the front. Reserved for the elite. Once you had twenty-five eggs, your tour was done. He had eaten twenty-one eggs.

When he was shot down over Germany, my Grandmother said that it ripped a hole in my Great-Grandmother's heart. She became embittered and angry at them for taking her baby. I wouldn't be so sure she even knew with whom she was angry.

I can't relate to the horrors of war. My heart lets me dabble at the edge of what it may be like to let your baby go off to an uncertain future, with odds further against them than you care to fathom. For obvious reasons, it doesn't let me more than dabble. More importantly, the only thing of which I am certain is that it would be nothing like one could ever imagine. Never mind the visit.

It's BECAUSE I can't relate that I am so grateful. I have not had to consider the possibility of such a hole ripped into me for the greater good.

I am so deeply indebted to the men and women who have served and continue to serve to protect my privileges as such a comparatively spoiled princess. Is there really any more that I can say than: Thank you?

----------------------

Max and I went yesterday to the Remembrance Day ceremony at the kids' school. The Principal makes a very sincere effort to beat the kids over the head with this. I believe it's pretty much provincial curriculum to not let this solemn day pass by un-noted, but I get the impression our Principal would not have to be asked. I was slightly disappointed at the parent turnout to this (what I think is an) important occasion, but noted that it was not specifically sent out as an invitation. I was extremely impressed at the children who sat silent and mostly (amazingly) still for a very long time. There are glimmers of hope.

Sweet and Salty

2009-11-07T09:44:00.004-06:00

The girls stayed up way too late last night to watch a movie on TV because "IT'S THE WEEKEND!" and it's what we do on weekends, apparently.

So the crazy late, late movie they watched was actually "Cheaper by the Dozen 2 - we left the movie making machine on!" Stewie actually tried to stay up too, but fell asleep by about 9:30.

When it was over, despite it being ELEVEN o'clock, I still had to grab their scrawny little arms and twist them beyond what is reasonable force to convince them that maybe they should be going to bed, because "it's the weekend" and "OMG! It's Prank Patrol! We HAVE to watch that".

I tucked them in separately, in their separate rooms on separate floors. And separately, as they were settling, they both paused and gave me the saddest look I had ever seen from them and told me of this really sad commercial they had seen. (They're supposed to mute the commercials, but I go hoarse yelling over to the TV area "why am I hearing that?")

And then they started CRYING! Each of them.

I thought: "damn - I forgot that they have a whole different set of commercials on later, even on YTV". I assumed we were going into World Vision territory, but no. The offender was thus:

Of course, my poor dears, I hugged them and comforted them at the same time as I was giggling at them for being so sensitive. Then I watched it myself and suddenly found that there was a bit of something in my eye.

Here's notice, Sidekicks: any chance you had of ever coming into this home are summarily ELIMINATED when you make my girls cry! (disclaimer: it was slim to none prior)(clarification: and it's NOT because there was something in MY eye).

"I'm just gonna do this, and if your leg gets in the way, it's your own fault"

2009-10-29T23:38:00.002-05:00

My girls were exactly what I thought little boys were like. Then my boy showed up and has been exactly what I thought the cross between a poltergeist (the destructive spectre, not creepy movie version); that hungry weasel that regularly slurps up and down Foghorn Leghorn's drumstick; and a pinball machine on multi-ball would be. It's like he's instantly everywhere with Destructive Intent. He doesn't go anywhere where he's not starting off the conversation swinging.

After teaching each of our two "creative" and "active" daughters for two years each, we brought our son in to Mrs G, the Nursery School / Kindergarten Teacher (that is not a short-form, or an alias, everyone actually calls her Mrs G). We said "Here! CYA" and ran. Cue "ricochet" sound, and maniacal laughter for two as we tore down the hall.

She's got two years to fix him.

Tonight, I observed the following in the kitchen:

#1 engaging in bear-hug-like embrace of #2, such that both were collapsing to the ground, with #3 taking full advantage of by kidney-punching them both all the way down. All were laughing (you know, until they're not)

She's got a bit of a tough nut to crack, but I'm sure that there's no connection to the fact that she's retiring next year.

Out of Water

2009-10-28T23:02:00.004-05:00

I was born at a very young age in a galaxy far, far away – not a Ford Galaxie, that's probably where I was conceived (did you see what I did there? Ford actually made the Galaxie, and they existed at the time of my conception. That's called "research".) Actually, it wasn't all that long ago, and it was less than a mile from where I sit right now (crap, it's more like 5 km. What is that in dog years? I'm tired of research). I've lived here about 99% of my life (sunovabich, you're going to make me calculate this, aren't you? K: 3/41=7% of my life *not* living here. I'll take this opportunity to say "look waaaay up. What does that banner say?")*

Alright, so you'd think I belong here. But some of the typical conduct of my fellow citizens leaves me flummoxed. Here are but a few of the things that highlight how I may not belong here.

Don't vacate the city for the lake every summer. Yes, I need a second whole household to maintain and manage, because clearly I have too much time & money
Hate the Guess Who. As in, *hate*. Can't stress this enough. It may or may not be that I've manufactured this entire post in order to be able to state that.
Don't hate Toronto. More indifferent. And pity. They *so* want to be a world city. Not going to happen. This is Canada. That would be grandstanding.
Didn't swoon over IKEA's announcement to open here (disclosure: already own everything, which makes me a good, cheap Winnipegonian; disclosure #2: I'll be there - with my paycheque in hand – the day they open; disclosure #3: I may have emailed them about it back in the day)
Don't hijack any discussion of Neil Young with "he's from Winnipeg, you know". He left. I'm over it.
Know where my turn signal lever is and know how to use it. And do. But not for hours at a time.
Can use an acceleration lane.
Don't make monthly shopping trips to Grand Forks (disclosure: Girls' GFF Weekend. Not my choice destination, but hey, I can spend money. And hey, it's my GFFs!)
Don't pine for the Jets and hyperventilate when the league utters the word "expansion". They're gone. Get over it. In fact the only *possible* way to get them back is to let them go, move on and grow as a community until we earn them on our own merit. And for the love of Christmas, don't fucking call them "The Jets" if that miraculously happens. How about: The Wholesalers? Eh? Eh? Nice ring to it.

I've got about 15 or 200 more ways that I don't or haven't fit in to the various groups and communities I am either forced to, or really want to be a part of. What of you?

*And, ok further: a goodly chunk was spent just outside the city – some might call it "the country" – but really, our community was here, as it sure as hell wasn't out there. I have a long history of not fitting in. Also: damn right I double count that time as time toward my God-given right ability to call myself a country-girl. It probably landed me a husband, so I can't let it go now.

Very Small Rocks

2009-10-21T23:49:00.001-05:00

I had a dream the other night that I was in my parents' garden and they rolled a giant rock out of it and it rolled right at me. I dodged it once, but then it rolled back, right on top of me. Just as I was yelling "HELP!" they looked up and I woke up. I always wake up before the worst part of a dream – even those that don't involve my own demise.

So I woke up and I immediately began thinking "what the hell was THAT?"

I don't usually ponder the meanings of my dreams. I've had relatively few that I could figure out even if I tried. The most vivid was one I had as a child – about four. A large crowd of people – including my mother, my father and me – were running in a field, being chased by a herd of buffalo. The sky was dark with a looming storm. My mother and father were at the front of this crowd and tossing me back and forth between them. My mother was wearing a green vinyl trench coat. Did I mention they were newly separated at the time? I think it was a warning about my aversion to crowds. And buffalo.

The only other one I can recall offhand was about a former boss, whom I respect deeply. I had an image of him in a bathtub having been electrocuted with a toaster. That one freaked me out. So I asked my mom what death meant in dreams. She assured me that it was all about change, which kind of made sense, since we had just acquired a new toaster at the kitchenette. I failed to mention the bathtub and the nakedness. I don't want to know what that meant. (He's alive and well, by the way. And clothed, I presume.)

Now, I often don't pick up on metaphors and deeper meanings unless they are explained to me in very small words (high-school English was a bitch), but I sort of decided that the big giant rock was something that was overwhelming me.

I discussed this with Max, who, after mocking me soundly about dreaming about giant rocks (that's just how we roll – HAW!), analyzed – probably correctly – that may I have some difficulty in breaking down problems/issues into manageable pieces. It's all or nothing. Give'er pig. Go big or go home. And then, bleh... I'm done. Burned out. But hey! I'm done, so I can just rest. This MO would often work out just fine in my pre-child years, in an apartment, but now it does not serve me well. There is no rest, there's just the next project or task or crisis (did you know I made a whole freaking RAGGEDY ANN doll? Embroidery and everything?) So I'll consider it. Because, hey, I like rest as much as the next guy. Maybe more.

And what the hell is up with the fucking brain anyway? Why can't it just say "HEY! YOUR PARENTS ARE SEPARATING!" or "HEY! YOU'RE MORE WORRIED THAN YOU THINK ABOUT THE CHANGES AT WORK!" or

"HEY!!! STUPID!!! TRY TACKLING YOUR PROBLEMS IN SMALLER PARTS!"

I can't help but note that if I were to break up this "rock" into manageable "pieces" that a pile of gravel that size would still kill me. But maybe I take the metaphor too far.

I also note that Max wasn't in this dream, and have concluded that he must have been holding the rock back, and is actually the reason I was able to wake up at all.

Harmzie's Den of Unimaginable Pleasures

2009-10-15T00:41:00.002-05:00

Unimaginable, because I couldn't possibly make this shit up...

I found this little (pen is included for scale [See what I did there? I made sure to include the space in "pen is"]) gem whilst tidying up the toys tonight:

That's a Playmobil monkey on a pig. I don't think it's a Playmobil pig, because it's squishy (although the monkey is too, but I know for a fact that it's a Playmobil monkey).

It's not a "Tequila Pigs" pig either, because those were lost/destroyed/banished after the Great Tequila Pigs Incident of 2003 (relax did not involve children this time) (did, however, involve Tequila).

But the scene reminded me of another that I found a while back - and also thought to take a picture of, mostly because the position of the eye was *so* perfect. OK, I'm lying. It's because Poochie and Lisa/Betty/Frances (her name changes regularly) were caught taking the world in a love embrace and firing all of their guns at once.

Roughing It

2009-10-13T00:25:00.002-05:00

I'm stuck out here in the middle of The Gap with a laptop from Pioneer days (seriously – the mouse doesn't work. Do you know how much you use the mouse on a computer? A lot. A hell of a lot), so I thought I'd share a little about life on the road. With three kids.

Let me tell you those pioneers had it easy simply because, sure they couldn't tie up kids for hours on end with a DVD player that would plug into the horse's butt, but they COULD threaten beatings, or typhoid, or mountain lions. I'm not allowed to do that. All I've got is "finish your kids' meal or I'll eat the Oreo cookie treat myself". Even that, in the wrong context could land me in jail for child depravation these days. And they know it.

So we embarked on a whirlwind road trip to Calgary for Thanksgiving. Roughing it in the worst way. We drove a whole 10 hours and landed in Medicine Hat at a hotel campsite of Max's choosing (and reserving). The plan was to pitch camp and blow off a little kid steam at the waterslide. It was a brutally rough test of endurance, as the hot-tub was not working, so as Max & the kids partook in only two full sized waterslides, I was forced to take on the body-temperature swimming pool. It was excruciating. Then, the place that we camped only had glass French doors between the king-sized bed and the rest of the suite. And they didn't even latch shut. Also, the TV in the bathroom was only 19 inches (never mind that there were only three TVs! Come on! There are five of us!) AND the dual shower heads had to be turned on separately. I swear I would rather have beat my laundry on a rock. Or maybe marble, like the floors and counters in there. Then I had to endure a Japanese Hot-Stone massage that Max had booked for me, when really I just wanted to bake pretzels and tan racoon hides over the campfire with the children. No, really. But endure it I did. It was also excruciating.

After I showered in the spa's shower with only four jets on top of the regular overhead shower, we de-camped and proceeded to Calgary where we weren't allowed to demonstrate our stupendous roughing it skills, and were forced to accept overwhelming hospitality and generosity from our brother and sister-in-law. Seriously. We had to sleep in our own room! With the kids on a whole other floor! And visit and re-connect with other adults! Family adults! I know.

But Thanksgiving dinner made all the roughing it totally worth it. My niece made her very first all-on-her-own Thanksgiving dinner. The only thing I had to endure about that was the painful awe and inspiration watching her pull it all together flawlessly (actually, I only saw the finale. She had it so together that 99% of it was done for extra awe and inspiration). Also, it was delicious. And the company was wonderful. And they had a playroom with a plexi-glass door. That LATCHED! The pioneers had nothing on that.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Note I said "Thanksgiving" and not "Canadian Thanksgiving". You're a big kid and can figure it out.

Magic Star Morello

2009-10-07T23:45:00.002-05:00

I'm tootling about my day, emailing here, inspecting there, throw in a meeting or two for good measure, sign some crap. About half way through the day, I realize I've had the theme song to "My Little Pony" crammed in as a running sound track ALL DAY LONG (I guess it's more of a jingle than a theme song, but at this point, it's semantics)

As bad as that is, it is nowhere near as annoying as once you notice it and can't get rid of it. Something had to be done.

I thought for a moment that maybe if I forced a completely different kind of song on myself... Let's see, how about some Rage Against The Machine? Excellent choice!

No matter how hard you try, you can't stop us now
No matter how hard you try, you can't stop us now

Very nice. Working like a charm. Until:

We're the renegades of funk
We're the renegades of … My Little Pony, My Little Pony…

And that, officers, is why I had to bring the flame thrower in to take out the MLP aisle. It just had to stop. You can see my point.

"Yes ma'am. Sorry to keep you, ma'am"

If there is a god, I have now passed this fucking ear worm on to you and I can proceed at peace.

Backfire

2009-10-06T00:34:00.002-05:00

We were watching Wimbledon.

I use the term "we" a little loosely. Basically, I was aware it was on. Despite my abhorrence for all things sports, I DO try to make an effort to remain engaged. It is a little bit interesting. Plus, I do have a deep respect for and fascination with the business, physiology and psychology of sports. That someone can bring themselves up to that level, both physically and mentally (it takes both, apparently).

So we were watching Wimbledon, and I looked up from my crossword/sudorku at some point and made some snide comment about Roger Federer being some kind of an asshole or something. Max – who normally jumps right in with the celebrity bashing – indignantly said "actually, I've heard he's quite the gentleman and sportsman". I was unable to argue the statement, as my position was based merely on the usually robust assumption that all celebrities (from all walks) are assholes. I am fully aware that this is a rule which is full of exceptions, and am quick to back down when one is presented, but usually, I just don't give a flying crap either way.

But it did send me off on a train of thought… Wow. He sure seems smitten [I don't know if it's obvious, but the thought process from here on was pretty much entirely internal] with Roger Federer. And it reminded me of a Mad TV skit (which I can't find, so it's possible I made this whole part up) where a man finds his wife in bed with Brian Bosworth and instead of freaking out, he is totally jazzed by the fact that his wife is FUCKING BRIAN BOSWORTH!!! And he wants pictures and autographs – ends up creeping out the Boz*, and pissing off his wife because, hello! Earth to jealous husband! Fight for me!

So jumping another step (naturally), suddenly I'm thinking of the Freebie Five. Nen did (a) Your Freebie Five; (b) the Freebie Five I'd Switch Teams For; (c) most recently, Time Machine Freebie Five. The next logical step is…

[drum roll please]

Freebie Five for my spouse! Brilliant! This is so brilliant that I can't believe it hasn't been done yet. I'm so excited. Yay! I am totally pursuing this.

That night, as the house is settling down, I ask (I even cite the Mad TV skit, so it's not TOTALLY out of the blue – I'm THAT prepared): "Who would your Freebie Five for me be?"

"WHAT?!!"

"You know, who would it be a feather in YOUR cap if *I* were to sleep with them?"

He is clearly not playing the game, and in fact, is offended. "What the hell is wrong with you? That list would obviously be zero" (also obviously too flustered to deal with grammar)

Now it is ME who is offended "UGH! You have no imagination. Yes, I'm going to take your 'list' and run around the continent (hey! I've got lots of airmiles!) hunting down these 'catches' because I've got this permission slip from my husband, so it's ok as long as I get pictures and an autograph that says 'yer wife's a tiger in the sack, thanks dude'. It took me six months land a date with YOU"

He rolled his eyes at me and was silent for a very long time as I frittered away on my sudorku "OK fine… How about Stephen Hawking. And maybe Homer Simpson"

"you're an asshole. Homer Simpson wouldn't count because he's all TWO DIMENSIONAL"

*scroll down to "Personal Life" for a local connection. I recall seeing it on the news, so it MUST be true!

You say it’s your birfday…

2009-09-30T22:33:00.002-05:00

(This conversation took place in July. I'm a yiddle bit disappointed that it didn't play out the way he planned it. That would have been awesome.)

"I'm going to wap up a pwesant for you, Mommy when it's your birfday"

"Yeah? I like presents from my boy!"

"I'm going to wap up a wine machine for your birfday"

"That sounds like a great present"

"It's a yiddle bit different"

"Oh?

"It's wed. You put wine seeds in it and turn the handle and wine comes out. You have to put fwayver [flavour] in it too. It tastes a yiddle bit weird

"You know what else I'll get you for your birfday? A Hot Wheels screamer machine!"

"A what?"

"You have to put Hot Wheels cars in it and it turns into a green gun! It's a green skrisher gun. It helps to skrish everything.

"How does that sound? (Say 'petakwar')"

"Spectacular!"

"Yeah."

Paring

2009-09-28T00:39:00.002-05:00

Pepper's last soccer game was Wednesday evening. The previous evening was Norah's last game. Both were, for some reason, the continuation of the spring soccer season.

That was it for the programmed activities for our kids for the foreseeable future. At least until the New Year, or until I scream "FUUUUCK YOU NEED TO BE SOMEONE ELSE'S PROBLEM FOR AN HOUR!", whichever comes first.

Last year's activities included:

Norah: Piano (half-hour lesson once a week, plus practice every day), Guitar (half-hour lesson once a week, plus practice every day), Dance (one-hour lesson once a week), Squash (one-hour lesson once a week), Soccer (one-hour practice once a week, plus two one-hour games per week at various locations around the city)

Pepper: Piano (half-hour lesson once a week, plus practice every day), Basketball (one-hour practice once a week, plus a one-hour games each week at various locations around the city), Dance (one-hour lesson once a week), Soccer (two one-hour games a week)

Stewie: Soccer (two one-hour games a week). For some reason (probably him NOT constantly badgering to join things), we didn't have him in much.

It was too much. We were constantly going. We started using Google calendar because between Max and me and one car, we had to strategize and analyze the logistics of every single evening. Including weekends. The kids – separately – said "Mom, we're too busy".

How did we get into this? We're not "those people". We always swore we wouldn't over-program our kids. We mock "those people". But there's just so much that's interesting. So much that we feel they should learn. Dance for flexibility and coordination. Basketball / Soccer for team-building and discipline. Music for brain-wiring and math skillz. And they asked for it all, were enthusiastic (at the beginning) for everything.

But while they liked dancing, they didn't love it. The team sports were fun, but none of them (so far) have the bloodlust I can see in other players the same age (as soccer players, they'll make great cellists). Maybe they will later, but I'm not willing to tear at their little souls to get it now.

Music is even more difficult to ditch, as both the girls have actually been advancing fairly rapidly. Plus, we bought a whole mother-fucking expensive piano. Norah, after (Guitar Hero induced) begging to take guitar lessons all summer last year, got exceedingly belligerent and ornery (I mean more than normal) after only about a month. We forced her to stick out the entire year (until June – acquiring Guitar Hero at Christmas may or may not have bought a little time). She was (and is) actually amazing. Her teacher – a local rock-star himself – commented on her skill and potential (I think he was also secretly a little jazzed to have a nine-year-old girl asking him to teach her Metallica's "One" and AC/DC's "Thunderstruck")

So, we quit. Everything. This fall and winter we are going to do some one-off family stuff. Skating. Movies. Skiing (hey, we may be in the flattest area in the FREAKING WORLD, but we've got a lump or two suitable for kids. And me. And there's always cross-country) And looking forward to some unprogrammed time. There is much to do to regain control (assuming it's "regain" and not just "gain", but either way). I hope to be able to document some of it here, but don't hold your breath. Cleaning up and gaining control of this cluster-fuck we generously call a blog is unfortunately not terribly high up on the list. But since I enjoy whining sharing here, look for continued, random brain-farts!

Paring down is only step one. I hope it works. What do you think?

Open letter to Stone Fox about Twitter...

2009-09-20T22:07:00.005-05:00

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Or anyone else who hasn't been sucked in by the twmadness, which is how you have to twrite anything to do with twitter, like "tweeple", and "twitterverse" or "I have to twour myself a twup of twoffee and twlace it with a twoverdose of twerioine or maybe just twjam my twpen in my tweye to make it stwop" (and I'm actually kind of surprised that spellcheck still doesn't recognize any of those words).
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Dear Stone Fox [and any and everyone else, as above],

Run. Run screaming if you have to.

But if you're still intrigued you CAN check it out without being "in" (www.twitter.com/harmzie or use the handle of anyone else you'd like to ~~stalk~~ observe). I don't know why the hell you would be. I can't explain why I'm there. Even less why Max (@nickrollout - ask him why he picked that name. I think you'll be ~~dry-heaving~~ pleasantly surprised!) is, since like I said, he can "monitor" my "activities" from afar. I'm just glad he told me he was. Not like I was doing anything crazy or un-marriage-like. But still. It's nice to know you're being watched. For me, Twitter usually kind of feels like no one's watching. Which if you don't feel crazy for being there in the first place, can kind of make you feel crazy.

There's lots of crazy on the internex, isn't there?

Do you think it's re-focusing crazy from elsewhere in the world or just making more crzzzay?

By the way, if it isn't obvious, I love Twitter and would love you to join us ... join us ... join us ...

UPDATE:
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twitter.com/nickrollout
twitter.com/fox_stone

All in one week. My work here is done (see you next week, SciFi Dad).

Reflections

2009-09-19T11:05:00.002-05:00

Why is it on birthdays we find it necessary to reflect on the past present and future? And then again on New Years? And ultimately at funerals?

Well, with my birthday eggs benedict at the ready (the day was yesterday, the 18^th, but with jobs and school, today is the special breakfast, though I got my bling yesterday – that's a given) I'm not here to answer that question – especially the funeral one (though with the dearth of posting of late, there is cause to wonder) – just to do it.

I am now 41. It happens. It will happen to you! It might have already. It's not a bad thing. It beats the alternative. I believe the problem people have with aging is usually a feeling that they didn't appreciate 20, 25, 30, 35, 40, when they had it. To paraphrase the tree-hugger thing: the best time to appreciate your youth was 20 years ago. The second best time is right now.* You are still young compared to when you'll be saying "I'm so old" in 10 years.

Last year on my birthday (a "milestone"), Max asked me, not if I was "happy", but: "if you could go back 20 years and look ahead to where you are now, would you like what you saw?"**

Without hesitating (well, after I quickly sorted through the ** below), I said YES! I would have been ecstatic to see us still married, both healthy and relatively fit (he IS, I might be skinny, but not necessarily what I'd call fit), three beautiful healthy children. We are in a nice house in a wonderful neighbourhood. I am gainfully employed in a job that still provides challenges and opportunities (I think that might even be in a vision statement somewhere). Great friends and extended family – who are all still talking (hey, these days, it has to be counted!).

Are there provisos and "well, if I were to really look into it I'd change (a), (b), and (c)"? No freaking doubt! I constantly feel as though I am one crisis away from spiralling out of control on most fronts. The grand irony is that every aspect of my life is *exactly* where I want it to be, but I sometimes feel as though I have it held together by string and gum.

[The one exception is the marriage. I guess it is proof that when you meticulously and systematically replace string and gum with trust and communication, the result actually can be pretty robust. (The funny part? At EVERY stage of this relationship, we have thought this had been achieved. I fully expect to read this at 60 and mutter "pfft. Amateur.")]

So I/we are in a period of regaining control. Fortunately, there are very small changes to make. Unfortunately there are a lot of them.

What about YOU? Would your 15 or 20 year-old self be pleased with what s/he saw now?

* The tree-hugger thing: "the best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is right now"

** Here, I have to put in that the enginerd in me can tend to get hung up on the details: Do I just see a picture? Do I just get to observe interactions, but not be seen (a la Scrooge's ghost tour-guides)? Do I get to ask questions? Do I get to be INSIDE my person, feeling what I feel? I talk myself from the ledge by reminding myself that the answer is the same regardless of the observation made (just some of the details maybe?)

Max Power

2009-09-12T00:49:00.011-05:00

When I started this (months ago), I had large hopes of it expressing my precise feelings for that entity we call "Max Power" here down at Harmzie's Way. Now, late in the evening on the anniversary of the day that brought Mr Max upon this plane, I can't seem to type a single word without the use of the backspace bar (may or may not be due to the celebrating, OR the presence of my mom and my FAB cousin visiting on their way by from Ontario thru to BC -- i.e. liberal applications of the celebrating factors of La Grotta cheesecake and/or Greenall and/or Peter Lehman), I seem to have to resort to the words of the fabulous and eloquent Christina Agulara. I think she's pretty much captured it, so I'm good with it:

(Do your thang honey)

I could feel it from the start,
Couldn't stand to be apart.
Something about you caught my eye,
Something moved me deep inside!
Don't know what you did boy but
You had it and I've been hooked ever since.

I told my mother, my brother, my sister and my friends
I told the others, my lovers, both past and present tense.
Everytime I see you everything starts making sense.

(Do your thang honey)

Ain't no other man, can stand up next to you
Ain't no other man on the planet does what you do
(what you do).
You're the kinda guy, a girl finds in a blue moon.
You got soul, you got class.
You got style with your bad ass - oh yeah!
Ain't no other man its true - all right -
Ain't no other man but you.

(Do your thang honey)

Never thought I'd be all right.
(No, no, no!)
Till you came and changed my life.
(Yeah, yeah, yeah!)
What was cloudy now is clear!
(Yeah, yeah yeah)!
You're the light that I needed.

You got what I want boy, and I want it!
So keep on givin' it up!
Tell your mother, your brother, your sister, and your friends.
And the others, your lovers, better not be present tense.
Cause I want everyone to know that you are mine and no one else's!
Oooooooo, oh!

Ain't no other man, can stand up next to you
Ain't no other man on the planet does what you do
(what you do).
You're the kinda guy, a girl finds in a blue moon.
You got soul, you got class.
You got style your bad ass - oh yeah!
Ain't no other man it's true - all right -
Ain't no other man but you.

(Break it down now!)
Ain't no other, ain't, ain't no other! (other)
Ain't no other, ain't, ain't no other LOVER!
Ain't no other, I, I, I need no other!
Ain't no other man but you!
Ohhhh!

You are there when I'm a mess
Talk me down from every ledge
Give me strength, boy you're the best
You're the only one who's ever passed every test

Ain't no other man, can stand up next to you
Ain't no other man on the planet does what you do
(what you do).
You're the kinda guy, a girl finds in a blue moon.
(You're the kinda guy, a girl finds oooo yeahh)
You got soul, you got class.
You got style your bad ass - oh yeah!
Ain't no other man it's true - all right -
Ain't no other man but you.

And now I'm tellin' you, so ain't no other man but you.
Ain't no other man, can stand up next to you
Ain't no other man on the planet does what you do
(what you do).
You're the kinda guy, a girl finds in a blue moon.
You got soul, you got class.
You got style your bad ass - oh yeah!
Ain't no other man it's true - all right -
Ain't no other man but you.

I luvs and/or lust you boi.
Happy Birthday, Max.

First Day

2009-09-09T08:06:00.004-05:00

It's the first day of school and my kid has no shoes.

Shouldn't someone have sent me a memo or something?

They sent you three. One for each kid. Each one said: "they need a special, separate pair of shoes for the classroom". Each one said: "first day of school is on the 9th. Of September".

Shut up. That doesn't count. They need to send them with an electric shock attached to them. In your face. Rebut that one.

Manic

2009-08-30T22:58:00.003-05:00

The kids left Thursday evening. It is real. They're gone. For 10 days.

Maybe about a year ago, my dad made an offhand comment about how they were looking forward to when the kids would be old enough to take camping. I said "sounds like a great plan" and put it on the back shelf of my brain to be accessed in about 15 or 30 years. You know, just before they start dating.

Late spring, they called and said "we have to book camp sites, can they come?" Ga?

They are camping. Real full-on camping. Not the kind of camping we did Back In The Day, where you load up as much beer and hard liquor into your car as you can, and fill the leftover space with steak and if there's any space left over after THAT, you put a tent and maybe a sleeping bag in. And the sleeping bag was the cheapest thing they could legally call a sleeping bag available at Canadian Tire that you picked up on your way out of town. And the tent was something your *real* camping parents had handed down to you that had been used possibly in the second world war (not IN the war, because then it would be full of bullet holes, but in the TIME of the war). And you hope that you remembered to locate all the poles after last year, because something way back in the annals of what passes for memory you seem to recall *really* needing a marshmallow roasting stick on your last night and you also happened to be using your parents' station wagon last year (i.e. much more room for the beer). Also, it was the only time you could feel justified eating Alphagetti. Because that shit is gross except when "camping".

That's a very accurate description of the kind of camping they are NOT doing. They ARE taking their gear (Real Gear, see above) and going to a camp ground that only has access by bus. That is, you park, load up your Real Gear and ride the bus to the site in the middle of the mountains.

As their departure date grew closer, and we realized we'd be childless for 10 days, we were both riding a very exciting - and excruciating - roller coaster of emotions. After they left, I have myself masked any emotional response - appropriate or otherwise - through other means:

Off on this adventure is Grandma & Grandpa, three aunties and one "Skunkle" (my kids decided that he would not get full "Uncle" privileges until he made an honest woman of her). Nine of them off in two cars with walkie-talkies between them.

They called this evening - night 3 - they sound wonderful. They're having the time of their lives. They had in their voices, the exactly perfect mix of not missing us, but being really happy to tell us of their days adventures.

Harmzie's Hierarchy of Needs

2009-08-24T18:32:00.005-05:00

Air -- Homeostasis -- Coffee -- Water -- Food -- Shelter -- Emotional Well-Being HooHa -- Some other crap that I probably need, but you know, requires effort...

We had another thunderstorm this morning. It has gotten to the point that people don't even complain about the weather any more. And we're Canadian. It's an obligation in our Constitution (except for Quebec, they don't have to complain about the weather because they haven't adopted the constitution because the meaning got lost in translation and they thought it meant that they had to give *control* of the weather over to the Belgians and they traditionally hate the Belgians, so there was some trust issues and we had a rally and stormed Montreal with a giant Canadian flag and I'm not sure how the Belgians factored in, except that they make good waffles, but I've heard Quebeckers hate waffles, so maybe THAT was the problem)

So we had another thunderstorm this morning, and as I was in the shower, the lights flickered and I thought "crap, I haven't made coffee yet". If the power goes off, I can't make it. AT ALL. I comforted myself with the fact that I could get coffee at work. Crappy coffee, but beggars can't be choosers. Unless the power is out everywhere. Well, what about Tim Horton's? IF THE POWER'S OUT EVERYWHERE I CAN'T GET COFFEE ANYWHERE!!! Mofo. I'm hyperventilating in the shower (good for the breathing channels, not so good for the BRAIN)

And then I wished I had put the kettle on (we make one cup at a time, with boiled water from the kettle) *before* getting in to the shower, but I have an irrational fear of house fires, and I can't purposely turn on an appliance that could burst into flames and then get into the shower where I can't hear or smell anything and ignore it for 45 10 minutes. Then I thought that I should have anyway, since the two kids who sleep upstairs were at grandma & grandpa's house for the night, Max had gone to the gym early, and I could easily grab the third kid whose is on the main floor and get out in time. Since I *could* save my kid, I *should* have taken the risk that I would have to run outside naked to make my coffee, I thought. Especially since there's a robe in here. Continue hyperventilating.

So then I started thinking about how they made coffee in the OLDEN DAYS. But then realized that the microwave needed power too... KIDDING! I know that they didn't have microwaves in the olden days. They would have had to have rubbed two cows together. Not having two cows, I started grasping at ideas. Something. Anything. A pot [check]. And a fire. Fire. Candle? Lighter? That would take a long time. So then I figured I could use the propane torch from the garage and boil a pot of water. Having thusly saved the morning (should the power have failed), I was able to calmly complete my shower with a normal rate of breathing, get out and - very quickly - turn on the kettle. I even stopped long enough to put the robe on. [You're welcome, neighbours]

In mostly unrelated news, when I got to work I discovered that everyone was in a panic because there was no coffee. The operation of the entire department was halted as all resources were directed at rectifying the situation. KIDDING AGAIN! Everyone was fine. They just did their work really, really lethargically until the caffeine epi-pens were brought in.

Except me, who had already had my coffee. Swish.

[note to self (and Max if you catch this): We're out of cream. Do not want to repeat tomorrow]

For all the good this does...

2009-08-20T06:51:00.000-05:00

I was thinking about medical research today.

Not in the usual way that people think about medical research - as in "I sure hope they cure Cancer and Diabetes and Multiple Sclerosis soon" (I do think about that, but not this time). I was thinking about the medical leaps of faith, the paradigm shifts (I know, I hate that overused office politicos term, but it fits).

Picture it - in a lab, way back when:

"Hey, Dr Carter, you know, I was just sitting there staring into my coffee and started thinking."

"Oh? About what?"

"Well, we know that the very sensitive tissues within the nose and mouth and eyes - the 'mucous membranes' absorb things at a much faster rate than the tougher dermal layers in other areas of the body?"

"uh huhhhh. What about it"

"Wouldn't it stand to reason that ALL mucous membranes act in this way?"

"Sure, I suppose"

"So, what if we take a medication we need to administer and apply it rectally."

"Um... what?"

"Physically place the medication within the patient's rectum for quick dissolution"

"Are you saying we should shove pills up his ass?"

"Well, that's pretty crude, but yes, I suppose"

"---

"--- ga!"

"No, really. Don't you think that we'd be able to get quick absorption of pain relief medication or .."

"Well maybe, but STOP! Eww! Just eww! Come on, dude. What is wrong with you?"

"Well, can't we at least do a clinical trial?"

"Awww, come on... You're not going to make me put this before the medical ethics board, are you?"

"Yes. Here, I've already drawn up the proposal."

"Awww, duuuude."

"Just find out what they think"

Two weeks later

"So? What did they say?"

"Well, I presented it to them and most of them started out with a revulsion (although two of them had kind of a creepy grin). They listened intently and then dismissed me to discuss amongst themselves..."

"And what was their conclusion?"

"They said we could go ahead with the trial on one condition..."

"Which is?"

"The one who came up with the idea must NOT be involved in the study in any way."

[in case you were wondering WHY my mind went there - don't. But if you still are, I overheard someone alluding to the joke that ends "for all the good this does, I may as well be shoving them up my ass" That's my story and I'm sticking to it.]

Raggedy Ann

2009-08-18T23:20:00.004-05:00

So, I check out of rehab, all refreshed, ready to start anew, and I run across an old friend: "Hey! I love your blog! But I haven't heard much from you recently! What's up?"

"Uh... blog?" I look into it. Apparently that was some bender.

Inappropriate, insensitive comments about rehab and blog-writing benders aside, I've been busy. Not insanely busy, but a combination of just too busy to stay up that extra mrffmrff minutes to ~~pull something out of my ass~~ craft anything worth sharing, crossed with ~~extreme~~ mild dissatisfaction with several previous posts, plus intimidation at others' brilliance. That's my story and I'm sticking to it [I think I just discovered my new tagline].

Country Girl to the rescue! When Miss Rougeneck beckons, you listen*.

I've been instructed as follows:

Open your first photo folder.

Scroll down to the 10th photo**.

Post that photo and story on your blog.

Tag five others (or more) friends to do the same.

*Also, this is just as good a place to jump back in with my mindless drivel as anywhere.

When I was a child I had a Raggedy Ann doll, made for me by my Dad's aunt. I don't remember many of my childhood toys, but I remember this one because of a bizarre incident indicative of another time.

When I was four, my family (extended, I think there were five or six adults plus me) had travelled to Guatemala (drove, in a van, through the US and Mexico). I think for several weeks. We stayed at an A-frame cottage of sorts. This cottage was a short walk (I'll guess about five to ten minutes?) on a single path to a beach with spectacular sunsets. Nearly every night that we stayed there, some combination of people would walk out to the beach for the view. One particular night, I (remember, four) had decided NOT to join the beach contingent and stayed with folks at the cottage. Then I changed my mind and headed out for the beach. By myself(here's where the whole "different time" thing comes in, I'll assume).

While touring around Guatemala, I had noticed (or had pointed out to me) that the women often carried their babies on backs in a sling. So I had fashioned (or had fashioned for me) a little sling in which to carry my Raggedy Ann, and set out to the beach with my baby. On the way, a small group of kids saw me (little white blond girl - I was blond then, for real, too - all alone on her way to the beach. Stands out I guess) and started making fun of my contraption, to the point of picking at it such that my baby came out of it. I remember making it to the beach and being very upset about the whole situation. I think the adults tried to console me by telling me they were just jealous of my awesome get-up. I was four, but not stupid. I was far more sure they were offended that I was mocking their culture. True. That's what I thought.

That incident was probably the only reason I remembered that I had a Raggedy Ann doll (or that there was a beach within walking distance of the cabin), but fast forward to the birth of my first child and I decided that my new baby daughter should have a hand-made Raggedy Ann doll. Since the aunt in question had long since passed on, I decided to do it myself.

I diligently went out and shopped (new baby in my fancy new baby-bucket-seat and stroller) for the right pattern, and *exactly* perfect material for clothing and body parts. I cut it out and began by carefully embroidering the eyes, nose and mouth, as well as the "I LOVE YOU" on the heart. It was pain-staking, especially when she stayed bald for a good six months, as *every* *single* *hair* had to be stitched and tied. But finally, I was done. And I presented it to small Miss Norah. And she loved it.

The pattern said its size right on it. But 36" just sounds like a number until you put it up to a small child and realize that 36" is actually three feet tall.

No matter. She loved it. She liked to wrestle with it. It turned out to be not so much the cuddly, cart-your-baby-around type baby, more of a giant-ass, big sister with freaky eyes. And nose. And mouth. And eyebrows (under your eyes? seriously?)

I hesitated to post this one [I could have lied and posted the one of me finishing my first half marathon while four weeks pregnant, but there, I just told the story], as it has our ratty old couches in it, but it reminded me of that story too.

All we have left from this photo are the china cabinet, the Raggedy Ann doll (now! with more shredded eyes!), the black & white blanket and of course, the baby (now nine, so I guess we don't even have that any more [sigh])

My Tagees:

Stone Fox - pretty sure we were separated at birth, though mom must have had a pretty rough nine years of continued gestation. Unless we were both lied to. Which clearly we were if we were separated at birth. So it's totally possible. I'll take the high road and say I'm younger than my birth certificate says, ignoring the fact that it makes me a brilliant over-achieving child who would have had to have been in grade 3 at age uh... 18 months or something. We had nasty lying parents. It was a conspiracy I tells you.

Um... so where was I... oh yeah. Tagees!

Kyla Roma - because she rites real good-like about things and stuffs. I'd love to hear her craft a story about a random photo.

Juli Ryan - for that international flavour.

Planning Queen - Everybody needs a Planning Queen in their corner. Also international.

Wyliekat - bringing it back home. Wylie is the sane version of me.

Off minions! Report back with thine brilliance.

**seriously? Just pick a photo & tell a story. Like I'm going to audit your hard-drive or photo-server.

Denial. Not just a river in Egypt anymore

2009-08-08T13:49:00.005-05:00

"...and that's why they have to work very hard to make sure people can't copy money."

"Mom, can we go out after breakfast and buy me a WebKinz?"

"---?"

"It's been over a month since I got a new one. I really need a new one."

[pause & blank stare] "You have plenty of WebKinz" (like 50 or 200. I've lost count and just keep stepping on them wherever I go) "eat your breakfast."

[Breakfast is cleared, I'm doing (ahem) research on the computer]

"Mom? I'm going to go get dressed so that we can go shopping for my new WebKinz!"

"What? We're not--"

[flying up the stairs] "YAAAY! Going to get dressed now!"

"But... no"

"We're going!!! Yay! Hey, Stewie needs a new one too!"

"What? Hey! Stop it! We're not going anywhere"

[a little later]

"So are you going to get dressed so we can go?"

"I'm not going anywhere. No one said anything about going anywhere for WebKinz but you."

"Stewie said so too"

"Does Stewie have a drivers' license? Does he have a bank account?"

"No." [barely skipping a beat] "Dad? Are you ready to go?"

We're NOT going. I think.

Where the World Came From - by Pepper

2009-08-03T22:35:00.004-05:00

It all started with a little asteroid.

One day it stopped and then it got bigger and bigger and bigger.

Then there were eggs [what kind of eggs?] Animal eggs. The animals came out of the eggs. Then once the animals grew big enough, they made the people (PS: somehow).

Then the people that got made by the animals became builders. The builders built lots of buildings. Then the girls had babies, and so on and so on until it was a WORLD!

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She asked me to send this out there (the Internets) to check it out. It sounds as good an explanation as I can provide. Does it check out?

Dreams

2009-08-03T10:33:00.006-05:00

I am at a schwanky party at a stone castle on the Riviera. I've stepped out onto the terrace for some air (the inside air was getting a little weighty with pretension).

"You've never looked more beautiful" the voice behind me says (a fleeting thought doesn't disagree, as my dress cuts a perfect silhouette in the moonlight). I turn and gaze into his eyes and his arm gently slips around my waist and pulls me closer. I find myself fully lost in those eyes.

"MOOOOOMMMMM!!!" The shrill voice rips through the brisk night air. I ignore it. Probably someone else's mom.

"MOOOOOMMMMMMMYYY!!!" As the veil that was my happy place gets shredded into little wet bits, I catch a fleeting glimpse of my Danny heading off to catch the next most beautiful perfect silhouette. Likely one without a muffin-top too, fickle bastard. And I get up to tend to the offender.

I've done a lot of reading and observing, considering and ignoring, trial and error, laughing and no doubt shuddering on various parenting techniques, tricks, strategies philosophies and tips. Dealing with nightmares is the one thing that I have to say I've not really read much about, but actually reached my own conclusion, based a lot on things not specifically related to parenting. So it's probably wrong. But I've never claimed to be good at any of this. Read, consider, and let me know what you think of my approach.

Part I – The [ahem] "Science"

I took a "Leadership" course through work several years ago. Sounds very "Dilbert", but it was an excellent course on responsibility, delegation and a bunch of other corporate stuff. It was a brief, shining moment when I had some faith that my organization was heading in the right direction with something [ahem]. Throughout this course, the instructor spouted off several bits of wisdom that just made plain sense.

(1) We retain [The actual number is less relevant than the scale between them - I'm going to say -] 10% of what we hear, 50% of what we write down, and 80% of what we explain (either back or to someone else). Your brain puts information into different compartments depending upon what it's doing with it. Writing and explaining require more processing.

(2) Something bothering you? Talk it out! This was the "traditional" format for trauma counselling (talking dangerously close to out of my ass now). He stated that there has been growing evidence that making someone talk about a traumatic even can serve to only freeze the event in their memory, when their own coping mechanism may just be to suppress it. In such situations, “they” have found, the individual should actually dictate how they need to cope. Some people need to talk about stuff, others need not to. Or they do, but a little later (again, several years ago, this may be mainstream now. Or entirely shot down. I mention it because in my context, the basic notion still makes perfect sense to me)

Of course he provided references, but I didn't write them down... or recite them to someone else.

[if anyone locally ever has the chance to take anything with Linton Sellen, I recommend jumping at it]

Part II – The Personal Experience

Whenever I am awakened by a bad dream - it seems my conscience would prefer I waken and play-out the worst semi-consciously - I cannot go back to sleep until I fully waken myself and flush the images. Fully reconcile the logistics of yes-that-frightens-you-but-the-likelihood-of-the-earth-opening-up-and-swallowing-your-car-is-low-enough-that-you-do-not-have-to-have-an-escape-plan

On the flip-side, ever have an awesome/funny/interesting/bizarre dream and want to tell about it at breakfast or work later? Or when some seemingly random image reminds you of it?And all you can get out is: "it was really weird... there was.. something about... I was dating Tintin, and uh, Bea Arthur* was vacuuming my curtains, but it, uh made total sense in context and actually was, uh, I think a subconscious commentary on social justice in a world dominated by um... velociraptors... No, really. Don't walk away!"

The Actual Advice (disclaimer: don't take this advice without engaging your own brain. You do have one. I know because you've read this far!)

Based on the above (they relate! Shut up, they do!), I never, EVER prompt the ~~offender~~ child to recite what has caused the distress ~~no matter how much I want to punish them for ruining my evening with Daniel Craig~~

-- Gently wake the child (not all the way). A hug and "Mom/Dad's here" to test the waters

-- Preferably get them to sit up to apply the hugs

-- Acceptable statements: "It's mom/dad/Aunt Fanny"; "You're safe, in your house"; "Mom & Dad are right here in our room" (maybe leave out any explanations for the noises that probably woke them up - now's probably not a good time for that)

-- If they want to talk about it, BY ALL MEANS! but reassure with every statement "you're here now"; "everything's alright" and such and such.

This has seems to work for my kids so far, but I haven't been faced with night terrors or any other really complex middle of the night issues. Tell me what you think of this approach.

My next bit of psychological parenting advice has to do with monsters. Stay tuned for more talking out of my ass!

*I really wanted to put the whole picture in here, but it's a very big image, so it's just linked

Watch This Space

2009-07-29T19:49:00.005-05:00

We'll call this one "BEFORE".

And it's the source of all my whining this week (other than the cold, of course) as well as the project of my "staycation".

Also? Anyone who mentions The Basement or inquires on the progress on The Basement will be banned for life. You've been duly warned.

Illness-Induced Delirium

2009-07-28T00:06:00.006-05:00

For something that just popped into my head and made me giggle, this sure took a long time.

I've been burning the candle at both ends to be able to take two weeks off of work without having to do "just one more thing" or call in and help out with this or that. Sure enough, as soon as I relax, that virus says "you're mine, you fargging bastage*!"

I thought that had happened as we went to our friends Margo & Brian's cottage on (as in, RIGHT on) the lake. I ~~abused~~ used it constantly ("no, I don't want to go swimming sweetie, I'm sick, you know" and more often "could you get me another drink? I'm too sick to get up.")

But as I arrived home, and the ton of bricks hit me, I realized that my body had been attempting to further stall the inevitable. Which I appreciated, since, as lousy as I felt, I (and we all) still had a great weekend.

My only reliable friend has been Advil Cold & Sinus. I describe our relationship as follows:

I had sketched this up on paper and showed Max when he walked in to rescue me from any real effort for dinner with some boxes of KD (have I mentioned that Norah can pretty much make us a meal in the form of KD? She is quickly surpassing me in the kitchen). He looked at it and laughed "You're making graphs about being sick? You're clearly delirious." So I added in the fifth point on the bottom.

--------------------

* [anyone who can tell me where that line comes from will get a virtual shiny gold star (well not so much virtual, as imaginary). It's a pretty obscure one, I think, but comes from one of Max's sentimental favourite movies. That's not really an unfair hint for anyone who knows him, either]

Back to Nature (there's dirt there, I swear)

2009-07-22T20:50:00.005-05:00

Time for an update on the outside world. Stewie saw me going outside with the camera, so he took over first:

[take special note here Wylie, that red stuff in the background is the bergamot we were discussing early in the season]

And then I wrestled the camera from his hands and got him to sit still (you can't see it here, but I put velcro on his butt):

Not Me my kid Monday

2009-07-20T23:39:00.007-05:00

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week. I usually just run over and read the denials of Stone Fox leaving my own snide additions there, but today it switched to the kids, so it was like a sign from the bloggoddessessess from above, so here we go:

My beautiful nine-year-old girl did NOT come up to my room and sit on my bed last night at the EXACT. WORST. POSSIBLE. TIME. And proceed to tell us in great detail how she was worried about when the sun would explode.

That is all.

Chartreuse? Pear? Pistachio?

2009-07-14T20:10:00.003-05:00

We're pretty green, but pretty much everything we do is for another reason.

* We use a "reel" mower because Max doesn't want to deal with gasoline (I threatened that if he dies, the first thing I'm doing - assuming it's summer - is buying an electric mower)

* We drive one car because it's too expensive for 2 for our needs.

* We compost - again, Max liked the challenge and now it's a habit

* We don't use weed killer because I've found they just don't work on dandelions like pulling them out. Or any other weeds for that matter

* We don't drink bottled water because it's just too expensive considering it's basically tap water that someone else bottled (this was hard, since it's sooooo convenient - and actually got me drinking water regularly) Cost of bottled water (cheapest I've found): appx $0.1275/L; cost of tap water: $0.003111222/L. I could get 41 bottles of tap water for one bottle of the cheapest.

* We use reusable grocery bags... sometimes. We've got about a dozen of them, but if they make it to the car *I* usually forget them there & don't think about it until I'm at the checkout. My weaselly solution is that I give the plastic ones to my sister to reuse as dog-poo-bags (sorting out the ones with holes in them is up to her!)

* We've got a front-load machine, but only because less water saves $$
[have been planning to replace the toilet for years. Let's see: 7L - current 13L toilet - 6L "green" one - x 15 flushes/day x 365 x about 4 years we've been "meaning to" X $0.003111222/L = $477 wasted since we figured it would be a good idea. Can't recall the exact time; have never counted number of flushes; didn't account for leap year! Also didn't account for many times using the 3L flush which would make our 7L difference 10]

* I, um... drink wine from the box. Because there's um... much less... um... packaging.

* I bring stacks of (printed one side) paper home from work for the kids to draw on. THEN (depending on the artwork) it goes into the recycling. This is a cheap thing... Do you know how much art these kids produce?

On the other hand:

* I don't give a crap about watering my lawn & garden (i.e. I'll do it) - don't bother selecting low-water plants.

* I will usually drive if I can.

* I will usually turn up the heat if I can get away with it. Put on a sweater you say? Yes, I'll do that. And then I'll turn up the heat anyway.

* I live in urban sprawl. Yes, it is an "older" (beautiful) neighbourhood and the anti-sprawl crowd for some reason looks favourably on my 'hood. But the lot sizes are the same - and sometimes smaller - in what "they" generally consider to be the blight on our urban environment [the evil suburbia]. Also, because I have a back lane AND a sidewalk AND a front street (and grid is not the most efficient layout of pavement to reach every property), I consume more infrastructure than I'm generally given credit for. If we're talking density, I'm not in a particularly dense area. Screw 'em all. I like my neighbours, but not in my lap. Subject for another post? If I get around to it [ha!]

Anyone else a lazy shade of green?

10/07/02 12:45 - 7#7 - XX

2009-07-10T06:30:00.004-05:00

Happy Birthday Pepper!

Forever ensuring the middle child is NOT lost in the shuffle!

The one where a bicycle factory exploded on our street

2009-07-08T23:13:00.003-05:00

And all the kids ran off because
"HEY! THERE'S SOMETHING SHINY DOWN AT JAKE'S PLACE!!!"
(there's never anything said on the street that is in anything less than a screaming voice.)

Why America is Great

2009-07-04T12:18:00.003-05:00

Because they invented the Muppets; dumbed down YouTube enough for me to embed this and also, keep the world safe from weirdos. Among other reasons.

Happy America Day to my southern friends!

Helen Keller

2009-07-03T21:45:00.009-05:00

It was windy Sunday, so Max had planned to take the kids kite flying - the girls both got big fancy kites for Christmas, and we had yet to try them out. Yes, I am aware of the month.

I broke into song:

"Let's go fly a kite!
"Up to the highest heights!...

"What movie is that from?"

Max pondered a moment. "The Sound of Music?"

I huffed - because yes, I'm totally the musical theater aficionado (I know it's a movie. It's also a book).

[I detest musical theater. So much so that I have yet to see a dear friend - the one whom Nen calls Sly - who is tres accomplished locally in the field of MT, AND a delicious singer (I have heard her sing) - perform. I was just about to suck it up and go when she went off and had a family. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.]

"NO!"

"Diary of Anne Frank?"

"WHAT THE HELL? Yes, because she was all out there flying kites: 'yoo hoo! Look at me! Out here in the open! Flying a kite!'"

"Oh yeah. I guess she would have had trouble, being blind and all"

"---"

"She was deaf?"

"--- [sigh]

"You're thinking of Helen Keller. Did you even LIVE in North America in the late 20th century?"

"That's the one. There's that song: 'Do it like Helen Keller'. How does that go? 'Shake your hips...'*"

(The Boy runs in and jumps on the bed)

"Stop right there. I have NO idea what you're talking about, but I'm almost certain HE shouldn't hear it. Besides, it doesn't sound like it's about kite flying."

"Um...No... You know, I've actually even read 'Diary of Anne Frank'"

"Interesting. I haven't, and yet I seem to have picked up more from it than you did."

And then he left before taking another futile, yet thoroughly entertaining stab at the answer to the original question.

Any other thoroughly entertaining stabs anyone else would like to take? The only prize is public humiliation. Fortunately for you, the public is fairly limited, as the summer blog traffic lull seems to have hit Harmzie's Way a little early.

*Turns out that this IS an actual song and it's current and on the radio. It's very, very awful. Even ignoring all the intrinsically awful things about the song and the words and the message, it's just an annoying and bad song.

The Spinner

2009-07-03T07:25:00.000-05:00

I have a "spinner":

1/ pull covers [unconsciously, of course] to chin [mmm coziness]

2/ feet get exposed

3/ pull covers with feet to cover said feet [exposes wife's feet? maybe]

4/ yell at wife for being "fussy" about having to have the blankets "just so" whilst he's sleeping.

[sigh] Amongst other splendiferous attributes, he cooks.

But if I were to start in on the splendiferous, it could start to drift away from entertaining and waver dangerously toward "ewww". So I'll just continue toying with the comfortable thought that he'll never start his own blog and start in on me.

Also? 16 years of legal, publicly acknowledged ~~lust~~ ~~pawing~~ ~~"practicing"~~ ~~correction~~ affection as of today. If you ever drag your sorry ass here and dare to take a peek at what I write about you, Happy Anniversary Max Power! The big wet smooches will be administered whether you drag your sorry ass here and dare to take a peek at what I write about you or not.

...and This Is Your Brain On Bugs

2009-07-02T19:30:00.006-05:00

"Mom, if a bug crawled into your ear, could it get out the other side?"

"No dear, your brain is in the way."

"Oh. NO! Couldn't it crawl through like under and then around?" [lots of indecipherable hand motions]

"Your brain is still in the way"

"NOOOOOO! You don't understand what I mean..."

[Me thinking it's over, but 10 minutes later]:

"Here. This is your head. And this is the hole that they go through to get through the other side. It goes UNDER your brain!" [stupid]

Also, apparently we all look more like Shrek than we realize.

Cool Stuff From Last Week - Part II

2009-06-27T18:33:00.002-05:00

I am aware that "Last Week" is actually ~~two~~ ~~three~~ a few weeks ago, but I promised to report on it...

I mentioned in Part I, that the girls presented their Class Expert projects ~~last week~~ a few weeks ago. Pepper did hers on volcanoes and presented on Tuesday, and Norah did hers on The Great Wall of China (click photo to enlarge)

She and Max sat researching in front of the computer on several separate occasions. They started with the basics: what; where; when; why; who; how.

She jotted down the questions and answers and ended up with a pretty concise history of China as it is represented by the Great Wall. She then was able to present and discuss the subject in front of her classmates with ease.

In grade 1, she did an awesome project on the solar system. Her and Max started with a soccer ball as the sun, then did calculations to figure out how big and far away the planets would be away. They made them all out of plasticine, and for the presentation, Norah took the class out into the hall put the soccer ball/sun at one end and paced out how far the planets would be. If I recall, she was able to demonstrate Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars and Jupiter before she got to the end of the hall. She then had to explain the approximate location of the others, like "over on Fleet", and "at the community centre". Also: "the next closest star would be in Calgary"

In grade 2, she did a PowerPoint presentation with a video on taking care of her Betta, Nemo (still swimming, by the way!)

OK, so I realize this isn't the most stellar and fascinating of posts, but it's been "out there" picking away at me for while. Also I've got to post some dawgs every once in a while to showcase the awesomaucity of the rest of them. Consider this the plain bridesmaid in the ugly dress making the bride look even more stunning. It's got a nice personality, but, y'know.

[Does anyone else do a once-over of a hyper enlarged photo of things in your living room before posting to make sure there aren't any underpants on the floor, or beer-bottles or knives laying around? No? Just me?]

"I'd be honoured to attend" updated

2009-06-26T22:43:00.003-05:00

After years of pretty effectively using a paper calendar, a while back, we decided we were getting pretty bogged down and needed a better way to organize our family's whackadoo schedule. Without, you know, actually cutting back on any of our Super-Fun-I-Absolutely-Cannot-Live-Unless-I-Do-This-And-I-Promise-I'll-Practice-EVERY-Night-WITHOUT-You-Reminding-Me activities.

So we've started using the Google Calendar. I suggested it offhand and Max jumped in with both feet. We put in our own activities and those of all the kids. Basically we can see when one has to tag-off with the other. And conflicts where we have to sign up a babysitter (or turn to our ever-gracious and wonderful, loving, caring, flexible and compassionate family and/or friends) for extra eyes and hands. So far, it's been pretty effective as a "don't book shit here" tool.

The technology is built one way though, and can't be expected to cover off every eventuality one could come up against.

Case-in-point, I got this notice today (click for better resolution):
Now upon reading this, instantly, I knew that it was a "hey, you'll need to be home so I can do this". I've been "invited" to several things that had nothing to do with me, where the "invitation" didn't faze me at all. But no matter how many times I re-read this one, my mind kept jumping to "Uh, really? You want me to go with you? I mean, 'ew'!"

Please note, as you can see here, I said "Yes" (so that it would appear in MY calendar). But in the comment section I added: "I'm honoured that you'd invite me."

UPDATE: The very next day, I got a notice in the mail from the hospital for a breast ultrasound*. So I put it in the calendar as "Boob Test" and invited him. I was actually waiting to see his response before I updated, but as a rule, he doesn't open email from me. Surprisingly, even one titled "Invitation for Boob Test"

*[no, they don't just hand these out randomly, nor does everyone just get one in Canada - it's a long boring story that ends with me with lube all over my breasts. There are far more exciting stories that end with me with lube all over my breasts - and even some beginning that way - that I don't share, so I'll probably not bother with this one. Suffice to say: I'm healthy & would like to stay continue to know that I'm staying that way for as long as they'll keep plying me with lube.]

UPDATE 2: Apparently he DID respond. But Google calendar didn't register it by sending me an email back. He responded "maybe" with a request for a pre-test. Pig. [please to not be pointing out how I walk into that one, boobs-a-waggling]

Four

2009-06-23T06:26:00.002-05:00

I thought Norah was Gigantor, and then Pepper was my delicate little princess at 7 lb 7 oz. Stewie brought along yet another anecdote to put in the file labelled "THERE ARE NO PATTERNS, STUPID", weighing in at 9 lb 3.5 oz (evidence to the left)

This was the first time, of all three that at the exact moment of birth I uttered "thank GAWD that's out of me". There may or may not have been expletives.

Also: "Hey look! A boy!", as we were rather expecting a girl. For no other reason than, um, patterns. With three kids & two engineers - constantly looking for patterns, don't you know - the file is getting full.

He was born ON his due date, making him a "ten-percenter".

One year later...

And additional three...

He wants hot-dogs for supper. And Shark-bite bay Trick-Trax for a present. I have no idea what that is, but we can do hot-dogs.

Mostly, I include this one as it's a good depiction of those *freakish* eyelashes. You know, the ones girls pay thousands of dollars to have implanted.

Happy Birthday, Boy!

How to Bild a Tiyr Swing

2009-06-21T21:57:00.007-05:00

Pepper came up with this plan all on her own and showed it to me (click on picture to get more detail)

I was particularly impressed with her ability to sketch out a plan.

The only flaw I could see (which of course I pointed out to her because I'm like that), is the absence of a large cantilevered strong horizontal post upon which to fix all of the above plan. She seemed unfazed.

Oh, Baby!

2009-06-17T00:39:00.005-05:00

Oh, yeah. They totally want one.

The Boy is a little more "uh, yeah, there's only room for ONE baby in this house, muthafukka" The smile is totally fake.

[Thanks to our special friends, BA Berg & Co for supplying the beautiful little prop - and causing me just a teensy bit of "just one more!!" Just a teensy bit. It went away. They have two boys also, one two weeks apart from Stewie, the other two years older. They came for brunch last week]

So what do YOU want that mom says "FUCK, NO!" to?

I hate horses

2009-06-10T23:05:00.003-05:00

...because every time I see them I fall in love with them all over again, and I want to have them again. And that sucks because I can afford neither the time, nor the energy, nor, of course, the money to venture down that road.

We were out at a family friend's farm for grandpa's birthday party and they had a two-week-old colt named Thunder.

"Hello, giant nose!"

Unrelated to horses, but: Harmzie & the BILs (and, well, Max, because he's not my BIL). They made a whirlwind trip in from Calgary for the occasion.

Cool Stuff From Last Week - Part I

2009-06-09T23:49:00.002-05:00

Preamble: The two girls, Norah & Pepper are in grades 3 & 1 respectively, and are both in the same "Alternative" program 1-2-3 classroom.

My kids' class has always (since Norah's been in grade 1, anyway) done a year-end project called "Class Expert". It is an independent learning project where the kids must select the subject and present it in a manner of their choosing:

PowerPoint, model, speech, book, poster, even "puppet show" is listed in the instruction sheet as an option - I'm sure just to get the parents open to the idea that anything goes. I'm sure they've never had a puppet show. Never. Myself, I was hoping someone would do an interpretive dance.

The very first year, we wrastled with this. How much do you stand above them cracking the whip? And when does it cease to become their project?

We concluded it's theirs: if they were excited about the subject; if they had tossed around some notions about how we were going to go about exploring the subject; if they were engaged and interested in discussions on it; if producing the project didn't lead to melt-down, screaming fits; and ultimately, if they learned enough in the end to stand up in front of the class and talk about it and answer questions about it. We quickly scrapped the absence of melt-downs or screaming fits as criteria for success.

Pepper this year chose the good old stand-by: volcanoes.

And she wanted to build one. So we built one.

If one were to observe, one would say I am using the term "we" rather liberally. But while I built the whole plaster-encrusted thing from the ground up, she directed the process, and ultimately painted and decorated the whole thing. More importantly, she painted the insides and understood what we had done (sectioned a mountain), why it was in layers, and what the different layers were made up of (alternating hardened lava and compressed ash). Also, that the red stuff is called "magma" until it comes out of the ground when it becomes "lava". Yeah, so there's a few things I learned too.

I made her some speaking points to organize all the things she learned, but she provided her own flavour to it of course. Here she is pointing out the very important notion that "if you touch lava, you die."

What we took from this experience, as we have the previous two years, is the opportunity to explore. Since the presentation last Tuesday, Max found some really cool volcano videos at Discovery Channel [that's not it, but the link is downstairs. I'll update it if I remember and anyone cares. And I'm sure that's Candace Bergen's voice, but I can't find a credit anywhere ~~that I've bothered looking]~~, and she has nagged to get to see them and talks about what processes are happening. Norah too, and Stewie, for that matter all took an interest and learned about volcanoes.

So speaking of Norah, her presentation on the Great Wall of China was on here too, but somehow I deleted the photos, so I'll have to post them under separate cover ~~tomorrow~~ whenever I post next. I'll also share a synopsis of her first two projects.

I'm Totally (Not) Going to Blogher!!!

2009-06-08T18:09:00.005-05:00

I started a comment on The Bloggess's post today about Blogher that got too long. So rather than eat up miles of her comment area* and totally piss everyone off**, I though I'd just parlay that here and piss you off because you already love me. It's about Blogher and how she's going and hanging out in the bathroom. Go read it. I'll wait...[the part where she says "If you’re not going to Blogher then just skip this post" just ignore that. I know we're not supposed to ignore what The Bloggess says, but indulge me] ...................

-----------------------
Totally jealous. But if I were to go, I'd probably be not be in the bathroom, because that seems to be where all the real bloggers are (or "bloghers"? See? I don't even know the difference).

But it would never get to that point, because if I even brought it up, Max would be all "what? why? you're not even a real blogger" and I'd be all "I'm as real a blogger as you are a squash player"*** and he'd be like "no way" and I'd be all "way", and he'd be all "you mean that thing you do that wastes time when you should be giving me hummers?" and I'd be all "dude, you *never* got hummers before I started my blog [not even before we were married -- or rather, early in our marriage, mom -- so there was no fraud there, in case you were wondering], but if that's what you want to blame it on *now*, then yes" and he'd say "It's not even real!" But I'd ask, "If I 'fake' my entire life, and am 'real' on my blog, which is actually real? And would I be 'real' in a room full of strangers, or would they be strangers or would I be the strange one, or just the drunk on the table trying to drown her public anxiety?" and he'd answer "well, we don't have enough air-miles for you to go anywhere. Plus you don't have a passport."

We often have 'real' (not the opposite of 'fake', but rather In Real Life) whole conversations where one of us will have the discussion with the other right in front of them without the other actually speaking. This "conversation" is usually summarized by "see? I don't even need you to have a conversation. I know exactly what you're going to say."

[crying in my lonely fake-blog beer. At least the beer is real. Except that it's a glass of wine. Or sometimes Gin + OJ + 7UP, which I still haven't named]

So, to summarize: what is the name of my Gin + OJ + 7UP drink? I'm taking suggestions. Remember, a Gin + OJ + 7UP + GRENADINE is a Singapore Sling. While delicious, that's just too many ingredients to keep on hand for the summer.

Yes, I have two, if not three posts to write to summarize last week. And three filthy kids to bathe. And a ~~shit-hole~~ home to tidy up. Yes, I'm stalling.

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*[like I used to do to Nenette and is a large part of the reason I started my own, because she said "GETTHEHELLOFFMYBLOGALREADY!" although she said it nice]

**[I'm too small to piss off The Bloggess, although if I did, everyone would be wondering "hey, who pissed off The Bloggess so bad?" and come here and find out and be all "Really? hmph"]

***[I would TOTALLY never say THAT in real life, because he's worked WAY harder and WAY longer on squash than I have on any of this. He's got like 175 squash followers. Maybe more. But they don't count them like that because they're all "we're way too fucking cool to bother with something as bourgeois as 'counting followers'" But if I were to spring the word "bourgeois" on them, they'd be all "I totally loved the 2003. It had a delightfully peppery after-taste"]

Dude

2009-06-07T22:33:00.004-05:00

Talking of the cranial functioning whilst driving on the phone (even with head set):

Max: "...I've driven while on the phone, and you just don't pay the same attention that you do in a conversation [with a person *in* the car]. You can go blocks and blocks without realizing what you've driven through."

Me: "I know. [Sotto voice so kids don't hear] Way back, I recall driving home [to farm] after a social from [insert name of my small town] and getting home thinking 'whoa, I don't recall the drive home' [Sleep-deprived and party euphoria, people, relax]"

"Hmmm. Unfortunately, I get what you're saying."

"...and the same thing has happened early in the morning when - groggy - I get to work and my brain says to me 'dude, I sure hope there were no red lights on your way in, because I was on auto-pilot'"

"Your brain calls you 'dude'?"

"I---well---"

"Your brain is stupid."

More Vaseline

2009-06-03T22:17:00.002-05:00

This is my Mothers' Day post.

This photo was taken by either Pepper or Stewie (I can't recall which because it was a little while ago, but I'm thinking Stewie, just because he grabs the camera more often).

I "doctored" it (I say this to preempt someone commenting "shopped!") because I thought "hey, the jacket & plates are already black, the wall and shirt are already white. Maybe if I B&W it, no one will notice the blue undertones of my skin." Except now I've told you. So you can just imagine me belonging in an early version of Star Trek (there's NO way I'd fall for Jim though. Gimme a break. Spock.)

My main point is: the kids need to learn to use the soft-focus more.

Unorganized Thoughts on a Block Party

2009-05-30T23:38:00.005-05:00

We had a block party on our street yesterday. It was a wonderful thing in that is was not so much DISorganized as it was just NOT organized.

That may sound on the surface like a criticism - which given that I did *absolutely* nothing to make it happen would be not only completely unwarranted and even rude, but would legitimately earn me the title of "That Neighbour" (you know the one) - but it is most certainly not. One neighbour had to go around with a petition getting support to close the street; one had to arrange the closing of the street c/w city councillor support (= funding the $250 permit - thank you councillor!) to do it; one ran around putting notices in mailboxes. Easy peasy. Even I could do it (y'know, if I wasn't such a lazy tool). Message? "Bring a lawnchair & a snack to share."

There was a couple of tables set up that ended up being full of watermelon, pineapple, a zillion bags of chips; wagon wheels & several kinds of homemade cookies. One genius super-mom (the "my-hero" mom on the block that is always doing cool stuff with her kids - and sometimes mine!) pulled out a kids' picnic table and had cookie decorating and playdough (not sure which I got when Pepper gave me a "specially decorated cookie" the playdough and sprinkles happened to be the same colour). Kids were occupied when they got bored of biking / rollerblading / scootering down the car-free street (which they didn't seem to!)

We just sat & visited. Hung out, if you will. No one tried to make it *perfect*. People just don't get too many low-key, high-Q moments any more.

My big contribution turned out to be the moment I said "hey, we need music" and pulled out the iPod and sound dock.

There's something kind of unexpectedly unnerving about bringing out your own music selection. I hadn't really considered that in all the various conversations I had had with my (wonderful) neighbours over the years, there is always a part of yourself that you hold back. I said "screw it" and set up the sound dock.

I announced "I play all kinds of music for my kids and have explained to them that there are plenty of songs with bad words in them and ideas/expressions that they will not necessarily understand and they know they are not to repeat things that are swears and that they don't understand the meaning of. If any song needs to be skipped, let me know and I'll skip it."

No one did. The only song *I* skipped over was "I see you baby" by Groove Armada, as it has a very prevalent "Shakin' that ass" line repeated. That one has taken a very focussed effort on our part - including threats of losing things - to ensure our children don't chant it. I thought I wouldn't put everyone else through that.

The only time I thought it was maybe too loud and tried to turn it down, I got yelled at to not touch it. So, success.

My favourite work-nerd moment was when the kids pulled up the crack-sealant in the road and were using it as a giant, tar skipping rope.

Me: "Dammit kids! You've compromised the integrity of the pavement surface! Now water will infiltrate to the substructure and undermine the supportive granular base layer. Accelerated deterioration is the natural consequence" [crickets]

Neighbour Kathy (aside): "Dude, leave work at work."

Me: "Also, your hands are all black from playing with tar"

Neighbour Kathy: "eww"

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I wrote this earlier today but was not happy with how it all tied together. I just opened it up and decided "If I just add the words 'Unorganized Thoughts on a' in front of the title, it will all make sense!" *genius*!! So I'd better post it before my "yesterdays" don't make sense any more.

Welcome to the (30) Rock I Live Under

2009-05-28T07:00:00.004-05:00

I started a post about how miserably frustrated I am and how it seems to be affecting many aspects of my life. I started it well, all day yesterday and today - it was a running dialog in my head. But then I went & bought some shoes AND was walking around soccer thinking "hey, I have a job that is currently frustrating - but I *have* a job and I do quite enjoy it; my parenting failures are mostly to do with my otherwise-induced frustrations - but I *have* a family & that's what I always wanted; My outside interests are going under-fulfilled, but they are *interesting* interests and I can work on them."

In other words, I told myself: Suck It Up Princess. And then decided to go with lighter fare:

-------------------------
For most of my pop-culture laden life, during times of conversation when the following topics came up, I had to navigate carefully under the radar, so as not to blow my cover that I have not partaken in That Which Everyone Knows. Here are but a few:

1. Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Apparently there's a movie coming out now. But did you know that before the TV show there was [gasp] a movie?! Crazy, eh? AND it was a good movie. It had great lines in it like "I didn't even break a nail!"; "Excuse much?"; "rude or anything"; and my favourite: Paul Ruebens' death scene (ooo sorry, spoiler. Your own fault for putting everything into a knock-off w/o checking out the original!) "hhhhehhh....... hhhhehhhh...... hhhhhhhhhhhhehhhhh!" Also? Donald Sutherland? and Luke Perry? Give your head a shake. The Old-school was a thing of beauty. Wait. This is about what I *haven't* seen. I haven't touched the TV series.

2. Slapshot - We don't tend to get excited about too much up here in mellow-down Canada. One of the things we do is Gun Control. That clear, I'm kind of afraid to admit this, since I'm pretty sure there's a law on the books that says in spite of gun-controls, you can be shot for not seeing this.

3. Caddyshack - I'm also kind of sure that not seeing a Bill Murray movie can get you at least knee-capped here.

4. Titanic - I can comfortably say will N.E.V.E.R., under my own steam, watch this movie (notwithstanding being trapped on a transatlantic flight where the alternative is a chatty halotosian - even then, depends what they're talking about). It's not even the principle, as I would watch any of these other items.

5. Rocky Horror Picture Show - Just never happened.

6. J&K+8 - what.ever.

7. Survivor - OK, one episode - enough to not bother going back. I can't stand the drama.

8. Pretty much any reality TV show. I *have* a reality, I don't want someone else's thrust at me. Except Elimidate. That was awesome. They were so indignant!

9. The Office - Regrettably, from what I understand.

10. Star Wars Episodes I, II & III - and yes, I call myself a Star Wars fan. Also, I will be in a cold, cold grave before I call I, II & III the "first" [shudder] movies.

11. Harry Potter anything

12. Any season of Idol, past the schadenfreude rounds

13. Lost

14. 24

15. Star Trek TNG movies (seen all the others) - also regrettably.

16. Bourne franchise - I'd still like to see these for some reason.

17. American Pie franchise - one time? at band camp? I suggested to Max that we should see ~~these~~ this movie so as to understand the pop culture references. He said "you already know it". Maybe not, but it was a compelling enough argument to not bother.

BONUS: Shows that I'm pretty sure I've seen all episodes of because at various times they were syndicated at 10:00 - exactly when I needed a half hour shut-down period:

M*A*S*H; Night Court; Cheers; The Simpsons (well up until several years ago, then I gave up); Law & Order (though, I have to say that I saw the bulk of them when I was on my first mat leave and it was on - somewhere on the dial - four different episodes a day)

Your Turn: What does The World think you should have seen that you either (a) haven't bothered or (b) would rather jab a pen in your own eye than partake in?

Cookies From Heaven - a Photo Essay

2009-05-25T23:58:00.002-05:00

"There's going to be a surprise arriving Monday" I said on Friday.

"What? What is it?"

"I can't tell you. It's a surprise"

I was entirely non-committal about what the surprise was. Not even an animal/vegetable/mineral hint.

They were climbing the walls all weekend. They pretended they weren't. But every few hours or so, one of them would bring it up, in hopes of catching me off guard and getting more info. But I held my ground.

Even last night: "So, is it in the morning, or when we're at school?"

"When you're at school. It will probably be here when you get home, but you can't touch until *I* get home"

"Oh. So what is it?"

"I can't tell you. It's a surprise"

So when I got home, I was just through the door and I swear, it was less than 30 seconds before I snapped this picture. I barely had the chance to see that there WAS a box before they descended upon it like vultures. Keep in mind they still don't know what's INSIDE it!

They were ready with scissors.

Here, Pepper holds up what she figures is the next best thing to bubble wrap. When she bursts it with a satisfied grin, I yelled "NO!!! That's New Jersey air!" She was unfazed, but Max swooped in and took a deep breath, so as not to waste it.

This was completely lost on her, but I thought it was funny.
Inside was a care package sent by AndreAnna.

She made me cookies, and X-Press delivered them.

I KNOW!!!

Isn't that the pinnacle of everything that is good and just about the world?

It's a tough cookie-critiquing crowd. And these ladies know their way around a cookie. But after careful contemplation they produced a review best captured on -erm- film?

[Aside: Also? Those t-shirts they're wearing? Schwag in exchange for using our children as slave labour to clean up the school yard. Some line about "helping the earth"]

How can you not love someone who puts this look on The Boy's face? Seriously.

"Mother's Little Helper" (Not that these cookies needed any help. But a glass of wine just helps. Period.)

Now, I'd love to offer some more intelligent review of AndreAnna's cookies, but this isn't a food blog and in reality, we were too busy cramming our faces to provide anything better than "mwff. vees aw awfom." But that was a pretty consistent sentiment.
I was lucky to have the camera handy too:

Catch it quick...

...before they're all gone...
...and you're forced to scramble for crumbs.

[They're not entirely gone, as I saw Norah whisk her final allocation away to a Ziploc bag to pop into her lunch bag for tomorrow. I'd love to hear what she tells her classmates about the Mystical Well-Travelled Cookie]

For the rest of the evening, I caught little random little thoughts popping out:

"Those cookies were awesome"

"It was so nice of your friend to send us cookies"

Thanks again for the lovely treat AndreAnna!

Update: Grrr... I've been trying to remember to include an engaging question, because in those places where I've seen them, I love reading the comments almost as much as the post. But I forget Every. Single. Time.

So: What surprises do you like to get?

...Summer...?

2009-05-24T20:54:00.004-05:00

...is that you?

Wowzers. You sure took your sweet effin time this year. Assuming this is you, of course.

Max & I were yesterday negotiating the day's chauffeuring duties - two dance classes for "picture day" [which only meant that there was extra fruffing to do just prior, and of course for some reason, having two girls in no way commits a man to know anything about putting in a pony tail. In fact, neither of us know how to do a French braid, but for some reason I am the one who needs to learn how to]

I said that I had a whole bunch of plants to put in the ground, as we received them from the girls' school on May 5th and they weren't doing very well in the dining room. We had lost several already.

He said "you're going to risk it out there?" I said "it's actually the frost day today" (May 23 is the statistical day when you can expect that there will be no more overnights below zero around here). He laughed at me. I responded that while, yes, the "summer" weather might be another bluff, they were probably better off taking their chances "out there" than with me. There was no more discussion on the point.

So yesterday and today were beautiful. I don't know the actual temperature, but I didn't have to wear three coats (fleece jackets, come on). I planned & planted & moved some stuff around. I checked the tags for height & spread (I always plant things way closer to each other than they say to, but I like to know how badly I'm breaking the rules) & dug stuff in. unfortunately, it still looks like a cluster-fuck. But it's another in the long list of things that I love to do and would be very good at if I would bother to focus any energy on them, but I don't so I suck at them but I still enjoy doing them.

So, remember the beach party? Well today we were finally able to take it out doors.

Giving the whined/begged options of:
(a) Super Soakers [I'd probably get wet - I hate getting wet];
(b) Blow up the pool [Hella-effort, minimal payoff. Also, I'd have to stand there the whole time, because of the, y'know, five inches of DEATH sitting there in the yard and all];
(c) Sprinkler [I'd definitely get wet, because I was trying to work there]
I chose (a), because I could make them all (army of neighbour kids involved too) go & have their Epic Battle on someone else's lawn. OUR yard would be the "neutral zone" (for refilling - brilliant, eh?)

My favourite thing I yelled out? "You can't have a water-gun battle and then complain about getting wet!" It wasn't to any of my kids, but it could have been.

And then the requisite sun-bathing afterwards. Please ignore the brown patches in the "lawn". We're working on that. Not very hard, but we're working.

Also? Tulips need Super Soaking. It's a known fact.

[I had a lovely shot of Pepper lounging on her beach blanket. Somewhere in editing this, it got eaten. The replacement is all the way downstairs. By the pose she was striking, it only really shows how much of a handful she will soon become & I don't need any more reminders of that than I already have]

The crackiest of the crack

2009-05-20T22:19:00.002-05:00

I have been meaning to concoct a list of my favourite places to ~~lurk~~ ~~stalk~~ visit for quite some time now. ~~This~~ ~~Last week~~ several weeks ago, the cosmos collected, combined & conspired to smack me in the head!

Like many, I have a lengthy blog roll. But these are the ones that make me stop and say "ooo! New Post!" Yes, literally. (When I'm at work, I manage to confine it to "ooo!" so as to minimize the firing-potential. Except that of course, I never, ever check anyone's anything from work. 'Cept that new guy in accounting. And not his black, black heart, because as we all know, accountants have black. black hearts).

These are on my iGoogle feed, beside the news, weather, urban word of the day, "cool tools", & "IKEA hacker". As well as several other "self-help" blogs that I routinely ignore [note to self: clean up iGoogle crap]. I don't feel I've done any of them justice in my explanations. They just seem to... resonate. Explore! Enjoy!

Lifecandy - my ~~dealer~~ ~~pusher~~ mentor in all things digi-social or socio-digital (I made them both up, so they are equally correct) Nenette will always take the top spot in any of these dorky lists I make up. That didn't sound right, but I'm leaving it, because she is just generally too hot to be negatively affected by the term "dorky". She gave me an awesomely outrageous Rockin' Blogger Friendship (I added the "rockin'" because she called me rockin' and who am I to argue?) award this week. I would totally spread around & give it - twice - to any of these contenders - including back to her if it were allowed - but I can't figure it out. She would totally show me too if we could get it together to get together. But we both have kids. In soccer (I fukkin hate soccer - there, I said it). And my questions are so ~~stupid~~ ~~immature~~ ~~infantile~~ let's just go with stupid, that they just can't be covered in 140 characters.

Still Life with Wyliekat - I originally thought she meant that as in a painting or photo (like a snap-shot of life). I just recently found out she means it more like "Life Goes On". She said it as she was expounding about getting older... [ppbbbtthhh] I find Wylie very grounding.

If That Ain't Country - Here is why the Cosmos allowed me to drag my ass on my high-five list. I'd like to say that I just discovered her, but [sniff] she actually discovered me. So then I discovered her back. And we've been discovering each other ever since. That sounds way worse than it should.

Diary of a Modern Matriarch - "You like drinking? HEY! I like drinking!" And you love your kids enough to kill for them but are still once in a while surprised you haven't eaten them yet? Me too! But really, her kids make my ovaries hurt.

Planning Queen - "Queen" is really a bit too modest, as it implies mortality. I'd use "goddess", myself. An excellent calm, rational parenting reference, I feel like she is the neighbourhood "together lady" and I am the drunk neighbour that stumbles over and says obnoxious things. Don't believe me? Check out my comments. Seriously, she's got excellent, simple ideas for child & family engagement. One of my favs is the family meeting.

The Bloggess - Was trying to avoid The alpha-bloggers because you know... they're so alpha. There are lots of good writers out there. Bloggers with Highly Developed Senses of Opinion. In the fourteen years since the invention of the internets (for me, anyway. First thing I did? Ego-Google. Except Google wasn't invented yet, so it was called an ego "search" [gasp]) I've seen a lot of stuff that made me laugh. Unfortunately, that has made me jaded. Jenny makes me cry big fat can't-breathe-or-make-intelligent-sounds tears (that's laughing, although it tends to sound more like the furnace seizing).

So The Fish Said - well, we've broken the alpha seal, so what the hay. Another one that has made me develop & repeat the mantra "Three kids is enough. Three kids is what we wanted. Three kids is probably three more than we can handle." She somehow makes NOT being an Uber-mom Uber.

lookin' for a dude... lookin' for a dude... ah! here's some dudes:

Rude Cactus - Another alpha. I guess there's a good reason why they're alpha... I don't want to blow his cover, but I've actually never seen anything rude there, so it's actually been highly disappointing. I do know enough that he'd probably take "blow his cover" and twist it around, so I guess some might consider that a little rude. Maybe it's about expectations.

Marshall - Not alpha, because Marshall is famous in *real life*. But as you know, real life has little relevance in the blogworld. His blog would be much better if he'd stop writing that damned book and work on it a little more (Marshall, if you're reading this, stop reading this and get back to work on that damned book. May 2010? Are you fucking kidding me? yes, I know the draft is "off" - we'll talk later of my issues with not being cc'd on that - but can't you edit, or nag or press-flesh & speed things along a little? Seriously. Stop now & get on that.)

Oops. That's more than five. You people all suck. Stop being so interesting. OKOK I take it back! Keep being interesting! I love you all! You know, in a non-creepy Internet-love kind of way. YES a non-creepy Internet-love IS possible. I just invented it.

Can you say "ball-peen" with a straight face? I never could

2009-05-18T00:04:00.009-05:00

For some strange reason, I can't bring myself to delete this particular bit of mail that ended up caught by my spam filter:

...partly because of the impeccable grammar - so rarely found in good spam these days - and partly because of the fact that I *do* need a new hammer, and you know, what if what they're selling is actually a decent product for failure-free banging? I mean, who wants their banging to fail?

(Or maybe just some of the inputs I'm getting just embed themselves too deep...)

Hair Redemption - Part III

2009-05-15T23:40:00.002-05:00

We all know Einstein's* definition of insanity:

"Repeating the same actions and expecting different results"

Now, I don't want to put my son in the same category as Einstein or anything, but it appears that he (Stewie) considered Mr Einstein's postulation for a moment & concluded: "Pussy"

Here's The Boy's twisted little corollary:

"I think any sane or not sane person can keep trying the same things over and over again. What if I were to reverse the polarity on this issue? Say she's trying the same thing over and over again, and I provide vastly different results each time? Could that make her bat-shit-stupid crazy?
"Hmm...Let's try it and see!"

What's the best time to try? Why, bed-time of course!

Mom: "Let's go brush your teeth"

Stewie: "No"

M [been through this song & dance. Best not to force it]: "OK, well the stool isn't in the bathroom. I think it's in the kitchen. Can you go get it or do you want me to?" [You see - old parenting trick: give choices. PLUS ignore the defiance & proceed - brilliant strategery. I've got three, you know.]

S: "NO" [wait, the change-up is coming]

M: "Ok, I'll get it" [walks to kitchen, reaches for stool]

S: "NOOOOO!!! I want to get it"

M [remaining calm, of course]: "OK! here you go. Grab it."

S [stopping in his tracks]: "NOOOOOOO!!! YOU get it."

M [Reaching for it. Starting to regret teaching him to speak. Also wondering why it's OK to strap them into highchairs, and have them fall asleep, but NOT OK to just strap them into their beds... I've never done this. Just wondered excessively about it.]

S: "NOOOOOOOO!!! I'LL DO IT!"

And here's where it got nutty (Nope. Not before). Because he took the stool picked it up & stood there demanding that I take it. But wouldn't let me take it. Ten minutes later, I stabbed a pillow with a letter opener.

And this, dear children, is why Mommy drinks. And "highlights" her hair.

*Well, according to net-lore it's his. I have never actually heard (nor sought out) the context in which he may or may not have said that. It makes more sense to me that it was something that Dilbert said, and said that Einstein said and it stuck. But for the purposes of this discussion - and associating my son with Einstein - we'll assume the net-lore nailed it.

A Lot of Wining, a Little Dining

2009-05-10T21:14:00.002-05:00

We went to the wine festival public tasting (paying extra special attention to spelling) last night. It was awesome.

The Liquor Commission has this wine festival every year. Apparently it's a week long thing. As I recall, they used to try and push all the other events and the public tasting event was just (according to the publicity) just another event that week. They seem to now be acknowledging that their big ticket event is the tasting. Because that's where everyone goes to get their drink on. The rest of it certainly looks intriguing, but I can't afford it. Money or liver-wise.

We went with our dear friends Margo & Brian (we've gone with them in the past, or so I've been told). It started at 7:00 and we were booted out at 10:00 (but so was everyone). I really enjoy the atmosphere there, because it's a mix of people trying to be snooty snoots and slowly failing as they get further and further smashed. So speaking of which, while I can still grasp at the rapidly fading memories, here are some highlights:

We make a point of going first to a booth where we have a particular interest to try something that (a) we'll have a hope of remembering what we had and (b) we'll still be able to distinguish the taste of. We landed on Cape Jaffa and were not disappointed (although for some reason I kept wanting to say "Cap-pay Jaffa". It was too early to cite public drunkenness as the cause of that).
My super-funny friends thought it would be a lark to dare me to ask the Peter Lehmann rep if she was related to Peter Lehmann. So I did and she was not, but she HAD had dinner with the Lehmanns. At their house. AND here (I asked if it was at HER house and she said no, but it was at a local swanky restaurant). So it was *totally* worth it. And she told us about how the commissioned art for the labels are inspired by each wine it labels (and that the originals are hanging in winery). I then asked if the artist is shipped a cask of the wine for "inspiration" and visualized the artist getting shit-faced drunk to paint them. The works actually look much better than that, so it was time to move on. I would say "Margo, you owe me a buck", but we still owe them for the tickets.
Clearly by now, you may note that we as a group are drawn to the Australian reds. But we found a lovely Chilean wine as well called "Eclat". Unfortunately, it was a little later on and I don't recall much else about it. I remember *exactly* what the rep looked like. She was small and wiry and looked like a marathon runner. With *really* short hair. YES it was a wine tasting...
Can't all be about the good wine. I wish I could remember the name of the wine that we all concluded tasted like damp basement.
The South African wine that we tasted two years ago that then tasted like burnt tires has since upgraded to merely burnt. But unfortunately not a good - say smoky barbecue flavour - burnt. I said it was like licking a barbecue pit after it rained.
John the Naval Reservist. He tried to teach us a thing or two about port. The boys were interested in the whole port thing, even threatening to get "into" it (i.e. buy some and drink it), so they were quite into what John the Naval Reservist was saying. Margo and I were quite attentive but I have to say not really paying much attention to what John the Naval Reservist was saying. But we dutifully tried some port (mostly so as not to appear too obvious that we were not paying much attention to what John the Naval Reservist was saying), and pretty much maintained that, yes it was like drinking paint thinner. I will (and did) put out there that I can see how one could acquire a taste for port, and do not outright dismiss the possibility that I could acquire this taste.
My friends expressing subtle fear every time they did something awkward: "are you going to blog about this?" Yes, but you'll be in the witless protection program.
I saw someone I was *sure* I recognized from somewhere. I assumed it was work-related, so I was a little perturbed that this dude didn't acknowledge me *at all*. Not even a "hey, I know her from somewhere" double take. So several samples into the evening, I approach him & say the usual "hey, you look familiar!" And he said "yeah, you too". A few pleasantries later and I figured out that he works in our local liquor store [blushing]. I blubbered on about how he's kind of like a celebrity IN THAT (hear me out here), he sees a LOT of people and couldn't hope to recognize all of them, but each person would tend to recognize him. He had obviously been sampling as much as I had and only heard the celebrity part. So Max and I are sure to get *excellent* service on our next visit. I took it as a positive sign that we only look familiar to our local liquor store dude and that he doesn't know our names, booze preferences by season and our kids' birthdays.

Walking across downtown on a Saturday night (brilliant) to go for nachos at a restaurant that we'd been kicked out of years ago for complaining that they switched tequilas on us (they totally had). We didn't order tequila this time.

Flipping... a coin

2009-05-07T22:58:00.006-05:00

Hmm... write an intelligent, mind-blowing, articulate, insightful, life-changing, ~~world changing~~ [back it up, Harmzie] piece about, well, anything...

Or...

Finish Flipping Out? [Go. Get it. Chapters has it. I checked on line. Then I went INTO the store and saw them ON the shelf. Polo Park location,at least. No I don't have a problem. Shut up, I don't.]

Has THIS post changed your life?

Ya. I guess you've got your answer.

Breaking the "F" barrier

2009-05-06T20:45:00.004-05:00

I dropped an F-bomb in an email today at work.

I've definitely cursed there before, but despite being in the construction industry, and despite that I work with what I'm pretty sure can at times be a bunch of drunken sailors (metaphorically speaking of course. Only one, who retired recently, actually sails and though I've seen him pretty drunk... but as usual, I digress) swearing is unstatedly verboten. I always get a little I-can't-believe-you-just-said-that quickie glance when it pops out verbally.

So today after screwing up a meeting notice for the third time (and after a pile of crap-on-crap - some work, some Pepper losing her backpack and running crying to the Principal's office because she had no lunch, and a new office staff-type person who hadn't been jaded by dozens of stupid kids losing their backpacks & still gives a crap about the kids [sniff! new favourite at the office!] calling me because she couldn't get a hold of Max because he does try to have a life AND THEN me scrambling to try & track down something for Pepper to eat for lunch, but as usual, I digress...) I replied: "Fuck!" when my dear coworker replied to my meeting notice saying "we're meeting on Mothers' Day?"

He called: "Wow! Stressed much?"

"No," I said "that's how I relieve stress. We're good!"

So the fact that Max won't let me curse in front of the kids starts to explain why my kids do such a number on me...

Spring has sproinged... all over me.

2009-05-05T19:55:00.004-05:00

Remember this?

Well now it looks like this:

... and it's awesome to have the whole neighbourhood of kids out playing and enjoying the new found "summer" (I still use the term loosely).

However, I have determined that in order to get *anything* on the long list of moving-from-winter-to-summer outdoor tasks done, I have to take the most beautiful day available and (a) lock the kids in the house; (b) rot what's left of their impressionable little minds with TV/Wii/DVDs/HotWheels.com; (c) go outside & enjoy the unbridled productivity; (d) go back inside and drink away the guilt of engaging in a, b, & c.

It's a good system. Stop by & see my yard some day!

I might be drunk. But the yard will be nice.

I Hate Soccer

2009-05-05T19:16:00.007-05:00

Actually, I hate all sports. And not for any other reason than I just don't get them.

But I sit here in a rapidly cooling field (thankfully with a wireless laptop. Have I ever mentioned that I love the wireless laptop? Have I ever mentioned how much? Never mind, I'll spare you) I am highly encouraged by the intensity and energy and extreme sportsmanship of these kids. The parents are actually pretty cool so far too. [That might just be wishful thinking on my part, as I have been named the RL or Ref's Liason for this game. I'm supposed to get thing under control should a parent start "throwing chairs onto the field" - coach's words. I said "what if it's me?" He didn't have an answer. Note to self: Don't throw chairs on the field.]