Influence

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:

1. Get yourself an education. And don't stop.
2. NO ONE can make you feel inferior without your permission (I realize that Eleanor Roosevelt said that, but Grandma lived it)
3. 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.

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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!)

Balentimes

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!

O Tannenbaum

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.

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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.

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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]

Remembrance

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?

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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.

Roughing It

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.

Why America is Great

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!

Eastery Goodness

We got a call from friends of ours a couple of weeks ago that went something like:

"Hello?"

"Hi, Harmzie, it's Marie. We were wondering if you--"

"Yes."

"But--"

"It doesn't matter. We'll be there."

Now, that's perhaps a little deceptive, as I knew that Good Friday was coming up. These people have had a Good Friday Eggstravaganza for years, ourselves getting the coveted nod once we could produce the requisite small child at the door.

They have taken other opportunities to take over my kids. Such as making pies - right from picking the apples from the tree in their back yard, through pastry making & assembly & bringing them home and eating them the next day - all the while, Max & I sit & eat their food & drink their wine and engage in grown-up conversation with Mr. Marie (and Marie herself quite often makes appearances and is a full-on conversation participant. I need to take some parenting lessons from her). So the answer is always yes. "My sister's wedding that day? No worries, we'll get them to move it."

But back to the Eggstravaganza. Our dear friend does not just pull out a couple of crappy "Dudley" egg decorating kits. This is a full on production. There are assemblages to hold eggs whilst you paint them. There are dye cups of all different colours. Acrylic paints. Sparkles. And the piece-de-resistance, hot wax (this year Norah got right into the hot wax). They soaked eggs in dye, layered wax, painted, sparkled, rolled in shallow pans of dye for varying effects.

Me, I didn't try one. It's just no use when you can't blame the tools. The more creative amongst us produced the following:

This is Norah's stash. Don't bother counting. There's two dozen there.

Here's some detail. Specimen #1 is with some wax dodging. #2 is beautiful sparkles.

Here is Pepper's stash:

And a cool detail with swirly marbling (that's my best creative description):

(Stewie's eggs were unfortunately left there. Getting all three of them out of The Happiest Place On Earth was something of a challenge and things got missed.)

I have no idea how they made any of these. I was busy drinking wine & eating homemade chili and biscotti. I just like the results: beautiful eggs and happy children with fond memories of crafitness with someone who can actually pull it off. Anytime, Marie, anytime! How's next week for you?

It's OK! I'm Irish

...or at half Irish, anyway, so I'll only repeat half the Irish jokes my Dear Auntie Shannon sent me [not her real name, but she's got a regular "Canadian" auntie name. Totally doesn't work for this post.]

I laughed. I cried. I pined for the Old Country. And a shot of whiskey [may have been unrelated]

Happy St Patrick's Day everyone!

[if anyone leaves an "Erin-go-braless" comment, I'll find you and I'll kick you. Seriously. I'll do it.]

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Six retired Irishmen were playing poker in O'Leary's apartment when Paddy Murphy loses $500 on a single hand, clutches his chest, and drops dead at the table.

Showing respect for their fallen brother, the other five continue playing standing up.

Michael O'Conner looks around and asks, "Oh, me boys, someone got's to tell Paddy's wife. Who will it be?"

They draw straws. Paul Gallagher picks the short one. They tell him to be discreet, be gentle, don't make a bad situation any worse.

"Discreet??? I'm the most discreet Irishmen you'll ever meet. Discretion is me middle name. Leave it to me."

Gallagher goes over to Murphy's house and knocks on the door. Mrs. Murphy answers, and asks what he wants. Gallagher declares, "Your husband just lost $500, and is
afraid to come home."

"Tell him to drop dead!", says Murphy's wife.

"I'll go tell him." says Gallagher.

***********************************************************
Into a Belfast pub comes Paddy Murphy, looking like he'd just been run over by a train. His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his face is cut, and bruised, and he's walking with a limp.

"What happened to you?" asks Sean, the bartender."Jamie O'Conner and me had a fight," says Paddy.

"That little O'Conner," says Sean, "He couldn't do that to you, he must have had something in his hand."

"That he did," says Paddy, "a shovel is what he had, and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it."

"Well," says Sean, "you should have defended yourself. Didn't you have something in your hand?"

"That I did," said Paddy, "Mrs. O'Conner's breast, and a thing of beauty it was; but twas useless in a fight."

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An Irishman who had a little too much to drink is driving home from the city one night and, of course, his car is weaving violently all over the road.

A cop pulls him over. "So," says the cop to the driver, "where have ya been?"

"Why, I've been to the pub of course," slurs the drunk.

"Well," says the cop, "it looks like you've had quite a few to drink this evening."

"I did all right," the drunk says with a smile.

"Did you know," says the cop, standing straight, and folding his arms across his chest, "that a few intersections back, your wife fell out of your car?"

"Oh, thank heavens," sighs the drunk. "for a minute there, I thought I'd gone deaf."

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Brenda O'Malley is home making dinner, as usual, When Tim Finnegan arrives at her door.

"Brenda, may I come in?" he asks. "I've somethin' to tell ya."

"Of course you can come in, you're always welcome, Tim. But where's my husband?"

"That's what I'm here to be telling ya, Brenda. There was an accident down at the Guinness brewery"

"Oh, God no!" cries Brenda. "Please don't tell me."

"I must, Brenda. Your husband Shamus is dead and gone. I'm sorry." Finally, she looked up at Tim.

"How did it happen, Tim?"

"It was terrible, Brenda.. He fell into a vat of Guinness Stout, and drowned."

"Oh my dear Jesus! But you must tell me true, Tim, did he at least go quickly?"

"Well, Brenda, no. In fact, he got out three times to pee."

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Mary Clancy goes up to Father O'Grady after his Sunday morning service, and she's in tears.

He says, "So what's bothering you, Mary my dear?"

She says, "Oh, Father, I've got terrible news... My husband passed away last night."

The priest says, "Oh, Mary, that's terrible. Tell me, Mary, did he have any last requests?"

She says, "That he did, Father."

The priest says, "What did he ask, Mary?"

She says, "He said, 'Please Mary, put down that damn gun..'"

Lessons from the Road Trip

* The prairies here are really, really flat (OK, so I've always known this, but it is highlighted every time we go out on the road. Especially in winter)

* Portable DVD players are the best invention to control kids in a car since the seat belt (actually a refresher lesson from two previous road trip)

* I need to get one that points the speakers to the BACKSEAT and not into the back of my head (it's attached to the headrest).

* Kids can hold it for a very long time when the alternative is a ditch full of snow and a windchill of -36.

* I can hold Max's hand for a really long time. I was going to credit the cruise control, but realized that I don't hold his foot.

* Eleven bathing suits are not enough for a family of five at a water-slide hotel for a weekend. Just for the record, I, personally only brought two.

* Despite my cat-like aversion to being wet, I can actually have fun on a water-slide (I just have to take my time getting in).

* Pepper now knows the you-are-lucky-you-are-BOTH-cute-AND-my-child-otherwise-I-would-eat-you look from mom. A result of premature moisturization. See previous point.

* Aaltos is too fancy a restaurant to put up the hood on your hoodie (statement from Norah).

* Even if you think the movie choice is acceptable (one of the first Star Wars chapters - I'll be in a cold, cold grave before I call them the first Star Wars movies), you probably shouldn't let your kids watch Spike TV on a Saturday evening. Unless you really want them to be aware of the advantages of Axe Body Wash.

* If you're by yourself, with kids safely in bed (Max playing in the tournament - oh yeah! The whole point of the road trip) Spike TV has some REALLY funny fare, so long as you view it that way. This was so bad I found it hilarious.

* You can try to secure down your fancy-schmancy hotel boom-box, but MY kids will make short work of it. Next time, use bolts, not hot-glue.

* Having a "theme" hotel room with a kids' room with a door is a *great* idea. Especially if you are doing things in the adult part that you don't want to have to try and explain to an inquisitive nine-year-old. Like watching CSI Miami. I can't even explain that to adults.

* If you're getting a "theme" room for any other reason than the point above [which is a good enough reason, as far as I'm concerned. I mean, no conscientious parents could watch CSI Miami with their kids sleeping in the next bed. And they would certainly have to suspend their conscientiousness, should they choose to do it anyway], don't bother. It's just a mural painted on the wall, albeit a good one. But I found it a little creepy sleeping next to Marlin & Dory staring at me. It was like they were judging us watching CSI Miami.

* Being on the "family" floor does not guarantee a non-party floor.

* I need to get to know some of these other families.

Suddenly Feeling All Naked & Exposed...

My mom caught wind of my Christmas card and wants to know what all the fuss is about.

So I considered a number of ways to go about this:

Option A: Actually mail her one - she is currently working overseas. To mail anything takes, I am told, six weeks. To get a Christmas card to her in time, I would have had to NOT pull the idea out of my ass on Friday, December 19; run to Staples at closing time; crank them out of the printer - including all the mailing & return labels; [hosted a major (for me) annual Christmas function]; scribbled some deeply meaningful & personal greeting on each one; instruct Max to deliver them to a Canada Post receptacle that picked up at 10 am (as opposed to the ones that only pick up at 5 pm) on the Monday; and rely on that Wonderful Canada Post to make me look like I didn't do a, b, c, & d. (They arrived locally TWO FULL DAYS before Christmas! The day after they were dropped in the box!)

In other words, I would have had to have been someone else. I come from a long line of Perfect Planners. People who get their Christmas shopping done in July. People who actually DO put meaningful & personal greetings on their Christmas cards (my definition of "personal" from above: I remember your kids' names. And mine). And get them to you in MID December. People who don't send their husbands out into the wilds on Christmas Eve saying: "Oh my GAWD!!! We left out AN ENTIRE KID!!!"

I'm pretty sure Grandma's mailman was not like that, and that line was - shall we say - interrupted. Just sayin'

Option B: Post it here - Yikes. Hi Mom! I have done the blog-equivalent of quickly scanning your apartment's living room for stacks of newspapers, stray underpants and empty vodka bottles in the time it takes to ride the elevator up from the entry buzzer to your door. For the record, that never happened (not with her anyway). I quickly scanned my entries so far. Fortunately, because I am a lazy ass, there weren't that many.

So here is the outside:

I stole [ahem] borrowed [grr] was inspired by an ad I saw for a company that will create & print cards for you.

Here is the inside:

I was inspired by the nuthouse peaceful sanitarium sanctuary in which I live.

Happy Arbitrary Day!

So another season has passed.

The children are nestled all snug in their... uh... couch, while visions of... Kung-Fu Panda dance in... their TV screen. Parenting at it's finest.

So I'm grabbing a moment that it seems I haven't had in about six weeks to reflect on the past & the future. I feel like that should be printed all wavy & spooky like it sounds in my head - with my arms waving around too. But I can't find an HTML code for that. OK, ok - I'm too lazy to *find* an HTML code for that.

2008 summarized - what I accomplished last year:

Not much really:

• Kept three humans alive and somewhat challenged (may have had some help with that one. Especially the feeding - some say essential in the whole "keeping alive" phenomenon). And they don't hate me entirely, depending on the day/moment/way the wind is blowing. The "bad mommy" is a new one. I mean, I always knew, but it was never said *out loud* until now y'know?


• Stayed married. Not sure which one of us this is a bigger accomplishment for. Depends on the day/moment/way the wind is blowing.


• Got a new job. When I started this, I promised I wouldn't write about work (I mean, that's just stupid). But this is about me, and the new job (same bat-office, I don't like my changes to be TOO massive!) was a seriously new direction with seriously new challenges. As I spent most of this past fall I sick in one fashion or another, Max pointed out that I was probably stressed. I'm not stressed, I said. I love my new job. But further reflection revealed that I am actually absorbing and processing an awful lot of information & with relatively little down-time (self-inflicted, I know). So, to kick you square in the ass, stress doesn't have to necessarily be the They're-All-Out-To-Get-Me-And-Make-Me-Fail-And-I'm-Going-To-Lose-It-All-And-My-Family-Will-Starve variety.


• Turned 40. So maybe I didn't do this and it's more something happened to me, but I like to think that I had some part in my *making* it this far. Plus, I think I handled it well. I mean you don't really have a choice in the matter (and it certainly beats the alternative), but some of my learned colleagues (IMHO) have not taken the beatings of time with such gentle grace & good humour as myself.


• Started a blog. woo hoo. I feel like I have joined the children's table at the Nerderati Banquet. Like I get to hear all the grown-up conversation even though I don't 100% get what they're talking about. Like I chirp up now and then and mostly get ignored, but once in a long while I happen to accidentally say something profound - comment the right random thing at the right random place and some grown-up gives me a pat on the head and says "good one!" People I know - though I love them - don't count. It's like your mom saying "good one, dear!" (Which, by the way, everyone still needs to hear, but it just doesn't take you away from the kids' table!)

This year:

• Get fit/Gain weight. Sorry, but it's true. Why is it that someone can come up to me and say "you're so skinny! I could just pick you up & toss you across the room. I hate you! haw haw!" If I were to walk up to someone and say "wow your ass is huge, how do you get through doors?" *I'd* be labelled the big nasty BeeYotch. But that's not why.

This is:

And this:

(omgwtfbbq???)

There's more I'm sure but after looking at these pictures, I'm done reflecting for a while. That's all the reason I need for pretty much everything. Happy New Year!

Evil mom makes son watch horror flicks

Oh the humanity! She forces him to sit there watching all manners of evil villains doing battle in the most blood-thirsty ways!

At least she lets him cover his face with "Cold Blanket" (his name for the blankie that Max's Grandma made for HIM as a baby. It's been through all three kids, but none took to it quite like Stewie)

Is it safe yet? NOOOO!

Wait... is that popcorn?

What are the unspeakable horrors this "mom" is exposing such innocent youth to?

That's right. Rudolph.

Here he is, desensitized (tonight he even had a meltdown because the girls wanted to watch "Here Comes Santa Claus" and he wanted to watch Rudolph!)

Say what you like about Evil Mom (or as he periodically spouts from the Time-Out Corner: "Bad Mommy!"), but it's not like she made him watch the updated version!

Have a Merry Freakin' Christmas!!

Halloween

I hate Halloween. It is yet another in a long line of yearly events where I over promise and under deliver. Fortunately for everyone (except me) the promises & deliverances are only internal and everyone else seems pleased, so I have to be happy with the results.

This year Norah wanted to be a mummy. Seemed easy enough. But I decided to make it in such a way that it could be used again (and she could get out of it to pee - she had to wear it to school). So it ended up involving a whole lot of hand stitching and two 2 am nights. I am now all to familiar with the Curse of the Mummy. But she loved it.

Pepper wanted to be a ghost. All she wanted was a sheet with holes cut in it, but I could not live with that! Well, being Safety-Mom, I couldn't allow the obscured vision (please ignore the mummy above). So I thought a spooky ghost would have a spooky forboding hood. and proceeded to create it accordingly.

Stewie wanted to be a frog. I was in a bit of a quandry since I did not expect to find a frog costume anywhere and didn't really have the time or energy to hunt all over the city to find one. Never mind actually make one with [gasp] a pattern. Then whilst pulling the other two costumes out of my ass, I found a horseshoe and located a "frog-prince" costume amongst the other mass-produced-by-slaves-in-a-third-world-country costumes. Lucky me!

Then there was me. At the last minute, I thought it would be cool to hand out candy in complete bio-hazard outfitting, and giggled. Then I thought about some of the things I have around the house and over the phone from work got Max to pull them together for me. We mused that it would be cool to have some dry ice to complete the image. Then he started bugging me to find some (Googling it and finding locations to buy). Not feeling up to driving across town to acquire, I was hesitant. Then I found that a place actually within walking distance from my work (there is NOTHING actually within walking distance of my work, so this is significant - that and the fact that I drove) was a place that sells dry ice. Cool! (literally!)

Dad was working that night, but fortunately, my baby sister and her boyfriend have - since Norah (#1) was trick-or-treatable - had this strange attraction to the practice. They don't even offer, it's assumed! I love it, because (a) the kids love going out for a special night with Auntie (and OMG!!! It's Halloween!!!) but mostly (b) I don't have to go out on a (usually) freakin' cold night in pursuit of mounds of Halloween crack that I'm just going to have to battle over later (or break down and eat. You know, for the good of the children. Someone has to look out for the children.)