Cooties

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)

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

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

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...

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

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

Girly Bible

Rules for Girls

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

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

1. Never talk about vilolince
   
2. Never think vilolince is funny
   
3. Never kiss a boy under the age of 12 (unless they are relitives)
   
4. Never tell secrets to those you don't know
   
5. Pay no attention when the "boy show" is on
   
6. Always eat & talk (not at the same time) for the girls show
   
7. Never be rude
   
8. When you have a crush on a boy be nobody but yourself
   
9. Always be yourself
   
10. Be clean
    
11. Don't' change the rules in this book (And I mean it!)
    
12. Obey the rules
    
13. Take care of what you have
    
14. Friends don't fight
    
15. Friends don't be meen to each other
    
16. Friends look out for each other
    
17. Play fair
    
18. Ignore those who are annoying
    
19. Be careful what you say
    
20. Be calm
    
21. Face your fears
    
22. Boys don't live by these rules
    
23. Never expect anything in return
    
24. Don't make fun of people
    
25. Chear on your teammates & friends
    
26. Don't play with matches
    
27. Stay fit
    
28. Dress apropitly for the wether
    
29. Don't listen to advratisements
    
30. Mute ads
    
31. Get your butt of the couch and go outside
    
32. Don't do things without asking your parents (unless your 18+)
    
33. Be neat
    
34. Be careful what you wish
    
35. Do what you want to do
    
36. Girls are not lazy
    
37. Don't cry over spilt milk
    
38. What you say is what you are
    
39. Nnnnnnnnneeeeeevvvvvvvvveeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrr no matter what obey the boy bible.
    
40. Don't talk to strangers
    
41. Obey rule #40
    
42. Be a good girl all the time.
    
43. Ignore boys
    
44. Consentrate
    
45. 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."