Christmas came and Christmas went

Post Holiday let-down. I has it. Christmas was mostly awesome. My parents and brother were here and my tiny little house was quite cozy and happy. Much food was consumed, many presents were opened and we enjoyed one another's company.

 

My parents and brother are gone now and it's back to 3 boys, 1 girl and 2 cats and it's still nice and cozy, but soon the tree will come down, the presents will be put away and it will be back to "normal". I'm not looking forward to the invasion of The Real World. I am, but I'm not. You see, I got a job (YAY!) which is bitter sweet. It means that our financial stress will be lessened dramatically, but it means a whole new set of stresses. I am very thankful, but I'm also a little trepidatious. It's not often I get to use the word "Trepidatious", so that's cool.

 

On a completely different note, my and Dennis's Christmas presents were IKEA furniture! *silent scream*. Winnipeg has an IKEA now. IKEA is my happy place. I posted it on Facebook, so it must be true. The degree to which I love this store is probably shameful, but I do not care. Since it opened on November 28th I have purchased: Pepprakakor (or something like that) dough to make gingerbread cookies, chocolate almond cake with butterscotch, some kind of lingon berry/apple sparkling drink (these were to take to a partay), 4 ninety nine cent chocolate bars, 3 picture frames, 1 set of curtians, 1 green SKOJIG lamp with clouds on it for the kids, 2 Hemnes night tables, 1 Hemnes narrow book case, 1 stuffed seal for Jake, 1 leaf headband thing for Kir, 4 hot dogs and 6 breakfasts (at $1 a pop!). Oh yeah, and a plastic organiser for a friend's daughter. You might think this sounds excessive. I think I have shown remarkable restraint.

 

Currently, my dear husband is assembling said IKEA furniture. Only somewhat under duress. It's best that I do not involve myself. Truly, it's better to let him curse and swear and sigh his own way through it. I do this for the health of our marriage, really, I do. Wanna know something else that helps with that? A healthy marriage, I mean. NERF GUNS! Seriously. Every good marriage needs a small NERF arsenal. I just happen to have a slightly bigger than small NERF arsenal. However, I must caution you: NERF darts sting the tinest of bits if they hit you somewhere sensitive...like your lip, or maybe your forehead. Those new fangled disc jobbies? They hurt like a mofo. Good thing Nana and Grandad got each of our children their own 42 disc holding, high powered, fast reloading, NERF artillery. Dear Dennis got me square between the eyes this morning. But when he turned to flee, my obnoxious aim delivered the very best of buttockal region shots. There may even have been 2. Heh.

 

Anyhow, Christmas was merry. I hope your 2013 is even better than 2012!

 

P.S. Just in case you were wondering how The A**hole weathered the Christmas tree et. al the answer is: Not too bad. That said, we do put the non-breakable ornaments on the bottom because he will bat them off and then chase them until he is satisfied that they are dead. He did manage to chew his way through a twinkle light socket. I kid you not. There is a fang hole right through that puppy. Took out a whole strand of lights at the bottom. Luckily, I go a bit overboard with the lights, so it wasn't noticable. I kinda hope he got a little electrocuted. Not a lot, mind, just enough to remind him that he doesn't want to do it again.

 

 

 

RIP Lucille Blue Car...

In my driveway sits a pretty little 2002 Honda Civic. Her name is Lucille Blue Car. Once she was my very favourite. Once she was safe and true and dependable. Now? Not so much. She's not dead yet, but I'm gonna kill her. Soon. And with feeling.

 

You see, it is my suspicion that Lucille was sick when she was purchased and this sickness was undisclosed. But being a good, Honda, girl, she managed just fine without complaint for 4 years until she couldn't keep up the facade any longer. And now I feel strongly that I must push her over a cliff. I understand that this rage is unwarranted but it remains.

Lucille's head gasket is leaking. As a result, she is given to boughts of overheating. Generally this happens after several incident free weeks. It lulls you into a false sense of security and then BAM! At the worst possible time! OVERHEAT OVERHEAT OVERHEAT OVERHEAT. Did I mention OVERHEAT? OVERHEAT: On the way to Selkirk with 2 kids in the car mid-August - OVERHEAT-. Fantastic. A lovely gentleman stopped and gave my kids cold Coke. On the way to a Pampered Chef party. Only 2 miles outside of town, in the middle of a snowstorm at 7pm. Pitch black. Inexplicably. Well, I did drive 2 miles beyond the freaking road because I missed the turn off in the dark and swirling snow. I was also either told or heard incorrectly that it was mile road 44 when, in fact, it was mile road 45. So, a 2ish mile trip ended up being closer to 10ish miles. BUT STILL!

 

Luckily my friend was understanding, although it's possible she was internally seething and still plans to exact revenge in some way. It's more likely that she's just an awesome person and was totally fine...but I'm watching you KF. I love you.

 

Since there are precious few cliffs in Manitoba, Lucille is safely sitting still. But your days are numbered, honey. Perhaps it was a bad idea to name her Lucille. As in "You Picked a Fine Time to Leave me...LUCILLE". Blergh. Grrrr. Argh.

 

 

Note that this is not a picture of Lucille Blue Car. But it might be my new ride if things continue on this path.

 

My husband is a biologist.

So am I, for that matter, but that's not important. I was sharing this story with a friend earlier today and it occurred to me that I hadn't yet blogged it. So, I'm gunna. So, like the title says, my dh (dear husband in messageboard speak) is a biologist. He works with Caribou. I know this because it says so on his name tag, but also because I have a freezer filled with various caribou parts. A head, legs, random assorted teeth and spun serum. Why doesn't he have his own work freezer for such things you ask? Good question. Apparently he now does. Yet the parts persist in my freezer. Puzzling, yes.

 

Anyhow, in addition to the caribou stuff, my freezer also contains a wolf head and a dead flying squirrel. I don't really know why. I try not to ask. Thankfully that little shop of horrors is in the garage freezer and as I seldom have to get into it I tend to forget they're there. Unless I do have to go out for something and am reminded. I don't like being reminded.

 

Being the wife of a biologist means that my general household decor includes (but is not limited to) such things as random ungulate antlers, assorted mammalian vertebrae, beaver wood and lots of moose/caribou related...stuff. For the most part, I also enjoy these things, and am happy to display them. Heck, I don't really even mind storing the caribou serum per se. I do, however, draw the line at fecal matter. Yes, that's right, my dh tried to sneak poop by me. Now, in his defense, it was well packaged and appropriately labeled but it was still, unequivocally, poop. In my freezer. Between the rhubarb and the frozen peas. I'm not even kidding. I'm not even being hyperbolic. Literally. Next to the peas. Bag o' caribou poo. It was almost sitcomish...if there was ever a sitcom related to the weirdness associated with being the wife of a biologist. I opened the freezer, began to rummage, came across bag o' poo, did a double take, picked up the bag, gently set it back down, gently closed freezer door, shook head, opened door again just to make sure, shut it again, took a step back and screamed "DENNIS!". Looking back, it's funny. It was not funny then.

 

So, dh appears and says "Yes?". I ask "Did you seriously put sh*t in my freezer? Seriously?". He had the decency to look sheepish and promised it would be gone in a day. It was. Bonus points for him.

 

This topic came up recently as I was chatting with a lovely couple who are new in town. They asked what my husband did. A friend of mine who was also present urged me to tell them about the fun things in my freezer so I happily obliged. Well, apparently I pronounce serum differently then they do. Sort of like Sir-Rum. The gentleman half of the couple thought I'd said "sperm". So, even though they have never met, Dennis will forever be known as The Caribou Sperm Guy.

 

But he's cute, and I love him, and there are pros to being married to a caribou biologist. Lots of them, in fact. Far more than cons. However, I like to stick with a theme, so the pros will be listed at a later date.

 

So, moral of the story? Store your serum somewhere other than my freezer.

 

 

 

'Tis the Season...of Snow and Vapo-Rub

The snow has arrived. Yay. Can you sense my non-enthusiasm? I do like snow, but really only in doses. I could do with more fall. I am not mentally prepared for winter yet. Why then do I live in Manitoba you ask? There is no easy answer to that question, so let us move on.

With the arrival of the snow has also come my first hacking-up-a-lung, flu-ish, cold-like, event. Enter vapo-rub. That stuff is the shizznit. It smells...well, smelly. It's not exactly unpleasant, but it's not exactly Chanel No. 5 either. It smells like winter and coughing and warm socks and cuddly blankets, which, if we're being honest here, is not entirely unpleasant. Only partly so.

Hockey season is in full swing and my Kieran boy got his very first goal at his very first hockey game ever. They still lost 7 to 3, but he was walking on air for the rest of the day. We even had to Skype Nana to tell her. Random grocery store patrons also heard about the joyous news. It was an exciting day but also an exhausting one.

I still have no job. I'm still trying to get one. I feel slightly less depressed about this. Better upward than downward, friends!

The flu, I has it

Boooo! I don't remember suffering this much as a kid when I got random viruses. I mean, yeah, it wasn't fun, but I barely noticed and then it was over. Now? Stick a fork in me. I'm ready for the bone yard. I also very closely resemble death. It's unfortunate.

I started watching The Walking Dead. I am hooked. It is my guilty pleasure. There is a small problem though. I started watching during a free preview of the channel it is on. I no longer have that free preview. There is nothing else on that channel that I wish to watch. The episodes are for sale on iTunes, but it takes 18 hours to download 1. I have kinda crappy internets. Not sure what will happen. Stay tuned.

Obama for another 4 years. This is a relief. Romney is askeery.

Happy Wednesday

I don't have much to say

This is getting ridiculous. I need a farking job. Anyone need their own personal research biologist?

No?

Your loss :p

What's new...

1. I made a new friend. Yay! We're going to walk together Monday and Wednesday mornings. This is good. Motivation is good. This is a positive of unemployment. There aren't a lot of them, but they exist. And if ever I needed a silver lining, it's now. Unemployment can be demoralising. It can be depressing. But eff that. I have flirted with both but have decided that I'm not interested in a committed, long term relationship with either. So there. Take that.

2. I did a pampered chef party last night. It was fun. Great group of ladies! and it was fun to get out and be social and silly. I need to do more of these. I wish I didn't have to sell stuff to have this fun interaction, but it's good stuff and I like it so if you wanna buy it, I don't mind selling it...gently and with love...and maybe the odd Russian accent thrown in for good measure.

3. I am the stage manager for the youth Haystack production this year. Eep. Big shoes to fill. Doin' my best. Havin' fun. Only a little scared.

4. It's fall. It will soon be winter. I love fall. I do not love winter. I love about 4 weeks of it and then it can go. Since I do not rule the world, this is not in the cards for me. I need to learn to suck it.

5. I miss these little pumpkinheads. They still exist, they're just not so little anymore. I love the bigger boys they are growing into, but I find myself wistful lately for these days.

6. Nothing else. The end.

My friend Jaimie...

...has a blog. And she's really clever and funny and witty. And she put me on The Youtube! Eeep!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qe1Bp2vqbNo&feature=youtu.be

You should read her blog. No, really, you should. She's the shizznit.

http://firstcityline.wordpress.com/

Has the smile on my face given me away?

I GOT CARDED!!! It made me happy enough to break my rule against superfluous punctiation yet again. Seriously. Carded. At the LC. By a real person. Bonafide. I do not kid. It's possible the cashier was near sighted, or in need of a whole new perscription entirely, but I still walked away blushing and internally giggling.

 

Now let me just say, I have always felt I looked my age. Not much older, not much younger, just about right dead on. I'm good with that. I don't dye my grey hairs (although I'm not ruling it out. I'm just not there yet). I am Botox free. I embrace my eleventy gazillion freckles and crows feet and laugh lines. If I like you and you ask me nicely, I'll happily show you my stretch marks. I am what I am, what you see is what you get, and so on and so forth.

 

BUT! I GOT CARDED! It's really been a long while since this has happened to me and I've been kinda down in the dumps lately, so I'm hanging onto this with both hands. I was buying a bottle of fizzy celebration wine (fake, disgustingly sweet, champagne) and then a bottle of what I like to call "Big Girl Wine". I saw her eyeing me and suspected what was happening, but thought "surely not. I'm 35." But no! "Do you have any ID?". KICK ASS! My reply (I'm not even lying) was "Do I? I will give you my ID! I would hug you if I could reach over the counter". She seemed genuinely confused when she checked out my license and said "Well, you look young today". I thanked her more than what was appropriate and wore a stupid grin all the way back to the van (containing my husband and 2 children).

 

So, if you've seen me in the last 2 weeks, I've already told you this story. I'm still a bit tickled by it. I don't think I look young, but it's nice to know that sometimes, probably near sighted, sweet, MBLC employees do. Yay.

 

 

I didn't get the job.

I really thought I would. I think a friend of mine did. I am happy for her, but life sucks for me.

I will pull myself out of The Pit Of Despair tomorrow. Today is for eating popcorn in my jammies. Until 3:30 when I pick up my hooligans.

I am learning to speak Hockey

My youngest boy started playing bonafide league hockey this year. You know, the kind where you have to pad everything that is important and then athletically support and protect the most important part? Yes. I had to puchase a jock for my baby. That was more difficult for me than I thought it would be. Then I had to learn how to put all of this stuff on him. That was even more difficult. One of his buddy's dads helped me out the first time. Did you know that you have to tape stuff too them every time they suit up? I didn't. Did you realise that there are special water bottles with long straw thingies so that they can drink without having to remove the cage on their helmet? I didn't. I have been educated. I am learning to speak the language. I feel so very Canadian.

So, I assembled all the underwear, padding, tape, *gulp* mouth guard, neck guard and *gulp* jock/cup and sent my gladiator baby boy out into battle onto the ice. As I watched him skate over to his buddys, ecstatically happy to be out there with them, I wondered if I should look into extra dental coverage. Would it be unseemly to add additional shock absorbing foam to his helmet? Perhaps thicker gloves and an additional neck guard? I was assured by several seasoned hockey moms that he would be just fine. Ok. Fine. I tried to enjoy watching my son avoid injury. He really does love it. I love that he loves it. He comes off the ice soaking with sweat, cheeks pink from the cold and exertion, and smiling. That's good enough for me.

 

I do not secretly believe I am harbouring the next Sydney Crosby here, but he sure does have fun and, of course, that is the important part. The wise words of the Guy Who Sold Me The Hockey Gear keep coming back to me: "Just hope he's not too good. That gets expensive real quick". Yes! We embrace mediocrity! Or something. I just hope he is what he is and if he is good, my plan is to A) win the lottery or B) become the queen of a small country. I have no worry about him doing his best. He loves it and he'll do his best. That's just how this boy is wired. It's pretty much how most of us are wired: we work harder and the things we love to do.

 

I don't have a picture of him in his hockey gear yet, so this will have to do for now.

 

 

Wanna hear a funny story?

This story never fails to make me laugh. Most of my friends already know it. Dude, it's funny! Why would I not tell it lots?

 

Okay, so here it is: My second child was born without the benefit of narcotics. As a result, I felt like I was really alert for the bulk of my labour and his delivery. Much more "with it" and alert than I'd been with my first birth, during which I had a shot of demerol. Too alert? Perhaps, but I digress. Boy #2 was born during a March snowstorm and arrived in the assessment room of the Valley Regional Hospital. All the actual labour rooms were in use. The doctor was on her way (in a snowstorm) but didn't make it in time. The nurse caught him. She was wonderful. I will specify that he was born in the usual way. That tidbit is important for later.

 

 

But onto the funny part. The boy was born relatively fast. We arrived at the hospital at 4:30ish am and he was born at 7:15 am. Apparently a precipitous birth is associated with increased maternal bleeding. I have learned that being a pale skinned redhead is as well. When the doctor finally arrived, the nurse started giving her the rundown of events preceeding. No less than 3 times, I heard the nurse say something to the effect of "Well, the bleeding isn't too bad considering she's a natural redhead and she did go fast". Remember how I said that I felt like I was so much more with it this time around? Well, "Little Miss So Alert" turned to her husband and whispered "How does she know that I'm a natural redhead? She didn't ask me if I was". Yep. I did. You may now laugh at me.

Just in case that story wasn't embarassing enough, here is the World's Worst Picture. I think Kieran was 4ish days old here. It's really not a flattering picture of Jacob either, but of me, it is worse. Why the pirate hat? Why not?

 

Thanksgiving! And, guess what is worse than snow on October 4th!

Okay, don't guess. I'm going to tell you anyway. Wet snow, combined with high winds, that collaborate to topple a metal hydro tower which leaves you without power for 18+ hours on the coldest, windiest, day of the season so far. That, my friend, is worse. Add to that the fact that your heat is electric and you have a recipe for unpleasantness. Thankfully, you will also tend to discover how generous and giving people are at times like these. No less than 3 people called me to see how our family was doing and to offer a warm place to stay should the need arise. Unfortunately, these phone calls came in on my portable phone that does not (SURPRISE!) function without electricity, but it is the thought that counts.

As it turns out, I don't need power. I need a source of heat and I would really prefer running water, but it isn't an all out necessity. I love candles and I love how these sorts of events bring people together. It's really cool! I'll confess that I was a little disappointed when the lights came back on and we didn't get to have that candlelit, gourmet supper of hotdogs and alphagetti together with the dear friends who opened their home to us, but as I had my hot shower this morning, I got over it. Still, it is nice to know that when the chips fall, there are people out there who have your back, and still more you know you could call if you needed to. I'll get all sappy for a moment and say it reminds me of that little saying that goes something like "We are all angels with but one wing and we can only fly by embracing one another". Awwwwwwwwwww. Who said that, anyway?

 

So, the power is back on (thank you MB Hydro! You rock!), the sun is shining and I have to clean my toilet. Nothing says "Life goes on" like scrubbing white porcelain. While it is nice to have these little reminders of everything we have to be thankful for, I am doubly thankful that they are relatively infrequent.

 

Here's hoping that all this weirdness shifts so we can get back to doing this:

 

 

Instead of doing this:

It is snowing and my house is vibrating.

I shit you not. October 4th, 2012. Not piddly, wet, melting as soon as it hits, snow. Bonafide, accumulating, blustery, cold, yucky, snow. I am unimpressed. I feel this is excessive and unnecessary. I realise the futility in that sentence, but I feel better having typed it.

Lets add insult to injury, shall we? Ok! Don't mind if I do. My house is literally vibrating. They are redoing my street. There is some huge piece of heavy machinery, doing whatever it is that said specific machinery does, so close to my house that my whole frigging house is vibrating. At first I thought that my washing machine was about to achieve orbit. I am happy that this was not the case. Before today, I wouldn't have thought that having one's house vibrate would be butthole puckeringly irritating, but as it turns out, it is! Who knew?!

 

I am happy that my street is being redone. I really am. It will be awesome when it is finished. I appreciate this and I can deal with short term butthole pucker. And I realise that winter can be wonderful and fun. I'm just not feeling it today. My flipflops aren't even cold in the ground the storage bin...

 

 

Soon my pretty, soon.

 

Why I should not listen to reggae

It makes me think I can dance. I cannot dance. Seriously. It's a problem. I love reggae, but the unwelcome result is the belief that I may actually have rhythm which generally results in me injuring myself somehow. This is generally preceeded by me singing (badly) at the top of my lungs which embarasses my children greatly. I should probably write a list of all the things that disturb them the most so that I can pull them out at their weddings/graduations etc. Or perhaps save them as ammunition when they threaten to put me in the home.

Ya mon.

I have a job interview tomorrow! And randomness

I have an interview. I should be freaking out about it but I'm not, so, naturally, I'm freaking out about the fact that I'm not that freaked out about the interview. What up wit dat?

I really want this job. I would be good at it.

My street is almost entirely ripped up. Where there used to be a street, there is now a pit. My oldest child is unimpressed by this. My youngest is completely over the moon! It's like his own private little amusement park. Heavy machinery, big rocks and dirt. What more could a 6 year old want?

I freaking love fall! The leaves are lovely and it is unseasonably warm. Love!

Random picture of my kids in their Grandad's loader.

BEETS!

Recently I have discovered that beets are a polarising subject. I, being a hugely spoiled brat picky vegetable eater who is trying really hard to overcome it, was only slightly surprised that so many people loathe beets in all their purply forms. I understand this seems rather at odds when you consider my pickiness, but I only speak the truth. Due to the fact that I am such a spoiled brat so picky, I can only eat them pickled, but am really trying to branch out with varied results.

Regardless (but not irregardless, because that would be wrong), today I am pickling beets. My Grammie's recipe. My kitchen is spattered with magenta and smelling decidely earthy. It reminds me of how very much I miss sitting in Grammie's kitchen, smelling these smells and watching her practised hands make magic of ugly, dirty, purple roots. I love you Grammie! Thank you being who you were and teaching me so much about who I am.

I threw a wish in the well...

I have been married for 11 years. Crazy, no? I love my husband. There are days I'd happily sell him on the black market for his organs, but most of the time, I'm happy he's here. One of the qualities that endear him to me is that he's always surprising me.

Example: A few days ago, an iTunes receipt showed up in my inbox. I hadn't purchased anything recently. What could it be? Huh, a thankyou for purchasing Carly Rae Jepsen's "Call Me Maybe"? Um, what? Now, my oldest son has recently become the proud new owner of an 8G iPod touch (blergh, more on that later) so naturally I assumed that he'd downloaded the song and proceeded to ask him why he felt it was ok to download music without my permission. Nope, it wasn't him. Well, perhaps he downloaded it accidentally while listening to it? Nope, not him. Strange. Enter husband with sheepish grin. You can see where this is going.

So, Call Me Maybe, has now been christened "Daddy's Song". If you see him in public, I urge you to give him your number and ask that he call you maybe.

 I love him.

Here's a picture so you'll recognize him when you see him. He's the one with glasses ;)

First Grade Sucks

My boy is having a hard time adjusting to first grade. It breaks my heart. He has always been the child who leaps out of bed, completely ready to take on the day. He dresses himself, asks for breakfast and is waiting by the door 10 minutes before he needs to be, waiting for everyone else to catch up. He loved Kindergarten. Never once did he ask not to go. He asked to stay home every day of this past week :(.

When I asked why he wanted to stay home he said that he just didn't feel like going. There are little factors that seem to be contributing to his angst. Apparently there has been a little playground scandal. Fred tried to kiss Jane and my boy was upset and did his best to protect Jane from Fred's unwanted advances ( names changed to protect the innocent ). This upset him. He is in a class of 20 now instead of 11. He goes full days, 5 days per week. He's in a hallway that multiple grades use and sometimes he gets jostled and shoved a bit.

I realise that these are all small little issues and given time, he should adjust and get over them, but my heart hurts that his normally Happy Go Lucky self is so troubled and I don't feel like there is much of anything I can do about it. I've been helping out in his classroom a couple of days a week and he really loves having me there. I doesn't feel like enough.

I'll cut the umbilical cord eventually, I swear. But look at this happy, carefree, boy. Could you stand to see him so troubled?

Junk Mail: Isn't it Magical?

Things I have learned from my junk e-mail folder today:

I can buy printer ink for 76% off!

If I open this e-mail, 1000s of Canadian singles are waiting for me!

I can recieve a free gift with my AARP membership! (what is AARP?)

I have 4 friend requests for something called F*ckbook minus the *.

I too can enlarge my penis!

Six pack abs are just 4 simple payments of $19.95 away.

Wow. I almost wish I had a penis.
Your random picture for today: My kid in a kilt many years ago.

Raisins are an abomination.

I don't like raisins. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I hate them, but I dislike them intensely. I also feel sorry for them. They have been drained of their grapey glory, shriveled into a pathetic shadow of their former plump succulence. They are disillusioned, disenfranchised, and dehabilitated. I repeat, raisins are an abomination.

Raisins do not belong in baked goods. They also do not belong in trail mix, but they get put there just the same. There's nothing quite like the anticipation of the flavour of a perfect chocolate chip oatmeal cookie. The aroma; heavenly. The goldeney, chocolatey appearance; enticing. How many of us have been lured in by the promise of chocolatey goodness only to encounter the unwelcome, slippery, squish of the dreaded, leathery, raisin? False advertising, I say! At least trail mix is obvious.

Who is with me? This world is populated by two kinds of people: those who willingly consume raisins and those who do not. Which kind are you?

Guess what, guess what, guess what!!

About 3.5 months ago (give or take) I was in a community theatre production entitled "No Crime Like the Present". It was a dinner theatre, we did 6 shows and it was so much frigging fun but the reason I bring it up is because at the end, while packing everything up to leave, my Blackberry went missing.

Now, it wasn't a particularly nice Blackberry, nor was I particularly attached to it. It was the one that came free with the 3 year plan, but it had videos of my kids on it and it was my phone. I called the theatre director, e-mailed all the members of the cast, informed the members and the minister of the church where the play was held, searched the place high and low twice, made a general nuisance of myself, but it was all for naught. I decided I had to accept that it was gone and move on, but man, was that hard. I just knew it was in that church somewhere, but damned if I knew where.

I got a loaner phone. A phone which I loathe. Loathe! But I was grateful also due to the fact that the loaner phone was free. Turns out the crappy phone that comes free with the contract costs about $100 to replace. I am way too cheap for that. So, yay! Crappier loaner phone. I dealt. I used the yucky loaner phone and considered myself fortunate.

Fastforward to yesterday. The lovely gentleman who deals with the trash and general maintenance at the church called. Seems they were cleaning out a cabinet in the room we used as a dressing room and guess what they found shoved under a couple of baskets? I'll give you a hint, it wasn't Jimmy Hoffa!

My Blackberry! In its pretty, blue, otterbox, case. I am so happy!! I'm so happy I needed two exclaimation points and normally I detest surpuflous punctuation.

So, yay! Monday! Bring it on.

And because every blog post needs a picture, here is my kid with wax lips:

Listen...

Do you hear it? It's the sound of...nothing. It's been 2 months since I've heard...nothing. I'm not sure if I like it. I could get used to it. It will go away at 3:30.

Kids - back in school
House - total mess
Me - still in jammies, drinking coffee

This must end.

Blergh.

Snot

Do your children pick their noses and smear it on their bedroom walls? If you'd asked me yesterday, I would have told you no. But not today.

Today, my husband and I are putting together a bunk bed for our boys. In order to accomplish this, the loft bed currently occupying the space had to be disassembled and removed. There, behind the side slats awaited a crusty surprise.

Did you also know that trying to remove dried snot from painted walls can actually remove said paint? Again, I learned that today.

Why are children so gross?

Sleep

I have a queen sized bed. There Is just enough room for two adults to sleep comfortably. There's even sort of enough room for an occasional child, say, under the age of 5. There is not room for two adults, two children and assorted cats. Unfortunately, sometimes, that is our reality.

There are problems with this arrangement. Our children used to be smaller. They are now 6 and 9 which = too big. They have long, pointy limbs which = too much.

So, my husband is away for work this week which means my children think they should be able to sleep in his spot. Being the level headed and diplomatic parent I sometimes pretend to be I am, I told them that they could each have a turn. The first night went pretty well. The youngest slept with me with very minimal kicking and poking. The second night the oldest joined me and things were ok until 3:46 am. He's a flailer and, while I was dealing with this ok, it was not ideal. But, I digress, 3:46 arrived and the youngest wakes up to find that he is alone in their room. I am awakened to the sound of his pitiful crying downstairs. Too tired to be in possession of common sense or reason, I shout down "Kieran, just come upstairs!".

So now I have two children and one adult in my bed. Perversely, my cats see this as some sort of happy fun time and decide to invite themselves to the party. This = 5 mammals in one queen sized bed. But the smallest boy won't stop fidgeting and the cats won't stop squeezing into that spot between my thigh and leg that completely limits any ability to move, so at 4:47 I kick the extra human and both cats OUT. The boy goes back to his bed, but the cats come back. Oh, how I wish that I had a bedroom door. I don't have one. I know I've mentioned this before. I have baby gates, but they just laugh at those.

Partial illustration of typical wake up positions on weekends. Note there is a foot by my shoulder:

I miss Nova Scotia and more random thoughts...

I do. I love it here. I love my friends, but I miss the ocean. I miss the fog and the salt air and the sand dollars and the cobbles. How do you reconcile wanting to be in two places at once?

/melancholy

My husband is away and will be all week. It sucks because I kinda like having him around.

Today will be an awesome day! It is supposed to hit 30 celcius. I forsee some pool time.

So, that's it. Short and boring.

Nova Scotia:

Today my boy is 10: Ode to Jacob

This boy. The one who made me a Mama. I have him frozen in my head somewhere around 5 and it always shocks me when I realize he isn't. So, an ode to Jacob. How do I love thee?

I love the way your eyes crinkle up and disappear when you smile.

I love your sweet heart and the way you think of others

I love how you love animals and babies and how you squee when you see something/someone cute.

I love that you are still full of hugs and kisses and cuddles, even though you're clearly not a baby anymore

I love your evil laugh and your mischievious sense of humour

Most of all, I just love you. I am blessed that you came into my life and the world is a better place because you are in it. I love you, my boy, all the way up to the moon and back two times!

Warning: Cat related swearing within.

Caveat: I do not submit this blog post to complain. I submit it because it is funny. I have the utmost appreciation for my husband, I swear!

My husband, like Jesus, is the son of a carpenter. He is pretty handy, I must say, but due to the origin of his parentage, he believes himself capable of taking on almost any carpentry related task. In most situations, he is amply qualified and does an amazing job. Other times, he misses the mark. Not by much, but the mark is still missed. Example: He installed a new door. It does not close properly. When you pull it shut behind you, it does not latch and bounces back open. He assures me that it closes just fine, I'm just closing it improperly. Say what? I assured him that I have not altered my door closing methods much in the last 15 years so he could go pound rocks. I said it nicely, I swear.

This door-not-shutting-right is an issue mainly because I have two indoor cats. The Asshole is one of them. One of the things that makes him an asshole is that he is an escape artist. He seems to know when the door has not latched properly and will bat at it until he's opened it enough to squeeze through, take off and hide under the nearest vehicle. Add two children, who just slam the door behind them when they exit or enter, to the mix and you have a recipe for much frustration. Imagine arriving home to be greeted by your strictly indoor cat in the middle of your drive way, front door wide open, blowing in the breeze. This has happened more than once. I am less than impressed.

So, today is windy. The door has randomly blown open 3 times already and the cat has escaped twice. Hence he has been stalking the door, lying in wait for the next blow open. I have recieved the standard "You don't close the door properly" lecture no less than twice already. I'm over it. Anyhow, I am folding laundry in the kitchen and I hear my husband enter. Not 20 seconds later, I hear the door blow open. Fortunately, husband is still in the vicinity. I hear "Nah, no NO!" then a pause and a quiet "You bastard" and the door slams shut and bounces open once again. Heh. At least he had the good grace to look sheepish when he came back inside with the cat slung over his shoulder.

Why do we have cats again? Oh yeah, they suck you in cuz they're cute.

Be Careful With Your Words

Did you know that if you title a blog post something like "All Random, All The Time!" you may possibly be risking referral traffic from an amateur p o r n site? I did not. I have been educated. Ok.

I was not shocked and appalled per se, but lets just say that being confronted by unexpected penis images and drinking hot coffee are not compatible activities. There are now some pretty interesting pictures in my computer cache to be deleted.

I think that being confronted with penises when you are not expecting them is, really, never a good thing. The stealth penis should be reserved for things like stagette parties and college dorm pranks. Stealth penis in your kitchen while your children watch Pokemon in the next room elicits a whole bunch of emotions that I don't really want to explore just now.

So, I feel in comfortable saying that the stealth penis is rarely a good thing. I'm going to stop saying penis soon, I promise.

Moving forward, I resolve to not click on unknown links, even though they may appear benign. You never know where stealth penis (penii?) might be lurking.

ACK! I almost forgot the picture!

It's me as a Beaver Leader. Somehow, it fits ;).

Wednesday was interesting...

I had an interview. It was ok. I don't feel like I knocked it outta the park, but I don't feel like I bombed horribly either. I'm a poor judge of these things.

A dear friend watched my children for me. No small feat as she has 3 boys of her own. She's pretty much my hero now. I need to do something really nice for her.

So, interview, ok, done, end of discussion. Lets talk about my cat. He's an asshole. He feels compelled to knock everything off of any surface he chooses to place his furry butt on. Why? Because he's an asshole. Last night he batted a Corningware bowl off the upstairs landing, causing it to fall down the flight of stairs and shatter into a billion pieces. I have never seen a dish in so many pieces before. I heard a "ting!" and then it just exploded. Stupid cat.

Fast forward several hours: I am peacefully sleeping in my bed. Cat jumps up on top of my night stand and starts methodically batting things off. First it's body spray. I wake up, but I ignore him. Then a plastic water cup. I ignore him still. Then my fricking lamp hits me in the face. I reiterate, he's an asshole.

If I had a bedroom door, this wouldn't be an issue, but I don't have a bedroom door. More on that later. That said, I don't know if it would solve the problem because the stupid cat does not like closed doors. He stands on his hind legs and drags his paws over it repeatedly like he's a demon and the door is the gate to hell, mrrowing pitifully. Why? Because he's an asshole.

 

But we love him and he loves us. Even though he's an asshole.

All Random, All The Time! Or: If I were a super hero

I would like to have the power to point at things and have them be clean and organised at the speed of light. Sort of a cross between Superman and Barbara Eden in I Dream of Jeanie.

I do not have this power. You have only to walk into my home to deduce this. I also have children in whom I have failed to instill cleanliness as a necessity.It isn't for lack of trying, I swear. "Put away the toys? But I have other toys I am playing with now! I don't have TIME! to put away the toys I WAS playing with, MOM! " or "I like the Monopoly money spread all over the floor. That's where I keep it on purpose! It's already clean". I could go on, but I won't.

My cat seems to think that my dining room table is his lounge. No amount of removal, reproval nor misting on my part has served to disabuse him of this notion. You see, the table gets the best sunshine in the morning and is the best place to make eye contact with the humans who are typing blog posts when they are supposed to be serving you breakfast. It is also, apparently, more comfortable than any other piece of furniture in the whole world.

Which brings me back to my super power. IF everything was always clean and organised, would I really care so much about the furry cat butt sprawled over my dining room table? Yeah, probably. So, the supersoaker hasn't yet outlived its usefulness. It does compell him to get down...for 15.87 seconds. Then he jumps back up. I've squirted him no less than 6 times while typing this post. He, like my children, is lucky he's cute. It has saved their lives on more than one occasion.

The Wall and Random Musing.

 One new blog post in and I've hit it (The Wall). I don't know what to write. The cursor blinks mockingly. My cat yowls, wanting breakfast, and yet I sit...writing about not being able to write. Mmkay.

I don't like Mondays. I know I'm not original or alone in this. I'm out of coffee. Seriously. Out. Of. Coffee. Stupid Monday. It's all your fault. There are little cat nose prints all over my dining room window. It's kinda cute, but mostly gross. Someone should clean that up. Of course a clean window will just be an invitation to more kitty nose prints.

A friend brought me coconut foot cream. It smells like coconut and mint...like Christmas on the beach. I want to eat it. I can't, of course, because it's foot cream, but confessing it makes me feel better.

A not-extremely-close-friend but really--sweet-nice-friend just had a baby boy and I'm trying to figure out excuses to go over there and sniff his little baby head. Maybe I'll make her lasagna. That should earn me a baby head sniff, shouldn't it. I am an unrepentant baby sniffer.

I think this is the best I can do for a Monday. I'll do better when Monday is gone.

Random picture for today: What it looks like when you let a 6 year old paint your toenails.

Kay, so I lied.

I said I resolved to be a better blogger. Well, I did resolve to be, but apparently I lack follow through. Part of this is due to the skill I have cultivated in the art of avoidance but mostly it comes from a place of boring. My life as I see it really isn't that interesting to the outside world. I really enjoy it, but I enjoy stuff many other people see as mundane. Not that I embrace mediocrity. Quite the contrary! I seek to make the mundane extrordinary! For example, I pickle beets. Not just any beets, no! The very best, tastiest, beets ever! Pickling beets? Yes, mundane. Product of mundane pickling? Pure, magenta, awesome!

So, what's new? Lots and nothing. I am currently unemployed which means my house is clean(er) but that's about it. I still feel busy. It's summer and my children feel very strongly that is my job to entertain/stimulate them on an intellectual level, and play with them while still keeping my house from looking like a cyclone struck it. Well, fly lady can suck it. I'd rather play. I still manage to keep the socks crust free and the toilet relatively sparkly, but that's about it. My floor is kinda sticky in one spot, but I figure the cat will find it and lick it clean. Okay, that's sort of a lie. I thought about it, but then I felt guilty and cleaned it.

I'm bunny sitting for a friend. Bunnies make me talk funny. "Ah, da widdle bebeh bunneh! She's jussa widdle bebeh bunneh wif da softest widdle bunneh furs an softy widdle ears!". It's not pretty, but I own it. I want one of my own to love. My children support me in this insanity. My husband (picture Cyril Sneer minus the cigar) does not. And so there will be no bunneh...until I eventually wear him down. Mwah ha.

Okay, so that seems like enough.

Picture: Why? Because blog posts are boring without pictures.