A Slumber Party

I've been to a number of slumber parties in my day.

I was usually 12 and they involved crying over the guy in Grease II and not watching Children of the Corn. I seem to recall some games of truth or dare which always ended up with someone asking someone else if they'd gotten what comes at the end of a sentence yet.

Ah, the cusp of puberty. Good times.

The slumber parties in my teens were usually to celebrate someone's birthday. The talk changed from who was already wearing a bra to who we were madly in love with. (A lovely shout out to my dear friends who never riled me about my love for Ralph Macchio.)

And then we graduated school. No more slumber parties and no more pining for dear ol' Ralph. We all grew up. Moved on. Got jobs. Got married. Had kids.

I moved on to supervising a whole lot of slumber parties with not a lot of slumbering, let me tell you.

Today that all changed. The Princess, The Monkey and I had a slumber party tonight. The living room is proof. A double mattress lies across the floor, smushed between the fireplace and coffee table. Junk food litters assorted tables. Bits of popcorn are on the floor. Two little girls are finally slumbering, with stuffies tucked up under their chins. Hannah Montana has mercifully finished singing the blues and there is very little dill pickle dip left.

The Princess and The Monkey sure like that stuff.

And me? I am putting off slumbering. My bed is calling out to me, but that kind of breaks the spirit of a slumber party. My aching joints are taunting me and trying to convince me that if I just set my alarm for 5 am, I could slink downstairs and park myself on the couch with the girls being none the wiser.

But I'll tough it out. I'm brave like that.

Tune in tomorrow when there will be much whining and gnashing of teeth due to lack of sleep and junk food detoxing. Plus I have a feeling I'll have a tip or two on pumping up a deflating air mattress in the dark at 3am.

'Tis the stuff that summer memories are made of.

The New Hamster

We added a new addition to our family.

It was time. We've adjusted to life without Beardog. And, truthfully, I was sick and tired of listening to The Princess whine about how everyone else in the entire house had an animal to love. The Eldest has her cat, Smokey. The Boy has his dog, Bryn. I have The Husband. The Princess has her fish, but she just didn't love Troy the Fish. It's so very hard to cuddle a fish.

Once The Princess started resorting to this:


The Boy thought a hamster was a good idea too.

If truth be told, it was The Husband who caved. Don't tell him I told you. He'll deny it. But that's what really happened. He caved to a 7 year old little girl who just wanted something to call her own *tear* and since she couldn't get a kitten, well, a hamster was most certainly the bestest pet in the world to have.

Enter Butterscotch.

Baby Butterscotch likes to sleep. Anywhere.


Anyone's hand will do.

Or lap.


Or perhaps under the odd chin.

Baby Butterscotch has been loved and cuddled and fawned over. She's filled her little cheeks full of cracked corn and sunflower seeds. She runs miles everyday on her little wheel and has staring contests with The Dog.

Tonight, The Princess came up to me and said,

"Do you know who my favourite pet is?"

"Butterscotch!" I said, with a loving smile on my face, my heart all warm and cozy and grateful that we've given our little girl a tiny bundle of fur to call her own.

"Uhm...not really," replied The Princess. "Bryn's my favourite."

"Really? Well, Butterscotch is second," I responded.

"Uhm...not really," replied The Snotty Seven Year Old. "Bear is my second favourite, but he's in heaven so it doesn't sorta count."

"So who's third?" I spit out.

"Smokey. I just love his tail and he's so soft," said The Kid Who's Going Back To School In 2 and a Half Short Weeks. "Then the hamster."

The hamster. She didn't even call her by her real name.

Butterscotch.

Welcome to the family.

Well, Hello There

Days and weeks have passed.

Here I have sat, watching So You Think You Can Dance, playing spider solitaire, nagging my children, drinking the occasional beer, reading books on fasting, and contemplating life.

But no blogging.

Sometimes when life seems to be throwing you a bit too much crap, all you want to do is dodge the doo doo and not make a facial mask out of it.

Or write about it.

I mean, I could have written about my $400 van bill. And then whined about how the van that we've owned for 4 months needs another $1,000 worth of work.

But I don't want to go on and on about how that trench in my back yard is going to stay that way instead of turning into a nice patio because my minivan wants working water thingamajigs.

And so I didn't blog.

I could have written about the cute little hamster that The Princess sweet talked The Husband into purchasing. But then I'd have to find the cord for the camera to download the pictures and who the heck knows where that is.

And so I didn't blog.

I most certainly could have posted about the hour and a quarter wait at the doctor's office, or putting my brand new I only wore it once new cotton shirt in the dryer, or asked you what the heck that brown spot on the girls' bedroom carpet could possibly be, but I've blocked it all out.

And so I didn't blog.

I really wanted to blog about the big family reunion, but I got all weepy at the thought of my deceased grandparents looking down on all of us and just being so amazingly pleased at what they created, that I couldn't finish that post.

And so I didn't blog.

I've been completely blown away by information that has surfaced about a very popular mommy blog that I've been reading for a long time. And felt weird about. I wish I had listened to my instincts about it all. But then reading all the backlash over it and seeing how incredibly quick other bloggers have been to rip her to shreds and bend over backwards to dig up dirt on the blogger....well...it's left me pretty jaded over all this blogging stuff.

And so I didn't blog.

But now I'm getting harassing messages posted on Facebook and friends (yes, that would be YOU Ms. K) who refuse to come over for coffee until I post something into the blogesphere.

And so. I've blogged.

I'm free Tues, Ms. K.

Oh, and Ms. M....I expect a new blog entry from you by Monday.