Mahoney Musings

Baking With a Sweater On

2011-09-29T13:37:00.000-07:00

I dislike change.

Changing food labels, different facebook pages, altered Blogger site (I mean really. When did that happen? You don't blog for, like, 6 months and then you're greeted with....well, a new Blogger page. I didn't know what I was doing before. Now all I do know is that I had 119 views from Israel yesterday. I think I broke my Blogger page because that doesn't seem quite right.)

So. Change. I hate it. I would prefer things stayed the same. Logically I know this is ridiculous but I yam what I yam and change makes my skin crawl.

My life has changed so very much in the past year or so. Job changes, family changes, The Husband having to live away from us for work. Heck, I even had my abdomen changed, which, don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the life saving surgery but really really hate the way my abdomen feels now. I have learned to live with the way it looks. I hope I will one day learn to live with how it feels inside.

And now, The Monkey started all day kindergarten and my life has changed yet again. It's been 9 years since I've been 'child free' for any length of time and I am feeling rather lost. I drop her off at school. I walk out the classroom door. I stand on the sidewalk and feel completely at a loss as to what the heck I'm supposed to do with myself. It's just me.

Work days are easier. But today there is no work. There are no parents needing a meal cooked, or taken to a doctor's appointment or to sit with in the hospital. No children holding my hand and asking to go to the park or story time or to play Littlest Pet Shop when we get home. No Husband's underwear to wash or to go and meet for coffee on a work break.

I'm left standing on the sidewalk wondering how the hell I'm going to deal with this latest change in my life. Me. Just me.

So today I went home. And I put on my Mom's sweater.

And I baked with her sweater on.

9 months

2011-09-18T22:02:00.000-07:00

My dad died.

There. I said it. I wrote it. Right there in black letters.

My dad died.And I cannot wrap my brain around those 3 words.

9 months to the day that my mom passed away, we said goodbye to Dad. Taken from us after an incredibly short and mind boggling bout with cancer.

In 9 short months, cancer took both my parents and my brain cannot take it in. Grieving is different this time around. Different from grieving The Husband's dad. Different than grieving my mom. It's like my brain has locked the door and won't let me go inside that place. That place where you're sad and angry and missing the person who's gone. My brain won't let me inside there. I wonder if I should knock...ring the doorbell. But, no. I don't think I'm ready to go in to that place anyways, so I'll just sit here down on the corner and wait to get up my courage at some point in the near future.

When my mom died, I wanted to look at pictures of her. See video footage of her. Think of happy memories and was desperate to remember so I wouldn't forget. And now I catch a glimpse of my dad's picture and I have to look away. I have to make myself picture my parents together again and then move on to something else. Anything that is not thinking about the fact that there is only a teaspoon of raspberry jam left in the fridge. A solitary teaspoon of raspberry jam that Dad made with the raspberries Mom picked with my kids in their garden last summer.

I don't want this to be real. How can this be real? No. It's too much.

It's just too much.

A Mom's Hobby

2011-06-29T21:54:00.000-07:00

Today at work, I was reminded of what I used to do for a living. A child with autism faced with a broken down elevator that he could not ride, strangers' judgemental stares and comments, a tearful mom trying to explain to me why her son was behaving as he was.

A brief prompted conversation with a little boy who made eye contact with me. Brief. But a connection. A few moments of conversation with a mom whose plate was overflowing with worry and who just needed someone to listen to her for a moment or two.

Driving home, I wanted to call my Mom and tell her about it. I wanted her to tell me I'm doing what I need to for my family, that it's okay, I'm where I'm supposed to be in my life. I needed someone to listen to me for a moment or two.

But of course I couldn't. So I went home and ate a chocolate cupcake and now my gut is the one talking to me and it's telling me it's NOT ok, and actually, I am an idiot. 3 months since my surgery and I'm faced with the grim fact that I am an emotional eater who is about an intestinal foot short of being able to continue to be one.

Anywhoo...I do have conversations in my head with my Mom. Is that weird? Perhaps. But I do try and think about what she would say to me. I've been struggling with it lately, though, and even thinking about the sound of her voice gets harder to pull from the depths of my memory. A friend reminded me online tonight that I knew what she would say. But tonight I just couldn't hear her.

I took The Monkey out on an evening walk tonight. I thought it might help clear my head. But so many thoughts kept spinning in my head...the decisions I've made, the paths I've chosen and everything I've been through in the past while. Am I where I should be? Doing what I should be doing? That little guy at work...God, have I made the right choices?

I just want some ANSWERS, dagnabit.

And then tonight I randomly chose a book from the bookshelf to read for The Monkey's bedtime story. 'The Berenstain Bears Mama's New Job'. I opened the book and there was The Eldest's name written on the inside cover, in sweet 5 year old writing. So many years ago I used to read her bedtime stories and now she's 19 and growing her adult wings. So many years I've been at this parenting gig.

I started reading to The Monkey. In the book they discuss the Bear Family's hobbies. I turned to The Monkey and asked her what her favourite hobby was, as well as the rest of the people in our family. Her responses were cute and predictable...her favourite hobby was colouring and doing crafts, The Princess' was reading, The Eldest's was going out with her boyfriend, The Boy's was staying in his room and playing on his computer, and The Husband's was sleeping.

Then I asked her what she thought my favourite hobby was. She looked at me and smiled.

"Loving me."

Yes, my Keeley. Loving you and my family is my best hobby. The bestest hobby in the world.

Thanks Mom. It was so great to hear you tonight.

Yet Another Side Road

2011-04-11T09:47:00.000-07:00

Enough.

There's something about laying on a paper sheet in the doctor's office getting 24 staples removed from your tender abdomen that gets a person to thinking.

I think I've had enough.

Enough pain. Enough whining. Enough dark side roads.

I find myself yet again writing about one more event that I need to purge from my mind. Put aside, let go and move on.

Not that I'm done dealing with this latest side road...it'll be the middle of May before I'm allowed to go back to work, several weeks at least until I can pick anything up and dear god if this house doesn't up and crawl away in disgust at the level of filth that currently resides here, it will truly be yet another miracle for this Mahoney household.

Of course, I can't come here and whine about some exotic illness either. If something's going to go wrong with me it'll be with my bowel. Yes. I'm going to write on a public forum about my intestines.

God my life is so awesome.

And of course if I'm going to go and get a twisted bowel and need emergency surgery, I'll do that when The Husband is away. In another province, two airplanes away. But hey! The Eldest can drive so that saved me the ambulance cost.

Just looking for the positives. It's all I've got.

I found myself laying in the ER at 3 o'clock in the morning, begging God to just make the pain stop and saying the rosary at super sonic speed over and over and over again while breaking The Eldest's hand in a death grip. Two x-rays later and voila: twisted bowel. Which explained the pain worse than childbirth. And all my yelling. Plus the vomit. Oh and there may have been some accusations that the doctor wasn't getting to me soon enough. It's a bit foggy.

God was watching over me and my Mom was organizing a speedy solution to my predicament. There was a free operating room and the surgeon was able to come in right away. By 9 am I was saying good bye to about a foot of my intestines. I woke up to a 7 inch incision down my abdomen, 24 staples holding it closed, 7 days in the hospital, 8 weeks of not lifting anything and many days of lounging around looking at the dog hair accumulate on the carpet.

Laying in a hospital bed unable to move without crying despite the epidural in one's back plus a morphine drip, gives a person a lot of time to think. A lot of time to think about life changing in an instant, being blindsided when you already feel like life has kicked the crap out of you. You have morphine hallucinations about demons and fire and brimstone. You replay talking to your husband on the phone before surgery, telling him you love him, please don't come home, you'll be fine, his work up there is important for our family, but every fibre of your being wants him there with you. You think about telling your Eldest child goodbye and that you love her, everything was going to be fine as they wheel you off to surgery, but the inner you is freaking out and you just want your mommy there to say get ahold of yourself. You're not going to die for crying out loud, it'll all be ok.

Yep. A lot of time to think.

Most fortunately for me, my big sister pinch hit for her and called and talked me off the ledge. Then Nurse Sandy was sent directly from heaven to hold my hand and be just about the best nurse on the planet. Nurse Sandy didn't have to hold my hand and let me ramble on in my morphine fog about my mom and my life and how grief over The Husband's dad was a different life experience then grieving over my mom.

Yes. Nurse Sandy was awesome. I am also hoping I never have the need for the use of strong narcotics in my life again. Even while having those conversations with the nurse there was part of my brain yelling, "What the hell are you blathering about? You are freaking stoned. Shut up. Crap. Is that a demon behind her? Why is this hospital so full of people turning into demons?"

As I relived all those moments in my head, I was able to start sorting everything out and stop being such an idiot. Count my blessings, so to speak. My awesome family rallied once again. Our Eldest, my dad, my siblings...all super duper troopers. My dearest Husband got an early flight home. I get to take 8 unpaid weeks off of work.

Plus I didn't die, I lost 10 pounds and Extra Strength Tylenol does not make me see demons.

Perspective. It's a wonderful thing.

Living Up to Your Name

2011-03-07T15:24:00.001-08:00

Aww...Stupidstore...

I know. Math is hard.

3 months

2011-03-05T22:22:00.000-08:00

I was talking with my sister today. Lots of ranting about life and stuff. Then the inevitable pause in the conversation.

"So. How are you doing?"

Just a few simple words. But we each knew what we were asking.

We're really asking how the grieving is going. How are you holding up? Are you still in disbelief, do you still think about calling her on the phone and then realize she gone, do you still cry at odd times...the waves crashing over your soul, making you feel like you're drowning in your tears and you can't catch a breath.

"How are you doing?"

I think I'm doing ok. Most of the time. It's been two weeks since I sobbed on my bed for 15 minutes then picked up the broken pieces of my tear stained heart and shoved them back into my aching chest.

It's been three months. I like to think my Mom is getting settled up there in heaven and is putting her final touches on a new job for The Husband, amongst a bunch of other stuff. Don't get me wrong. I know God has it all organized but if you knew my Mom, you'd know that she's already attended several meetings about the whole issue, come up with a few choice soundbites that succinctly put it all into perspective and then pushed the start date up about 2 months.

It's how she rolls.

Anywhoo, in talking with my sister today it made me realize that I'm doing ok. There's a lot of stuff in my life I'm dealing with but when it comes to Mom...well, I think I'm where I'm suppose to be. Grieving, but slowly moving through this whole process of saying good bye to a beloved person.

Will I ever stop missing her? No. I don't want to ever get to that place. Do I want my heart to heal? Yes, but I want those scars to remain on my heart forever. They mean she was loved, always missed, never forgotten. But I have to wake up every day and carry on. Boy would she be pissed if I didn't do that. If every person that ever loved her didn't do that.

And so we get up every morning and brush our teeth, pluck the new grey hairs out of our eyebrows and make a pot of coffee. We carry on.

Part of the grieving for me has been a desperate need to remember my mom as she was before the cancer entered her brain. Before the chemo. Before she found a lump in her breast. It was so difficult right after she died to remember her as she truly was for most of her life, before the cancer slowly stole her away. And it was so difficult to retrieve any positive pictures in my mind.

I started to dream about my mom shortly after she passed away. Most of them were foggy, bits and pieces that I would try desperately to put back together in my mind when I awoke. They were moments of her as she used to be, not wasting away, but vibrantly alive...but they were like viewing snapshots of faded pictures when I awoke and I couldn't cling to their images, no matter how hard I tried.

But one night about a month after she died, I entered a garden in my dream. There was a patio, and a white trellis. The sun was shining but there was cool shade on the other side of the trellis...trees and flowers, white chairs in a big semi circle on the grass.

I walked out into the garden and saw people sitting in the chairs. I knew there was a person sitting in a chair just on the other side of the trellis and I was drawn to that spot. I walked to it, turned and looked. Mom was sitting in the chair, smiling, radiant, so happy.

"MOM. MOM! What are you doing here??? You're suppose to be dead. You died."

I know. Even in my dreams I ooze poetic verse.

Mom stood up. Smiling. So so smiling.

"The doctors were wrong! The cancer's gone. I'm empty of cancer! They did tests. It's gone."

Smiling smiling smiling.

And I hugged her fiercely. And we hugged and hugged and hugged and I didn't let go. And she didn't let go. I was hugging my Mom in the garden, surrounded by summer trees, sun and the flowers that she so loved. There were other people, all sitting in the chairs, watching us. I didn't see their faces but I knew they were loved ones. In her favourite place to be. The garden. Loved ones. Flowers.

I felt the need to write this down tonight. To remember. Because I'm learning that part of grieving is remembering. Remembering that it's ok to smile at the good thoughts, important to think about the happy times, let go of the "why's" and "it's not fair" and focus on the carrying on.

Do I still cry? Yes. But not as often.

Do I still miss her? Oh, yes, but I'm learning to accept this new normal.

Am I still angry? No. And I can't tell you how grateful I am to have moved past that. I am so grateful that I don't feel like putting my fist through the wall or breaking every plate in my cupboard anymore.

Do I still feel disbelief? This has all of a sudden gone away. It was strange to have gone through the last few months of her life, knowing she was dying, care for her, be there when she passed away, see her in her coffin, and then be driving down the road two months later and be hit with a huge wave of shock with the realization that she was gone. She was really gone. For good. For ever.

(For the record..if you were driving on the #1 Hwy from Chilliwack about a month ago and saw a deranged lady in a white minivan crying like a banshee? Ya. That was me.)

Have I stopped reliving my Mom's last moments over and over in my head? Yes. And I'm ok with that. Because I'm also learning that in order for grieving to happen, to keep moving through this whole process, I have to let them happen. Not fight it. Not perseverate on it. I know I was having issues with those last few hours...why didn't I realize sooner, why didn't I call the siblings that weren't there, what should I have done differently, but also just desperate to NOT forget those last few hours and moments.

Writing them down gave me permission to stop thinking about it over and over. I know I can go back and read it if I feel like I'm forgetting. That's what I felt drawn to do tonight. Write down my dream. I won't forget.

And that is comforting. It's not a hug from Mom, but it's comforting.

Reboot

2011-02-20T14:09:00.000-08:00

It's been a rough stretch in The Mahoney family.

The loss of The Husband's Dad.

The Husband's job.

My Mom.

Every door that opened seemed to bring fresh tears, new frustrations, more worry and endless sadness.

And every new hurt brought us further and further down a dark and unknown road with no light at the end. And we don't own a GPS. I can't tell you how many times I've sat down and started to write in this little blog of mine. There were so many things I wanted to say. So many things I wanted to write about. But the hurt was too much and I couldn't get it out. My mom kept telling me to get back at it and write, but what I needed to write about I couldn't let her read.

Despair. Pain. Disbelief. Anger. A lot of swear words.

She wouldn't have approved.

And now she's gone. I stood beside my mom and told her to go. I told my mom it was ok to go, we would all be ok. My heart was screaming don't go, please...I haven't told you I love you enough, you have to see my kids grow up, I still need to talk to you everyday on the phone, don't leave us. I don't want you to go, I don't want you to go.

But I told her it was ok to go. She looked at me, nodded her head and left us. 2 1/2 years battling breast cancer like a warrior, staying with us days longer than medically made any sense.

And I couldn't find it in me to write.

Seriously pathetic.

So I'm giving myself a reboot. Rebooting my blog. Calling a mulligan. A do over. New opportunities for The Husband and our family are on the near horizon and it's going to be all sunshine and double rainbows around this joint. Double fricking rainbows.

Or quite possibly some aurora borealis. And I've always wanted to see me some of that.

I'm back, baby. I'm back.

The Monkey's Turning 4. Help Me.

2010-06-07T18:28:00.000-07:00

Preparations for our almost 4 year Monkey are in full swing.

There are balloons covering the living room floor. Crap from the dollar store all over the kitchen counters. Birthday cereal is in the pantry. And in the spirit of full disclosure, I am sitting here in my chair by the living room window all decked out in a pink flowery butterflied heart emblazoned pointy party hat. You need to test these things out and make sure they fit. AND LEAVE IT ON. According to the 4 year old minus one day birthday girl, anyways.

(Yes. Murphy's Law being what it is, the DINKS from next door just walked by the window. I didn't wave.)

I found myself a tad melancholy today as I realized that our family is no longer going to have a 3 year old. I love three year olds. It's one of my favourite ages. Still innocent but toilet trained and independent with so many things. And not too much lip.

The Monkey was our holy crap surprise child and I've loved 96% of these years with her in our lives. But tomorrow she turns 4.

And I know what's coming.

Attitude.

Lip.

Snottiness.

Did I mention the attitude?

In the midst of today's melancholy, I asked The Monkey what we should write on her birthday cake tomorrow.

"Hmmmmm.....how 'bout......Gimme my presents!!!"

And then I bought beer.

I Am Not a Vet

2010-06-04T18:33:00.000-07:00

Today was a big day in the Mahoney household.

It was time to Bob Barker Charlie the Cat.

"You're going to what?! To my WHAT?!"

I dropped him off at the local vet for his little surgery and the lovely lady behind the desk asked me to fill out some forms. As I was filling them out, we chatted back and forth about what vaccinations he was having done and she wrote some stuff down on her clipboard.

Then she said, "Are both of Charlie's testicles descended?"

To which I responded, "It took me 2 months to figure out what sex he was. I have no idea if he has an undescended testicle."

I mean seriously. Have you seen the size of a 5 1/2 month old cat's nether regions? I'll be perfectly honest with you...I've been sweating taking him to the vet all week because I was worried I was going to be told Charlie was a girl and I was an idiot and quite possibly a moron and I had absolutely no business owning a pet. Plus, the surgery would have been more money and you all know how I feel about that.

So, no. I didn't know if both of Charlie's testicles had descended.

Then I got to drive home having a conversation with an 8 year old girl about undescended testicles and vets hacking off a cat's scrotum and why exactly the vet had to do that. I was very glad I was able to avoid eye contact throughout that whole conversation.

But the day ended well. I mean, it ended well for me. At this particular moment, Charlie is looking at me like he's pretty sure I just ruined his life, but for me the day went well. Two descended testicles it was and that meant a simple surgery and easy recovery for Charlie. And no additional costs for doing whatever a vet has to do to cut off an undescended testicle. And that makes for an easier recovery for me.

So there it is. I don't blog for 6 weeks and when I finally do, I use the word 'testicle' 7 times.

Yep. Things may be back to normal around here.

A Monkey Photo Shoot

2010-03-29T10:58:00.000-07:00

The Monkey is our fourth child.

This is very evident by the lack of framed photos of her in our house.

Lucky for me, I know a wonderful lady who agreed to rectify this travesty.

Peggy Wynne, of Peggy Wynne Photography, took on The Monkey last week. In a quick 25 minute session at the studio in her home, she was able to capture our youngest hooligan's cuteness in so many adorable poses that I now have a new problem.

Which one to choose?

Not only is Peggy great at her craft, but I love that she sends you a link via email so you can preview the photos online.

Peggy has taken photos for our family, as well as captured The Eldest's graduation.

Yup. Beautiful work. If you live in the Lower Mainland, I highly recommend her.

Thanks again, Peggy!

A Movie Party

2010-03-06T21:32:00.000-08:00

An 8 year old's birthday party. Movie style.

You needed one of these to get in.

The Princess greeted her guests with one of these.

We played games to collect a bunch of these.

So you could line up here.

And buy whatever you wanted to watch the movie.

The Eldest and The Boyfriend got in on the fun. The Monkey bought a lot of candy.

1 headache, 1 spilled pop, popcorn covering the ground, nary a vegetable eaten (and they were FREE - I don't get it) and 3 hours later, the 8 year old's movie party came to a close.

"Take your popcorn containers! Here, let me stuff them with more candy to eat on the way home!"

Then I tucked The Princess into bed and she said, "Thank you for doing all that stuff for me today, Mom. It was really good. *pause* What theme are we going to do for my 9th birthday?"

Happy Birthday, My Princess. Next year's theme is "Let's go swimming at your father's pool/skate at his ice rink". Oh, but I've scheduled a massage for that day so I can't be there.

Goodnight.

Soup...Mmm Mmmm Not Good

2010-03-02T10:33:00.000-08:00

This post should be about The Princess turning 8.

I should be going on about one of my babies growing up so quickly, and what kind of birthday cereal she chose, and what we did for her big day and what dinner she wanted.

Instead, I have nothing to report about that day because I slept her birthday away. I hadn't gone to bed until 6 am and woke up at 4:30 pm with a killer migraine and the need for a serious 10 minutes tooth brushing.

Aah, food poisoning. Chicken corn chowder, I shall never look at you the same way again.

I've had food poisoning once before. Two years ago when The Husband and I went away to Victoria for our wedding anniversary I apparently ate a bad chicken caesar salad. Nothing says loving like writhing around on a bed at the Empress hotel begging to die while your husband eats take out food beside you.

That was a bad evening. But this past Friday night? Let's just say that if you men out there truly want to find out just how bad those childbirth pains really are that your wimpy wife was going on about for 18 hours or so giving you an offspring, just go put a piece of half cooked chicken out on in the sun for a day or so, then go make yourself a chicken salad sandwich.

And that was basically how I felt as I writhed on the floor of the emergency room for several hours. In the throws of labour but without a cute baby at the end. There was a cute doctor, but let me tell you, discussing your latest bowel movements with said cute doctor while you may or may not have vomit chunks in your hair totally cancels out any pleasure from that.

I would also like to point out that vomiting into an emergency waiting room toilet is about as disgusting as you just pictured it.

But lucky for me The Husband and I got to hang around the waiting room for quite a while so we got to witness two drunk guys come in and explain to the triage nurse that one of them had been bitten in the face by a homeless guy's dog. To hear them tell it, it was pretty funny if you went by the continuous giggling coming from the two men. And to this I say, thanks. Thanks for pissing off the people that were going to be shoving an IV into the back of my hand.

Some good came from all this, though. The Husband answered a lot of work emails on his Blackberry while I slept fitfully thanks to some pain killers and intravenous Gravol. By the way, did you know that stuff really stings when they give it to you and then 10 seconds later will make your right eye go all wonky and your chest all tight and you'll start to freak out and THEN the nurse might tell you that's all normal and would I just relax, relax, already?

Here's a tip for you lady. How 'bout you tell me that before so I don't freak out to begin with? That's my suggestion. Take it or leave it.

And so, life is back to 'normal' around these parts today. My migraine finally left me midday yesterday afternoon and here I sit, 5 pounds lighter. To top it off, the soup company contacted me this morning and are refunding me the cost of that soup and just might be sending me some coupons.

For more soup.

The Difference Between The Husband and Me

2010-02-22T18:54:00.001-08:00

I had to pick up a few things at the grocery store today. The sun was shining, I was without children and gosh darn it, it felt great.

20 minutes all to myself and I spent it inside Save-On-Foods. Who needs beer when you live life like I do.

The bill came to $10.34. I handed the cashier a ten dollar bill and 35 cents. She took the money and put it inside the till.

Then she asked me if I wanted my change.

She apparently doesn't read my blog.

I'll be honest with you. Although I razzed my dear husband about not wanting those two pennies back at MickyD's, I honestly didn't know what I would have said.

I found out today.

"Yes."

I told the cashier I wanted my penny.

Let me just pause while that sinks in.

Yes. I said YES I wanted my dang penny, thankyouverymuch, took that penny and put it in my change purse. It was pure instinct. No hesitation. And with witnesses present. It's not like I was in the drive thu. I publicly announced to the entire quick serve 15 items or less line that yes, Scottish blood runs through my veins and I wanted a solitary penny.

But dang it, a person's got to have principles. right? If I had paid by debit card, she wouldn't have asked if she should just round up my total to $10.35, right?

Right?

They're not gonna start doing that, right? 'Cause I can't take the humiliation.

Sorry. Yes, It's Another Cute Kitten Picture.

2010-02-10T07:00:00.000-08:00

I mean, seriously.

This is getting out of hand. My blog is turning into a kitten fest. Sorry about that. I realize that most of you come here for the in depth articles on toilet paper injuries and bear scat but you'll have to just look at one more cute kitten picture.

Come on....his little hind legs up by his sweet widdle head, all asleep on my lap? What's not to love? I could go on about how he has an M on his forehead as well, and how he was obviously meant to be in our Mahoney family but that may be pushing things.

Well. Off to do something important. The Husband's underwear doesn't wash itself.

Gettin' Along

2010-02-06T20:10:00.000-08:00

I think it is safe to say that The Kitten and The Dog have gotten used to each other.

Yes. That is The Dog's butt that Charlie is cuddled up against.

And the cuddling continues....

Do You Think This is Off?

2010-01-25T19:35:00.001-08:00

Ya know what I wish? I mean, besides for winning a few million bucks and having someone at my ever beck and call to rub my shoulders? Oh, and that the letter 'a' on this computer would work on the first try?

I wish refrigerators had a self clean button. I just found turkey meat and cranberry sauce in my fridge.

It's January 25th, people.

Hmm. Let's do the math, shall we?

I would like to clarify that I actually cooked that turkey sometime shortly after the New Year. So, we're talking 3 weeks of decay, not four. That doesn't sound nearly as horrific.

So back to my fridge problem. I did some soul searching today and came to a conclusion. Several, actually. None of which makes me come out looking like Suzy Homemaker.

Conclusion #1: I clean out my fridge when I've run out of food storage containers.

Conclusion #2: I have some vague memory of making a pact with the devil to clean out the fridge every Monday, since garbage day was on Tuesday and I had just finished working and was home full time will all this spare time, just a newborn and 3 other kids to take care of and was clearly suffering from post partum insanity. But then our garbage day was changed and even though it's been roughly two years since it was switched, I still find myself being woken up at 6:58 am every Friday morning to the rumble of the garbage truck which causes me to start yelling at The Boy to get up and get the garbage to the curb. From this you may be able to deduce that I never clean out my fridge on Thursdays. So, conclusion #2 is that my fridge would be clean if not for the garbage company's schedule change. See? It's not my fault.

Conclusion #3: I never make soup from all those leftovers I pack up over a week's time that I tell myself would be perfect for making soup and therefore stretch our food budget. Seriously, people. I've been married for 20 years and I don't make soup out of the leftovers. Unless it's turkey. Then I carefully boil the entire carcass and spend 2 hours picking off every bit of meat, making a lovely pot of soup out of it and then let two pounds of turkey breast rot in the back of my fridge because turkey breast would be wasted in the soup and should be saved for making The Husband sandwiches or something.

So, apart from turkey dinners, 20 years and I'm still packing up the leftovers and telling myself they'll be good for soup and letting turkey breast lay forgotten in my fridge. This needs to stop. I'm thinking I should be putting those leftovers into the freezer, giving myself at least 6 months or so until I have to throw them out due to frostbite. I think that will be a better system.

Conclusion #4: If I had a stainless steel fridge, I'd love it more and take care of its insides better than I take care of my white fridge. But then it wouldn't match my stove and dishwasher. And they all need to match. It's one of my life rules. Plus, if I had $3,000 bucks to waste on metallic appliances I certainly wouldn't be pouring water into my van's cooling system every other day. Sigh. Ok. Forget #4.

Conclusion #5: I hate cleaning out the fridge and will use any excuse to justify why I haven't done it. There. I said it. Yet another reason I won't be receiving a Home Maker of the Year award. Put it up there with my love for cleaning under my couches.

So....hours of thought and an hour of blogging to come to the realization that I'm pretty much willing to do a lot of stupid time wasting things to avoid ten minutes of work. And make you waste 5 minutes of your time reading about it.

Especially when you only came here to see if there was a picture of the new kitten.

Well here you go. I'm pretty sure it's Charlie.

Eye of the Storm

2010-01-23T22:30:00.000-08:00

God never gives you more than you can handle.

Right?

I found myself praying for strength tonight. Strength to help a 7 year old who was crying in her bed. She was crying because tomorrow wasn't going to be right since her Popeye wasn't going to be at her cousin's baptism.

"I just want him to come back and I know he can't. I don't like it. I just don't like this! I want it to be like it was before. And I won't ever see him again for like, 50 years at least because I won't see him until I go to heaven....and I don't want to go to heaven yet but I want to see him."

Sometimes you just have to let your children hurt. You can't fix it. You can't put a bandaid on it and make it better. And that, my friends, is a horrible horrible feeling.

The Princess episode tonight was just one of many reasons I found myself asking God for strength tonight.

The Eldest is having some major problems with her car.

The laptop is having troubles charging and every single time I type the letter 'a' I have to go back and retype it because the computer keeps putting in a space instead.

The engine light is back on in our car.

The government 'lost' The Eldest's student loan forms.

I've done something to my back and my joints are killing me today.

And we're out of lightbulbs. I'm pretty sure it is not normal to start crying when you discover there are no more light bulbs in the house.

Grieving and all that comes along with it has set everyone in the family on edge. Everyone in our family is raw. And when you pour salt into those wounds, salt being a broken car, bills to pay or a 3 year old that keeps screaming at everyone and everything and then finking that everyone is being rude to her...well....it leads a person to be crying over burned out light bulbs.

And so I pray for strength. Just get through one more day. Just let me know what to say to a grieving 7 year old and a grieving 42 year old. What to tell an 18 year old who has had more crap thrown at her in the last two weeks than an 18 year old should have to deal with in a year.

And then realize that I haven't prayed for answers on dealing with a grieving 15 year old boy who holes himself up in his room shooting at things on his Xbox. So I pray for help...not to let him get lost in all of this.

It's 10:15 pm and I have no idea what the 6 people in this family are wearing to the baptism in the morning. I'm feeling rather numb after this day and I just want to sit with this tiny kitten sleeping under my chin right now. This furry little thing is purring and giving out the odd "mmmrrttt" when it stretches and then pulls itself further up under my chin. The Dog is snoring behind me, guarding the door and giving off the odd fart.

Life goes on. So many people are going through 100x worse than our family. I pray for perspective in all of this. And I'm just going to sit here for a bit and enjoy the company of a kitten curled up on my chest, breathing on my neck and every once in a while licking my chin with its rough little tongue.

Recharge my spirit with the fluff of a kitten.

I should be writing for Hallmark. Gah.

A New Kitten

2010-01-21T20:37:00.001-08:00

Meet Sophie.

Or Charlie. We're not quite sure yet.

He or she is a little ball of fluff that has made this little girl smile again.

The Princess has been working on cat ownership for about two years now. We've put it off. We got our dog, Bryn, and the house was busy enough with that. We bought The Princess a fish. But you can't cuddle a fish. We bought The Princess a hamster. Sadly, we found Butterscotch had died on the same day The Husband's dad so unexpectedly passed away.

It was a very bad week indeed.

We promised The Princess a new hamster. But when we went to the pet store, there was a sign on the door.

"We have kittens."

Dear god. No. I looked at The Husband. He looked at me.

We knew we were hooped.

Of course, The Princess hardly glanced at the hamsters. All she wanted to do was play with the kittens through the cage door. The Husband and I have been married for a long time. 20 years. A look between us was all we needed to come to a decision.

It was time.

We left the pet store without a hamster. Instead, The Princess walked out with the promise that we would start looking for the perfect kitten for our family.

We had the past few days to talk about the responsibilities. We researched our options and priced things out. Free kittens are never free (vet fees, shots and spay/neutering costs had to be figured in), and pet store kittens weren't what we wanted to support. There were black kittens at the shelter, but The Princess wanted a kitten with tabby markings.

Today we found Sophie/Charlie, one of four little kittens just ready to leave their mom for their forever home. And I found myself looking at anatomical drawings of cats hinies online, trying to figure out if it's a boy or girl.

Obviously biology wasn't my strongest subject in school. I'm still calling the kitten "It".

The Princess said, "Thank you, Mommy!" about 8,000 times this afternoon and evening. I've filed those thank yous into a corner of my brain so I can draw strength from them when the kitten is clawing up my furniture and The Princess has 'forgotten' to clean the litter box.

But tonight, I'm enjoying the feeling of an 8 week old kitten cuddled on my lap, who occasionally wakes up enough to lick my hand with her...or his rough little tongue.

So sweet.

Life Goes On

2010-01-19T21:56:00.000-08:00

It's been a very rough week.

Grieving is hard work. It's exhausting. Mentally exhausting. Physically exhausting.

Lack of sleep starts to play with your mind and you find yourself incapable of performing the most mundane tasks.

Like supervising your 3 year old.

Case in point.

That would be The Monkey's dinner.

The wise man is a nice touch.

Farewell To Our Popeye

2010-01-14T23:32:00.000-08:00

In the early morning hours of January 12th, 2010, a soul took flight.

It was to be one of thousands that day.

But for our family, this one particular soul's departure brought us to our knees.

Tuesday morning and a ringing phone at 7:19 am meant we would never hear The Monkey scream with happiness, "POPEYE!!" as The Husband's dad walked through our door.

At 7:19, we found out The Eldest would never hear, "There's my Little Chickadee!" again.

A ringing phone meant The Boy had lost a kindred spirit. The Princess would not receive the perfectly picked out birthday card next month, addressed to his Little Peanut.

7:19 brought our souls to the depths of despair, at the realization of all we had lost.

Golf trips. Dinners. Christmases. Birthdays. Stories. They all must happen without Popeye now.

Grieving wife. Grieving sons and daughters. Grieving grandkids. Grieving sister. Grieving family. Grieving friends.

But at 7:19 am, on January 12th, 2010, that solitary soul, one of thousands that day, was not grieving.

He was rejoicing.

By 7:19 am, he was in Jesus' loving embrace. He was being wrapped in his mother's arms. He was being hugged fiercely by his father. And his brother. And brother-in-law. And being greeted by other family and friends. He was celebrating.

And had probably already scheduled in a tee time.

So we are left to mourn. Left to remember. Tell stories. Laugh. Cry. Hug. Get angry at him. Get angry at ourselves. Hit a wall. Tell Mom you'll fix that. Smell his shirts. Wear his hoodie. Sit on his bed and sob. Fiddle with his glasses that sit on the desk. Smile at a memory. Answer the phone. Not sleep. Comfort someone. Be comforted. Answer questions. Ask questions. Make tea. Reminisce. Pass around the Tylenol. Be amazed at the thoughtfulness of friends.

Desperately miss him. Wish it was still Monday, January 11th, 2010.

And yet, in all of that, remember that Dad is already off golfing, with a big smile on his face and in very good company.

Sláinte mhaith, Dad. God speed.

Snow Stars

2009-12-30T19:11:00.001-08:00

I put away Christmas today.

You knows it's time when your 3 year old tells you the tree is melting.

I packed up all the decorations. Boxed up the glitter and the ribbon and the wrappings. Put away the pictures of sweet children sitting on Santa's knee. I wrapped up the Christmas tree angel that has topped our tree since our first year of marriage and I nestled her back in her box.

After taking down the angel, I took a long look at the sorry sight of a tree. Pine needles all over the floor. Broken branched here and there. Decorations all askew. But my snow stars still graced the branches with delicacy and love.

The first Christmas after The Husband and I were married, one of my oldest friend's mom, Mrs. S gave me a wonderful gift. Snow stars. She made them herself, every one a unique design. I loved them.

For a number of years, the snow stars graced our Christmas tree. I always had comments about how pretty they were. Aside from our angel tree topper, they were my favourite part of our yearly tree. But one fateful year, there was a flood in our crawl space and we lost most of the snow stars to water damage. Then the following year, our few remaining stars ended up as mouse food when a family of rodents moved into our back shed.

No more snow stars to grace our tree. I was still grateful our angel had survived two bouts of Christmas carnage but, oh how I missed those stars.

Fast forward to March 2003. My sweet mom handed me this.

And inside?

She had asked Mrs. S. if she would make me some more snow stars for my birthday. Mrs. S went to town and made me an entirely new and wonderful collection of snow stars. All of them different. All different sizes. All different designs. All wonderfully delicate and sparkly.

Mrs. S refused to let my mom pay for any of them. That's just the kind of person she is. Wonderful. And talented. She included a note in the box to remind me how they're best put on the tree....small on top, medium in the middle and the large ones down below.

Every year when I pull out the old Eaton's box, I have to smile. Every year when I have the sad task of taking down the Christmas tree, I make sure to find that old Eaton's box and carefully tuck the snow stars away amongst the tissue. I look at the card that's tucked inside the box, reminding me to take the hooks off so the stars won't rust. And I say a prayer of thanks for a lovely lady who's work graces my tree every year.

I love the simple things of Christmas. Sitting around and watching The Griswold Christmas Vacation. A sip or three of Bailey's. Taking pictures of what happens when The Eldest and The Princess are left alone while making whipped shortbread.

I love gingerbread houses.

And I love putting baby Jesus in our nativity scene when we get home from Christmas Eve mass. (Which we forgot to do this year and in my defence, The Princess had a fever and had been throwing up and let me tell you I almost threw up myself when I realized that baby Jesus was still hiding behind the poinsettia plant Christmas night.)

And I like my snow stars.

Thanks again, Mrs. S.

Two Pennies

2009-12-18T21:13:00.001-08:00

It took two pennies to get me back to blogging.

We went The Princess' theatre class Christmas performance this evening. Yes, it was wonderful. Yes, she was adorable. Yes, I cried when they sang Silent Night.

But I'm not here to blog about that.

On our way home, The Princess said in her small little princess voice that she was so terribly hungry and exactly how long would it be before we got home so she could have just a small bowl of cereal. The kid is brilliant. Perfectly timed to coincide with the appearance of the Golden Arches.

So The Husband turned the corner and entered the drive thru. He ordered his Princess some chicken nuggets and proceeded to the window to pay.

"$3.98 please," said the girl behind the window.

The Husband handed the employee four bucks.

"Do you want your change?" she asked.

The Husband said no, she could keep the two pennies and drove to the next window to pick up the nuggets. Then he rolled his eyes at me going on about the two dang pennies.

Excuse me....but since when is it okay for a clerk to ask if I want my change back?? Where does this stop? Is it okay to ask if I want 3 pennies back? What about a nickel?

Will they move onto a dime? Will we be doing away with the dispensing of change in the near future? What if I wanted those two pennies? I'd be tempted to tell the chick, "Why, yes, I DO want my change. All of it. Give me my two pennies!" Just so I could see her face. And make a point.

I mean, really.

Then my dear Husband just looked and me and said, "What? Are you Seinfeld now?"

That's it. Poke the crazy lady who's told you she just may possibly be nursing a bit of PMS and is carrying around a to do list that is three pages long one short week away from Christmas and was just coughed on repeatedly by a lady sitting behind her at the concert who was apparently missing both hands and elbows and had to resort to coughing on his loving wife's head for an hour.

Two pennies.

I could have used those two pennies to shove up someone's nose, that's what.

The Boy and Halloween

2009-11-01T20:50:00.000-08:00

We made The Boy accompany the family to the local pumpkin patch.

He was thrilled.

So thrilled, he wanted me to take the sibling picture again. Just to make sure I captured the perfect moment in time.

Picking the right pumpkin was remarkably easy. He found the perfect pumpkin almost immediately. It was so perfect that he wanted to leave right away.

See? Perfect pumpkin. He was so eager to show it to me that he covered up his face accidentally.

The Boy. 15 and not too cool to hang out with the family in public.

I'm so blessed.

Diary of a Germ Battling Mother

2009-10-22T19:24:00.000-07:00

Friday
The Princess complained of a headache when I put her bed. Hope she's not coming down with something.

Saturday
Started the day at 2 am with The Princess coughing on my face. And crying. The heat radiating off of her body reminded me of my days driving around in the old Eggplant.

Coffee was my friend today.

Sunday
The Princess took her temperature every 8 minutes today. Then started crying that she was going to miss Halloween for sure. Every 8 minutes. I assured her that Halloween was still 2 weeks away. Every 8 stinking minutes.

Note: Rum does not taste good in coffee.

Monday
Phoned the doctor at 9 am. Receptionist laughed at me when I ask if there were any available appointments. Headed to the walk in clinic. Waited for an hour and a half in a room with no toys or books due to H1N1 flu scare. The Princess had to wear a face mask and was sure she was dying. The Monkey was sure she could climb the walls. Got up 3 feet. Not bad.

The Monkey felt warm when I put her to bed. I sense some deja vu in my future.

Tuesday
Started the day at 2 am with The Monkey coughing on my face. Thank goodness for Lysol.

Baked Halloween cookies with two sick children. That was fun. As Mom would say, "I'm sure that earned some time off purgatory." Three days at least.

Ate two germ laden cookies. Drank rum to kill the germs.

Wednesday
I spent the morning circling the parking lot of clinic in a vain attempt of a parking space miraculously appearing. Lack of sleep forced me to call The Husband at work to make the decision for me to return home and try again later.

Wanted a Timmy's double double but couldn't decide whether it was worth spending the $1.53. Husband wouldn't answer his phone.

I need sleep.

I comforted The Monkey while she cried inconsolably tonight. "It Hurts. Hurts!" she cried every time she tried to take a breath and started barking like a seal. Started crying myself, wishing I could take away her pain. I wonder how mothers caring for chronically ill children do it day in and day out...see their child in pain and feel so helpless. I could hardly keep it together for 10 minutes with my child in pain. Must remember to say a prayer for all those mothers . God give them strength.

Husband got home late from work. Wanted to scream but then he showed up with beer.

I love him.

Thursday
Kids seem to be on the mend. Not sure what's worse; sick kids sweating all over me for 18 hours straight or entertaining almost better children who have had no human contact but with me for five days. I took a match to Candyland last night after they went to bed. I have no guilt over this.

Managed to hammer my hand while creating a graveyard in our front yard today. My hand looks like it belongs to the dead witch on our front lawn. But....when The Princess looked at our masterpiece, she told me it was going to be the best Halloween ever. My hand will heal.

The Eldest says she has a headache. I wonder if almost 18 year olds still wake up their mothers at 2 am to tell them they're sick.

Note: Buy lottery ticket tomorrow. Need vacation.

Cherry Blossoms in October

2009-10-15T15:08:00.000-07:00

The Eldest has been busy.

While I can only injure myself with toilet paper, The Eldest is able to create a wearable dress out of it.

I bring you, "Cherry Blossoms in October".

This project was for her Fundamentals of Fashion Design course. She had to create a wearable garment using materials not normally used...no fabric, zippers, buttons, etc. allowed.

The Eldest took her inspiration from a few places. She loves cherry blossoms. October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month and her grandma is fighting this disease. She used Purex Bathroom Tissue, as they are currently donating money to the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation*. The Eldest loves pink and wanted a soft 'cherry blossom' pink. She chose to colour white bathroom tissue instead of using the limited edition pink Purex bathroom tissue. She coloured the dress with diluted food colouring sprayed on with a spray bottle

Now all that's left to do is try to find my house underneath all the mess created along with the dress.

* I'm not getting paid to advertise for Purex. But if for some reason the Purex company is using Google search and falls upon my little blog.....uhm...."Hi! Love your bathroom tissue! Thanks for donating $$ to the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation. My mom thanks you. I thank you. My 3 daughters thank you. My sister thanks you. My nieces thank you."

Puzzled

2009-10-12T12:51:00.000-07:00

Woe to the mother who takes the time to shave her legs in the shower while simultaneously owning 40 (give or take) puzzles all meticulously kept in individualized ziplock baggies.

Mistake #2? Leaving the 15 year old in charge.

The vast majority of our baggie contained puzzle collection ranges from 12 piece to 50 pieces. All of our children have loved puzzles throughout their toddler and preschool years. I also used them when I worked with children with autism. Since I had to travel to children's homes and schools for their therapy, I always carried a box/bag of stuff to use. Puzzles in those flimsy cardboard boxes don't travel well, so I kept all our puzzles in baggies. I labeled each bag with the puzzle name, how many pieces, and a picture of the actual puzzle cut out from the side of the original box.

Nowadays, all those ziplocked puzzles are contained in several plastic bins that sit in our craft and activity cupboard. Having puzzles in baggies is a space saver too. The only problem lies in having The Monkey live in our house.

I suppose I should be grateful that she only took out one of the containers filled with puzzles. We only have about 15 puzzles worth of pieces to sort through.

I asked her what she was doing as she stood at the living room table, mixing all those puzzle pieces together with both hands.

"It's food. Here. Have one."

Imagination is a good thing. Right?

Google Street View Freaks Me Out

2009-10-09T15:41:00.001-07:00

Google and Twitter are starting to freak me out a wee bit.

After spending far too long perusing our neighbourhood on the newly released Google Street View in our area, I discovered The Eldest and The Boyfriend pictured hanging out at the local pizza place. And then walking up our street.

Kind of creepy.

And after posting a silly little comment on Twitter about a radio station stating some tummy tuck jeans were literally flying out the doors, I had two plastic surgeons from Georgia and the United Kingdom start following me on Twitter.

I admit to being a tad paranoid. I also admit to feeling slight relief that there is no bear scat pictured on our front lawn. A lot of dandelions, but no bear scat.

And for some reason, all this transparency is making me feel like I need to remind everyone out there in those there internets that a large black dog lives in our house.

This is where she sleeps 85% of her life.

That would be our front door.

The other 15% of the time she spends sharpening her teeth and practicing her ninja moves in front of the mirror. As you can tell by the picture, she is a svelte fighting machine.

Don't be fooled by the drool.

I Can't Believe I'm Hitting 'Publish' On This Post

2009-10-07T13:37:00.000-07:00

I feel the need to post a disclaimer. The post you are about to read is evidence that this little blog has hit rock bottom. I'm sorry. Oh, and just be grateful I didn't post the close up pictures.

I googled bear poop images yesterday.

I actually typed "What does bear p " into the google search engine and the rest of the sentence "What does bear poop look like?" popped up. I felt some vague relief that I'm not the first person to search the annals of the web for such information.

Which of course leads me to the riveting question I know you're all asking yourselves.

"I wonder why Colleen hasn't finished writing that book?"

Yes, well, clearly I've been busy.

When I drove up to the house on that fateful day, I couldn't help but stare at the large mound of brown on the lawn.

So you don't think I'm exaggerating, here, my friends is proof.

Proof that I'm not exaggerating about it's bigness and proof that yes, my neighbours think I'm an idiot. Why do they always come out of their house when one of my kids is screaming or I'm taking pictures of crap on my front lawn? It's like the cosmos are working against me.

So, obviously, a bear is roaming our suburban neighbourhood. And, also obviously, that crap is still sitting on my front lawn. I've been really busy. And I don't do bear scat.

Yes. Google taught me something. It's called scat. Bear scat.

I will never be able to use my "Scat the Cat" felt board story again. I will no longer be able to listen to scat music without picturing bears crouching in the forest, and I would also advise you not to google the word scat.

Google also taught me some things I really didn't need or want to know.

Just trust me on that.

The Aging Boy

2009-10-05T17:52:00.000-07:00

I saw the play Mom's The Word: Remixed at the Arts Club Theatre on Granville Island this weekend. Go see it if you live locally. If you live outside Vancouver, look for it when they start touring. As long as you don't mind seeing the odd middle aged woman streaking across the stage, it's a must see for all moms. I laughed until I cried. And sometimes I just cried.

The timing was perfect for me as I'm in the throws of reminiscing about motherhood and all it's highs and lows. My little baby is turning 15 in two very short days. 15. He's growing a mustache and half the time I don't recognize him when he walks around the corner and catches me off guard.

Where did my little boy go? The train loving, dirt digging, pokemon and digimon addicted, read me 118 books in one sitting little boy.....he's gone. I used to catch glimpses of him. Here and there. A smirk. A laugh. A whine or two.

But that little boy has been gone for a while. I've known it in my heart. In two sleeps, my son will wake up and make me feel that much older. Oh, how my heart hurts about it. Time keeps on slipping slipping slipping.....

But I'm the mom. I'll put on a stiff upper lip. I'll serve him Panago pizza as requested and bake him his chocolate cake. I don't even get to go birthday present shopping because he wants cash instead.

My little boy. Turning into a man and saving up to buy his own laptop.

Motherhood. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes you laugh until you cry. Sometimes you just have to go have a little cry all by yourself in the bathroom with the door locked and the water running so no one hears you and then go bake a chocolate cake.

PlayDough = Hours of Non Screaming Fun

2009-10-02T06:00:00.000-07:00

I love play dough.

I love making play dough. I love playing with play dough. I really love it when The Princess and The Monkey are playing with play dough.

Ah. The quiet while they create.

Of course, The Princess would have to make something with flowers. I think it's the law.

Yes. Those are rocks in The Monkey's creation. I'm pretty sure it's the law that anything she does requires rocks.

Although I love the real deal, I do find that I'm way too lazy to rework single drops of warm water into the name brand stuff that has dried out because some child who may or may not live in this establishment left the lid off the tub.

Plus, my anal retentive gene wants to stand around and freak out every time a child lets two name brand play dough colours touch.

Enter home made play dough.

I actually went to college to learn how to make play dough. You can't hold an Early Childhood Education Certification in your hands and not know how to make play dough. Again. It's the law.

But I have to say, I paid good money to learn how to make really crappy play dough. I learned what I really needed to know just like every other highly qualified Early Childhood Educator does; on the job.

Here's the recipe I learned. Easy. Inexpensive. Safe for anal retentive people who worry about colour smooshing. Plus, the kids can help with measuring and stirring until it's time to cook the dough.

The Best Play Dough Ever

1 cup flour
1/2 cup salt
1 tsp cream of tartar
1 cup water
food colouring
1 Tbsp vegetable oil

Mix dry ingredients together in a cooking pot. The thicker the bottom, the better.
Mix wet ingredients together.
Slowly pour wet into dry while stirring with a whisk.
Cook on stove over low/medium heat stirring constantly with a wooden spoon until dough loses stickiness and comes together in a ball.
Turn out onto counter.
Knead until smooth.
Store in zip lock baggy or air tight container to keep fresh.

This recipe is very easy to double, triple, etc. I usually triple it. This makes the perfect amount for kids to share and still have a good chunk each. The most expensive part of the recipe is the cream of tartar. But it is a must! I always purchase cream of tartar in the bulk food section. Much much cheaper than buying a box in the baking aisle and it works just as well for the play dough.

I love play dough. Creativity, fine motor skills (it's how all my kids first learned to use scissors.....huh.....maybe not such a good idea to have taught that skill to The Monkey), mixing colours, sharing toys....the possibilities are endless. Sometimes we add glitter to our play dough. Other times I might put out a handful of birthday candles for them to use. Chop sticks? Toothpicks? Tongs? I love opening up the kitchen drawers and pulling some stuff out for them to experiment with.

Do you like play dough as much as I do?

Nothing Says Lovin' Like Chocolate Chip Cookies In The Oven

2009-10-01T18:43:00.000-07:00

My Grandma S. always arrived for a visit with a pan of homemade, baked from scratch goodness in her hands. Growing up, we visited my grandparents on Vancouver Island every summer. There was always dessert after lunch and dinner. Always. Whether our grandparents were visiting us, or we were visiting them, we always hoped it involved my grandma's chocolate squares or her chocolate chip cookies.

Both are manna from heaven.

When I was betrothed, those were the first two recipes that I copied and put in my recipe box. Those two recipes have been made countless times in my past 20 years of marriage. The Boy is always begging for chocolate squares. I am always begging for the chocolate chip cookies.

And so, I give you,

Dorothy's Chocolate Chip Cookies

1 cup shortening or 2/3 cup margarine (I always use margarine)
1 cup white sugar
1/2 cup firmly packed brown sugar
2 tsp vanilla
2 eggs
2 cups flour
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup chocolate chips
1 cup raisins (optional....I never put these in, but if you're serving them to my dad, you'll hear about how they are not really his mom's cookies without raisins in them)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Mix margarine and both sugars together until creamy and light.

Add vanilla and eggs. Beat well.

In a separate bowl, mix flour, salt and soda together.

Add dry ingredients to wet. Mix well.

Stir in chocolate chips (and raisins if you're baking them for my dad).

Eat copious amounts of cookie dough.

Drop rounded spoonfuls of the dough that you haven't eaten onto cookie sheets.

Bake for 10 minutes, until lightly browned.

Cool on wire racks.

I've tried a lot of different chocolate chip cookie recipes. For me, this one is the perfect marriage of sugar, salt and chewiness.

And when you eat one, you'll feel like this:

Enjoy!

New Tap Shoes

2009-09-28T18:11:00.000-07:00

The Monkey loves to walk the aisles of the Salvation Army as much as I do.

Check out what she found a few weeks ago.

There was no way she was leaving the store without those shoes.

$4.99. I bought my child's happiness that day.

She didn't realize that they were tap shoes. She kept calling them her dance shoes. We got home and she got ready to dance. Fortunately for me, I videotaped her first moments in the shoes (again....with my crappy cell phone. Husband. I'm begging you. A new camera for Christmas. Pretty please!). She discovered that they made some pretty awesome noise.

Dancing makes her happy.

She wants to be just like her big sister, who of course promptly started teaching her dance steps. And that makes The Princess happy. Being bossy.

Some days I just love being a mom.

Spot Cleaning

2009-09-26T16:14:00.000-07:00

As I was wiping down the kitchen counters this afternoon, I looked up across the island and saw two perfect hand prints on the wall.

Definitely Monkey hand prints.

I rinsed the cloth I was using and walked over to the wall. I wiped off those Monkey marks and walked back to the sink.

I turned around. The Monkey was finger painting in the wet spot on the wall.

The Husband and I just looked at each other and shook our heads.

We stood and watched The Monkey draw with her fingers in that wet spot on the wall. Then she made two distinct hand prints on the wall.

She smiled. Then walked out of the room.

I left the Monkey prints on the wall.

I Have A Problem

2009-09-25T16:16:00.000-07:00

I am flummoxed.

I have this feeling about a variety of things in my life.

Money.

Politics.

Why I shop at Stupidstore.

But this latest flummoxation (yes, I'm using that word even though dictionary.com just laughed at me) is sending me over the deep end because it has to do with children. My children. I usually have some sort of an educated answer for child related issues, but I'm finding myself in the middle of a quagmire here.

The Princess has found some new friends. This friendship started last year but for whatever reason, it quickly blew off. I'll be honest. I was relieved. It's not a good friendship for her for a variety of reasons and it was a friendship I did not encourage.

The beginning of this summer changed all that. The doorbell started ringing, and despite my gut feelings, I allowed The Princess to play outside with this sister and brother. Supervised. I sometimes make up excuses as to why The Princess can't play but the doorbell ringing is constant. If we walk past their house, they run out and ask if The Princess can play. When we drive up and are getting out of the minivan, they're calling out from their window asking if The Princess can play. They've discovered each other at school and I'm getting reports that they are playing together at recess and lunch. Plus, The Princess doesn't want me outside supervising her all the time. She's 7 and a half. She wants some independence and I can't blame her for that. But it means I'm not out there supervising all the time.

But, I spent a good portion of my summer and this month of September sitting outside watching children. And telling children who weren't mine to please stop walking all over the neighbour's garden. Please go get the The Monkey's soccer ball that you just kicked down the road. I don't think the neighbour wants you kicking the ball repeatedly against their house. Please put on a helmet if you're going to take our scooters and ride them. Sorry, I can't supervise your friend's little sister as well. You're going to break The Monkey's trike if you keep doing that. Please don't do this, please do that instead.

And I'm the one that's called when the friend has fallen and scraped her knee.

I never see their parents.

There's more I could say about their family life, but what does it really matter?

Except it does. The Husband and I have been going back and forth about what to do with this situation. We don't want her playing with these two children, but at the same time wonder about our obligation to possibly be a positive influence with these kids. It's not like we think we're saints or anything, but these children need some help.

I find myself feeling like an idiot for being all uppity and looking down my nose at another family. I'm pretty sure there are many families on our block that look down their noses at me and my backyard and my old minivan parked outside. And I've worked with children who have had such a hard time making and keeping friendships....who am I to turn and say these neighbours can't play with my children?

But what about The Princess? In the middle of writing this, she's come into the house sobbing because of how the girl has treated her. I took her back outside to help solve the problem but all that was left was paint all over my walkway, paintings, toys strewn all over the lawn. And none of it was The Princess'.

We cleaned up the mess and brought all the toys and paints back to the neighbour's house. The Princess is confused and I don't know what to tell her except it's time to have a break from playing with her new friends.

Help. Am I being a paranoid self centred parent?

How have you balanced your own child's needs with the needs of another?

What would you do? What have you done?

I'd love to hear from all you other moms and dads out there.

You Want To Be What??

2009-09-24T13:03:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, The Husband suggested we take the girls to Canadian Tire.

Despite me shouting, "No. That sounds like a crappy idea are you INSANE you can't make me go," I found myself walking down the aisles of automotive parts and Debbie Travis home decor. It's not that I dislike the store. It's super awesome and all. It's just that The Princess was on a tangent about Halloween costume decision making. It's hard to find the right plastic bolts for a car door panel when you're being forced to converse about the need to buy blood red lipstick and agree 18,542 times that her costume will be the awesomest.

The Princess was going to be a spider. I was thrilled with that. If I'm going to have to make a costume, then that would be doable. I've made a number of costumes in this sojourn of motherhood....cat, ghost, bear, mummy....they were all great. Well. Not the mummy. That one sucked big time and The Boy ended up trailing it all over a four block radius. But the other costumes were good. Made without the aide of a pattern or directions. Just a trip to assorted Salvation Armies and stuff from the house. My mother trained me well.

But something about Canadian Tire made The Princess feel that a spider costume was not 'it'. She wasn't feeling it.

All of a sudden my 7 year old said, "What about a corpse bride? That would be so awesome!"

"A what?"

"A corpse bride! Jaclyn was a corpse bride last year and she looked so awesome. Her costume was the best. It was so awesome."

"You want to be a corpse bride??"

"Yes! Oh Mom. It will be awesome. Oh my gosh. It will be so awesome!" *squeal!*

All the while that she was blabbering on and on and on and on about it, all I could think of was, "Will I lose my mothering licence if I let my 7 year old dress up like a dead woman on the day of her nuptials? What will my mother say? What will her grandparents think of me?"

I was also thinking, "How can she talk so fast and exactly how many times is she going to say awesome?"

15 minutes of walking through the store, listening to The Princess go on about all the different things we need to do for her costume, she stopped in her tracks.

"Mom?"

"Ya?"

"What's a corpse bride?"

Aw. My 7 year old isn't as old as I feared. She may think she's too old to dress up in fairy wings and carry a magic wand, but she's still pretty innocent.

I explained what a corpse bride was.

She's thinking about it.

A Griswold Invention

2009-09-22T19:29:00.000-07:00

The Husband loves music.

The Husband loves gadgets.

The Husband loves to run and work out with a music gadget strapped to one of his finely toned arms.

The Husband's 4GB iPod Nano is full of music.

After you've done the math, you know exactly what comes next.

The Husband says he needs a bigger iPod.

Me: "I don't get it. Why do you need to buy a new iPod? We have The Eldest's old iPod Nano kicking around. Why can't you just use that?"

The Husband: "It's the same as mine. It only holds 4 GB of music. Mine's full."

Me: "So start putting new music on her's. They're pretty small. Can't you just carry both of them around?"

The Husband: "How am I suppose to work out with two iPods? You want me to strap one to each arm?"

No. No I don't. You'd look like an idiot like that. We may be Griswolds but a person's got to have some standards.

But every problem has a solution. This is mine.

I call it Mork.

It's a Nanonano.

4GB iPod + 4GB iPod = 8GB iPod.

I like math.

You're welcome Husband. I love you, too.

(You can thank me by buying me a new camera so I don't have to keep taking crappy photos with my cellphone.)

Top Ten Reasons I Haven't Blogged

2009-09-21T09:12:00.000-07:00

It's the one month anniversary since my last blog entry.

If you could see me, you would notice a pronounced droop in my chin. My eyes hang low and you could could get some serious air time wake boarding across the wrinkles on my forehead.

I don't look that way from shame. I'm just trying to figure out the logic in the fact that not writing for a month has gained 3 readers to my blog during that time.

People like it when I don't write.

Ah. There's my motivation.

On with it then, right?

Top Ten Reasons I Haven't Blogged

10. Getting 3 children ready for school is taxing. And there's nothing remotely entertaining about it unless you're talking about the beer I drank afterwards.

9. My dryer died and I was spending copious amounts of time thinking about wringing out the wet laundry that was sitting in the broken dryer.

8. Twitter is ruining me. Why spend 30 minutes writing 300 words when you can say it all in 30 seconds with 140 characters?

7. I seem to be spending copious amounts of time sitting on the floor doing puzzles, playing Barbies and Polly Pocket, and building massive castles out of Lego. Then I can't get up off the floor because my joints have seized up.

6. I couldn't find the tape.

5. The Princess has discovered a new friend two doors down from us. When the new friend stated that the baby doll they were doctoring needed medicine called "mood swings", I've felt the need to closely supervise this new friendship.

4. The Boy needs feeding on an hourly basis.

3. It was The Husband's birthday. I'm not sure why that's a reason not to blog but I'm pulling excuses out of the air at this point.

2. The fridge needed cleaning out. Oh. Wait. That's why I'm blogging right now. To avoid the fridge. Whatever works.

....and the #1 reason I haven't blogged in a month.....

1. My PVR was 90% full and I needed to watch 300 hours of TV so I could free up some room. Hey. I have to be able to record So You Think You Can Dance.

So that's it. 10 excuses. But I've set myself some goals this week. I am going to blog every day. Tune in tomorrow when I will unveil my new invention.

It's brilliant. And luckily, I found the tape.

A Slumber Party

2009-08-20T22:34:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-18T21:28:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-14T22:07:00.000-07:00

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.

Ding Ding Ding!

2009-07-25T21:13:00.001-07:00

Last October, I wrote about some daily phone calls I was receiving from our banking institution.

The daily courtesy calls requesting to speak with The Husband went on for many months. The calls petered out in February and happened sporadically after that. A few times a week. None for a week, then they'd start up again. The vast majority of calls came in the morning around 10 am, despite my repeated repeated repeated requests that they should phone in the evening if they wanted to reach The Husband.

Yes, they came close once or twice. But still no evening calls.

Several weeks ago, the phone calls started up again....every single morning. I didn't even tell them when would be a better time to call. 10 months of calls can take the fun out of anything, I guess.

This past Friday night, at 8:50 pm, the phone rang. It was the friendly courtesy call from the bank, looking for The Husband. And he was home.

After 10 months, they finally got their man. And then they tried to trick him into agreeing to some reverse billing life insurance.

I was not impressed.

The conversation on The Husband's end of the line went something like this:

"No, I'm not interested."

"No, I'm really not interested."

"No."

"Thanks, but...."

"No, I'm not giving you that information over the phone."

"Exactly what branch of our friendly banking institution are you calling from?"

"I think I'll just look at that info online before I make a decision like that."

"I can't look at it online?"

"Sure. Fine. You can put the information in the mail."

"Woah woah woah woah woah....no...I did not just agree to that.

"Are you telling me you're wanting me to agree to negative billing???"

"No.....no.....goodbye. Goodbye. Thanks but no. No."

"DO NOT SEND ME ANYTHING IN THE MAIL. I AM NOT INTERESTED IN NEGATIVE BILLING."

"Bye....."

Click.

Ah. Friday nights at the Mahoney household.

One of the many reasons that's why there's always beer in our fridge.

Another Griswold Vacation

2009-07-25T09:13:00.000-07:00

Let me start off by reminding you that I already apologized to the people of Osoyoos for the weather.

But I'll say it again. Sorry about that. I've never experienced a 5 hour thunder and lightening storm with torrential rains and winds either.

Hey. They needed the rain, what with all the forest fires to the north. Yes, that strange weather caused us to leave a day early as it was going to continue on for another whole day, but let's consider that it was a blessing in disguise. It was pretty parched out there.

The annual Griswold vacation wasn't all Clark and Ellen. We had a great four days before the weather changed. We spent our time playing at the beach, floating in the resort pool and lounging in the air conditioned 38 foot trailer. We worked on our tans, de-stressed, ate a lot of hamburgers and drank a lot of these:

My close friend and her husband (howdy KA and K!) drove down from Kelowna and we had a great visit.

There were a few Uncle Eddie moments. I am now the proud owner of a minivan with a mucked up rear bumper,courtesy of some idiot who drove their boat trailer into it and felt the need to not tell us. It's like the cosmos want me driving around a Griswoldmobile. I'm not a vindictive person but I have to say that I hope karma bites you in the butt, Mr. Boat Trailer Man.

I really mean that.

Plus there was the overheating minivan in Manning Park. That pretty much took care of all that relaxing I did for four days. There's something rather odd about it. Manning Park was also the scene of a little trip several years ago that we Mahoneys refer to as, "The Trip To Hell and Back" when the heater core, radiator and fuel pump all went on our car as we drove through the 65 kilometres that is the Park of Manning.

(There were no dents in the bumper of that car, but let's just say it earned its name, "The Beast" for a reason.)

Oh. Then we got back home (thanks to the 17 decades of the rosary I prayed the rest of the way home, thank you Mary and St. Christopher), only to try and move the car with the engine light problems and it wouldn't start.

But Troy the Fish didn't die and The Dog crapped on the kitchen floor and not the carpet, so, really, in the big scheme of life, I think the trip had more ups than downs. Yes....I have some mechanic appointments to make. Yes, the new minivan is on its way to transforming into a white eggplant. Yes, I have 8 loads of laundry to do.

But I'm choosing to focus on the fact that The Princess learned how to swim the length of the resort pool.
The Monkey made 26 buckets of soup on the beach - all of which were personally taste tested by yours truly. The Boy and his friend spent hours in the lake trying to catch trout and the attention of some cute teenage girls.

Many s'mores were made on the bbq. The Eldest baked herself to a bronze hue that would make any dermatologist shudder in grief.

The Husband played with fire and tried to catch the ragamuffins that kept turning off the water to the trailer.

I actually appeared in public in a bathing suit and although I blinded several people with my mayonnaise hued legs, I didn't care.

The kids watched Mother Nature put on a showstopping display of light and sound, water and wind like they've never experienced in their life.

We went on holidays. And we made memories.

95% of them great.

.....and they're off.....

2009-07-18T20:26:00.000-07:00

The annual Griswold road trip begins tomorrow.

The van is packed. The food is ready. The house is a mess. And I am sitting in front of the laptop ignoring the piles of stuff everywhere.

Everything is right on schedule.

As The Husband has been so lovingly saying all flipping day, "Death con 3" is an accurate description of my state of being today.

Whatever.

So I best be off to do one more load of laundry and write out the "83 idiosyncrasies of The Dog" list for my absolutely wonderful brothers who are taking care of her.

I love my family. They're the best.

You can bet there's some pumpkin scones coming their way.

So, check back in next week where I'm sure to post some awesome pictures of the family enjoying way too much time together. And hopefully no pictures of us stranded by the side of the road or of any mechanic's butt crack.

Lucky Ducks

2009-07-15T18:09:00.000-07:00

The Monkey is still working on learning her colours. I'm always on the lookout for fun games that work on this skill (among many others). We have a 8 foot x 4 foot cupboard full of games, crafts and toys but I work with the philosophy that Candy Land causes hives, so I like to stock up on lots of choices in the hopes I won't be expected to be spending time in Snoozing Sucker Ville.

But bringing anything remotely related to children into the house requires some finesse. I don't want to paint The Husband in a bad light but let's just say, considering his propensity towards collecting lifeguard competition t-shirts, I think he could be a bit more understanding of my need to stimulate our children's brain cells. You'd think I perhaps go overboard or something.

Although that scenario is remotely possible.

It's not like I hide ALL the toys purchases. But any great relationship out there needs some mystery in it, so I'm just working on my marriage, y'all.

I did not have to sneak yesterday's purchase into the house. If you own Lucky Ducks, you know what I'm talking about. When The Husband arrived home from his hectic day at work, the first words out of my mouth were, "It was only $4. Sorry."

Sorry for the quacking, not for spending 4 bucks. I never buy stuff new. You know that.

Well, underwear. I buy that new. Food products, toilet paper, the odd candle.....

Toys? I usually do not buy those new.

Every child with autism I've ever worked with has owned the Lucky Ducks game. Oh, the memories of sitting in a consult meeting and having the consultant proclaim those dreaded words, "Get the game Lucky Ducks". The involuntary gasps throughout the room. Then the stunned silence. The tears of grief.

No. Not that. Anything but Lucky Ducks.

And that's the game I spent 4 bucks on and brought into our home.

If you haven't had the pleasure of playing this game, I give you crappy cellphone video of why I'm an idiot.

That's 17 seconds. It's been playing for 3 hours in my house.

I may have to step on it accidentally.

Ahhh.....A Griswold Summer.

2009-07-13T13:13:00.001-07:00

Sorry.

It's my fault. I'll take the blame for this one.

I should have known better. In fact, I DID know better and I did it anyways.

Yes. I signed The Princess up for swimming lessons at the local outdoor pool.

I'm really sorry I caused it to rain.

Yes! I know! I know! It was 30+ degrees out the day before her lessons started. I'm aware that summer had arrived and you were all enjoying your tanning and flowers and dinners on the patio.

But I just wanted her to learn to swim. Her dad runs an aquatics facility, for crying out loud. We have old time lifeguards come over for dinner.....word was going to get out that his 7 year old was not on the junior Olympic swim team yet.

It was the peer pressure that made me do it.

Ya. That's it.

And in my defense, I DID try to save your summer and sign her up for lessons indoors. But they were full.

Stop looking at me like that! I know I'm a Mahoney aka Griwold . I knew that I was taking a risk. And now I'm paying the price.

And so are you. Two weeks worth of crappy weather minus the weekend. 'Cause, there are no swimming lessons on the weekend.

Sorry.

And while I'm at it, I want to take this opportunity to apologize to the lovely people of Osoyoos. I'm sorry that the weather will be awful up there next week. But again, I couldn't help myself. I got all caught up in the thought of a nice family vacation on the lake and failed to think about you.

It was wrong.

But chances are we'll be paying for several of your mechanics' getaways to somewhere warmer, so that even out the ol' karma.

You take Visa, right?

Gol' Darn Tarnation...Young 'uns These Days!

2009-07-12T09:58:00.000-07:00

As I lay in bed last night, trying to go to sleep, I had the urge to scream profanities out my bedroom window.

Our little neighbourhood has always been pretty quiet. That is, until last fall when some hooligans moved in. Young 'uns. Young adults exuding testosterone. Youth with a propensity towards alcohol. And fun. And being loud. And swearing in inebriated jest. Then swearing at the people yelling at them to keep it down because there are children trying to sleep. And then cursing at the dogs that are barking non stop at their loud swearing.

It's a vicious cycle.

A vicious cycle that nearly culminated in me losing it and calling the cops.

Yes. You read that right. I'm officially old.

I almost picked up the phone and dialed the non emergency line for our local police. I might have gone through with it, too, if it hadn't meant I'd have to get out of bed and look up the non emergency number.

But I'm old. And I was tired. So I lay in bed listening to the call of the wild mixed with cheap beer and reminisced about how I never behaved like that in my youth.

At a wedding once, but never in my youth.

And so now I'm plotting my revenge. Lawn mowing at 6am? Organizing a little girls screaming contest to be held every Sunday morning? Rent a spot light and bullhorn and give a play by play of what girl dissed which guy's moves? Or perhaps I could rig up some speakers and play Celine Dion out their way once the partying gets past my comfort zone. Or Raffi. Nothing says "The party's over!" like a middle aged man singing Baby Beluga.

*Please note the selection of Canadian artists. I'm all about Canadian content on my blog.

Sadly, I know I won't do anything. Come on, if I'm too lazy to get out of bed and dial a phone number, I can't imagine expending the energy needed to find my Celine Dion CD.

I mean...if I had one. Which I don't.

Honest.

But it's fun to seek revenge, if only in my head.

Finding Childhood Memories

2009-07-10T22:43:00.000-07:00

It's strange to think that my dad moving some walls and installing hardwood flooring in his house could lead to me wondering about my mental status.

I was also reminded of my genetic disposition towards being a pack rat.

Renovations always mean sorting through stuff. In my parents' case, it meant some trunks needed to be moved out of a closet in the room being renovated. 8 children x 13 years of school = 2 steamer trunks full of paper. My mom has been going through all that paper and sorting it into piles.

8 kids. 8 piles. 8 tons of childhood memories.

High school drama brochures. Kindergarten valentines. Grade school essays. Memory after memory. Thoughts flooding back from the past.....feelings, field trips and friends.

As I sorted through my pile of papers at my mom's yesterday, I read composition after composition filled with death, knives, haunted houses, eery ghosts, and child kidnappers. After one such composition depicting an attempted murder that was in the news and my ensuing freaky dream about it, my very nice parochial teacher had written, "Very interesting."

I commented out loud that I found it surprising my parents were never called in to the school to have a little talk. My mom replied that I was always a worrier.

Some things never change.

It's an interesting thing, sifting through your childhood. Pieces of artwork that I remember pouring my soul into....so proud of the results. Other items that I had no recollection ever doing. Teacher's comments about messy writing, do overs and "you are capable of doing better".

Some things really never change.

I thought about how much I loved Sister Emily, my first grade teacher. She always made me feel like I was capable of doing anything. That I was smart and clever and was destined to be a teacher. It's hard to argue with a nun.

But back to my neurosis....is. Perhaps my early writing is trying to tell me something from its steam trunking grave.

I should be working on a horror novel, not a children's book.

And I'm sleeping with the light on tonight. My writing scares me.

See? Not crazy.

2009-06-30T18:35:00.000-07:00

My parents have an unusual bird living in their neighbourhood.

An Albino crow.
I was driving down my parents' street last week and happened to look up. Sitting in a tree were two crows - one black and one white - preening each other.

I nearly drove off the road.

My parents have been trying to get a picture of the Albino crow for the past few weeks. Today, as we were leaving their house, that white crow flew past, crowing and cawing.

Fortunately, The Eldest had her camera with her and was able to get a few pictures as the bird flitted from branch to branch.

Proof that we're not all crazy people talking about Albino crows.

That can only be a good thing.

Summertime, Summertime, Sum Sum Summertime....

2009-06-26T13:30:00.000-07:00

Top Ten Ways I Know Summer is Here

Take 2....blogger hates me today. I don't know why it won't take off the draft I was working on while supervising many children, putting up with assorted teenage angst and does anyone want to tell me why blogger decided that hitting the enter key meant 'publish' and not going down to the next line? It's like blogger and I had a fight that I had no idea ever happened and it's seeking its revenge in the backhanded catty way of a snotty girl.

I flipping need a beer.

Top Ten Ways I know Summer is Here - Take Two

10. The Princess set up an Iced Tea stand today.

9. The ice cream truck has started its hourly drive down our street causing every child in a two block radius to start screaming and begging their mother for 3 bucks to buy Dora on a stick.

8. I only had to pack The Husband's lunch today.

7. Linda and the twins are out. A lot. (If you're not from my neck of the woods....oy, you don't want to know.)

6. I found sand in the kitchen sink.

5. Assorted children are whining at me about wanting to play at the beach.

4. The Monkey asked to wear her popsicle dress.

3. I counted the number of days until school starts. 73.

2. I counted the number of beers in the fridge. Not enough.

....and the #1 reason I know summer is here....

1. I just contemplated buying this:

so I can wear a bathing suit this summer.

I'd look like that in 30 days.

Uh huh.

Well, with stretch marks past the navel.

Whew. Take two was hard.

I'm glad I had already deleted what I had written about reading a book on fasting while eating a bologna sandwich on white bread. It was bad.

I need to get a grip. I've got 72 days left to survive.

An Injury

2009-06-23T09:58:00.000-07:00

I have a shoulder injury.

Oh, don't go out and buy me flowers and a get well card. It's a minor shoulder injury. Minor enough not to have to go to the doctor but major enough to complain to The Husband about it.

I'd like to be able to brag that I injured my shoulder playing tennis, lifting weights at the gym, or perhaps saving a child from a burning building.

But this is me. I got injured by toilet paper. I have a toilet paper injury.

Google search is going to have a heyday with my blog today.

I was doing some shopping at my least favourite store in the world. A store that doesn't put their toilet paper rolls on shelves but prefers to cut open the cardboard boxes of TP and stack them up super duper high one on top of the other. Stacked higher than 5'1" little me. Much higher.

Apparently, packages of 30 roll count of toilet paper can get precariously off balance. Especially when a 5'1" person takes a package from one of the middle boxes because she cannot possibly reach the top box.

I learned some things that day. I swear instinctively when being pummelled by copious packages of bathroom tissue. I have the reflexes of a sloth. 30 roll count of TP is surprising heavy when lots of it is falling on top of you. And I am anal enough to actually pick up all the packages of TP and put them back on the shelf with my non injured arm.

The Husband accused me of missing out on a little windfall by not informing someone at the store that their carelessness, nay, negligence, in toilet paper stacking policies caused me an injury. I replied that I wasn't going to be going down in history as the lady who sued Stupidstore for a toilet paper injury. I'd be second in line after that lady who sued Micky D's for making their coffee hot and not telling her she shouldn't put it in between her legs with the lid off in a moving car.

Some days, you have to take one for the team. You make sacrifices to take care of your family. You go and slay the dragon, flaunting your war wounds as medals of honour. You can hold your head high, knowing that you fought the toilet paper and won.....your family will not have to resort to grabbing drive thru paper napkins from the minivan to wipe their hinies.

Sadly, my toilet paper shoulder injury was for naught. I got home and I realized that I hadn't bought any toilet paper.

Apparently, I have a head injury, too.

Yesterday

2009-06-18T08:35:00.000-07:00

Lots of people have monumental days.

Yesterday was mine.

I caught a whiff of the greatness to follow when I found myself standing in the kitchen at 7:20 am, coffee brewing, and had the profound realization that I only had to make 1 lunch, not four.

I drove over the Golden Ears Bridge for the first time. The sun was sort of shining, the golden eagles were stunning against the blue sky and I got to my parent's house in 32 minutes.

32 minutes.

What used to be an hour and a quarter to an hour and a half trip took me 32 minutes.

God bless engineers and construction workers.

I picked up the professional pictures of The Eldest's graduation. And the brilliant and wonderful photographer Peggy Wynne gave me a bunch of extra photos that I hadn't even ordered.

The day just got better. My mom wasn't feeling well when I was there, but she called later to say she was feeling much better. You gotta love those kind of phone calls.

The Eldest wrote her final Provincial examination. She's done. She's officially finished high school.

It just got better. The Husband locked his keys in his car, so I had to drive 30 minutes to bring the extra set of keys. AND I DIDN'T TAKE ANY CHILDREN WITH ME.

After unlocking the car, The Husband took me out for a beer and pizza. And we got to sit and talk about life and it was awesome.

And if you can believe it, I topped off the day with this:

I found Waldo.

All in all, a monumental day.

The Girl You Want To Be

2009-06-12T10:52:00.000-07:00

A quiet Friday morning.

Perfect timing for a new song,courtesy of The Princess.

The Girl You Want To Be

When you see the girl
You want to be
It's not really you.

But somehow you know
That it's you.
Somehow it's you
You know it.

But it's not really showing
That you are that girl.
And you be that girl.

I know somehow I am that girl
That I know.
I wish I am that girl.

But I am that girl.

I love that girl.

A Snack

2009-06-11T08:54:00.000-07:00

The Boy has been hungry lately.

Upon waking, he needs to eat. At school, he needs to eat. After school, he needs to eat. After eating, he needs to eat. After dinner, he needs to eat. Before bed, he needs to eat.

I spend my days patrolling the kitchen and walking down the aisles of the grocery store.

Being the wonderful mother I am, I have enforced the 'make it yourself' rule. Hey. I have things to do and laundry to wash. Cook a poached egg for The Boy and he'll just ask you to cook it for him again. TEACH The Boy how to cook a poached egg and you'll never have any eggs left in the fridge.

Case in point:

That, my friends, is classified as an after school snack.

The Monkey's New 'Do

2009-06-09T09:37:00.000-07:00

The Monkey Baby has a new 'do.

Again.

I took her back to the hairdresser's yesterday and asked them to even up the lopsided mess of a $15 haircut.

It took the lady 30 minutes to fix The Monkey's hair. She kept cutting and cutting and measuring and measuring and saying, "It's still not even." The Monkey actually fell asleep in the chair. I had to hold her head upright while the lady kept hacking at her hair.

I'm beginning to think the kid has weird hair. Is there such a thing? Do the future hairdressers of tomorrow learn about weird hair in hairdressing school? I'm sure there's some fancy name for it. Whatever they call it, The Monkey has it.

Weird hair.

She also has a propensity towards scissors, nail polish and the words, "Sorry Mommy! So sorry Mommy!"

She will either keep me and The Husband young or drive us into assisted living before our time. Either way, I wouldn't change a thing about her.

She's our Monkey.

Baby's Birthday Bangs

2009-06-08T09:17:00.000-07:00

3 years ago today, I birthed a monkey.

A chubby little thing with massive cheeks, adorable fingers and toes, and a solid foundation of hair on her head.

Her birth was a glimpse into the future.....a future full of getting herself into trouble. In utero, she managed to wrap the umbilical cord so tightly around her neck, the nurse couldn't even get her finger between the cord and the neck.

And she's been getting herself into trouble ever since.

Yesterday morning's fiasco with giving herself a mullet ended poorly. I can't believe I paid $15 for a 'hairdresser' to do this:

"Even it out" is a difficult concept, I guess.

It's not the greatest picture. I apologize. But after taking 17 shots, 14 of them blurry because The Baby had things to do and places to be and standing in front of a wall STAYING STILL wasn't one of those things, I decided to call it a day.

You may notice the shadow on the left side of her chin. That would be a massive black and green bruise from wiping out in the backyard last week.

Yup. The 3 year birthday girl pictures are going to be beautiful.

Maybe a big bow and pictures taken in some candlelight.........

A Monumental Day

2009-06-07T09:56:00.000-07:00

My baby graduated from high school yesterday.

The 8 pound 3 ounce bundle that arrived after 26 hours of labour and made The Husband and me parents. That was just last year, wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

Wasn't it just 6 months ago that I left her sitting on the floor in her new kindergarten room? Was it not yesterday we dropped her off in front of her new high school, scared out of her mind at starting a new school and not knowing a soul.

And yesterday, I watched my baby walk into her school gymnasium donned in cap and gown. I watched her receive the "Excellence in Textiles" award, a $1,000 scholarship, and of course her high school diploma.

Yes. I cried.

The Eldest and The Boyfriend. The future is theirs.

And here are the proud parents. See? I think I hid my 'holy crap I am not old enough to have a high school graduate' feelings fairly well.

The afternoon was spent getting hair and make up done by my brother's girlfriend. She did an incredible job.

And here is the result:

That's my little girl there....looking like a woman.

Yes, I course I cried. I'm not made of stone.

All in all, it was a great day. A very busy day. The Husband got to dance with his little princess at her prom (then they kicked all the parents out). We drove home and talked about how the day had been a whirlwind of activity and monumental moments.

When we got home, I asked The Boy if he thought his grad in 3 years would be such a production. His eyerolls lead me to believe it won't if he has anything to do with it.

Since I had volunteered The Husband to deal poker all night at the grad's dry grad (which took place back at their school after their dinner/dance), he decided to go have a nap. When I went to wake him up, this is what I found:

Apparently, the day was exhausting for everyone.

This morning, I woke up to The Princess asking if she could go downstairs. I looked at the clock and couldn't believe the time. "Wow," I thought. "We were all wiped! The Baby never sleeps this late."

No. The Baby really never sleeps in late.

Can you guess what this is?

Here are the mug shots.

My Baby with a mullet. Nice.

We're off to the hairdresser's today. Apparently.

Tomorrow she turns 3. Everyone can use a new birthday 'do, right?

I'm Thinking of Packing This Family Off to a Third World Country

2009-06-03T09:06:00.001-07:00

Mornings are pretty hectic around my neck of the woods. Not as busy as they used to be when I worked for a pay cheque (those mornings would be labeled 'insanity at its finest') but then again, there's The Baby added to the mix and now two teenagers instead of one.

This morning's routine was the usual. Make coffee, make breakfast for the younger girls, make 4 lunches, supervise clothing choices, ensure breakfasts are being consumed, make Husband's coffee to go, brush hair, order teeth to be brushed, find stuff in fridge for males in the family, empty dishwasher, trip over the dog, ask who's turn it is to take out dog, ensure assorted items needed for school are in backpack, spray aloe vera onto The Eldest's back that she sunburned 5 days before wearing a strapless graduation dress. Just what millions of other moms in our glorious country of freedom and clean water do every day. Getting their families ready for another day of learning and work.

This morning's whining and complaining coming from my assorted children about how unjust and unfair their lives are living under my regime started to get on my nerves. Actually, it got on my last nerve and snapped it in half. The complaints were about everything from having to walk to school to how unfair it was that I was MAKING a child eat peanut butter on her toast instead of getting cinnamon and sugar. No amount of calm and rational explanations on my part was getting through their thick skulls.

Ok. It all started out calm and rational on my part and ended with the statement, "I think I should ship the lot of you off to India for a month! Then you'd see how lucky you've got it!"

Ugh.

Much as I'd like to blame some flaming PMS on that statement, I think it may have been my subconscious creeping out into the light and pointing its finger at me. I get mad at my kids for not recognising how good they've got it. Do I recognise how good I've got it?

I think I mostly do. Most days. Then the neighbour went and rebuilt her already beautiful deck in a short 3 days and when I looked out at it this morning at her perfect backyard with her green patio set I felt nothing but pure envy. ENVY. It's not fair. I want our backyard finished. I want a green patio set. I want to plant pretty flowers. I want. I want. I want.

*smack upside the head*

I live in a house. No, a home. I have a husband who works hard for our family every day. My neighbour with the beautiful deck does not. I have four healthy children. I have friends who have spent weeks in the hospital with their child and may have to do again in the future. I have food in the house to make all those breakfasts and pack all those lunches everyday. Many families in our own community, never mind India, rely on food banks and have sent their children to school hungry and are worried about what they are going to feed them for dinner.

My family has so much. Are we rich? No. Do we struggle to pay all the bills every month? Yes. Do we have cable and cell phones? Yes. Do my kids know how lucky they are? No. I don't think they do.

"Why do I have to walk to school? It's not fair! I can't walk fast! I'll be late. It's not my turn to take out the dog. It's hard to walk to school because I have so much to carry. I don't want peanut butter. I want cinnamon and sugar. It's not fair!!!!!!"

"Why do I have to make all these lunches? Why did you have to step in that pile of dirt....I just swept that! Why can't you kids see how good you've got it???"

Maybe what I meant to say this morning is that our whole family needs to be shipped to India for a month. And not wealthy India. Third world India. Or perhaps a walk through the downtown Vancouver Eastside, or visit the Salvation Army's homeless shelter in our very own community.

At least, an attitude change by me.

I'm grateful for a husband who is too tired to finish the backyard because he works so hard everyday and many times into the weekend for our family.

I'm grateful that The Eldest is graduating this weekend because it means she's had the opportunity to get an education and that she will be heading to university in the fall. How many women in the world can say that?

I'm grateful that The Boy is eating us out of house and home. It means he is healthy and growing and on his way to being a man.

I'm grateful that The Princess was sick last week. It meant I could take her to the doctor and use our pretty awesome health care system. How many people in the world have access to health care, let alone universal access to health care?

I'm grateful I have to watch The Baby every second. I'm grateful that she's so busy and curious. It means I have the opportunity to stop and look at bugs and sticks and butterflies and rocks and 'find the quiet' in days full of stuff to do.

Today I am choosing to be grateful.

How about you?

Imagine

2009-06-02T09:29:00.000-07:00

As I was using my kitchen tongs to fish a half eaten raw hide dog bone out of the toilet at 11:30 pm, a thought occurred to me.

There are some things in life I never thought I'd be doing.

When I became a mom, I knew I'd be puked on. I figured I would see my fair share of green snot, exploding diapers, teenage angst, grubby hands and have a perpetually dirty house.

No one told me about using my kitchen appliances in the commode.

So, do I throw out the tongs?

Boil them for 2 hours?

Throw them in the dishwasher and then tell The Husband what I last used them for as he's placing a cob of corn on his plate using the tongs?

Crap.

I think I'm going to have to throw them out.

Can you top my tongs? What's one thing you've done that you never imagined in a bazillion years you would ever do?

Autopilot

2009-06-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

I've been grocery shopping for a few years now.

Even before I was married and still living at home, it was my work responsibility to do the shopping for the day care's hot lunch program. Lunches and snacks for 22 children, 5 days a week. I had one hour a week to do the shopping. I learned to shop quickly and to stay within a strict budget.

Fast forward 20 years or so and I'm still shopping quickly and within a budget. Just not for 22 children. Although, the way The Boy is eating lately, it's starting to feel like I'm shopping for at least 10.

Enter Stupidstore. Someone, who I'm sure has a fancy title and is very important, recently decided to move every flipping item in their store to a new location. Except the milk and eggs. And the bread. Ok, the deli department looks the same too. But everything else has been moved around. Even stuff that's in the same aisle as before has been switched to the other side. (For those of you who don't know what a Stupidstore sells, it sells everything from housewares to books to home decor to toys to groceries to seasonal stuff to toenail clippers. It's a lot of stuff to move.)

I've been shopping at that store for 4 and a half years. I knew where everything was. Everything. Brown sugar. Large bag of Craisins. Those Asian crackers that the girls like so much. Inexpensive picture frames. The discount bin. Life was tolerable.

But then they changed everything, and now a 25 minute shopping trip has turned into an hour. Each aisle I turn down brings me new grief and frustration. Each new aisle is full of customers looking just like me.....pushing their shopping carts with one wonky wheel, wandering aimlessly with a vacant, slightly dazed look in their eyes. I started snickering at one point because as I looked at the scene, I couldn't help but think we all looked like we were participating in some sick zombie movie.

But with less moaning and dragging of assorted body parts.

On the upside, the checkout lines are really short. All those wandering souls on a quest to find chickpeas and granola bars were, well, still on their quest. Godspeed, said I. Godspeed.

It's been two weeks since I've stepped foot in Stupidstore. My mom is cheering. My kids are complaining. But I just don't have the energy needed to shop on manual functioning. I like autopilot. I need to use the manual functioning for chasing The Baby, remembering what hair colour to buy and making pop explode in the checkout lane.

So, dear Stupidstore, the hundreds of hours you have paid out to rearrange your store has driven one of your customers over the edge, which I realize wasn't that hard to do considering I was hanging onto said edge with my unmanicured hands and some bungee cords wrapped around my ass, but still.

I don't know when I'll be back. I'm sure you've noticed a drop in milk and cream sales. And perhaps you've been scratching your head at the sudden decline in dill pickle chip purchases. But you brought it upon yourself.

And what can conclusions can we draw from this little tirade?

Change is bad.

And I think those bungee cords just snapped.

Countdown

2009-05-31T17:57:00.000-07:00

There are only 6 sleeps until The Eldest's graduation.

I am NOT freaking out.

Much.

I think we have everything under control. Dress, shoes, nails, hair, makeup, accessories, limo, camera, evening bag, tickets, photographer, time line, boutonniere ordered, volunteered The Husband to deal poker until 5:30 am at the dry grad....yup. I think we're good.

All that's left (I think....I hope) is the house.

Ca-rap.

I've got 5 days. Lots of time. Well, except The Princess has a pro-d day tomorrow, so tomorrow's a bit of a write-off. Tuesday is totally free, but the problem with Tuesday is there's so much time until Saturday I will talk myself into not getting stuff done then. Wednesday's waiting day at the soon to be retired Albion ferry so there won't be much homemaking going on then.

So, I think I can safely conclude that Thursday is my freak out day. And hey, that's 4 sleeps away. I hardly have to think about it at the moment.

Off to get a beer and play some online solitaire.

Random Thoughts of the Week

2009-05-29T22:29:00.000-07:00

Since I can't seem to find the time or will to post a real post about one large thought or idea or something or other, I give you:

Top Ten Random Thoughts of the Week

10. I really should have gotten to the gym this week. Really. Really. Really. I'm starting to worry that people are going to start asking me when I'm due. I'm exhausted from holding in my gut in public.

9. Why didn't I refuse that Sulfa antibiotic for the Princess when I know I'm allergic to it?

8. Holding down a 7 year old getting blood work really sucks. And makes me cry, too. (And made me want to tip the lab techs who were amazing.)

7. An almost 3 year old's take on the world is a wonderful wonderful thing. The Baby saw a picture of The Eldest's graduation cap and gown portrait and asked me, "K___'s in High School Musical 3???"

6. Spaceballs is about the bestest movie of all time. "What's the matter, Colonel....chicken?"

5. Missing The Husband when he's away at a work conference is a great thing after 20 years.

4. The love/hate relationship I have with our dog was pretty much hate this week.

3. Someone needs to invent window screens that keep the bugs out, but the almost 3 year old in. It's going to be a long hot summer with all the windows open only a crack so she doesn't accidentally fall out a window.

2. Pink nail polish is difficult to get off of a sink, counter top and floor. An entire bottle of pink nail polish. On the upside, The Baby didn't pour it in MY bathroom sink, so I don't have to look at it daily.

.....and the number 1 Random Thought of the Week.....

1. Getting The Princess a kitten is an insane insane insane insane insane idea and I should not even be having those thoughts, let alone thoughts about trying to convince The Husband that she needs one. The Princess fights dirty, though, and her lamenting over not being able to play with her friends, or go to school or even go outside in the sunshine to play because she was sick and if only she had a kitten to keep her company and play with, it would make it so much easier to bear being ill. Bugger.

Ouch Then Huh?

2009-05-18T21:17:00.000-07:00

Writer's block can be a terrible thing.

I stepped away from some non blog related writing a few weeks ago. I had walked away from it once before but had gotten back into the swing of it. And then it really hit me. The writer's block, that is.

This last bout of blockage was a stone wall that took me out, made a snide remark about my dirty house and then crashed on top of me to finish me off.

I crawled out from the crumbled mortar this afternoon. I opened that long ignored word document and started to read. Familiar words jumped out across the page. But as I continued to read, things got really strange.

Who the heck had logged into my computer and written all this stuff? I had no recollection of writing it. A lot of it.

I must have been in some zone. Some warped writing zone where aliens take over your brain and plant ideas and stories and new paths with the same zest that The Boy has for eating poached eggs as a snack between his after school snack and dinner.

So I'm back at it. With some piss and vinegar or something of that nature. Off to find my mojo, some zen, get the funk on, power on, take a run at it.

Not here on my little blog, apparently. The aliens don't seem to visit when I'm writing here.

The Griswold Family's Favourite Things - A Princess' Perspective

2009-05-14T09:09:00.000-07:00

I was cleaning the girls' room and discovered a small stack of papers with The Princess' writing. I thought it might be some more of her songs, but I was soon to discover it was a window into a 7 year old's perspective on her family.

There was a page for each member of our family. The Princess seems to have a pretty good handle on us.

Things That The Princess Likes

butterflies
school
drawing
skipping rope
Webkins
books
ladybugs
especially Snuggles. She is my favourite toy.

Things That The Baby Likes

dogs
the park
books
Mommy
my sister
Snuggamugga (the Baby's nighttime stuffy)

Things That The Eldest Likes

books
sleeping
movies
hugs

Things That The Boy Likes

the computer
xbox games

Things That Daddy Likes

poker
playing golf
hugs
kisses
books

Things That Mommy Likes

coffee
hugs
sleeping
books
kissing
my family

I find it interesting that Daddy likes kisses and I like kissing. Somehow there seems to be a difference.

I also think it's funny that The Boy only has two entries. But it's very accurate.

I love her last entry under my name.

I love my family. And I love the fact that my seven year old knows that.

Border Crossing 101 - Griswold Style

2009-05-12T21:32:00.000-07:00

The Husband and I decided to hop on over the border last weekend. Nothing says, "Let's celebrate being married to each other for an awe inspiring 20 years!" like a trip to Seattle.

Because the traditional gift of a 20th wedding anniversary is china.

But, honestly, China is pretty far to go when you are only able to get away overnight. And HELLO! Sleepless in Seattle was filmed there. I think.

Did they end up getting married?

Huh.

So like I was saying. Seattle totally makes sense as a 20th anniversary destination.

But first, we had to get across the border. We had a 90 minute wait but that didn't faze us.

Remember.....no children in the car. We passed the time playing cards and debating how many real parts were left on the hot chicks in the car next to us. Oh, and laughing at the group of cyclists in the truck behind them. Most fortunately for them, the Barbie with 3 real body parts left had to walk alllll the way to the washrooms and then the Barbie with the huge.......loan on her assorted new parts had to get out of the car and get in the driver's seat.

It was like watching synchronized swimming. 6 men's heads moving in perfect time.

We finally got to the front of the line. The Husband handed the scary looking border guard our documents.

The guard looked pretty cheesed that the Barbies weren't in his lane.

"What's the purpose of your trip?" he demanded. His accent was......is 'New York rapper' an accent?

"Heading to Seattle," the Husband answered.

"How lowng?!"

"Just overnight. It's our anniversary."

Scary long pause.

"WEDDIN' anniversary?!"

"Yes. 20 years."

Scarier long pause. Then he looked at our documents. For a long time. Kept flipping through them.

My stomach started churning.

"Mahoney."

"Yes...."

"Mahoney." He looked up and stared at the Husband. "That's how you say it? Mahoney?"

Gulp. "Yeesss....." replied the Husband.

"Mahoney? Like the movie Police Academy?? Sergeant Mahoney??? Hahahahaha!!!!! Mahoney!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"

We laughed with him. We really wanted to go to Seattle.

"So, you buyin' the wife some blang?"

"Pardon me?"

"Some blang.....some blang, for yo' anniversary."

"Oh. Some bling. Ha. Ha. Ha."

Then the guard looked at me. "You gonna pick some blang out yo'sef?"

"Ha ha ha. Yes. Maybe I will."

"MAHONEY. Hahaha. I dig it. I dig it. You all have a good trip. Hahaha."

"Thanks." And the Husband drove away and we went and bought hand sanitizer and Cherry Dr. Peppers.

We drove down the I-5, listening to the Husband's iPod and having conversations such as, "What do you think are the best one liners people must hear living in a community with "Chuckanut Drive" and "Nootsack"?

We apparently haven't matured as much as one might think after 20 years of marriage.

Or it could have been the child free car and hand sanitizer fumes.

Help

2009-05-05T17:16:00.000-07:00

Okay. Here's the deal.

I need help.

Your help.

Yes. YOU.

You may have noticed that it's been kind of quiet around these parts. Yet again. I'm not sure what my problem is. Blog envy. Blog burnout. Blog blah. And then my mom (Hi, Mom) called today. She played the mom card and told me she was sick and tired of seeing my really old entry sitting all sad and lonely on my blog and to get on with it.

So what's the problem? I can't decide what I want to write about. I can't even decide what to make for dinner.

Help me. Please. I've whittled it down to 10 possible entries.

Top Ten Possible Blog Entries

10. The Boy - Olympic Snack Champion in Training

9. Why the Royal 'WE' Should Be Outlawed in My Home

8. US of A Border Crossing 101 - Griswold Style

7. Twitter is Rotting My Brain

6. You Stinking Kids Are NOT Turning the New Van into a Garbage Dump. I Mean It!

5. 'N' Stands for "Oh My God, My Baby Just Drove Away In My Van and There's No Flipping Adult in There With Her!!"

4. Recession My *%#

3. Bugs Are Our Friends. Don't You DARE Put That Thing on Me.

2. Ponna Tanna

....and the last possible blog entry is.....

1. The Griswold Family's Favourite Things - A Princess' Perspective

And so, my faithful readers, would you help a lost blogger out? Which topic should I write about?

The Weekend Away

2009-04-20T20:37:00.000-07:00

The Eldest and I had a great weekend away.

Judging from the state of the house when we got home, the rest of the family had a great weekend eating takeout and not cleaning anything.

But they're all alive and that is what's important, right?

Right?

The Griswold Girls Weekend Road Trip to Kelowna started off with us deciding to get lost while on a quest to find A & W root beer. I've always wanted to see Boston Bar. Scratch that off the Bucket List.

I never wanted to discover Spence's Bridge. To be honest, I never knew it existed. But discover it we did, which was good because otherwise it meant we would have been visiting Cache Creek which was totally not Kelowna.

If you're confused, that's good. Now you know how I felt when we hit flipping Boston Bar.

And I totally don't blame the Husband for giving me the wrong directions on the phone. I take all the blame. I knew I should have bought him a GPS system for Christmas.

Plus, I learned something. There is no cell phone coverage in Boston Bar. Oh, and always ask the Eldest if she still has her cell phone after using the restroom in Merritt. I think I performed an illegal maneuver making that u-turn on the highway up to Kelowna.

Once we arrived in beautiful Kelowna, we had a great time. Lots of chocolate, salty snacks, great company, cell phone coverage and all cell phones accounted for the entire holiday. We found the perfect jewelry for the Eldest's graduation. As we wound our way down the correct road home, the sun was shining on the snow covered mountains, the tunes were playing and I ignored the reality that was waiting for me at home.

A wonderful trip with the Eldest who used to be my Baby.

Road Trip

2009-04-17T09:29:00.000-07:00

I'm blowing this popsicle stand.

Getting the heck out of Dodge.

Hitting the road.

The Eldest and I will soon be driving down the road, in a car without booster seats, car seats, men, young children and fishy crackers.

We are heading out for a four hour drive to spend the weekend with one of my oldest friends. We are going to shop til we drop, find the perfect accessories for the Eldest's grad dress and eat 8 pounds of chocolate apiece.

There will be copious amounts of chatting, conversing, reminiscing, and clucking. Lots of tea. Perhaps a dip or two in a hot tub. A chick flick. Something salty. Definitely some Fuzzy Peaches.

Sunday will come in a blink of an eye, but for now, I'm heading to pack my bag, make a list or two for the Husband and get this party started.

And hopefully come back with a blog post or two.

Griswolds on a road trip?

Most definitely.

Numbers and Rates and Graphs, Oh My!

2009-04-16T18:33:00.000-07:00

I had another epiphany.

I know. After sharing my last epiphany my readership fell about 10%. I realize I'm taking my chances here.

As much as I love being at home full time, I miss work. I miss earning money. I miss time away from my children to go hang out with other people's children. Which is kind of ironic. Alannis Morrisette ironic, at any rate. Stay with me, I'm heading somewhere with this.

Besides for missing working with some really cool kids, I miss the numbers and graphs and concrete evidence all rolled up in a lovely package of a binder or clipboard or a pocket PC. I loved being able to see that what I was doing was making a difference, and it all being confirmed with numbers and climbing graphs. Or on the flip side, seeing what wasn't working and figuring out how to change our teaching strategy. And it occurred to me in the wee hours of the night that perhaps that is why I have become obsessed with Google Analytics.

Google Analytics has graphs. Lots of graphs.

There are numbers. Percentages, rates, averages, and oh my gosh, overviews, and my goodness gracious, there are lots of graphs.

I love being a mom, but let's face it, there's not a lot of immediate feedback on whether I'm screwing things up....I mean, other than the fact that they're all still alive and I haven't had to visit the principal's office this week. Some days feel like I'm coasting through this role, hoping I'm not messing up too badly.

And I love writing, but it's a lonely place. But I've discovered that blogging gives me immediate feedback on what I'm doing. Kinda like work. The epiphany that Google Analytics is filling in for my work high is really not that surprising.

A thought has occurred to me. Maybe I should start keeping data and graphing my mothering successes and failures.

No. Just the successes.

I'll have to start small. I most certainly want to build success into my new system.

I'll start with some basics.

The number of consecutive hours I go without swearing under my breath.
How many loads of laundry I do each day and an analysis of the correlation between the day of the week and the number of missing socks.
Tally the number of minutes preparing meals per week. Make sure to post this one on the fridge. Include highlighting and a really fancy graph. In red.
Keep track of kilometers driven in the new van and gasoline purchases and figure out gas mileage (kilometerage?). Use this as direct evidence when explaining to teenagers in the house the reason why you won't drive to Tim Horton's to get them a double double.

Well. That's a good start.

Tune in next week when I analyse the direct correlation between my mood and the number of chocolate eggs I haven't eaten.

And please tell me you obsess over Google Analytics, too.

What I Learned During Lent

2009-04-14T18:27:00.000-07:00

I gave up beer and junk food for Lent.

Maybe you heard.

Once or twice.

It's not like I'm a lush or anything. When I say I gave up beer for Lent, I'm talking about the equivalent of giving up 3 or 4 beer a week. The junk food.....well, uh....yes. I gave that up, too.

I don't always give up something for Lent. Sometimes I DO something. Like get up at 6:30 am and go for a run. In my defense, I was much younger then and had two working hips and two fewer children so it seemed less insane at the time.

Sometimes my Lenten challenge is just between myself and Jesus. But whatever it is, I try not to whine about what I'm doing or not doing because that's not what it's about. Every year I learn something about myself and work on my relationship with Jesus.

But this Lent, there was an added bonus.

For 40+ days, I didn't drink beer. I did not eat junk food. (Except for around my birthday....hey, I was turning 40. What better way to celebrate that but with a Bellini and a thick piece of cheese cake?) And guess what? In those 40+ days, I had only 1 migraine and it lasted for only a day and a half instead of the usual 3 days. And I lost 5 pounds. And I feel better.

It's like finding out diamonds aren't a girl's best friend, my favourite coffee is not ethically grown and my beautiful children write bad things about me in their diaries. Then someone punches me in the stomach and asks if I'd like a lovely cup of Earl Grey tea with the milk poured in the cup first, just as it ought to be.

So that kinda sucks.

Migraines or beer. Fat or chocolate. Feel good all day or feel good for a moment with salty dill pickle chips on my lips.

So the choice has been made. I've been shown the way. If my life is full of junk food and beer then it will also be full of migraines and jigglierer...er arms. Oh, the tangled web that is my life.

This is my compromise. Weekdays will see me walking the straight and narrow. Weekends will be filled with puppy dogs and fluffy kittens and the occasional beer. Or some baked dill pickle chips. Or the odd chocolate fondue. Or cookies or Easter eggs or pop or chips and dip or cake or.....

But today is Tuesday.

We'll see how it goes. Moderation. My new best friend or my new worst enemy?

The Haircut

2009-04-11T19:53:00.000-07:00

I got my haircut today.

I've been feeling of late that my mass of frizzy curls was weighing me down. Aging me. Hiding my face.

And it was clogging up the drain something fierce.

It's my own fault. I put off getting my hair cut because I hate strange people touching me. I hate people looking at me and I particularly hate people commenting on my hair.

When I go to the hairdresser, they always say three thing.

1. Wow. You have a lot of hair.

Yes. Yes I do. I have had a lot of hair since the day I was born. I look like I'm wearing a wig in my hospital picture. I am aware of how much hair I have.

2. You want to CUT IT? It's so beautiful long.

Are you kidding me? You just hate cutting a LOT of really wavy hair. Get on with it. And while you're at it, cut it as short as I've asked you to. You never do.

3. Wow. You have a lot of grey hair for your age......you're HOW OLD? I don't believe you.

Um. I have no idea how to respond to this. Yes. I'm a copiously frizzy haired 40 year old. Please cut my hair. Only touch me as necessary and yes, I want it that short.

Today's hairdresser was in a bit of a bad mood. APPARENTLY, someone came in to sharpen her thinning shears and busted them. In case you were wondering, she spent $300 on those thinning shears 5 years ago. And in case you were also wondering, she paid that thief $20 to do it.

She was cheesed.

Cheesed enough to swear 8 times about it. Give or take a swear. It's not like I was counting or anything. I was too busy praying that she didn't cut off my ear.

But, surprisingly, she gave me a great haircut. And, for the first time in history, a hairdresser cut my hair as short as I asked.

Which leads me to believe the next time I call for an appointment, I should request the most pissed off stylist.

And since I know you're dying to see, here's the before picture:

And here's the after:

But not really.

Stupidstore is Still Stupid

2009-04-09T20:39:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I vented about Stupidstore.

I know. You're rolling your eyes at me. Right this very moment my mother is saying out loud, "WHY DO YOU SHOP THERE??"

Because I'm cheap. You all know that. Once every two weeks I go to buy stuff that's way cheaper there and once in a while they throw me a blog story. It's all good.

Today I was conned into buying a large box of waffles. They were on sale for $6.48. Exactly. I cannot remember to pay the hydro bill on time or what kind of coffee to buy, but I can remember how much groceries cost. It's a sickness, really. Some people cure diseases. I can tell you how much a can of Heinz beans cost in Qualicum Beach circa 1996. (68 cents. Would go on sale 2 for 99 cents every six weeks.)

I know.

I cry at my life too.

Today's escapade with the stinking waffles started with the Eldest looking at me all Bambi like and requesting waffles to celebrate Easter. I would like to point out that I usually make our waffles from scratch and they are quite lovely. But not quite as speedy as 20 seconds in the toaster and let's face it, when you have a waffle craving, there's nothing like opening up the freezer and finding love nestled amongst the ice cubes.

When the cashier scanned the box of waffles, they scanned in at $8.38.

I don't think so.

"Excuse me....what did those waffles just scan through at?"

The cashier scanned them again, and sure enough, they scanned in at $8.38.

"I'm pretty sure those are on sale for $6.48."

The cashier looked at me funny. (I get that a lot. It's ok.) Then she asked me if I'd like her to do a price check.

No, that's perfectly alright. I'm fine with being overcharged a buck ninety.

"Yes. Please," I said.

So the cashier did a price check. We all waited around. I could feel the eyes of the next person waiting in line boring into me. The clerk's phone finally rang and BOOYA! I was vindicated. $6.48 it was.

The cashier then manually changed the price of the waffles and before I could say anything, she got back on her phone and requested a supervisor for an override.

The supervisor, who, by the way was around my age....about 29.....eventually arrived, reached over the cashier, punched in some numbers so $6.48 appeared on the screen, wrote down the bar code (I'm assuming so she could go key in the correct code price) then started to walk away.

"Excuse me......EXCUSE ME.....but don't you have a policy about getting an item for free if it scans in at the wrong price?"

The supervisor didn't even make eye contact with me. Said nothing. She just turned around, punched in some more numbers then walked away. Not a word was ever spoken to me.

I got my waffles for free. But what kind of customer service is that? Here in Canada, there is something called the 'Code of Practice: Scanner Price Accuracy Voluntary Code'. And guess what? Stupidstore is a member.

Incorrect bar code pricing is inevitable. I know that. But at other stores, such as Save-On-Foods, the cashier automatically gives you the item for free, apologizes for the mistake and for causing you inconvenience. Which is how it should be handled. Those are the rules.

Stupidstore should be honouring the rules they agreed to when they signed that Code of Practice. They shouldn't be leaving it to their customers to remind them of their responsibilities.

And their supervisors should know how to make eye contact and speak. At the very least, not be rude.

I am the price check police. Hear me roar.

2 year old dialect

2009-04-08T20:23:00.000-07:00

One of the best things about having a two and three quarters year old child is getting to laugh at them.

Hey. We all have our vices and things that help up get through the day.

The Baby has been giving us lots of giggles of late. One of my favourites was one you may have seen me twitter about over there on my little Twitter sidebar.(Yes. I'm a Twit. I am heading in to this new decade kicking and screaming.)

Anyways, the Baby was not impressed with the Eldest playing her music quite so loudly.

Baby: "Loud! Loud! Stop louding!!"

Our other favourite right now is her pronunciation of certain words.

Hamburger and french fries is 'HANG gu ber and fensh fies.'

Puppies is 'Tuppies'. I started to correct her pronunciation on this one a few days ago. And I stopped myself because I thought about how sad it will be when there is no more little girl in the house telling me all about her tuppy. She's growing up far too quickly as it is. There's plenty of time for word correction and proper verb tense.

But for now she can be my Baby and still ask for tuddles on the towch. She can tell me to 'Go over nare!' and point to the kitchen when I'm slow to get her a cup of milk. She can make me giggle when she says, 'Tay here!' in her sweetest voice, and then with the quiet stealth of an elephant wearing ballet shoes, try and sneak a treat.

Pig tails. Blond braids. Chubby cheeks.

My Baby.

Stupidity is Stupid

2009-04-07T17:24:00.001-07:00

Question:

What kind of 'forward thinking' college creates a policy that makes the purchase of a transit pass mandatory for every student with the purpose of fighting climate change.....but if you're only taking one on line course through the college and therefore exempt, makes you print out an application for exemption and mail it in an envelope instead of being able to do the whole thing PAPERLESSLY online?

Just wondering.

Spring and Swings

2009-04-05T17:17:00.000-07:00

Spring is in the air.

My daffodils are so very close to blooming. Windows are open. Barbecues are being fired up in the neighbourhood. The dog has diarrhea and the Husband is nursing a cold.

Such is my life. Kind of like eating chocolate covered rocks. You eventually get wise enough to just lick off the chocolate and ignore the filling.

Or at least leave the dog tied up outside, the Husband lying on the couch and then leave the house.

I took the two younger girls to a local park today. It was recently refitted with a whole new massive playground and today's sun was a perfect day to go check it out.

And so thought 200 other parents.

It was incredible. It was like being in the middle of the annual Army and Navy shoe sale, but without the heels and a bit more screaming and bark mulch. I would have taken pictures but I was pretty busy making sure the Baby didn't get run over by the frenzied 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 and 14 year boys. And the assorted shell shocked parents.

Well done, Parks and Recreation Department of my little town. Well done.

Ebbing and Flowing

2009-04-01T15:11:00.000-07:00

There's an ebb and flow to blogging.

There's been a lot of ebbing and not a lot of flowing going on around this little blog.

I have a lot of excuses. I had a cold. There was a child with a cold. Then there was a husband with cold.

'Nuff said about that.

Oh, and we were out shopping for alternative transportation of the non eggplant kind. And, BOOOYA! We found one.

I never thought I could be so excited about spending money. And about spending money on a minivan. On a 6 year old minivan. That is not purple.

I know many people get rid of their vehicles when they get to the great age of 6. There's a lot of people who probably think that my euphoria is uncalled for. I mean, where's the zing in a 6 year old minivan? Even if it's not purple.

Well, those people were not driving a 13 year old purple minivan.

Everything in life is relative. A full fridge and pantry that's the norm to one person is only a dream to many others. A house full of kids can be frustrating and cause a harried mom to pray to God for just one quiet moment to herself. But a childless woman prays to God to take away all the quietness in her life, and replace it with a child.

Rough patches in life make us appreciate the good.

The bad helps us to clarify what 'good' really is.

It's tough when you're in the middle of all the crap, but truly helps us to be grateful for the 6 year old minivan. That's full of children and groceries.

Ah, the ebb and flow of life. It's a wonderful thing.

Should I Be Worried?

2009-03-27T16:10:00.000-07:00

The Eldest sent me a text today.

She was having problems with her contacts and asked me to bring her glasses to school for her. The Husband was talking to me as I started to text "ok, be there in a minute".

When the husband finished talking, I looked down at the text I had just finished.

It said: Library.

What the......

Do you think I need to schedule an appointment with a neurologist?

Maybe my brain is calling out for a good book.....

What's in a Name?

2009-03-26T09:34:00.000-07:00

A lot.

I've been thinking about the name of this little blog for a while now.

'A while' meaning since about day two of starting it. I'll admit, I started this blog on a bit of a whim and dang it all, I've been pulled in to discover that it is the sanity in my insane life. Had I known what it would give me, I would have started it a long time ago. But since I used to need the Husband to turn the computer on for me, operating a blog was not on my list of obtainable goals.

I credit my amazing skills of collecting trial by trial date on a Pocket PC at work, without ever losing 2 years worth of data, as giving me the strength to dive into the world of blogging. That, and my sister had a blog and I was jealous.

Yesterday, I found out someone (who seems like a very nice person and who has a very lovely blog) has the exact same blog name as mine, except that she is "Mahoney's Musings".

I've been researching blog names for a while now and I've come to the conclusion that all the good names are taken. Even if I figured out a new name, I have no idea what I'd have to do to change my blog's name. Start a new one?

What?

I mean....I have to think about all my loyal readers.

I'm talking to both of you.

Pay attention.

Names are important. Mahoney is part of who I am. I can make people laugh just by handing them my credit card.

"MAHONEY!!!"

"MAHONEY!! Like Police Academy! Hahaha."

The Princess had a friend come over one day and the friend told me out of the blue, "My dad thinks your last name is funny."

I didn't get the feeling it was a compliment.

So, perhaps the name will have to stay. "Mahoney" apparently makes people laugh, albeit it in a Police Academy kind of way. And "Musings"? Oh how I now loathe that word. We bloggers have turned that wonderful word into a commonplace name.

I've thought about the name "Melete" (pronounced MEH-le-TEE) after the goddess of meditation. But really. I think it might be too deep. And I'd be called Meleeet.

Mahoney Melete.

Melete Mahoney?

Just Melete?

Meletee?

Mahoney Musings it is.

For now.

Besides, yesterday someone googled 'Armageddon Blog' and found mine. And they stayed and read two pages of my life.

Perhaps I made their day a little bit brighter. Or a little less Armageddonish.

Because I AM a musing Mahoney.

Ha! Amusing.

AMUSING!

That's it!!

Oops

2009-03-24T15:54:00.000-07:00

For the first time in about 5 years I turned on the TV to take in our local noon news hour. I felt compelled to hear the weatherman tell me that the sun will come out. Tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that Tomorrow. They'll be sun.

The news anchor blabbed on about stuff I don't care to repeat because it's sad and depressing and I just want to get you to the good part.

So then they had a live news report from a very very very experienced news reporter who has been reporting about our Provincial government stuff ever since I can remember. Key point here, he's not a newbie.

Mr. Experience was doing his report about our upcoming Provincial election. He was questioning whether our current ruling political party could still win the next election. He began to review some 'key' ridings that could possibly be lost by our current MLA's.

Then he said, "And, as you know, Mr. So and So, MLA of such and such, passed away several weeks ago, so HE won't be running again."

Really? Thanks for clearing that up.

It brought back fond memories of my not the brightest bulb at work moment. My word stumbling might have been captured on video, but at least it wasn't on live TV.

What do you want to bet Mr. Experience will be reliving his 'not the brightest bulb at work' moment at this year's annual Christmas party?

Fresh and Fabulous

2009-03-23T10:33:00.000-07:00

Clearly, spring break with 4 children home, a 40th birthday and the Husband away is a recipe for Armageddon.

You'd think it would also be a recipe for some blogging moments but sadly, it's only a recipe for blogging moments on an anonymous blog.

Hence the quiet around this blog.

But I can report that something happy came out of last week....the week that was also known around these parts as, "Why SHOULD I go in the shower, we're not DOING anything anyways!" by one of my dear children who was a tad miffed our family was not having the time of our lives in Disneyland.

My little blog was given this:

If you want to go and experience what you could have turned out to be had you been paying more attention during home ec in high school, head on over to The 6 o'clock Stitch. Not only will you be inspired to create, but you'll be dragged into the world of Etsy. You'll need several hours. And your credit card. Don't say I didn't warn you.

So now, I have the honour of passing on The Fresh and Fabulous Award to two other blogs I think have that F and F quality.

Firstly, I am bestowing this award to Tentative Equinox , who is witty and thoughtful and writes about life as she sees it. She also writes about Aspergers, learning disabilities and her children's success with Fast ForWord. The great thing about her blog is you never know what she's going to write about. It's like opening up a box of Cracker Jacks. You never know what the prize is inside.

And I also bestow this award to Bake at 350. Because I love baking. And she makes scones. Lemon scones. You have to go see her blog just to drool over the pictures. I do. Although I'm pretty sure I could never recreate any of her baking wonderfulness, she writes like she thinks I could. I love unpretentious baking blogs!

Have a great day.

And make yourself a cup of tea before you go clicking on those links.

Consider yourself warned.

St. Paddy's Day

2009-03-17T09:13:00.000-07:00

Top 'o the mornin' to ya.

Irish people everywhere are pouring Guinness into their morning cereal. Stew is being placed on the fire. Soda bread is being mixed as we speak.

And green is the colour of the day.

The Princess woke me up this morning in a state of panic because she couldn't find tights to go with her green, er, ensemble.

There are a lot of shades of green. Many of them should not be worn together.

As I sit here trying to avoid the fact that I need to go upstairs and colour my hair so there are no grey roots in my driver's license photo that I have to go renew today, I am pondering the oddness of this day for me.

My name is Colleen.
I was born on St. Patrick's Day.
I married a man with the last name Mahoney.
Yes, his family is Irish.
My favourite colour is green.

I have never been in a pub on March 17th.
I have never had a sip of green beer.
I have only a drop of Irish blood in me.
I've only liked beer for the last 2 and a half years.

All my children have Irish names.
Even the Dog.

On this day of shamrocks, everyone's a little bit Irish.

How about you? Can you find a drop of Irish in you?

Ode to My 30's

2009-03-16T10:02:00.000-07:00

Today is my last day in the decade known as my '30's.

It feels about the same way as the day before a scheduled root canal. It's a day you've been dreading for weeks, stewing over, trying to think of any excuse you can to skip the appointment, but eventually have to come to the conclusion that you best just get it over with.

Except I've never had a root canal. I prefer to just let my teeth fall out. I've got a little problem going on with the dentist.

But I think that's probably what it would feel like.

The past 10 years have been pretty awesome. A lot of stuff happened. Mostly good, some bad. A fair amount of Griswold luck. We bought our first home and added two more children into our brood. I've worked, I've stayed home, I've learned how to bake pumpkin scones.

I parented for a full 10 years with the occasional vacation paired with food poisoning. I discovered that marriage gets better as you both get older and 'mature' (snort!).

I aged 10 years. I think I'm officially a grown up. At least I think I should be since I'm going to be officially middle aged.

I'm going to miss being 39.

But there's lots to look forward to in my 40's.

The Eldest graduating.

The Baby starting school.

Going back to work.

The Boy graduating.

Vacations.

Menopause.

My boobs falling down to my stretch marks.

Dentures.

Weddings.

Grandchildren.

Oh, god, I just threw up in my mouth.

I'm going to go have a cry, then apply some moisturizer to my crows feet.

And go enjoy my last day of being in my thirties by taking the Princess ice skating and hopefully not breaking my bum hip.

Top Ten Reasons Spring Can Arrive

2009-03-15T20:49:00.000-07:00

It snowed today.

And hailed.

I don't live in Nunavut.

The daffodils I planted last fall are so blinking confused I have lost all faith that they will ever bloom.

I have decided to have it out with winter, and tell it to go to where the sun don't shine. The first day of spring is scheduled to arrive later this week and winter better get its butt packed and moved on out. Or else.

Or else what I have no idea, but I'm saying it in my sternest mother voice.

I mean it.

Winter....it's been a slice. You arrived in time for a Christmas visit. We were so happy to see you. So rarely do we West Coasters get to enjoy you during the festive holidays. We know you usually like to stay home way out there in the centre of the universe otherwise known as Toronto, and we were so honoured that you decided to hang out with us wimps. But I'll be honest with you. You've over stayed your welcome. By about 2 months.

Go home.

Top 10 Reasons Spring Can Arrive

10. Snow...I'm sick of it. Sick sick sick sick sick.
9. I'm tired of scraping the minivan's windows in the morning. Tired tired tired tired tired of it.
8. My last natural gas bill killed 2 trees.
7. My last hydro bill needed extra postage.
6. We're out of hot chocolate.
5. A person shouldn't have the urge to hang Christmas lights in March.
4. I bought this cute purple spring wrap sweater and I don't want to wear a coat over it.
3. The Bailey's is gone.
2. My hair looks like I've been drying it with a blow torch.

....and the #1 reason Spring can arrive....

1. I washed all of the Baby's mittens and they all came out of the dryer missing their mates.

Spring. Please. Come. Soon.

Spring Break

2009-03-13T19:36:00.000-07:00

Spring break has officially begun in the Griswold household.

Which means I'm avoiding my children.

Hey. When's MY spring break?

Exactly.

So I've decided to go on a vacation.

I know.

You all are thinking, "Holy crap, Colleen's really cracked. Maybe I should shoot her an email or something."

Yes. Well.

A comment would be nice.

Just saying. It gets lonely in here sometimes.

Anywhoo, my vacation. I'm heading out tomorrow morning. Or maybe tonight, once the last kid's asleep. It'll be easier to slip out the back door without anyone yelling at me to bring them a drink or a lost stuffy while I'm down there. The Husband is going away to teach a course and won't be back for a few days, but I think the kids will be ok. There's cereal in the pantry.

Where am I headed?

A little place called "No Children Allowed". It's a smallish island off the coast of sanity. Only mothers allowed. The entrance fee has already been paid. (If you're a mother, you know exactly what it's cost.) Stretch marks get you upgraded to a sticky free room. Grey roots earn a ketchup free meal. It is imperative that you pack your bathing suit as they need fuel for the bonfire on opening night. There are no migraines allowed, nor PMS, skinny jeans or perky breasts.

I've packed the bare essentials. My writing notebook, my favourite pen and 8 pounds of chocolate. I'm going to park my backside under a palm tree and finish that stinking book. Which, by the way, I'm not talking to at the moment.

It's complicated.

(How a book for an 8 year old is complicated, I have no idea, but there it is.)

The best thing about the resort is there are plenty of palm trees. And Spring Break is 8 months long.

Oh, and there's this cool force field thingy that makes it impossible for any children to access anyone's email, cell phone, Facebook, twitter or blog to ask if they can have a pop. Or to whine that a sibling is looking at them funny, won't get off the computer or keeps repeating everything they say.

Care to join me?

I'll share my chocolate. Because it's not Lent on the No Children Allowed Island.

Don't forget to tell me what you're packing so I can leave enough room in the back of the eggplant. Don't bother to pack a jacket.

How Not To Perform a Courtesy Call

2009-03-12T09:56:00.000-07:00

I got a call from StarChoice TV yesterday.

A very nice lady on the other end of the line wanted to know why the Husband and I had decided to leave them for greener pastures, a.k.a., Shaw Cable.

I always find it funny when I get those kind of calls. I recognise the company is trying to find out why they've lost a customer. These calls are always as sweet as sugar on a sugar cube, and the person is always so polite and courteous and tries to bend over backwards to get you to come back to their company. But on the flip side, when I'm telling the company that the reason I left them was because of poor customer service.....well, it's kind of ironic. Or moronic. Why is the only good customer service I receive from their company happening after I leave? I'm not sure they understand the whole concept of 'happy customer'.

Regardless, I told the nice lady calling from the satellite company the reasons why we left them. I explained the poor customer service we had received and the problems that they had not rectified. The Husband and I had researched other options and decided to go with cable.

The nice lady was sorry to hear that. And then she ended our call with this:

"Well. Shaw Cable is actually our parent company, so I'm happy we've still got you."

It wasn't a courtesy call after all.

She phoned to mock me.

Birthday Cereal

2009-03-10T12:27:00.000-07:00

It's time for another edition of:

The Princess' 7th birthday brought on a slew of questions from family and friends. Everyone had the same burning question.

"What birthday cereal did she choose?"

She chose a box full of food colouring, refined sugar and highly processed grain and it lasted 2 and a half days.

What makes a box of Lucky Charms a box of birthday fun?

Read on.

A long time ago, on an island far far away, I made a new friend named Shannon. She lived across the street from me, went to our church, and her house wasn't perfect. It was wonderful.

Shannon changed my life.

She introduced me to the 'Birthday Cereal' rule, saving me from years of whiny children in the grocery store.

Ok....saving me from years of whiny children in the cereal aisle in the grocery store.

The rule is simple. The birthday child gets to pick one box of WHATEVER sugar filled, fake fruity, gagging chocolaty, dye laden cereal that their little heart desires. Their mother will not say 'no', although she will inform the checkout clerk the reason she's spending 8 bucks on a box of junk and that she doesn't always let her children rot their teeth on such stuff.

There is a secondary rule. It is to be shared amongst their assorted siblings.

The third rule is that this is the only time in the entire year that their mother will buy junk cereal. No exceptions.

It's brilliant. It eliminates whining for the rest of the year when it comes to begging their saintly mother to purchase junk cereal. Which she won't. And doesn't. Except on their birthday.

Conversations in the cereal aisle revolve around what cereal they're going to choose on their next birthday (even if it's 11 months away). But they don't ask if I'll buy it. When they were younger and they DID ask, I didn't need to answer 'no', but rather, 'on your birthday'.

And it's turned into a great family birthday tradition.

Works for me Wednesday is now being hosted over at We Are THAT Family. Head on over to check out some other great ideas linked on her blog.

'News' worthy?

2009-03-09T10:06:00.000-07:00

I woke up to the radio spewing news about a 911 call made by Octo-Mom. No, I'm not linking to any story about her.

I haven't been following the Octo-Mom story, other than what I've heard on the radio during news reports, or the headlines in the news. I've made a conscious effort not to read and listen to all the media hype surrounding this woman. I even hesitate to write about her on my little blog space.

But I have been driven to point out what I saw this morning.

I was reading news online and there was a news heading about the mom's 911 call. I had heard the earlier snippet on the radio and curiosity got the better of me. I didn't know if she had brought any of her babies home, etc., and I wondered if something had happened. After reading the first paragraph, I quickly found out it was more hype from the media digging up more dirt on her to prove how unstable she is.

I stopped reading. And looked up to the top of the page.

It was a story on the ABC News website.

And it was filed under the 'Entertainment' section.

An unstable woman and her many children's lives are a nation's entertainment.

Last week on the radio, I heard an update from Entertainment Tonight saying that they were going to have a report about Octo-Mom.

Another Canadian soldier died yesterday. But the radio news is reporting a 911 call that Octo-Mom made several months ago.

And that, my friends, makes me shake my head. And I'm embarrassed that I started reading a 'news' story about her.

Does the woman need help? Yes.

Do her children need support? Absolutely.

Does that doctor need his licence taken away? You bet.

Are their lives entertainment? No.

Am I conflicted about blogging about this? Yes. But I hope that more people will look at this news for what it is.

Not as our entertainment.

We have Paris Hilton for that.

Sad Song

2009-03-07T10:11:00.000-08:00

I found a clue to the Princess' need for a cuddle yesterday.

She wrote a song this morning.

Sad Song

If you be just like me
You will see
How my life is truly
So if you like me
You will see
That my life is not
Like your life inside
So be grateful for what you have.

You can imagine that 12 seconds after I found and read the song, the Princess and I were having a little chat.

Seems that Noah and the Princess are on the outs again.

A Cuddle Day

2009-03-06T18:11:00.000-08:00

Bear with me.

I'm going to be self indulgent for a moment in an attempt to justify my presence in the world today.

The sun was shining. Spring was in the air (despite the snow forecast for tonight). It was just the Baby and me in the house, all by ourselves. I had a long list of things to do. And I didn't want to do any of them. I just wanted to sit and write.

And so I did. I let the Baby watch Treehouse TV and I hunkered down with a cup of tea and wrote. And wrote and wrote.

And it felt great.

I had every intention of getting to that list of things to do. I really did. But then the Eldest needed a ride back to school. And then the Baby needed a cuddle.

"Mummm. A tuddle me?"

C'mon. Who could say no to that?

After a long cuddle on the couch, I really should have gone and put another load of laundry in. I should have put the folded laundry away. I should have finished cleaning the girls room.

But I didn't.

Every time I asked the Baby if I could get up from our cuddle on the couch, she would look at me with those blue eyes and say, "No. 'Till tuddle."

And then there were snacks to make, looking at the status of the Boy's fat lip from yesterday's basketball collision, and driving the Eldest to work. Then buying the Princess' birthday cereal and some cool window writing chalk.

Oh, and reading 8 books to the Baby on the couch, one of them 4 times. "Adain, Mummy! Adain!" Then colouring on the windows.

And wouldn't you know it, the Princess requested a cuddle on the couch. "Please Mommy? Just like yesterday? You sit there and I can put my head on your lap and you can rub my back? Can we cuddle...please?" The Baby caught wind of another cuddle in progress - "I tuddle! I tuddle too!" - and turned it into a cuddlefest.

All of a sudden it was 5 o'clock. And I looked around and it looked like I hadn't done a thing today. There are still bits of toys all over the floor and kitchen counter and on the stairs. The laundry is still sitting upstairs, none of it put away. The dishwasher still needs to be unloaded (for the second time today...back off) and that means there are still lunch dishes on the counter. And now dinner dishes.

And here I sit, with the need to justify my contribution to this world today.

I did something for me today. I wrote. And I loved my kids.

Sometimes you just need a cuddle day.

Life of a Griswold

2009-03-04T20:09:00.000-08:00

I had a profound moment yesterday.

Super profound.

Like, epiphany profound.

I'm serious.

I was driving off the Albion Ferry, feeling all warm and cozy. Because of the heater issue in the minivan, not my state of mind.

I've been thinking a lot about life lately. Life. Writing. Vehicles. Turning 40. Engine lights. Whiny children. Walls closing in. Engine lights. Endless laundry. Sick children. Money. Engine lights. Getting away for our 20th anniversary. What the heck is the big deal over that Bachelor show and why so many people are enraged that he turned out to be a creep. Not working. Engine lights.

Oh. Did I mention that the engine light came back on in the car today?

The car that we just have repaired for the third time? Ya. That engine light came back on. Again. For the 4th time.

It started a whole little ball of thought to start unraveling in my brain. When I got to the end of that long thread of thought, there was a note attached.

And the note said:

"Epiphany. {Angels singing}
You are a Griswold.

Roll with it."

It was pretty awe inspiring.

I continued to drive off the ferry and headed home.

And I had a new thought.

"I wonder if there's an exorcism for getting rid of my kind of luck....."

New vs Old

2009-03-03T09:27:00.000-08:00

A few of you might already know this, but I drive a 13 year old purple minivan. Tentative Equinox would beg to differ and says it is more the colour of an eggplant.

Here are eggplants.

That's the colour of my minivan.

It's purple.

It's now 13 years old. It owes us nothing. We bought it about 3 years ago, when it was a mere 10 years old minivan and had no dents. It's easy to drive, albeit fairly warm in the cabin space due to having the heater turned on full force 85% of the time so the engine doesn't overheat. We've had to spend money on repairs over the past 3 years, as old minivan owners are apt to do. New tires. Brakes. Something else big went wrong that cost $800 bucks to fix. I choose to not remember what it was. Something under the hood and involving pine tree needles and computer chips. Please don't ask.

We have another vehicle that we bought almost 4 years ago. We sold our gas guzzling Explorer and bought a 5 seater Dodge SX that is great on gas. It was to be our only vehicle as both the Husband and I worked within minutes of each other. And it was a 5 seater. 5 seat belts. 5 people in our family. Which of course meant I was pregnant 3 months later. Hence the minivan.

When I drive the new(ish) car, I can pretend I'm not turning 40 in two short weeks. It's not full of fishy cracker bits, car seats and reusable shopping bags. There is no stroller in the back. And I am sure it is going to get me from point A to point B.

Or at least that's how it was until the little engine light came on. Off to the repair shop it went, where they performed a little thing called a "diagnostic", which is code for 'charge $95 to the shmuck sitting in the waiting area'.

The "diagnostic" apparently tells the mechanic exactly what area of the vehicle needs to be fixed. Unless your last name is Mahoney and you own a 3 and 3 quarters year old vehicle. Then it will take 3 times (knock on wood) and close to $1,000 dollars to hopefully fix the problem.

Which brings me to my point. I think I have one.

New is not better. But it costs more.

More is not necessarily better or more efficient. But it costs more.

Higher tech is not necessarily more intelligent. But it costs more.

Human beings are letting machines tell us what's wrong. And it costs more. And it's not necessary correct.

Those are all points, I guess, but now that I think about it, I think my real point is it's wrong to have to spend almost a thousand bucks on a 3 and 3 quarters year old car.

And on that point, I think you should head over to Tentative Equinox's blog. She may accuse me of driving an eggplant, and perhaps she needs to use her side view mirrors on a more regular basis, but she sums up my point way better than I could have.

Less should be the new more. And we'd all be happier for it.

Which is good because that means the Mahoney family is going to be ecstatic eating macaroni and cheese for the next month.

The Princess' Party

2009-03-02T10:56:00.000-08:00

What a weekend.

Birthday party, grandparents visiting, and an Irish dancing competition that required leaving the house at 6:20 in the morning. Which of course meant the Princess came down with a fever Sunday night, started vomiting at 3 am and breathed her sicky germs all over me for the rest of the night.

Hence the delay in my promised post on the big party.

The party went well. Next year's will be anywhere but in my house. I think I'll start saving up now.

But I did pull off the party for under $100 bucks. I hope you're impressed.

We did two crafts. I wanted to paint tea pots, but since I couldn't find any under a dollar apiece (and I needed 12) I settled for painting mini terracotta plant pots, which I found 3 for a dollar. I bought pipe cleaners and foam flowers and letters that were sticky on the back. And the girl created these:

Some of the girls spelled out their names on the flowers. It was a great craft.

Total: $16. But I still have a ton of paint left, assorted paint brushes that I wanted for the craft cupboard, some pipe cleaners and a bunch of the foam flowers and letters.

The second craft we made was paper hats. In hindsight, I wish we had skipped it because it was time consuming and the party ended up running late, but they still had fun. It's an easy craft to do, but you need two adults - one to hold the paper in place and one to tape around the child's head with masking tape.

See? Fun!

I purchased fake flowers, assorted pretty stickers and tissue paper for decorations. My mom, from whom I learned all my pack ratting skills, donated a bunch of ribbon to use. Plus I scouted out some ribbon at the Salvation Army and Valentine's clearance at the grocery store.

Total: $12. But, I still have a ton of tissue paper left over that I can use for future gift bag wrapping. Plus, the Princess has a lovely vase full of fake flowers in her room (I know, garish. But she loves them.) There's lots of stickers left that will go in the craft cupboard. And a ton of ribbon. All the girls fell in love with this massive roll of strawberries ribbon I got for 50 cents, and I even have a bunch of that left too.

I had the party between lunch and dinner time, so I didn't have to serve an entire meal. I put out little sandwiches, banana bread (again! Thanks Mom!!), cheesies, shoestring potato chips, a huge fruit platter with strawberries, grapes, and oranges, and fruit juice and pop.

Total: $22. I had lots of the bread left over, as well as fruit and pop.

The cake? You may recall that the Princess wanted a Tinkerbell cake. But I didn't want to spend $30 on a cake that looks great but 90% of it gets thrown out anyways. Someone needs to create a birthday cake that is just made from icing. That would get eaten.

So I went searching around and found paper Tinkerbell baking cups and a great Tinkerbell birthday candle. I bought a confetti cupcake mix, icing and some star decorating candy. The girls all got to decorate their own cupcakes (I already had other decorating sprinkles, etc, in the pantry, so there was quite a selection). The Princess had the Tinkerbell candle on her cupcake, plus 7 sparkly candles. It looked great.

Total: $15. Plus I have lots of the sprinkles left over, baking cups and icing. I wish I could say I still have the candle, but Tinkerbell was decapitated. Accidentally. I don't want to talk about it.

At the end of the party, after present opening, we had a treasure hunt that culminated in the girls finding their goody bags. I wrote out clues, one for each girl and hid them around the house. We did this last year and it was a hit. In fact, it was the first question 3 of the girls asked me when they arrived. "Are we doing the treasure hunt again?"

The clues are easy enough to write. I like to make them rhyme and have something about each girl. Here's an example:

"Fairy Jenny has curly hair.
Her curls shine oh so bright.
She flits and flies right up the stairs,
To look where the Queen sleeps at night."

And then the next clue was hiding under the Princess' pillow. Having each girl on a clue helps for turn taking too. Each girl has a chance to find a clue, which helps when you have a pack of 12 children running from room to room!

Gift bags. Again....thanks to my mom, I got a bunch of fabric and sewed the gift bags. I found some Tinkerbell skipping ropes for $1.50 each, and some Fairy sticker books @ 3 for a dollar. I bought some fuzzy peach candy, gummy frogs, candy rockets and tiny boxes of 'nerds'. I put the candy in zip lock bags.

Total: $32, which means each bag cost $2.70. Plus, there was candy left over that I put out on the snack table. I also used some of the leftover boxes of nerds for an 'unwrap the present game'.

The grand total for a Fairy Princess Tea Party? $97.

I think I did ok. I kept it under $100, plus I have a lot of stuff left over.

The Princess had a great time and so did her friends. And that's really what it's all about.

Oh, and the Baby had a great time too. In there like a dirty shirt. After the last friend left, she sat down on the couch. 30 seconds later....

Panic Mode

2009-02-26T09:03:00.000-08:00

It's Thursday.

IT'S THURSDAY!

The Princess' Party is tomorrow.

TOMORROW, PEOPLE!

Yet here I sit, with 28 things left to do on my list of things to do. And no, blogging isn't one of them. But let's be honest here. Procrastination is the very reason I'm in panic mode. Why wreck a good thing, right?

Ok. So what's left to do?

Uh.....everything. Including figuring out a way to have a Tinkerbell cake that doesn't cost me $30 and sew 8 more goodie bags.

And get stuff for the goodie bags.
And find those stinking tea pots.
And sort the stuff for making hats.
And buy the food.
And finish writing the clues for the treasure hunt.
And wrap the surprises for the unwrap the present game.
And clean the girls room.
And feed the dog and milk the cows and take the sheep out to the back pasture.

Why did I give up beer for Lent?

Birthday Preparations

2009-02-24T10:30:00.000-08:00

The Princess turns 7 this Friday.

Faced with a myriad of possibilities, the Princess decided that a birthday party at home was the most wonderful place on earth to celebrate this momentous occasion. I happen to agree with her....because it's only Tuesday right now and there are not 11 girls dancing to High School Musical in my living room at this moment in time.

The Princess thinks she made the decision, but if I were being honest with you, I would share with you the fact that I played every mom card in my repertoire and also was quite conniving and fairly diabolical in my quest to get her to choose a home party.

Why? Because I'm cheap.

"Bowling? What a great idea......oh....but Jane is having her party there. I suppose your friends wouldn't mind doing the exact same thing AGAIN for your party."

"Gymnastics? Why yes, that WOULD be fun. You won't be able to wear your beautiful princess dress, but you won't mind right?"

"Ice skating? Wow! No one has had a party there! Hey, remember the first time you went skating and fell and had that bruise on your knee for two weeks? And, oh! Those helmets they make you wear! You sure thought those were ugly! Haha."

So a party at home it is. She had her 6th birthday party at home as well. It was awesome if I don't mind saying so. But a group of 7 ish year olds is different that a group of 6ish year olds, so my brain has been in overdrive coming up with crafts and games to play without repeating last year's fun.

The suppressed Early Childhood Educator in me loves home birthday parties. The Anxiety Manipulator in me worries about impressing 7 year olds and what they may share with their mothers about the table decorations and the state of my pantry. I don't pretend that I'm completely sane.

The Cheapo in me has decided to keep track of exactly how much this fiasco is going to cost. I'm into it for $28 dollars so far.

Stay tuned.

And does anyone know where I can find really inexpensive tea cups or teapots that can be painted?

The Fraud Squad

2009-02-23T13:48:00.000-08:00

Remember the good old days when the word 'skimmed' referred to gross blue tinged milk that no one would ever drink except if they were on a diet?

Good times.

Better than what 'skimmed' means in the 21st century.

The Bank called this morning. At 9:04 am. It was the daily usual customer courtesy call for the Husband. You'll be happy to note that they heard my cries to stop calling at 10:03 every morning because the Husband isn't home at that time, so they've most graciously changed the time of call to 9:04 every morning. For the past five workdays....I kid you not. And between you and me, the Husband was actually home on one of those mornings when they called, but I lied and said he wasn't. This is an experiment I am going to see to the finish line.

After I hung up from the courtesy call, the phone rang again. It was the bank again. But not a courtesy call. This one was from their security department.

I got to spend a fair chunk of my morning down at the Bank because my bank card had been 'skimmed' at some time, somewhere, somehow in the previous several months. Someone tried to withdraw some hard earned, HONESTLY OBTAINED money from our account in the middle of last night.

The crazy thing is they did the same thing to a relative of mine as well. We don't use the same banks, don't live close to each other, and it was for the same amount of money.

The creeps. The low lifes. The cretins. The scum.

The Bank was fantastic in dealing with this. I give them props. In fact, it truly sheds new light on the pathetic customer service call scheduling issues. They obviously have all their competent people working in the Fraud Squad and have relegated the staff who originally trained on Commodore 64s to the customer service department. Which really, is a-okay by me. I shall happily answer my phone at 9:04 am for the next month.

The good thing is we're not out any money. But now I have to remember a new password. Oh, the inhumanity of it all.

Karma, you bad money stealing thieves. Karma.

The Almighty TV

2009-02-21T13:39:00.000-08:00

We're into about 3 weeks of cable TV in our living room and I'm beginning to remember why I fought it tooth and nail for 4 years.

It's not like we haven't had a TV with viewing channels. We had an old TV down in the bowels of our house (also known as the future family room in the basement). We had satellite hooked up to that. The beauty of that system was that I never watched it. The Boy only watched it on Friday nights, the Eldest only turned it on to watch Gossip Girls which of course I didn't know about because what kind of mother would let her teenager watch such junk, and the Baby wasn't allowed downstairs at all. The big bonus to the TV being downstairs is that the Princess is as terrified of spiders as her mother. Ever since seeing a massive arachnid wearing army boots and in desperate need of a leg waxing down in the basement, she won't go down there. Ever. Not even to watch Hannah Montana.

The two youngest girls have basically lived their young lives watching DVDs on the computer in the living room. Well, not all of their lives. I still made them eat and go to school and stuff. But their vegging time has been commercial free. Except for the first 20 minutes of advertising on all Disney movies, but you get the idea.

I have discovered that Cable TV has its perks. Add in a PVR and the discovery of Survivorman and the potential for never leaving the couch for 3 months is a distinct possibility.

"What did Survivorman just say, dear?"

"Why, I don't know, darling. I missed that too, due to all the bugs making horrific noises as they surrounded Survivorman while he trouped through the tropical jungle all by himself. Why don't I just grab the remote and press rewind and we'll hear exactly how much energy he's going to get from eating that fire roasted gecko."

Technology is amazing. Did you get that??? We can REWIND a TV show. It's like we're the Jetson's or something.

But about all these commercials.

The first week of watching TV were fairly irritating for the Baby. She'd start yelling at me when her show would stop and a commercial would come on. Like I was messing with her mind and kept switching off her show. She's adjusted and much to my horror, has discovered Dora the Explorer. Who the heck thought it was a good idea to make Dora's voice sound like someone was poking her in the stomach every 4 seconds? And is anyone else out there really creeped out by the Wiggles? What the heck....? I thought Barney was creepy. On the episode we started watching, one of the Wiggles had five o'clock shadow. And they were doing this close up of him and there was grey in his beard and the thought that entered my mind was that even George Clooney would look creepy singing to 3 year olds like that. I turned it off. Quickly.

Today was the first day in four years that I got to experience Saturday morning cartoons. The Princess turns 7 next week and surprisingly, every commercial viewed contained a toy that was her FAVOURITE and she DEFINITELY wanted for her birthday.

Fur Real Friends, My Little Pet Shop sets, Polly Pocket, Barbie's Thumbelina (I swear that advert was on every 4 minutes), and most surprising to me is that K-Tel is still churning out records. CD's to all you young'uns. And the Princess wants them all.

So this is my thought. Next Saturday I should PVR a couple hours of Saturday morning TV. And we'll be busy doing anything but watching TV. Then the NEXT Saturday, the kids can watch the recorded stuff and fast forward through the commercials.

I'm brilliant.

How do you deal with TV in YOUR house?

Honesty

2009-02-20T09:09:00.000-08:00

The Princess has been increasingly 'forgetful' of late. Forgotten blue folder at school, forgotten notes, forgotten sharing books, forgotten home reading....you get the idea. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that she's being forgetful when getting ready to go home at the end of her school day.

Which is really good because I'm not a rocket scientist.

So a little talk was in order. Several little talks, actually, culminating into a big talk in which I looked like a raving lunatic and she just stood there looking at me like I was a raving lunatic.

But it's all good because we figured out the problem.

Raving Lunatic: "There must be a reason you keep forgetting things when you're getting ready to go home!"

Princess: "Well, I have so much to do! I have to change my shoes! And get my coat! And I have to talk to all my friends!"

At least she's honest.

And it explains the raving lunatic part.

Another Poem

2009-02-17T14:59:00.000-08:00

Another poem from the Princess. She wrote this one at school during computer time.

I love the feeling of the wind blowing through my hair.
Such a delight to feel such thing.
It feels so grand.
I love this feeling.
The stars are so delightful in my heart.

The Baby drew on her face with a ball point pen today.

They are very different children.

Dreaming and Cleaning

2009-02-15T09:58:00.000-08:00

As my 40th birthday is gearing up to sucker punch me in the stomach, I'm finding myself pondering the dark and cobwebby corners of my life.

Yet another place I haven't cleaned in quite some time. If I was being honest with you, I'd tell you that I really haven't done a good cleaning since the big 3-0. But admitting that in a public forum would be stupid.

So what have I found as I've been dusting out the cobwebs of my mind? A whole lot of stuff. I am apparently a bit of a pack rat in my mental life as well.

I suppose that's why God invented 40th birthdays. Well, in today's world. Statistically, 200 years ago God invented 40th birthdays for my children to remember to put a spring of flowers on my grave to mark the anniversary of my death. And that, my friends, can really put everything into perspective for a person who's whining about turning 40 when she actually should be thanking God for modern medicine and well, heck, the discovery of a thing called germs.

But about this cleaning of my cranium.

There's a lot of stuff up there in the 'future dreams and aspirations' corner. I couldn't believe what I've found. Just when I think I found the last of it, more unattained dreams appear out of nowhere.

Lest you think I'm about to publish these unmet aspirations, fear not. I may be old, but I'm not as stupid as I look. Telling you that my dream of traveling to Prince Edward Island so I could kneel at the window in Anne's room in the house of Green Gables, pretending that a storm is raging and realizing that I really do love Gilbert...yet he's dying....SOB!....is a dream from about 25 years ago, so I don't even know why that's still up here anyways. Should have gotten rid of it when I took that last load of stuff out.

The point is that I've had a lot of dreams that I thought would be realized by my 40th birthday. And they haven't. I'm discovering things I haven't thought about in years. 40th birthdays seem to have a way of doing that. All of a sudden, life seems to be gaining speed at an atrocious speed and I'm starting to get a bit carsick.

The other thing I'm discovering is that I dreamed about a lot of 'things', like a big fancy house or a 10 year old minivan. And I'm finding that letting go of these dreams is pretty easy. They aren't really that important to me anymore and it's easy to toss them out my left ear and keep on sorting.

It's the personal things and accomplishments that I lament over. I find myself mulling over them at length, thinking about when those dreams started and why I haven't fulfilled them. Where life has taken me and the reasons they remain a dream not realized.

I've had to throw out a dream or two. Let's face it. I'm never going to be doctor. Some dreams I've polished up, taken a hammer to, and banged out their dents. Some I've picked up, smiled at and lovingly put back on the shelf, knowing that it's yet not their time but they will one day have their day in the sun.

I've pulled a few out and placed them on my 'to do' list. Given myself a stern talking to and told myself there will be no beer at the end of the day if I don't start working on them. I'm a mom. I know how to motivate a person.

And I'm learning to be grateful for some dreams left unfulfilled. Now that I'm old and wise, I can look back and see that some unfulfilled dreams have led me down new paths that have allowed other dreams to flourish.

So I'm off to make waffles for my brood. Which is pretty fantastic. I just remembered that for years I had a dream of standing in a kitchen in our own home, listening to music as I made brunch for the family. Peace. Sun streaming through the window. Coffee brewing. A simple moment in time that for years I never though would happen.

I think that's what I'll do next. Make a list of dreams fulfilled.

I know it will be a long list.

A Picky Eater

2009-02-12T09:00:00.000-08:00

I took the 40 pound bag of dog food over to my parents. They have a lovely golden retriever, who apparently is not as fussy as our 90 pound mutt. Their dog likes the food.

My mom walked into her kitchen this morning only to discover the massive bag of food sitting on her counter. When she questioned the reason for this, she was told that my youngest sister had put it up on the counter because their two cats wouldn't stop eating it right from the bag.

Apparently there is nothing wrong with the dog food.

My mom gave me a small bag of the dog food they feed their dog. Last night we fed it to our Dog, all mixed up with macaroni and cheese and ground beef.

That stupid (?) Dog licked all the macaroni and ground beef off of the dog food. There's not a drop of it in her food bowl. But all the dog food is still in there.

Does anyone know of a dog food that tastes like ground beef and cheese?

Customer Service

2009-02-10T09:31:00.000-08:00

The Bank has started calling again.

The calls started last Thursday. Between 10:03 and 10:16 am each morning, the phone rings and they ask for the Husband. I tell them he's not home, they ask when would be a more convenient time to call, I tell them to call in the evening and they say they will make note of it on his account. Then they call the next day between 10:03 and 10:16 am.

But a strange thing has happened. Between you and me, I'm a bit worried.

I can find no joy in keeping track of when they call. I cannot mock the poor soul that has been scheduled to call our house between 10 and 10:15 every morning. I cannot find the energy needed to even try and explain my frustrations to the person on the other end of the phone.

I'm scared.

Do you think I have CRAPPeD*?

*Customer service Representatives Afflict Psychosis over the Phone Disorder?

I googled the symptoms:

Breaking into a cold sweat at the sound of ringing phones.
Elevator muzac induced hives.
Waking up at 3 am in a cold sweat with the inexplicable desire to bury all your phones in the backyard under the pale moonlight and with a clove of garlic.
Making the sign of the cross when you hear the words, "All our representatives are currently busy helping other customers."
Inability to say, "I want to speak with your supervisor," or "Your company sucks and I am never buying anything you sell ever never ever!"
A feeling of confusion and disorientation when a customer service representative solves your problem on the first phone call.
An obvious lack of joy when slamming a phone down in disgust....if you even feel disgust anymore.
Unexplainable twitching when hearing the words, "Gateway", "back order" and "Level 2"
Inability to make fun of poor customer service in a public forum.
Urge to drink at 10 am.

I've got them all.

And I don't know how to find the joy.

Help me, fellow readers. I cannot afford psychotherapy. I can barely afford the beer.

We can't let them win.

Help me get the joy back.

Help.