Ouch Then Huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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....