The Difference Between The Husband and Me

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.

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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??

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, the cusp of puberty. Good times.

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

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

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

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

The Princess and The Monkey sure like that stuff.

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

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

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

'Tis the stuff that summer memories are made of.

The New Hamster

We added a new addition to our family.

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

Once The Princess started resorting to this:


The Boy thought a hamster was a good idea too.

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

Enter Butterscotch.

Baby Butterscotch likes to sleep. Anywhere.


Anyone's hand will do.

Or lap.


Or perhaps under the odd chin.

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

Tonight, The Princess came up to me and said,

"Do you know who my favourite pet is?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Butterscotch.

Welcome to the family.

Well, Hello There

Days and weeks have passed.

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

But no blogging.

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

Or write about it.

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

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

And so I didn't blog.

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

And so I didn't blog.

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

And so I didn't blog.

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

And so I didn't blog.

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

And so I didn't blog.

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

And so. I've blogged.

I'm free Tues, Ms. K.

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

Ding Ding Ding!

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

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.