Going on a Treasure Hunt Mahoney Style

A clean home is the cornerstone to creating a serene and loving atmosphere in one's abode.

Cobwebs have no place, wood should shine and dust bunnies should be placed on a shoot to kill basis.

So, last week, or maybe it was last month, the Husband mentioned to me that he discovered a new ecosystem living under our living room couches. Actually he said, "It needs to be cleaned under there."

Translation: "YOU need to clean under there."

Irate as a person MIGHT get with that, I didn't because I'm loving and all that stuff, so I just chose to pretend I didn't hear him.

And then I thought about how long it had been since I had cleaned under there.

Ewww.

In my defense, I lived my entire married life with couches that were flat on the floor. No legs, nothing could get underneath, no reason to clean. But these new couches in our living room have legs. So it's totally not my fault that I don't remember to clean under them. I was conditioned for 15 years not to care.

AND! For the first while of having these couches, there was no baby or toddler shoving stuff under them.

AND FURTHERMORE! For the longest while, we didn't have a long haired 70 pound black fur ball with legs in the house either.

These true and factual statements really do vindicate me of any blame. It's not my fault I neglected this one tiny piece of housekeeping. Besides, this American economy thingy has really got me worried and how's a person suppose to remember to clean under a couch when you're concerned about the second great depression?

But in order to keep this real, I will confess that I figured out the last time time I cleaned under the couches.

Last December. Yes, go ahead. Mock me. Point your fingers my way and go tell your neighbours that I'm a lousy excuse for a domestic goddess.

So, exactly what can accumulate under one's couches in the short time period of, uh, 9 months? Yes, in the same amount of time that it takes to grow a baby, this is what you, too, could discover under your chesterfields.

Ironically, an I Spy Book, an Easter egg, assorted dog bones, assorted plastic toys, two dog kongs, a colouring pages set, an unused (thank gosh) diaper, an orthotic shoe insert (???), an empty gift wrap roll, a comb, assorted hair accessories, a pencil, a princess Pez dispenser, a DVD cover, books, the handle of a phone, a Smarties box, a plastic bag, unused band aids, a newspaper delivery notice, Save-On-Foods coupons, a doll's pacifier, and the lid from a toy bin. I had been looking for that. Oh, and 18 pounds of dog hair.

I wish I had remembered to take 'after' pictures because it would have be nice to prove that I actually did clean up that mess and didn't just shove the couches back in their place in a moment of overwhelming sadness. I suppose I could go and take some pictures now but really, that's too much work. And to be honest, there's probably crap under there already and I'd have to clean it again before I took pictures. I'm not really into that.

The small part of my brain that's intellectual and thought provoking wants me to make an analogy between the state of the floors hidden under my couches and the state of my life. But I just drink beer and keep that part of my brain intoxicated. It all works out.

Blues Skies, Butterflies and Monkeys Eating Bananas

Ha.

Made you look.

This entry has nothing to do with butterflies but I'm interested in how many Google hits I'll get just having the word butterflies in the title. Call it an experiment.

What I'm really pondering right now is all the stuff I've been reading on ProBlogger http://www.problogger.net/ . Because I want to make a million dollars off of this little blog, as you can see from all the advertising I do.

Ok, that's totally not why I blog, but I'm interested in the vastness of the blogging world. My sister's blog http://tentativeequinox.wordpress.com/ has gotten tons (or hundreds of kilos for you metric people) of Google hits to her blog all because of a little picture she posted of a cute Muppet. Who new.

While I try to make sense of all that's written about making my blog the best, my stomach starts flipping around because I feel like I'm in high school again. All the cool people from high school have morphed into the cool people with awesome blogs that get gobs of comments, and I'm the blog that's standing over in the corner at the party knowing no one will ask me to dance and even if they did it would be because their buddies had a bet on who could dance with the shortest girl there and let me tell you, no one wants a pity dance. Not even me.

So I start to think about all the 'things' I'm suppose to do, like link to other people's blogs and tell them I've put up a link, and then they'll check out my blog and then they'll tell two people, and then THEY'LL tell two people, and so on, and so on and so on.

But then they might read my blog.

So basically I'm a small statured walking oxymoron.

I want people to read my blog. But I don't want people to read my blog. I've never preached that I make much sense. Ask my children. Or my husband. He'll give you a word or two on that subject.

That little ProBlogger site also yells about the need to be a prolific blogger. I can do that. I haven't done that. I will do that.

I am challenging myself this week. This week, I will blog every day. *crickets chirping*

O...k....how about this? This week, I will not only blog every day, but I will award a PRIZE to the person who leaves the bestest, most insightful comment on one of my posts. Yes....another ProBlogger tip. Everyone likes getting something for nothing. That's not the tip. The tip is something about generating 'buzz' or something like that. I just know everyone likes getting something for nothing, or at the very least, very little effort. I'll let you know what the prize is once I know what it is. It will totally be worth playing for. Honest.

Rules:

1. Said contest ends Sunday night, 11pm, Pacific Standard Time.
2. No swears.
3. No short stature comments. These will be deleted.
4. You must write your comments and POST them in the comments section. "But I talked to you on the phone this week" doesn't count.
5. Post no bills.

So, tune in tomorrow, when I will be discussing the finer points of needing to clean under one's living room couches more than once a year.

There will be pictures.

How a Trip to the Salvation Army Turned Into a Shovel Upside the Head Moment

Our eldest child, hereafter known as EC, has FINALLY decided that she is to be Alice in Wonderland for Halloween. I mean, really. It's officially autumn. I'm already on to Christmas planning and she's just decided on Halloween? Please.

Sarcasm is a wonderful thing.

Off we went to the Salvation Army to see what we could piece together. EC is quite the seamstress/fashion designer so I figured it was a good first step.


We had some great luck. We found the material she needed to make both the dress and the apron. But anyone familiar with Disney's version of Alice in Wonderland will know that she needs a poofy skirt. Oh, heck, I'll save you some memory cells. Here ya go.

I had the brilliant idea to head over to the old bridesmaid and wedding dresses to see if we could find a crinoline we could use.

As I searched through the wedding dresses, I was thinking, "Someone wore this? Someone actually picked out this dress as 'the one' and wore it in public? Some bride loved THIS? EC! Look at this one! Oh my gosh, these are old."

And then God laughed.

I looked down and saw some familiar lace. Time stood still. I reached up and shoved assorted wedding dresses aside. There it was in all its glory.

My wedding dress.

Not MY wedding dress, but the exact same wedding dress that I wore in 1989. The wedding dress that I knew was 'the one' the moment I put it on. The dress that made me feel like a bride. The dress that I chose to wear when I made vows to my Hubby before God and our family and friends.

To add injury to insult, EC looked at the price tag and it's original price of $35 was crossed off and it had been marked down to $27.99.

I paid $800 for that dress.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And within your generation. EC thinks my wedding dress is ridiculous. Well, let's be honest. The 80's was a time when more was good and big was better. Ridiculous is a pretty good description for the entire fashion era.

But there's something about adding memories and meaning to an outdated piece of clothing that makes it beautiful. And I started thinking about all the hopes and dreams that were attached to the wedding dresses that I thought were ugly. I could start to look past the massive bows and puffy sleeves and see them in all their glory.

I thought about how someone could be coming along and laughing at my wedding dress. Buying it only to hack up and use pieces of it as a Halloween costume.

We left the wedding dresses. Whole and intact. Left them to reminisce amongst themselves of a time when they were loved and had the great privilege of holding a woman's hopes and dreams in their folds of lace and embroidery.

And we bought a Snow White costume and hacked that up instead.

Sleep and Airplanes

I was in the middle of a lovely dream last night, where the airport was conveniently located next to my house. I was just about to board a plane when I awoke with a start.

Startled awake by the sounds of snoring.

It wasn't the Hubby.

It was the DOG.

And not the 70 pound dog.

It was the 7 pound dog. Sawing logs. In a large forest. With a chain saw.

I've been woken up many a time in my history of sleep.....snoring Husband, crying baby, barfing child, water breaking...you know...they usual stuff. But now I am being woken up by the 14 year old dog snoring away?

By the eighth tree, he took a smoke break and I got back to boarding that plane.

Turns out it's great to have an airport right next door because the pilot will wait for you to run home and grab the child's blanket you forgot to pack.

If I got more sleep I wouldn't forget these things in the first place.

Some Randon Pictures (and some words too)

In a vain attempt to snazzy up this little blog, I shall now delve into some wonderful Kodak moments of my daily life.

These Kodak moments were taken with a Canon. Which may explain any lameness that follows. You've been warned.

This

is Bryn's new pillow. That is Bear sleeping on Bryn's new pillow.

This

is where Bryn hangs out now that Bear has Bryn's new pillow to sleep on.

This

is what took 1 and a half hours to peel and cut up to make apple butter. My parents have many apple trees in their back yard.

I listened to Maroon 5 's latest CD (twice) while peeling all those apples. I think Maroon 5 needs to find a less crappy girlfriend. A man shouldn't have to love a pillow.

This

may look like just a heavy book lying on the floor in the livingroom. But if you look closely, you can see the squashed and very dead spider underneath. The book has been lying there since 8:25 am. I do spiders like I do dead fish. I don't. When the hubby gets home, he can check that out for me.

It was a day full of wild and crazy fun in our house today. Keeley ended up needing a bit of a rest.

And these

are apple strudel muffins.

Mom. I need more apples.

Oops

Keeley is talking up a storm lately. I love this stage of twoyearoldhood. Every day brings new words into her repertoire.

Today's was 'frick'.

As in she spilled her milk and she said, "Ahhhhhh. FRICK!"

Oops.

Let's just say she didn't learn that from the hubby. As he so duly pointed out at dinner.

Crap. I mean oops.

A 6 Year Old's Perspective

Last night Eilidh informed me that a new boy will be starting in her grade 1 class today. I'll call him Joe.

"Ms. Teacher told us he uses a wheelchair so we have to make sure we push in our chairs all the time so he can get by," Eilidh informed me.

We had a conversation about some of the different reasons a person needs to use a wheelchair. Wheelchairs have been in our topic of conversation of late because my cousin's wife just won gold and broke a world record at the Paralympics.

This morning Eilidh said, "Mom, I'm still going to like Joe being in our class. I don't mind that he's a boy."

Amen sister. Amen.

The Dog Whisperer

So I'm down in the basement shredding 8 years of paperwork with my handy dandy new paper shredder and I thought to myself, "Dang this is rather tedious. Why don't I turn on the tv and see what's playing on this sunny Saturday afternoon."

Not much.

After an hour or so of shredding about 18 trees worth of old bank statements, I switched the channel and discovered the Dog Whisperer. I've read one of his books that I should have just bought because it cost $13 in late fines at the local library, but that being another story for another blog about my tendency to put things off....well, heck. I guess that does kinda coincide with the whole 8 years of unshredded paperwork. Hmmm.

Back to the Dog Whisperer. Wow. I could use a few sessions with him. I'm thinking he could do a world of good for my kids. If I could get them to listen to me with just a look and hand gesture that doesn't involve a middle finger the world would be a happy place. For me.

The thing that bugs me about the show is he fixes the oddly neurotic dog (I mean, really, who would have ever thought a dog could have an eating disorder) in a fifteen minute segment. You have to listen really hard to catch the voice over of '21 days later' while you watch the now perfect dog being handed back over to its owner.

15 minutes fixes in my life amount to chocolate fixes, sugar fixes, salt fixes and swearing behind a locked bathroom door to relieve stress fixes. Perhaps I'm just bitter. But it does explain the 10 pounds I cannot seem to lose.

Maybe that's what I need.

The Mommy Whisperer. (I'm getting a wee bit excited just typing those words).

The Mommy Whisperer would have to be good looking. Duh. And have a dreamy, soothing voice. And be carrying liquor.

He could teach me patience when confronted by an irate 16 year old while a 2 year creates artwork on the wall. He could show me the honour in stretch marks up past my navel and in driving a 12 year old purple minivan. The Mommy Whisperer could teach me to reason with a 14 year old boy on the benefits of hygiene and help me to see the light in regards to my own diet and exercise.

He wouldn't leave until I was perfect and then he could hand me back to my family all shiny and wonderful. I'd bake cookies everyday that I didn't hoard and eat myself. I'd always have the laundry folded and cook wholesome and delicious meals that do not contain the food group of macaroni and cheese.

It's a dream. Or a nightmare. I'm not sure which.

But hey, if he brings liquor.......

Gardening 101

My mom is laughing at the title.

Both my parents have green thumbs yet neglected to pass that gene on to me. They managed to pass on the obscenely early grey hair gene. Thanks for that.

But I persevered today and at the ripe age of 39 years old, I planted my very first daffodil bulbs.

This is a monumental day for me. Not only did I plant bulbs for the first time, but I also PLANNED something for next spring.

Every spring that comes along ends up with me looking forlornly at all the wonderful gardens full of yellow daffodils, MOCKING me and my lack of planning skills. Not this year, baby. I mean.....not NEXT year, baby. Next year I will have yellow flowers.

Well, assuming that I planted those bulbs correctly and they actually grow. To be perfectly honest, I'm not holding my breath. I know my mom won't be.

Gardening and planning. What a day.

It's 11 pm. Do you know where your children are?

Yes. I do.

Which is why I'm sitting in front of the computer, not going to bed.

Because I know there's a 6 year old in my bed, sweating away, limbs sprawled out in all directions, just waiting to leech her sleeping self onto me as soon as I go to bed. Leech. And sweat.

You see, I'm a pushover. I cave in to the misty, forlorn, "my daddy has gone away again and left me with you", sad, big blue eyes of a 6 year old, just like Patrick caves at the sight of bacon. How can I tell her she can't sleep in my bed while her daddy's away when she looks at me like that?

If I were stoic, I would be relishing in the thought of a sleep filled night with no snoring. (Sorry Heath. I couldn't help myself.) But I'm not stoic, I have no spine, I caved, and now my slumber will be comparable to sleeping in a sauna with an octopus that has massive suction cups on its flailing appendages and is wearing army boots.

Motherhood. Not for the faint of heart.

An Itch

I love being at home full time. Not that most people would gather that from the vast majority of my posts but I really do mean it. I'm not good at the whole high stress thing. I'm not a good multi-tasker when it comes to juggling work, children, house, and yes let's not forget relationship with the hubby.

"The plan" is for me to go back to work when Keeley goes to school. Most days I'm quite fine with this.

But once in a while, I get an itch.

I dropped Eilidh off into her new grade one class. She was so proud to be showing me her beautiful new classroom. As I looked around the room, it came out of nowhere. A gorgeous little boy. And I wished I could stay and be a part of his learning in amongst this group of children.

I admit, I looked quite jealously at the classroom aide. She didn't look thrilled to be there. I wanted to be in her shoes. I'd be smiling.

But I walked out of the room (with Keeley screaming because she wanted to stay) and sauntered home in the sunshine, planning my day and all I wanted to accomplish for my family.

Work will always be there. And it's best to be at home right now.

But it does get itchy at times.

Sunrise....Sunset.....

This little girl.......

Is now this big girl........

And I left her sitting in a room, with fear on her face, mouthing to me "STAY! STAY! PLEASE!" as the teacher told the parents to leave. It was time for the teacher to take the children to their new grade one classrooms.

I faked a big smile and mouthed back to her, "You'll be fine! It's ok!! Have fun!!"

And I booked it out of the classroom, not able to walk down the hall with the other parents to check the lists to find out what class she was in. The tears started. How did my baby get old enough to be left alone in school ALL DAY?? Yet another milestone reached in her life.

I did get it together after a few minutes to go back and check the list. Eilidh has the teacher she wanted and her bestest friend is there with her. It's good. All good. But I still can't believe my little girl is not so little anymore.

There's this girl too.....

Who is now looking at these........

Because this is her last year of high school.

There are lots more tears to be shed over her.

And let's not forget this one......

Who has grown a full inch in the last month, half of that over the long weekend. Sigh.

At least I have this one.....

Still at home with me.

We're going to go for a walk in the September sunshine, where you can feel the change in the air.

It's everywhere. Change. In the weather, the trees, the air.....my children.

Today is a tough day to be a Pisces.