The Monkey's New 'Do

The Monkey Baby has a new 'do.

Again.

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

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

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

Weird hair.

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

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

She's our Monkey.

Baby's Birthday Bangs

3 years ago today, I birthed a monkey.

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

A Monumental Day

My baby graduated from high school yesterday.

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

Wasn't it?

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

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

Yes. I cried.

The Eldest and The Boyfriend. The future is theirs.

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

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

And here is the result:

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

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

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

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

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


Apparently, the day was exhausting for everyone.

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

No. The Baby really never sleeps in late.

Can you guess what this is?

Here are the mug shots.

My Baby with a mullet. Nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh.

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

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

*smack upside the head*

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

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

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

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

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

At least, an attitude change by me.

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

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

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

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

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

Today I am choosing to be grateful.

How about you?

Autopilot

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

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

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

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

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

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

But with less moaning and dragging of assorted body parts.

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

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

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

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

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

Change is bad.

And I think those bungee cords just snapped.

Random Thoughts of the Week

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

Top Ten Random Thoughts of the Week

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Almighty TV

We're into about 3 weeks of cable TV in our living room and I'm beginning to remember why I fought it tooth and nail for 4 years.

It's not like we haven't had a TV with viewing channels. We had an old TV down in the bowels of our house (also known as the future family room in the basement). We had satellite hooked up to that. The beauty of that system was that I never watched it. The Boy only watched it on Friday nights, the Eldest only turned it on to watch Gossip Girls which of course I didn't know about because what kind of mother would let her teenager watch such junk, and the Baby wasn't allowed downstairs at all. The big bonus to the TV being downstairs is that the Princess is as terrified of spiders as her mother. Ever since seeing a massive arachnid wearing army boots and in desperate need of a leg waxing down in the basement, she won't go down there. Ever. Not even to watch Hannah Montana.

The two youngest girls have basically lived their young lives watching DVDs on the computer in the living room. Well, not all of their lives. I still made them eat and go to school and stuff. But their vegging time has been commercial free. Except for the first 20 minutes of advertising on all Disney movies, but you get the idea.

I have discovered that Cable TV has its perks. Add in a PVR and the discovery of Survivorman and the potential for never leaving the couch for 3 months is a distinct possibility.

"What did Survivorman just say, dear?"

"Why, I don't know, darling. I missed that too, due to all the bugs making horrific noises as they surrounded Survivorman while he trouped through the tropical jungle all by himself. Why don't I just grab the remote and press rewind and we'll hear exactly how much energy he's going to get from eating that fire roasted gecko."

Technology is amazing. Did you get that??? We can REWIND a TV show. It's like we're the Jetson's or something.

But about all these commercials.

The first week of watching TV were fairly irritating for the Baby. She'd start yelling at me when her show would stop and a commercial would come on. Like I was messing with her mind and kept switching off her show. She's adjusted and much to my horror, has discovered Dora the Explorer. Who the heck thought it was a good idea to make Dora's voice sound like someone was poking her in the stomach every 4 seconds? And is anyone else out there really creeped out by the Wiggles? What the heck....? I thought Barney was creepy. On the episode we started watching, one of the Wiggles had five o'clock shadow. And they were doing this close up of him and there was grey in his beard and the thought that entered my mind was that even George Clooney would look creepy singing to 3 year olds like that. I turned it off. Quickly.

Today was the first day in four years that I got to experience Saturday morning cartoons. The Princess turns 7 next week and surprisingly, every commercial viewed contained a toy that was her FAVOURITE and she DEFINITELY wanted for her birthday.

Fur Real Friends, My Little Pet Shop sets, Polly Pocket, Barbie's Thumbelina (I swear that advert was on every 4 minutes), and most surprising to me is that K-Tel is still churning out records. CD's to all you young'uns. And the Princess wants them all.

So this is my thought. Next Saturday I should PVR a couple hours of Saturday morning TV. And we'll be busy doing anything but watching TV. Then the NEXT Saturday, the kids can watch the recorded stuff and fast forward through the commercials.

I'm brilliant.

How do you deal with TV in YOUR house?

Another Poem

Another poem from the Princess. She wrote this one at school during computer time.

I love the feeling of the wind blowing through my hair.
Such a delight to feel such thing.
It feels so grand.
I love this feeling.
The stars are so delightful in my heart.

The Baby drew on her face with a ball point pen today.

They are very different children.

An Uneventful Day Can Be a Beautiful Thing

I took the Baby to the Loonie Gym again.

We had a great time. Running, climbing, jumping, crawling and almost perfecting the balance beam that's 2 inches off the floor. The Baby, not me.

You would have been proud of me. I even ignored the bossy mother who felt it was her duty to reprimand the Baby when she cut in front of her child waiting to use the slide. Even though I was right there and was already taking the Baby's hand and pulling her out of line while simultaneously telling her she wasn't allowed to bud in line. And I won't even bother to mention that the mom then just let her child stand at the bottom of the slide so the Baby couldn't go down even though I was lovingly saying, "Wait, Baby, you can't go down until the girl moves away. You don't want to hurt her."

I can be a really great parent some days.

Then off to the local mall to purchase THREE birthday presents. The Princess has 2 birthday parties to attend this weekend, then one more next week. I usually take her along to choose the gift, but even with placing my usual $15 limit on a gift, I wasn't too thrilled with the thought of spending $50 on toys. I wanted to see if I could find some appropriate gifts that were cheaper. I knew the Princess wouldn't be a condusive addition in this endevor.

I hit the jackpot. I found some really neat craft kits on sale for $4.99! What 7 year old girl doesn't like a craft kit? I was thrilled that I was able to get three gifts for the price I usually spend on one.

Then the Baby fell asleep in her stroller. That NEVER happens. I was able to leisurely finish my shopping and stand in a long line to pay. But I didn't care. The Baby was asleep as opposed to her usual sampling of assorted chocolate bars so conveniently placed at a two year old's level.

And to top off the morning, the minivan didn't start overheating until I turned onto our street.

All in all, a lovely morning.

And This Is What Happens When.....

So the Husband and I are going out tomorrow night.

A real date.

More to the point, we're going out with a couple that we haven't been in contact with for, oh, about 6 years.

Enter two zits on my upper lip.

Yes, God. I am trying to work on my pathetic anxieties about my personal appearance. It's not like I've got a lot to work with, here. Well. Actually I have way too much to deal with around my arse, hips and thighs and not nearly enough on the upper half of my body, but you know what I'm saying. With a 40th birthday looming, no....STALKING me, the wrinkles and basically everything sliding down my body at an alarming rate is really quite enough to keep me humble.

The zits were really not necessary.

And for the record, this is what happens when you're being neurotic in front of the mirror and have left the 14 year Boy in charge of things.

I filled up that sugar bowl yesterday.

Ode to Bear Dog

When the Husband and I had been married for a brief 5 years and we were a month away from completing the gestation of the Boy, a small ball of brown fluff joined our little family.

The puppy was christened, "Teddy Bear" by the almost 3 year old Eldest daughter. He did look like a teddy bear as a puppy. But the name was soon shortened. To Bear. All 7 pounds of him.

Bear had a few names. Bear dog, Beary.....one of the Husband's friends affectionately called him 'Punt' and bugged Hubby about getting a real dog one day. And my 6' 1" Husband called the dog Buddy and Buddy Boy. Only the Husband called him that.

For 14 and a half years, Bear worshipped the hallowed ground that the Husband walked upon. 14 and a half years of greeting the Husband as he walked in the door after a long day at work. 14 and a half years of the Husband letting him out to pee just before heading to bed. Years of cuddling on laps, dancing for treats, play wrestling with the cat, throwing up in car rides that were longer than 10 minutes, and carrying around a stuffed animal that was half his size.

As the years passed, Bear became the part of the family that seemed like it had always been there. Been there through moves, family additions, sadness, happiness, holidays, and trips to Grandma's house. As time moved on, and Bear grew older, he became the dog who was curled up by the fire, or under the table in the living room, or curled up by the door, waiting for the Husband to return home.

The past few weeks, he became the dog who was curled up under our bed, sleeping most of the day away. But no matter where he slept, he was still in the kitchen at the first sound of a plate being scraped or the pantry door being opened because that's where his cookies were kept. He still had it in him to steal the 90 pound dog's bones. And Bryn, the massive black dog would stand there, towering over Bear, looking forlornly at her bone as that 7 pound dog tried to chew on it with his last few teeth.

On Friday, I cooked up some bits of chicken for the Bear to eat. When he walked away from his little food dish, chicken untouched, I knew the day was near.

On Saturday, when he wouldn't come out from under our bed, I called for the Husband. And the Husband lovingly brought him out and we bathed that little dog who was too tired to get up to go outside to go to the bathroom. We put him in his bed by the fire and blow dried his hair till he was warm and dry.

Saturday night was a night for 'last time's. His last cuddle on the Husband's lap. His last sleep by the fire, his last drinks of water through a plastic syringe because he was too weary to drink from a bowl brought to his lips. It was a night of the Husband lying next to him by the fire, with the Bear dog lying there and looking lovingly at the Husband who was his best buddy in the world. And the Eldest and I sitting close by, petting him at times and letting him know it was ok to go to sleep.

And in the wee hours of Sunday morning, he passed away. A life well lived. And our family feels different.

A little dog who's bark was as irritating as nails down a chalk board. A dog who had horrible breath. A dog who looked like a little old man, liver spots showing through his patchy hair, his nails clicking on the linoleum as he walked through the kitchen. A little dog who I had to let out 30 times a day and who's yap had grown so high pitched it hurt your ears when it went off at the sound of any bump or thump in a 2 mile radius. A little dog who was becoming incontinent. A little dog who used to lick the Husband's feet. As soon as the Husband would take off his socks, that dog would be over there like a shot and his pink tongue would be jutting out between the Husband's toes.....to everyone's disgust but the Husband's. A little dog who still enjoyed life's simple pleasure of toe jam.

A little dog who helped teach my children about life's circle. Of life and death. Of grieving and remembering. Of life continuing on, despite the little hole that is now there.

We buried Bear in my parent's back yard, among other loved family pets. As the Husband shoveled dirt back into the hole, the Baby stood close by, waving at the hole and said, "Bye Bear! Bye Bear!" The Princess stood there with tears streaming down her face, and I stood there, my arms around the Boy and the Eldest.

The sun was shining brightly. Ribbons of clouds brushed against the blue sky as we said goodbye and the Princess told Bear to have lots of fun in Heaven.

Bye, Bear dog, you will be missed.

Junior Cooking

Santa brought a junior cooking set for the Baby this past Christmas. It was a pretty cool set, if I do say so myself. All the utensils are actually accurate measurements and it even came with a little cookbook and apron.

Too cute.

It was for ages 3 and up. No, I'm not a bad parent for allowing my 2 and a half year old to access a toy made for a 3 year old. The set also came with an icing bag and assorted tips, so they were a potential choking hazard. Around these parts, the only hazard was that the Baby opened the bag and scattered them across the floor for the 90 lb dog to have for a snack. After prying the dog's jaw open to retrieve the last piece she was hiding under her tongue, I put them away out of the Baby's reach.

But back to the cooking set. I'm pretty sure Santa knew that the Baby wasn't quite ready to use the cooking stuff for 'realsie' but that the Princess would. And boy, Santa was right. The Princess was all over that little cooking set like a 15 year old drools over Edward the vampire.

And so a decision had to be made. What was she going to bake first? The Apple Cinnamon Muffins? The Molasses Surprise? The Peanut Butter Cookies? The Strawberry Delight?

No. She chose the one cake recipe: Maple Syrup Pudding Cake. It wasn't a difficult choice. There's only the 5 recipes in total in the book anyways.

I read the recipe to make sure we had all the ingredients, then looked at the instructions. Which included bringing sugar, water and syrup to a boil on the stove, then pooring (their spelling mistake, not mine) it over the cake mix.

And this was my thought about that. "At what point does someone putting together a children's cookbook with only 5 recipes think it's a good idea for one of those recipes for YOUNG CHILDREN AGES 3 AND UP to include BRINGING SUGAR AND WATER TO A BOIL, THEN POURING IT, and then PICKING UP the cake pan that's filled to the top with just boiled syrup and place it in the oven????"

I tried to convince the Princess that perhaps the Strawberry Delight would be a better option. I liked the directions for that recipe better. Because all young children understand concepts such as, "Incorporate eggs" and "add ingredients to ingredients in step 2 intermittently". My favourite part of that recipe is when it tells the child to take the dough and "roll into good sized balls." I don't even know what size that means. Good sized for throwing? Sticking up your nose? Building a snowman? I have no idea.

But of course the Princess would have nothing to do with the Strawberry Delight. Or the Molasses Surprise. Don't know why, but that name didn't really call out to the kid. No....2 cups of brown sugar mixed with maple syrup sounded right up her alley and SHE was going to bake that. Which translated into she was going to measure the flour and sugar and I was going to bake the rest, eat the only piece of it, and then schedule a dentist appointment for the two new cavities I felt growing.

The pudding cake sat on the counter for two days, untouched, and then I threw it out into the garbage. And decided to hide the cookbook so there would be no more baking fiascoes until I find a kid's cookbook that is truly meant for a child to use.

For realsies.

And Time Keeps On A Flyin'

The Princess stabbed me in the heart over the weekend.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

The Princess informed me that she wanted to get a new pair of slippers. She wanted to replace these:

because, and I quote, "I'm just not into princesses anymore."

It came out of left field. It was so unexpected. I didn't know what to say. Or do. Or.....anything. Those slippers have history. Those slippers made her cry when she opened them up Christmas before last. She actually broke down and started sobbing at the sight of them and said through her tears, "I'm just so happy!!"

And now they were to be relegated to the closet and the last of her Christmas money spent on these:

Yes. Monkey slippers.

At least they're pink.

And at least I have this one:

who still loves princesses.

The New Look of Motherhood

The Baby and I went to the open gym today. She's been alive for 2 1/2 years and I've never taken her there.

There are two reasons for this.

#1 - She's my fourth child.

#2 - We always go for walks to the variety of playgrounds in our area, plus play in the schoolyard when we pick up the Princess.

Wait. There's a third reason. I'm pretty cheap.

But all this snow and rain and slush and ice drove me to it. I took the Baby to the Loonie Drop In Gym Time at our local rec centre. Ok, they don't actually call it the Loonie Drop In Gym Time, but it does cost one dollar. And Loonie is what we call our dollar coin up here in the Great White North, and, well, how fun would it be to go ask someone to direct you to the 'Loonie Drop In'?

As I was saying, the Baby and I went to the gym. And I aged 17 years as I walked through the doors.

Excuse me....but where were all the Mommys? I saw a lot of young ladies all lined up along the edges of the gym who were busy texting other people There was a caregiver who had her entire daycare there and was most certainly having a hard time supervising all of them. There were several sets of grandparents having a grand time with their grandchildren. And then I saw someone my age.

Yes! I thought. And look! She's holding a newborn. Oh...so sweet.

And then she handed the newborn back to her daughter. She was another grandma.

The Baby had a great time.

Me? I'm bringing my cane next time so I can hang out with the old folks.

Merry Christmas Dear Husband of Mine

I've been getting a fair amount of flack from the Husband ever since the UP posting.

Apparently, I am far too one sided about what I choose to post on MY blog. I have no idea what he's talking about. It could be he's feeling rather sensitive about the fact that a lot of people keep asking him if he's taught the dog any new tricks, then say "UP!!" and start to giggle. Whatever.

Today, when mentioning a slight mishap that happened to me on a shopping trip, instead of getting a drop of sympathy, the Husband's only comment was, "OH....but you won't blog about that!"

So, without further adieu, Merry Christmas, dear.

I headed to Mark's Work Wearhouse today in a vain attempt to find an eluded Christmas gift.

'Insane' would be the only descriptive word that would describe the store....at 10:30 am on a Tuesday morning. I should have known it was a recipe for disaster when I had to wait for a parking spot. But, no, I figured heading into the store with a 2 and a half year old strapped in a stroller would be a good idea.

As soon as we entered the store, the Baby started insisting that she be able to get out and walk. I kept telling her no, we'd be quick, and she'd have to stay in the stroller.

Picture me walking through the store, trying to get the stroller past endless displays and boxes and shoes and boots and all other assorted stuff laying in every aisle, not to mention the PEOPLE, oh my gosh, the PEOPLE. The Baby started screaming once we're at the farthest point from the door, and I finally came to my senses and decided to leave.

This was NOT what the Baby wanted. She wanted to, "WALK!!! DOWN!! I WALK!! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" As I tried to put her in her car seat, she adopted the human spine board pose and refused to bend so I could put on her straps. Feeling like everyone in a two mile radius was watching me and my pathetic parenting skills, I heard a window rolling down in the car parked next to me.

I turned around to see a lovely grandma type lady leaning out her window.

"Excuse me," she said. "I'm sure you don't want to hear this, but there's a sticker on your backside."

And I reached back and pulled off a clothing sticker with the size 50 regular written on it 3x in big bold lettering.

I started to think about exactly how early on in the store that the size 50 sticker adhered to my butt. I think I might have said thanks to the lady but to be honest, she was kinda smirking at me and it's all a bit of a blur.

With that, I forced the Baby into a 90 degree angle, buckled her in, hucked the stroller into the van and drove away, dreaming of Baileys and sleeping children.

So there you go, dear Husband of mine.

Merry Christmas.

And So, Like Sand Through the Hour Glass...So Are the Days of Our Lives....

It's been a rough 24 hours. To sum it all up, do me a favour. Go listen to Darius Rucker performing "It Won't Be Like This For Long" ,then come on back.

Yep. That pretty much did me in tonight.

The Eldest has started filling out University application forms.

I spent an hour this evening sitting on the floor of The Baby's room, continually putting her back into her new big girl bed whilst her baby crib lay in pieces in the hallway.

The Boy grew another 1/2 inch this week.

The Princess is receiving jewelry from male suitors. So is The Eldest, who, by the way, turned 17 this week.

It's a few too many milestones for this old gal to experience without shedding a few tears over the swift passage of time.

Maybe one of you could tell me a funny joke or something to cheer me up. The Husband just keeps reminding me how old I'll be when The Baby finally graduates from high school, and let me tell you, that's not much help when you're crying over the fact that the last piece of baby equipment in the house is spewed in bits across the floor.

Maybe an episode of 'The Office' will cheer me up......Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica.