A Mom's Hobby

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

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

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

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

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

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

I just want some ANSWERS, dagnabit.

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

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

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

"Loving me."

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

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

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

A Snack

The Boy has been hungry lately.

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

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

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

Case in point:


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

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?

Ouch Then Huh?

Writer's block can be a terrible thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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.

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.

A Little Family Update

The Youngest, who is now almost 2 and a half years old, is a busy child. She figured out how to open the doors with the childproof locks on the handles yesterday.

The Princess, who is 6 and three quarters, was told by yet another boy in her class that he loves her.

The Boy, who is 14, sent me on a wild goose chase on October 31st to find a Halloween mask. I found one. He decided to stay in and play video games last night.

The Eldest, who turns 17 this month, went to a Halloween party last night with her boyfriend. She goes for her driver's test in 10 days. She's starting a new job tonight. She is growing up way too fast.

The Husband, who is way older than me, found his lost wedding ring. In his workout bag. That we had torn apart looking for. It had been missing for 4 months. We had already purchased a new one.

And me, I am wearing the Husband's old wedding ring on a chain and diving into Christmas preparations. But first, I will be cleaning off 6 year old height level lipstick kisses that cover the front hall mirror. And researching girls only boarding schools.

Days 17, 18 and 19

Sorry to have kept you on the edge of your seat about the banking calls . I've been busy doing stuff.

Day 17 arrived and I was out for most of the day. But I was beginning to think that they were finally on to me, because they called at 4:46pm. They were kind enough to tell me they would make a note on the Husband's account that he should be called in the evenings.

Day 18. 3:45 pm on the nose. They not very kindly told me they would make note of it on the Husband's account. I don't understand it. I was nothing but peaches and cream to that woman.

Day 19. Today. 10:03 am. Excellent. We're right back on track. I hope I get to wish these guys a Merry Christmas. Bonnie wasn't very cheerful this morning. In fact, I would wager that that she had a fight with her significant other last night. Or there's a teenager living in her house. She didn't even tell me she would make note of it on his account.

So, with the daily banking courtesy call out of the way, I'm off to find a Halloween costume for the Boy. All week I have asked him what he's going to dress up as on the big day. What do I need to get. You know, motherly stuff. Yesterday, before heading to the Salvation Army yet again for a costume accessory the Princess needed, I asked him......"WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO BE??? I'M GOING TO THE SALVATION ARMY NOW."

The Boy said, and I quote, "I don't know."

This morning, October 31st, the Boy told me he needed a Halloween mask.

After pouring water on my head to douse the fire shooting out of my ears, I asked him why he didn't inform me of this when I asked him YESTERDAY. His answer gives a pretty indepth look into the mind of a 14 year old boy.

"I told you at dinner a couple nights ago I was thinking of wearing a mask."

Yes. I gave birth to that.

The Boy

My baby boy turned 14 yesterday.

He's grown from being an easy going baby to an easy going teenager.

He loves jokes, things with buttons and an assortment of sports.

He is loved, although on most days, he'd only admit this under torture.

He is a man of few words, 'grmmmmmm' being his favourite.

He is a great big brother who is always looking out for his little sisters.

He puts up with his big sister.

He has to deal with a whole lot of estrogen on a daily basis. He has a great relationship with his father.

I can't wait to see what he grows up to be........engineer? Architect? Video game developer?

Whatever it is, he'll be great at it. When he likes doing something, he puts his all into it.

Happy Birthday, Buddy!