It's Thursday.
IT'S THURSDAY!
The Princess' Party is tomorrow.
TOMORROW, PEOPLE!
Yet here I sit, with 28 things left to do on my list of things to do. And no, blogging isn't one of them. But let's be honest here. Procrastination is the very reason I'm in panic mode. Why wreck a good thing, right?
Ok. So what's left to do?
Uh.....everything. Including figuring out a way to have a Tinkerbell cake that doesn't cost me $30 and sew 8 more goodie bags.
And get stuff for the goodie bags.
And find those stinking tea pots.
And sort the stuff for making hats.
And buy the food.
And finish writing the clues for the treasure hunt.
And wrap the surprises for the unwrap the present game.
And clean the girls room.
And feed the dog and milk the cows and take the sheep out to the back pasture.
Why did I give up beer for Lent?
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Birthday Preparations
The Princess turns 7 this Friday.
Faced with a myriad of possibilities, the Princess decided that a birthday party at home was the most wonderful place on earth to celebrate this momentous occasion. I happen to agree with her....because it's only Tuesday right now and there are not 11 girls dancing to High School Musical in my living room at this moment in time.
The Princess thinks she made the decision, but if I were being honest with you, I would share with you the fact that I played every mom card in my repertoire and also was quite conniving and fairly diabolical in my quest to get her to choose a home party.
Why? Because I'm cheap.
"Bowling? What a great idea......oh....but Jane is having her party there. I suppose your friends wouldn't mind doing the exact same thing AGAIN for your party."
"Gymnastics? Why yes, that WOULD be fun. You won't be able to wear your beautiful princess dress, but you won't mind right?"
"Ice skating? Wow! No one has had a party there! Hey, remember the first time you went skating and fell and had that bruise on your knee for two weeks? And, oh! Those helmets they make you wear! You sure thought those were ugly! Haha."
So a party at home it is. She had her 6th birthday party at home as well. It was awesome if I don't mind saying so. But a group of 7 ish year olds is different that a group of 6ish year olds, so my brain has been in overdrive coming up with crafts and games to play without repeating last year's fun.
The suppressed Early Childhood Educator in me loves home birthday parties. The Anxiety Manipulator in me worries about impressing 7 year olds and what they may share with their mothers about the table decorations and the state of my pantry. I don't pretend that I'm completely sane.
The Cheapo in me has decided to keep track of exactly how much this fiasco is going to cost. I'm into it for $28 dollars so far.
Stay tuned.
And does anyone know where I can find really inexpensive tea cups or teapots that can be painted?
Faced with a myriad of possibilities, the Princess decided that a birthday party at home was the most wonderful place on earth to celebrate this momentous occasion. I happen to agree with her....because it's only Tuesday right now and there are not 11 girls dancing to High School Musical in my living room at this moment in time.
The Princess thinks she made the decision, but if I were being honest with you, I would share with you the fact that I played every mom card in my repertoire and also was quite conniving and fairly diabolical in my quest to get her to choose a home party.
Why? Because I'm cheap.
"Bowling? What a great idea......oh....but Jane is having her party there. I suppose your friends wouldn't mind doing the exact same thing AGAIN for your party."
"Gymnastics? Why yes, that WOULD be fun. You won't be able to wear your beautiful princess dress, but you won't mind right?"
"Ice skating? Wow! No one has had a party there! Hey, remember the first time you went skating and fell and had that bruise on your knee for two weeks? And, oh! Those helmets they make you wear! You sure thought those were ugly! Haha."
So a party at home it is. She had her 6th birthday party at home as well. It was awesome if I don't mind saying so. But a group of 7 ish year olds is different that a group of 6ish year olds, so my brain has been in overdrive coming up with crafts and games to play without repeating last year's fun.
The suppressed Early Childhood Educator in me loves home birthday parties. The Anxiety Manipulator in me worries about impressing 7 year olds and what they may share with their mothers about the table decorations and the state of my pantry. I don't pretend that I'm completely sane.
The Cheapo in me has decided to keep track of exactly how much this fiasco is going to cost. I'm into it for $28 dollars so far.
Stay tuned.
And does anyone know where I can find really inexpensive tea cups or teapots that can be painted?
Monday, February 23, 2009
The Fraud Squad
Remember the good old days when the word 'skimmed' referred to gross blue tinged milk that no one would ever drink except if they were on a diet?
Good times.
Better than what 'skimmed' means in the 21st century.
The Bank called this morning. At 9:04 am. It was the daily usual customer courtesy call for the Husband. You'll be happy to note that they heard my cries to stop calling at 10:03 every morning because the Husband isn't home at that time, so they've most graciously changed the time of call to 9:04 every morning. For the past five workdays....I kid you not. And between you and me, the Husband was actually home on one of those mornings when they called, but I lied and said he wasn't. This is an experiment I am going to see to the finish line.
After I hung up from the courtesy call, the phone rang again. It was the bank again. But not a courtesy call. This one was from their security department.
I got to spend a fair chunk of my morning down at the Bank because my bank card had been 'skimmed' at some time, somewhere, somehow in the previous several months. Someone tried to withdraw some hard earned, HONESTLY OBTAINED money from our account in the middle of last night.
The crazy thing is they did the same thing to a relative of mine as well. We don't use the same banks, don't live close to each other, and it was for the same amount of money.
The creeps. The low lifes. The cretins. The scum.
The Bank was fantastic in dealing with this. I give them props. In fact, it truly sheds new light on the pathetic customer service call scheduling issues. They obviously have all their competent people working in the Fraud Squad and have relegated the staff who originally trained on Commodore 64s to the customer service department. Which really, is a-okay by me. I shall happily answer my phone at 9:04 am for the next month.
The good thing is we're not out any money. But now I have to remember a new password. Oh, the inhumanity of it all.
Karma, you bad money stealing thieves. Karma.
Good times.
Better than what 'skimmed' means in the 21st century.
The Bank called this morning. At 9:04 am. It was the daily usual customer courtesy call for the Husband. You'll be happy to note that they heard my cries to stop calling at 10:03 every morning because the Husband isn't home at that time, so they've most graciously changed the time of call to 9:04 every morning. For the past five workdays....I kid you not. And between you and me, the Husband was actually home on one of those mornings when they called, but I lied and said he wasn't. This is an experiment I am going to see to the finish line.
After I hung up from the courtesy call, the phone rang again. It was the bank again. But not a courtesy call. This one was from their security department.
I got to spend a fair chunk of my morning down at the Bank because my bank card had been 'skimmed' at some time, somewhere, somehow in the previous several months. Someone tried to withdraw some hard earned, HONESTLY OBTAINED money from our account in the middle of last night.
The crazy thing is they did the same thing to a relative of mine as well. We don't use the same banks, don't live close to each other, and it was for the same amount of money.
The creeps. The low lifes. The cretins. The scum.
The Bank was fantastic in dealing with this. I give them props. In fact, it truly sheds new light on the pathetic customer service call scheduling issues. They obviously have all their competent people working in the Fraud Squad and have relegated the staff who originally trained on Commodore 64s to the customer service department. Which really, is a-okay by me. I shall happily answer my phone at 9:04 am for the next month.
The good thing is we're not out any money. But now I have to remember a new password. Oh, the inhumanity of it all.
Karma, you bad money stealing thieves. Karma.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
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?
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?
Friday, February 20, 2009
Honesty
The Princess has been increasingly 'forgetful' of late. Forgotten blue folder at school, forgotten notes, forgotten sharing books, forgotten home reading....you get the idea. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that she's being forgetful when getting ready to go home at the end of her school day.
Which is really good because I'm not a rocket scientist.
So a little talk was in order. Several little talks, actually, culminating into a big talk in which I looked like a raving lunatic and she just stood there looking at me like I was a raving lunatic.
But it's all good because we figured out the problem.
Raving Lunatic: "There must be a reason you keep forgetting things when you're getting ready to go home!"
Princess: "Well, I have so much to do! I have to change my shoes! And get my coat! And I have to talk to all my friends!"
At least she's honest.
And it explains the raving lunatic part.
Which is really good because I'm not a rocket scientist.
So a little talk was in order. Several little talks, actually, culminating into a big talk in which I looked like a raving lunatic and she just stood there looking at me like I was a raving lunatic.
But it's all good because we figured out the problem.
Raving Lunatic: "There must be a reason you keep forgetting things when you're getting ready to go home!"
Princess: "Well, I have so much to do! I have to change my shoes! And get my coat! And I have to talk to all my friends!"
At least she's honest.
And it explains the raving lunatic part.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Dreaming and Cleaning
As my 40th birthday is gearing up to sucker punch me in the stomach, I'm finding myself pondering the dark and cobwebby corners of my life.
Yet another place I haven't cleaned in quite some time. If I was being honest with you, I'd tell you that I really haven't done a good cleaning since the big 3-0. But admitting that in a public forum would be stupid.
So what have I found as I've been dusting out the cobwebs of my mind? A whole lot of stuff. I am apparently a bit of a pack rat in my mental life as well.
I suppose that's why God invented 40th birthdays. Well, in today's world. Statistically, 200 years ago God invented 40th birthdays for my children to remember to put a spring of flowers on my grave to mark the anniversary of my death. And that, my friends, can really put everything into perspective for a person who's whining about turning 40 when she actually should be thanking God for modern medicine and well, heck, the discovery of a thing called germs.
But about this cleaning of my cranium.
There's a lot of stuff up there in the 'future dreams and aspirations' corner. I couldn't believe what I've found. Just when I think I found the last of it, more unattained dreams appear out of nowhere.
Lest you think I'm about to publish these unmet aspirations, fear not. I may be old, but I'm not as stupid as I look. Telling you that my dream of traveling to Prince Edward Island so I could kneel at the window in Anne's room in the house of Green Gables, pretending that a storm is raging and realizing that I really do love Gilbert...yet he's dying....SOB!....is a dream from about 25 years ago, so I don't even know why that's still up here anyways. Should have gotten rid of it when I took that last load of stuff out.
The point is that I've had a lot of dreams that I thought would be realized by my 40th birthday. And they haven't. I'm discovering things I haven't thought about in years. 40th birthdays seem to have a way of doing that. All of a sudden, life seems to be gaining speed at an atrocious speed and I'm starting to get a bit carsick.
The other thing I'm discovering is that I dreamed about a lot of 'things', like a big fancy house or a 10 year old minivan. And I'm finding that letting go of these dreams is pretty easy. They aren't really that important to me anymore and it's easy to toss them out my left ear and keep on sorting.
It's the personal things and accomplishments that I lament over. I find myself mulling over them at length, thinking about when those dreams started and why I haven't fulfilled them. Where life has taken me and the reasons they remain a dream not realized.
I've had to throw out a dream or two. Let's face it. I'm never going to be doctor. Some dreams I've polished up, taken a hammer to, and banged out their dents. Some I've picked up, smiled at and lovingly put back on the shelf, knowing that it's yet not their time but they will one day have their day in the sun.
I've pulled a few out and placed them on my 'to do' list. Given myself a stern talking to and told myself there will be no beer at the end of the day if I don't start working on them. I'm a mom. I know how to motivate a person.
And I'm learning to be grateful for some dreams left unfulfilled. Now that I'm old and wise, I can look back and see that some unfulfilled dreams have led me down new paths that have allowed other dreams to flourish.
So I'm off to make waffles for my brood. Which is pretty fantastic. I just remembered that for years I had a dream of standing in a kitchen in our own home, listening to music as I made brunch for the family. Peace. Sun streaming through the window. Coffee brewing. A simple moment in time that for years I never though would happen.
I think that's what I'll do next. Make a list of dreams fulfilled.
I know it will be a long list.
Yet another place I haven't cleaned in quite some time. If I was being honest with you, I'd tell you that I really haven't done a good cleaning since the big 3-0. But admitting that in a public forum would be stupid.
So what have I found as I've been dusting out the cobwebs of my mind? A whole lot of stuff. I am apparently a bit of a pack rat in my mental life as well.
I suppose that's why God invented 40th birthdays. Well, in today's world. Statistically, 200 years ago God invented 40th birthdays for my children to remember to put a spring of flowers on my grave to mark the anniversary of my death. And that, my friends, can really put everything into perspective for a person who's whining about turning 40 when she actually should be thanking God for modern medicine and well, heck, the discovery of a thing called germs.
But about this cleaning of my cranium.
There's a lot of stuff up there in the 'future dreams and aspirations' corner. I couldn't believe what I've found. Just when I think I found the last of it, more unattained dreams appear out of nowhere.
Lest you think I'm about to publish these unmet aspirations, fear not. I may be old, but I'm not as stupid as I look. Telling you that my dream of traveling to Prince Edward Island so I could kneel at the window in Anne's room in the house of Green Gables, pretending that a storm is raging and realizing that I really do love Gilbert...yet he's dying....SOB!....is a dream from about 25 years ago, so I don't even know why that's still up here anyways. Should have gotten rid of it when I took that last load of stuff out.
The point is that I've had a lot of dreams that I thought would be realized by my 40th birthday. And they haven't. I'm discovering things I haven't thought about in years. 40th birthdays seem to have a way of doing that. All of a sudden, life seems to be gaining speed at an atrocious speed and I'm starting to get a bit carsick.
The other thing I'm discovering is that I dreamed about a lot of 'things', like a big fancy house or a 10 year old minivan. And I'm finding that letting go of these dreams is pretty easy. They aren't really that important to me anymore and it's easy to toss them out my left ear and keep on sorting.
It's the personal things and accomplishments that I lament over. I find myself mulling over them at length, thinking about when those dreams started and why I haven't fulfilled them. Where life has taken me and the reasons they remain a dream not realized.
I've had to throw out a dream or two. Let's face it. I'm never going to be doctor. Some dreams I've polished up, taken a hammer to, and banged out their dents. Some I've picked up, smiled at and lovingly put back on the shelf, knowing that it's yet not their time but they will one day have their day in the sun.
I've pulled a few out and placed them on my 'to do' list. Given myself a stern talking to and told myself there will be no beer at the end of the day if I don't start working on them. I'm a mom. I know how to motivate a person.
And I'm learning to be grateful for some dreams left unfulfilled. Now that I'm old and wise, I can look back and see that some unfulfilled dreams have led me down new paths that have allowed other dreams to flourish.
So I'm off to make waffles for my brood. Which is pretty fantastic. I just remembered that for years I had a dream of standing in a kitchen in our own home, listening to music as I made brunch for the family. Peace. Sun streaming through the window. Coffee brewing. A simple moment in time that for years I never though would happen.
I think that's what I'll do next. Make a list of dreams fulfilled.
I know it will be a long list.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
A Picky Eater
I took the 40 pound bag of dog food over to my parents. They have a lovely golden retriever, who apparently is not as fussy as our 90 pound mutt. Their dog likes the food.
My mom walked into her kitchen this morning only to discover the massive bag of food sitting on her counter. When she questioned the reason for this, she was told that my youngest sister had put it up on the counter because their two cats wouldn't stop eating it right from the bag.
Apparently there is nothing wrong with the dog food.
My mom gave me a small bag of the dog food they feed their dog. Last night we fed it to our Dog, all mixed up with macaroni and cheese and ground beef.
That stupid (?) Dog licked all the macaroni and ground beef off of the dog food. There's not a drop of it in her food bowl. But all the dog food is still in there.
Does anyone know of a dog food that tastes like ground beef and cheese?
My mom walked into her kitchen this morning only to discover the massive bag of food sitting on her counter. When she questioned the reason for this, she was told that my youngest sister had put it up on the counter because their two cats wouldn't stop eating it right from the bag.
Apparently there is nothing wrong with the dog food.
My mom gave me a small bag of the dog food they feed their dog. Last night we fed it to our Dog, all mixed up with macaroni and cheese and ground beef.
That stupid (?) Dog licked all the macaroni and ground beef off of the dog food. There's not a drop of it in her food bowl. But all the dog food is still in there.
Does anyone know of a dog food that tastes like ground beef and cheese?
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Customer Service
The Bank has started calling again.
The calls started last Thursday. Between 10:03 and 10:16 am each morning, the phone rings and they ask for the Husband. I tell them he's not home, they ask when would be a more convenient time to call, I tell them to call in the evening and they say they will make note of it on his account. Then they call the next day between 10:03 and 10:16 am.
But a strange thing has happened. Between you and me, I'm a bit worried.
I can find no joy in keeping track of when they call. I cannot mock the poor soul that has been scheduled to call our house between 10 and 10:15 every morning. I cannot find the energy needed to even try and explain my frustrations to the person on the other end of the phone.
I'm scared.
Do you think I have CRAPPeD*?
*Customer service Representatives Afflict Psychosis over the Phone Disorder?
I googled the symptoms:
And I don't know how to find the joy.
Help me, fellow readers. I cannot afford psychotherapy. I can barely afford the beer.
We can't let them win.
Help me get the joy back.
Help.
The calls started last Thursday. Between 10:03 and 10:16 am each morning, the phone rings and they ask for the Husband. I tell them he's not home, they ask when would be a more convenient time to call, I tell them to call in the evening and they say they will make note of it on his account. Then they call the next day between 10:03 and 10:16 am.
But a strange thing has happened. Between you and me, I'm a bit worried.
I can find no joy in keeping track of when they call. I cannot mock the poor soul that has been scheduled to call our house between 10 and 10:15 every morning. I cannot find the energy needed to even try and explain my frustrations to the person on the other end of the phone.
I'm scared.
Do you think I have CRAPPeD*?
*Customer service Representatives Afflict Psychosis over the Phone Disorder?
I googled the symptoms:
- Breaking into a cold sweat at the sound of ringing phones.
- Elevator muzac induced hives.
- Waking up at 3 am in a cold sweat with the inexplicable desire to bury all your phones in the backyard under the pale moonlight and with a clove of garlic.
- Making the sign of the cross when you hear the words, "All our representatives are currently busy helping other customers."
- Inability to say, "I want to speak with your supervisor," or "Your company sucks and I am never buying anything you sell ever never ever!"
- A feeling of confusion and disorientation when a customer service representative solves your problem on the first phone call.
- An obvious lack of joy when slamming a phone down in disgust....if you even feel disgust anymore.
- Unexplainable twitching when hearing the words, "Gateway", "back order" and "Level 2"
- Inability to make fun of poor customer service in a public forum.
- Urge to drink at 10 am.
And I don't know how to find the joy.
Help me, fellow readers. I cannot afford psychotherapy. I can barely afford the beer.
We can't let them win.
Help me get the joy back.
Help.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Anybody Want a 40 Pound Bag of Dog Food?
Heavy sigh.
It's been awhile since I've discussed my brain farts .
Yet again, in my defense, I was shopping with the Baby at 4:00 in the afternoon and she's growing out of her naps (which, by the way, is SO not cool) and she was a tad grumpy. And refusing to sit in the shopping cart. And running down the aisle in pursuit of chocolate and Old Dutch baked dill pickle chips.
That is my story and I'm sticking to it.
Dog food was on the list. I bought the wrong dog food. I bought 40 pounds of the wrong dog food. A massive bag that isn't even the same colour as the brand I usually buy.
Further to my defense, it was the day that Bear Dog stopped eating and I know I was preoccupied with that. But once I realized my mistake, the thought of hauling a 40 pound bag of kibble back to the store was about as tantalizing as giving the Dog an enema, so there the bag sat in the middle of the kitchen floor. Mocking me.
I rationalized that the Dog would eat it. Sure she'd eat it. She's been the pickiest eater since the age of 9 weeks, and I have to soak her kibble first because she doesn't like hard dog food of any kind and I also have to hide some meat in it and maybe a bit of egg or grated cheese or some lovely peanut butter toast bits, but I was sure she'd eat this new food.
I was very wrong.
I am also very stubborn. And incredibly cheap. I tried to feed that blinking dog the new food. I have soaked it in beef broth, chicken broth, coated in with beef stew, chicken, egg and cheese. I have hidden hot dogs in the stuff.
And she won't touch it.
Lest you think I've been starving our dog, I gave up with the stupid food quite a while ago. She's still an impressive 90 pounds. But, that huge bag of food has just been sitting there in the mud room, sticking its tongue out at me every time I walk past it to take the Dog outside.
Stupid bag.
So the behaviourist in me started thinking. "I wonder if I could get her to eat that food?"
No. I couldn't. I put 5 pieces of that kibble hidden in a massive bowl of ground beef, rice, mashed carrots and she took one sniff of it and walked away.
Not a stupid dog. Or perhaps she is and she's just as stubborn as me.
I wonder if she hates the food or associated the food with the Bear Dog's passing and thinks I'm trying to poison her? Oh, to understand the mind of a dog.
It's been awhile since I've discussed my brain farts .
Yet again, in my defense, I was shopping with the Baby at 4:00 in the afternoon and she's growing out of her naps (which, by the way, is SO not cool) and she was a tad grumpy. And refusing to sit in the shopping cart. And running down the aisle in pursuit of chocolate and Old Dutch baked dill pickle chips.
That is my story and I'm sticking to it.
Dog food was on the list. I bought the wrong dog food. I bought 40 pounds of the wrong dog food. A massive bag that isn't even the same colour as the brand I usually buy.
Further to my defense, it was the day that Bear Dog stopped eating and I know I was preoccupied with that. But once I realized my mistake, the thought of hauling a 40 pound bag of kibble back to the store was about as tantalizing as giving the Dog an enema, so there the bag sat in the middle of the kitchen floor. Mocking me.
I rationalized that the Dog would eat it. Sure she'd eat it. She's been the pickiest eater since the age of 9 weeks, and I have to soak her kibble first because she doesn't like hard dog food of any kind and I also have to hide some meat in it and maybe a bit of egg or grated cheese or some lovely peanut butter toast bits, but I was sure she'd eat this new food.
I was very wrong.
I am also very stubborn. And incredibly cheap. I tried to feed that blinking dog the new food. I have soaked it in beef broth, chicken broth, coated in with beef stew, chicken, egg and cheese. I have hidden hot dogs in the stuff.
And she won't touch it.
Lest you think I've been starving our dog, I gave up with the stupid food quite a while ago. She's still an impressive 90 pounds. But, that huge bag of food has just been sitting there in the mud room, sticking its tongue out at me every time I walk past it to take the Dog outside.
Stupid bag.
So the behaviourist in me started thinking. "I wonder if I could get her to eat that food?"
No. I couldn't. I put 5 pieces of that kibble hidden in a massive bowl of ground beef, rice, mashed carrots and she took one sniff of it and walked away.
Not a stupid dog. Or perhaps she is and she's just as stubborn as me.
I wonder if she hates the food or associated the food with the Bear Dog's passing and thinks I'm trying to poison her? Oh, to understand the mind of a dog.
Friday, February 6, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Hovel Living
When you're cleaning the house after spending large quantities of time NOT cleaning the house, the task can take some time.
This leads to a lot of time for thinking while cleaning.
Thoughts such as this: I've done a crappy job instilling any sort of 'cleanliness' thoughts or actions in any or all of my 4 children.
The Top Ten Things I Wish I Had Taught My Children About Not Living In a Hovel
That title needs some work but due to all the cleaning I've put a crick in my neck and am now nursing a migraine and so it shall stay just the way it is. Grammatically awkward. I'm guessing what's coming next isn't going to read too pretty either.
1. Aiming skills. Accurate aiming skills.
2. Better pet choosing skills. Choose an ugly hairless dog at the pound, not a cute fluffball that will grow into a 90 pound fluffball that sheds when she's hungry, needs to go out to pee or is just bored.
3. Dirty ANYTHING does not go on the floor. It goes in the laundry hamper, dishwasher or garbage. Out the flipping window for all I care, just not on the flipping floor.
4. When your mother spends 100 bucks at Ikea and spends 4 hours assembling a bunch of particle boards into toy storage using one small bent piece of metal, you can stop using your bedroom floor, the living room floor, the stairs and the hallway for toy storage.
5. The van is not a toy storage unit. Yes, your father dented it at Ikea, but that doesn't make it a toy storage unit.
6. Chairs are for sitting on, not hanging coats, sweaters, shirts, work uniforms and used socks.
7. The parental bedroom and bathroom are OFF LIMITS!!! (Why can't a two year old eat a thiefed bag of crackers in her own bed? What's that about?)
8. Every 'thing' has a place. And its place is not on the kitchen counter.
9. Writing utensils are for paper, not skin, walls, toilet seat lids or computer screens.
10. Your mother is not your maid. If she was a maid, you would be paying her 40 dollars an hour to clean the hovel of a house you live in. And I'm pretty sure maids won't stoop to finding out where the heck that vile smell is coming from only to discover it's an uneaten sandwich that someone's loving and devoted mother made for some ungrateful child that has been left in the bottom of a backpack for, oh, I'm just guessing here, 2 weeks.
Or something like that.
Do you have something you wish you had instilled in your child? I'd love to hear I'm not the only one floundering out here in this vast sea of disorganized, messy hovel living.
This leads to a lot of time for thinking while cleaning.
Thoughts such as this: I've done a crappy job instilling any sort of 'cleanliness' thoughts or actions in any or all of my 4 children.
The Top Ten Things I Wish I Had Taught My Children About Not Living In a Hovel
That title needs some work but due to all the cleaning I've put a crick in my neck and am now nursing a migraine and so it shall stay just the way it is. Grammatically awkward. I'm guessing what's coming next isn't going to read too pretty either.
1. Aiming skills. Accurate aiming skills.
2. Better pet choosing skills. Choose an ugly hairless dog at the pound, not a cute fluffball that will grow into a 90 pound fluffball that sheds when she's hungry, needs to go out to pee or is just bored.
3. Dirty ANYTHING does not go on the floor. It goes in the laundry hamper, dishwasher or garbage. Out the flipping window for all I care, just not on the flipping floor.
4. When your mother spends 100 bucks at Ikea and spends 4 hours assembling a bunch of particle boards into toy storage using one small bent piece of metal, you can stop using your bedroom floor, the living room floor, the stairs and the hallway for toy storage.
5. The van is not a toy storage unit. Yes, your father dented it at Ikea, but that doesn't make it a toy storage unit.
6. Chairs are for sitting on, not hanging coats, sweaters, shirts, work uniforms and used socks.
7. The parental bedroom and bathroom are OFF LIMITS!!! (Why can't a two year old eat a thiefed bag of crackers in her own bed? What's that about?)
8. Every 'thing' has a place. And its place is not on the kitchen counter.
9. Writing utensils are for paper, not skin, walls, toilet seat lids or computer screens.
10. Your mother is not your maid. If she was a maid, you would be paying her 40 dollars an hour to clean the hovel of a house you live in. And I'm pretty sure maids won't stoop to finding out where the heck that vile smell is coming from only to discover it's an uneaten sandwich that someone's loving and devoted mother made for some ungrateful child that has been left in the bottom of a backpack for, oh, I'm just guessing here, 2 weeks.
Or something like that.
Do you have something you wish you had instilled in your child? I'd love to hear I'm not the only one floundering out here in this vast sea of disorganized, messy hovel living.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Barney Bentall Is Still Totally Awesome
The Husband and I used to be in our 20's.
We listened to the brilliance of Colin James, Barney Bentall and the Legendary Hearts and Bryan Adams.
Ok. I listened to Bryan Adams.
Last night, the Husband and I went to pretend we were still 20 something and headed out to a Casino where Barney Bentall and the Legendary Hearts were playing.
I also lost 20 bucks but we won't dwell on that. Particularly since I was up 20 dollars at one point and should have listened to my psychic Pisces inner voice screaming, "CASH IN!! CASH IN!! WALK AWAY FROM THE SLOT MACHINE!!"
Casinos are stupid.
But back to Barney.
Awesome concert, dude. Totally rocked. Great seats, good sound, some friendly banter with the Husband about whether Barney was nursing a little comb over. Good night spent with some great friends we hadn't seen in a very long time.
We had front row balcony seats which made for some great viewing. But as I looked around the room I thought, "Why the hell are all these old people here?"
It was totally weird. I must have been sending telepathic thoughts out because the Husband had apparently been thinking the exact same thoughts.
Which led to me doing a bit of math and the Husband telling me to shut up about the whole matter. And shut up is considered an off limits word in our household so I knew he really meant it and I dropped the whole conversation.
But between you and me, there were a lot of old people there.
Not in the balcony area though. The cool people were sitting up there.
We listened to the brilliance of Colin James, Barney Bentall and the Legendary Hearts and Bryan Adams.
Ok. I listened to Bryan Adams.
Last night, the Husband and I went to pretend we were still 20 something and headed out to a Casino where Barney Bentall and the Legendary Hearts were playing.
I also lost 20 bucks but we won't dwell on that. Particularly since I was up 20 dollars at one point and should have listened to my psychic Pisces inner voice screaming, "CASH IN!! CASH IN!! WALK AWAY FROM THE SLOT MACHINE!!"
Casinos are stupid.
But back to Barney.
Awesome concert, dude. Totally rocked. Great seats, good sound, some friendly banter with the Husband about whether Barney was nursing a little comb over. Good night spent with some great friends we hadn't seen in a very long time.
We had front row balcony seats which made for some great viewing. But as I looked around the room I thought, "Why the hell are all these old people here?"
It was totally weird. I must have been sending telepathic thoughts out because the Husband had apparently been thinking the exact same thoughts.
Which led to me doing a bit of math and the Husband telling me to shut up about the whole matter. And shut up is considered an off limits word in our household so I knew he really meant it and I dropped the whole conversation.
But between you and me, there were a lot of old people there.
Not in the balcony area though. The cool people were sitting up there.
Friday, January 30, 2009
25 Random Thoughts About Me
So I was tagged.
Thanks, Theresa. I mean that.
I whined at her and she gave me a free pass, but now I'm feeling guilty and to be perfectly honest, I started wondering if I could come up with 25 thoughts. About me.
Plus the cable was installed today and with two salivating teenagers and an enamoured Husband googling over images in high definition, I have as much chance of choosing a show to watch as I have a chance of winning the Mrs. America title.
But at least it means I got ownership of the laptop.
So here we go.
25 Random Thoughts About Me
1. I got married at the ripe age of 20. It's been a wild ride, and my heart still flutters at the sound of my husband's voice on the other end of the phone.
2. I had a cat named Fat Albert. He used to suck on my neck. I still tear up thinking about him and he's been gone for 18 years.
3. I want my house to be picture perfect. It rarely is.
4. My whole life all I wanted was to be a Mom. I had no idea how hard this job would be. Or that I would be parenting a 17 year old and 2 year old at the same time. I have all the patience in the world when I work with other people's children. But not my own. And that is humiliating.
5. I dream of having at least one children's book published. I got close once.
6. Words fly through my brain as I drift off to sleep each night. I see words on the page. I always think I should get up and write them down but convince myself that I'll remember certain phrasing in the morning. I don't.
7. I was almost stabbed in the hand with a pencil. I'm proud of my quick reflexes that avoided an injury. Who knew that someone in grade 2 could hate math that much?
8. My husband and I have moved 11 times in our marriage. And we've never hired a mover. The best move was when I cut myself on a box and got blood poisoning. It meant I couldn't do any more packing.
9. I am an anxious person. I worry about stuff big and small allllll the time. One of my first memories is worrying about something. I had panic attacks in college. It is one of my biggest demons.
10. Speech and language fascinate me. I would have become a speech pathologist if I was better in the sciences. My brain is not 'well' wired for speech. I was a very late talker. All four of our children were late talkers. It's probably one of the reasons I love writing. I can get my thoughts out in a relatively coherent train of thought. I can't tell a story but I can write one.
11. My entire life has been spent with people telling me I look younger than I truly am. In grade 5 a relative asked me if I was going into grade 2. I got carded at the liquor store at the ripe age of 34 years old. It has always irritated me. I have never felt like people think I'm a real adult.
12. The irony of looking younger than my age is that I started going grey at the age of 15.
13. I'm already shrinking. I used to be 5'2". Now I'm 5'1".
14. I was named Colleen because I was born on St. Patrick's Day. I was destined to love the colour green. And marry a man of Irish heritage.
15. I knew I was meant to work with children with autism the day I was driving home from work and I realized I hadn't thought about how much money I had just earned.
16. I have a hard time making friends. I always think people won't want to talk to me or spend time with me. And I suck at small talk. Please refer to #10.
17. I cry at the drop of a hat. I wish I had better control over it. It's embarrassing.
18. I love coffee. I love tea. I love rum.
19. I hated beer until I was pregnant with our fourth child. Then I craved it like no one's business (no, I didn't drink any). A beer was the first thing I had when we got home from the hospital with the Baby. I have loved it ever since.
20. Giving birth to our fourth child was one of the scariest moments of my entire life. I had nightmares afterwards for months. I still have no idea why she's ok. God was present that day.
21. I hate the sound of people chewing. Like nails on a chalkboard.
22. I have an insane, INSANE fear of the dentist.
23. I love musicals. LOVE them.
24. I love to bake. Cooking? Not so much.
25. I devour books. Nothing is better than reading a great book to escape life. I love old authors like A.J. Cronin, L.M Montgomery, Betty Smith and Jane Erye.
There. I did it. That was way harder than I thought.
And so now I'm suppose to tag 25 people. Do I know 25 people?
Seeing as how I struggle with this (refer to point #16) I think I shall leave this one open to those who want to join in.
Anyone?
Thanks, Theresa. I mean that.
I whined at her and she gave me a free pass, but now I'm feeling guilty and to be perfectly honest, I started wondering if I could come up with 25 thoughts. About me.
Plus the cable was installed today and with two salivating teenagers and an enamoured Husband googling over images in high definition, I have as much chance of choosing a show to watch as I have a chance of winning the Mrs. America title.
But at least it means I got ownership of the laptop.
So here we go.
25 Random Thoughts About Me
1. I got married at the ripe age of 20. It's been a wild ride, and my heart still flutters at the sound of my husband's voice on the other end of the phone.
2. I had a cat named Fat Albert. He used to suck on my neck. I still tear up thinking about him and he's been gone for 18 years.
3. I want my house to be picture perfect. It rarely is.
4. My whole life all I wanted was to be a Mom. I had no idea how hard this job would be. Or that I would be parenting a 17 year old and 2 year old at the same time. I have all the patience in the world when I work with other people's children. But not my own. And that is humiliating.
5. I dream of having at least one children's book published. I got close once.
6. Words fly through my brain as I drift off to sleep each night. I see words on the page. I always think I should get up and write them down but convince myself that I'll remember certain phrasing in the morning. I don't.
7. I was almost stabbed in the hand with a pencil. I'm proud of my quick reflexes that avoided an injury. Who knew that someone in grade 2 could hate math that much?
8. My husband and I have moved 11 times in our marriage. And we've never hired a mover. The best move was when I cut myself on a box and got blood poisoning. It meant I couldn't do any more packing.
9. I am an anxious person. I worry about stuff big and small allllll the time. One of my first memories is worrying about something. I had panic attacks in college. It is one of my biggest demons.
10. Speech and language fascinate me. I would have become a speech pathologist if I was better in the sciences. My brain is not 'well' wired for speech. I was a very late talker. All four of our children were late talkers. It's probably one of the reasons I love writing. I can get my thoughts out in a relatively coherent train of thought. I can't tell a story but I can write one.
11. My entire life has been spent with people telling me I look younger than I truly am. In grade 5 a relative asked me if I was going into grade 2. I got carded at the liquor store at the ripe age of 34 years old. It has always irritated me. I have never felt like people think I'm a real adult.
12. The irony of looking younger than my age is that I started going grey at the age of 15.
13. I'm already shrinking. I used to be 5'2". Now I'm 5'1".
14. I was named Colleen because I was born on St. Patrick's Day. I was destined to love the colour green. And marry a man of Irish heritage.
15. I knew I was meant to work with children with autism the day I was driving home from work and I realized I hadn't thought about how much money I had just earned.
16. I have a hard time making friends. I always think people won't want to talk to me or spend time with me. And I suck at small talk. Please refer to #10.
17. I cry at the drop of a hat. I wish I had better control over it. It's embarrassing.
18. I love coffee. I love tea. I love rum.
19. I hated beer until I was pregnant with our fourth child. Then I craved it like no one's business (no, I didn't drink any). A beer was the first thing I had when we got home from the hospital with the Baby. I have loved it ever since.
20. Giving birth to our fourth child was one of the scariest moments of my entire life. I had nightmares afterwards for months. I still have no idea why she's ok. God was present that day.
21. I hate the sound of people chewing. Like nails on a chalkboard.
22. I have an insane, INSANE fear of the dentist.
23. I love musicals. LOVE them.
24. I love to bake. Cooking? Not so much.
25. I devour books. Nothing is better than reading a great book to escape life. I love old authors like A.J. Cronin, L.M Montgomery, Betty Smith and Jane Erye.
There. I did it. That was way harder than I thought.
And so now I'm suppose to tag 25 people. Do I know 25 people?
Seeing as how I struggle with this (refer to point #16) I think I shall leave this one open to those who want to join in.
Anyone?
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.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
What Does a Person Have to Do to Get Cable Installed in This Joint???
Tell it to me straight, Mom.
Something happened during my birth. Was there a surprise lighting storm that hit the hospital? An electrical malfunction? A radioactive doctor?
I just want to know.
I'm the one who burns out light bulbs when I flip the switch. They explode with a spectacular zap and flash.
When I walk or drive past street lights, they shut off. Then turn back on when I'm 200 feet or so away.
And when I deal with companies that use any sort of electrical component, wires get crossed, spliced, diced and spit out at my feet.
The Gateway saga came to a surprisingly anti climatic finish last week, with the arrival of our new video card. The worst I can say is my heart started pounding at the sight of "keyboard" written on the box but nestled within lay a beautifully shiny new video card. It works and everything.
I truly had hoped that it was to be the end of poor communication with stinking big, huge and enormous companies.
Enter Shaw.
They thought otherwise. I am to be their new poster child for "Putting the Mis in Communication." I didn't realize I had applied for the job, and let me tell you, the pay sucks.
All I wanted was cable installed. Isn't that what Shaw Cable does? Installs cable TV? That's why I called the company. Asked them to please come to my humble abode and do what they do best and make Family Channel appear on our TV.
I'd wait. Sure I'd wait. I know they want my business, but I'd wait. And wait. You know what? I wanted them to come and install cable so bad, I let them schedule an evening appointment that was two weeks away. And it would still be ok when the techy guy showed up and told me he wished they would stop scheduling evening appointments to install cable, 'cause it's kinda hard for him to see in the dark and all, and I wasn't going to be watching Jack Bauer kill 18 bad guys with his bare hands and a piece of guitar wire that night.
I'd wait another 9 days. I was just sitting around waiting for that video card anyways. And while I was waiting, Shaw could phone my cell asking when I wanted to schedule an appointment to install my cable. I wouldn't lose faith in their company. No. Not yet.
But when they phone after making me wait around for 4 hours on a sunny morning and tell me they won't be coming after all, something will snap. Explode. Combust.
Because the customer service representatives don't know what the heck they are talking about.
Depending on who you talk to at Shaw, if you're exchanging your old satellite receiver and dish for a new cable box, you either have to do nothing, take off the arm of the satellite or take down the entire satellite dish.
The latest answer is to you have to take down the entire dish.
The previous night's answer was to only take down the arm of the dish.
Three weeks ago, the answer was to sit and drink a latte while the technician did everything. In the dark. Including taking the dish down himself.
We'll see what tomorrow brings. Or doesn't. Nothing will surprise me at this point.
Something happened during my birth. Was there a surprise lighting storm that hit the hospital? An electrical malfunction? A radioactive doctor?
I just want to know.
I'm the one who burns out light bulbs when I flip the switch. They explode with a spectacular zap and flash.
When I walk or drive past street lights, they shut off. Then turn back on when I'm 200 feet or so away.
And when I deal with companies that use any sort of electrical component, wires get crossed, spliced, diced and spit out at my feet.
The Gateway saga came to a surprisingly anti climatic finish last week, with the arrival of our new video card. The worst I can say is my heart started pounding at the sight of "keyboard" written on the box but nestled within lay a beautifully shiny new video card. It works and everything.
I truly had hoped that it was to be the end of poor communication with stinking big, huge and enormous companies.
Enter Shaw.
They thought otherwise. I am to be their new poster child for "Putting the Mis in Communication." I didn't realize I had applied for the job, and let me tell you, the pay sucks.
All I wanted was cable installed. Isn't that what Shaw Cable does? Installs cable TV? That's why I called the company. Asked them to please come to my humble abode and do what they do best and make Family Channel appear on our TV.
I'd wait. Sure I'd wait. I know they want my business, but I'd wait. And wait. You know what? I wanted them to come and install cable so bad, I let them schedule an evening appointment that was two weeks away. And it would still be ok when the techy guy showed up and told me he wished they would stop scheduling evening appointments to install cable, 'cause it's kinda hard for him to see in the dark and all, and I wasn't going to be watching Jack Bauer kill 18 bad guys with his bare hands and a piece of guitar wire that night.
I'd wait another 9 days. I was just sitting around waiting for that video card anyways. And while I was waiting, Shaw could phone my cell asking when I wanted to schedule an appointment to install my cable. I wouldn't lose faith in their company. No. Not yet.
But when they phone after making me wait around for 4 hours on a sunny morning and tell me they won't be coming after all, something will snap. Explode. Combust.
Because the customer service representatives don't know what the heck they are talking about.
Depending on who you talk to at Shaw, if you're exchanging your old satellite receiver and dish for a new cable box, you either have to do nothing, take off the arm of the satellite or take down the entire satellite dish.
The latest answer is to you have to take down the entire dish.
The previous night's answer was to only take down the arm of the dish.
Three weeks ago, the answer was to sit and drink a latte while the technician did everything. In the dark. Including taking the dish down himself.
We'll see what tomorrow brings. Or doesn't. Nothing will surprise me at this point.
Monday, January 26, 2009
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.
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.
Clue #2
Ok, even the Husband didn't guess with my first brilliant clue.
So, here's the second clue:
I owe Tentative Equinox 17 cents.
So, here's the second clue:
I owe Tentative Equinox 17 cents.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Can You Guess?
10 points to the person who can guess why the 90 pound dog started barking today.
No clue?
Here's a hint.
hint hint hint hint hint hint hint
No clue?
Here's a hint.
hint hint hint hint hint hint hint
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
A Lovely Day
I was driving in the ol' purple minivan, in an endless pursuit of errands. The Princess was sitting in the back, looking out the window, her mind elsewhere.
Lucky for us, the radio has decided to work again. Mostly. Well, if you drive over a bump a horrible crackling snapping sound happens, and sometimes it won't stop, even if you turn the radio off.
Do you think that's normal?
But, like I said. The radio works again.
The song "Amazing Grace" started playing on the radio while we drove through the endless fog we've been experiencing around these parts. Thirty seconds into the song, the Princess said,
"This song makes my nose all tickley inside and I feel like I'm going to start to cry. It's just so beautiful."
She's almost 7. Music has been a part of her very being since her birth. She loves to sit on her window seat, tucked in amongst her beloved stuffies and pillows made by her Grandma. And she writes songs. And her heart sings along.
I found a song she had written over the Christmas holidays. It's written in the usual Princess hieroglyphics. I'll translate it for you. It kind of sums up my day today.
Lucky for us, the radio has decided to work again. Mostly. Well, if you drive over a bump a horrible crackling snapping sound happens, and sometimes it won't stop, even if you turn the radio off.
Do you think that's normal?
But, like I said. The radio works again.
The song "Amazing Grace" started playing on the radio while we drove through the endless fog we've been experiencing around these parts. Thirty seconds into the song, the Princess said,
"This song makes my nose all tickley inside and I feel like I'm going to start to cry. It's just so beautiful."
She's almost 7. Music has been a part of her very being since her birth. She loves to sit on her window seat, tucked in amongst her beloved stuffies and pillows made by her Grandma. And she writes songs. And her heart sings along.
I found a song she had written over the Christmas holidays. It's written in the usual Princess hieroglyphics. I'll translate it for you. It kind of sums up my day today.
A Lovely Day Today
I am very happy today
Because I am having a great time
At my house.
I hope that you
Are having a great time
At your house today, too.
Because
It is a lovely day
Today.
A dun dun dun.
I love the last line.
I hope you had a great day too.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Not the Brightest Bulb at Work Moment
Tentative Equinox suggested I check out Pearl, Why You Little...
Brilliant blog. I laugh. I laugh. I laugh. And she wears the glasses I want.
Today's post Someone's To Blame for This (and It's Probably Me!) got me to thinking about some of my not so perfect moments in the working world. I know, it's hard to believe, but yes, I used to work. And yes, I was not perfect at my craft.
I like the idea of us bloggers publicly admitting we're not perfect. As I've said in an earlier post, I've grown weary of perfect people living in their perfect blogs. Nothing says, "I'm human" like messing up. And boy, am I human.
So I'm starting the ball rolling. Well, I guess Pearl started it, but I caught the ball with my face and am running away with it.
Oh. Also. Mom, if you're reading this, I apologize in advance. I know you tried to raise me better than what you're about to read.
(And oh, on a serious side note. This story is in no way to make fun of someone with a disability. It is only to show me in a pathetic light. Every person I have ever worked with in the world of autism has a piece of my heart and I want to make sure you all know that. I miss being inspired by their determination and perseverance every day. Each child taught me many lessons....when I was the one who was suppose to be teaching them a thing or two.)
So, as I was saying, I used to work. I worked with children with autism within the school system and in home based therapy programs. I also taught some basic therapy workshops for new therapists and families who were just starting home based programs for their children.
I was brilliant at ignoring comments made to me about having coffee breath, but throw a video camera in front of me and I was bound to muck things up.
Case in point.
I was about 2 hours into a training session that was being videotaped. I was discussing the finer points of redirecting inappropriate behaviour to a more appropriate behaviour. The example I was using to illustrate my point was about a boy who flapped his hands and the goal was to redirect his hands to a more socially appropriate behaviour. In this instance, the child loved those stress relieving squishing balls and long story short, he had one in each pocket and when he used his hands in an inappropriate way, he was redirected to squeeze a squishy ball. There's way more to the discussion than that, but, you get the gist of it.
So after I had done a fabulous job explaining the behavioural science behind the procedure, blah blah blah....yadayadayada....I said,
"So, instead of flapping his hands, you can see how it's more socially appropriate for him to have his hands in his pocket and play with his balls."
Did I mention it was being videotaped?
So I did what any person in my shoes would do. I looked at my watch and declared that it was time for a break, then hid in the family's bathroom for about 10 minutes banging my head again the wall and wondering where I could find a large enough magnet to nonchalantly walk past the video camera and erase the tape.
My lame excuse is that I was pregnant and didn't yet know it. My hypothesis is that I had no blood circulating in my brain that day as every drop in my body was busy growing a placenta. The only positive I could spin out of the blunder was at least I didn't say it in front of the entire school staff where I worked. I was scheduled to give a talk there the following month.
Did I mention that I worked at a private Christian school?
And yes, I used a different example for explaining redirection of inappropriate behaviour when I gave my talk the following month. Which is kinda funny when you think about it. I ended up redirecting myself from inappropriate behaviour.
So dear readers, the ball is in your court. Take the ball and run with it. Share with all of us in this very public forum your 'not the brightest bulb at work' moment. And if you have a blog, I dare you to tell the world there. Just leave a link in my comments section.
(If this was a really perfect blog, I suppose I would put up a Mr. Linky but to be honest, this entry has taken me about 5 hours to complete, what with the delivering of the Boy's newspapers since he's sick, getting him glasses of water, taking the dog out to pace around the yard and not pee, and, well, I just broke up about the 18th fight between The Princess and the Baby. I think I'm done for the day. And it's only 2pm. Just keeping it real. And not perfect.)
Brilliant blog. I laugh. I laugh. I laugh. And she wears the glasses I want.
Today's post Someone's To Blame for This (and It's Probably Me!) got me to thinking about some of my not so perfect moments in the working world. I know, it's hard to believe, but yes, I used to work. And yes, I was not perfect at my craft.
I like the idea of us bloggers publicly admitting we're not perfect. As I've said in an earlier post, I've grown weary of perfect people living in their perfect blogs. Nothing says, "I'm human" like messing up. And boy, am I human.
So I'm starting the ball rolling. Well, I guess Pearl started it, but I caught the ball with my face and am running away with it.
Oh. Also. Mom, if you're reading this, I apologize in advance. I know you tried to raise me better than what you're about to read.
(And oh, on a serious side note. This story is in no way to make fun of someone with a disability. It is only to show me in a pathetic light. Every person I have ever worked with in the world of autism has a piece of my heart and I want to make sure you all know that. I miss being inspired by their determination and perseverance every day. Each child taught me many lessons....when I was the one who was suppose to be teaching them a thing or two.)
So, as I was saying, I used to work. I worked with children with autism within the school system and in home based therapy programs. I also taught some basic therapy workshops for new therapists and families who were just starting home based programs for their children.
I was brilliant at ignoring comments made to me about having coffee breath, but throw a video camera in front of me and I was bound to muck things up.
Case in point.
I was about 2 hours into a training session that was being videotaped. I was discussing the finer points of redirecting inappropriate behaviour to a more appropriate behaviour. The example I was using to illustrate my point was about a boy who flapped his hands and the goal was to redirect his hands to a more socially appropriate behaviour. In this instance, the child loved those stress relieving squishing balls and long story short, he had one in each pocket and when he used his hands in an inappropriate way, he was redirected to squeeze a squishy ball. There's way more to the discussion than that, but, you get the gist of it.
So after I had done a fabulous job explaining the behavioural science behind the procedure, blah blah blah....yadayadayada....I said,
"So, instead of flapping his hands, you can see how it's more socially appropriate for him to have his hands in his pocket and play with his balls."
Did I mention it was being videotaped?
So I did what any person in my shoes would do. I looked at my watch and declared that it was time for a break, then hid in the family's bathroom for about 10 minutes banging my head again the wall and wondering where I could find a large enough magnet to nonchalantly walk past the video camera and erase the tape.
My lame excuse is that I was pregnant and didn't yet know it. My hypothesis is that I had no blood circulating in my brain that day as every drop in my body was busy growing a placenta. The only positive I could spin out of the blunder was at least I didn't say it in front of the entire school staff where I worked. I was scheduled to give a talk there the following month.
Did I mention that I worked at a private Christian school?
And yes, I used a different example for explaining redirection of inappropriate behaviour when I gave my talk the following month. Which is kinda funny when you think about it. I ended up redirecting myself from inappropriate behaviour.
So dear readers, the ball is in your court. Take the ball and run with it. Share with all of us in this very public forum your 'not the brightest bulb at work' moment. And if you have a blog, I dare you to tell the world there. Just leave a link in my comments section.
(If this was a really perfect blog, I suppose I would put up a Mr. Linky but to be honest, this entry has taken me about 5 hours to complete, what with the delivering of the Boy's newspapers since he's sick, getting him glasses of water, taking the dog out to pace around the yard and not pee, and, well, I just broke up about the 18th fight between The Princess and the Baby. I think I'm done for the day. And it's only 2pm. Just keeping it real. And not perfect.)
Thursday, January 15, 2009
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.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Cranberry Orange Scones
It's time for another episode of:
Cranberry Orange Scones
I've looked at and tried out quite a few cranberry scone recipes. It's hard to find recipes that call for fresh cranberries. Also, I wanted a recipe that wasn't fussy. This house hasn't seen parchment paper or zest of anything since, well, several children ago.
So I ended up conglomerating several recipes into something pretty easy and not too time consuming. Cutting up fresh cranberries takes some time, but you can use a handy tip that my mom taught me. Say a prayer while you're doing something that is mindless and takes a bit of time. Like cutting up lots of little cranberries.
Enjoy!
Ingredients:
2 cups flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 Tbsp sugar
1/2 cup butter, cut into small pieces
1/2 cup fresh cranberries, chopped
2/3 cup orange juice
2 tsp orange zest (if you've got it and have the time. I never add it.)
Directions:
1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
2. Mix dry ingredients together.
3. Add butter and mix until the texture of coarse crumbs.
4. Stir in cranberries, using a spoon.
5. Add orange juice and mix with spoon just until mixture comes together.
12. When cooled, ice with a thin vanilla or orange glaze if you haven't sprinkled them with sugar.
Cranberry Orange SconesI've looked at and tried out quite a few cranberry scone recipes. It's hard to find recipes that call for fresh cranberries. Also, I wanted a recipe that wasn't fussy. This house hasn't seen parchment paper or zest of anything since, well, several children ago.
So I ended up conglomerating several recipes into something pretty easy and not too time consuming. Cutting up fresh cranberries takes some time, but you can use a handy tip that my mom taught me. Say a prayer while you're doing something that is mindless and takes a bit of time. Like cutting up lots of little cranberries.
Enjoy!
Cranberry Orange Scones
Ingredients:
2 cups flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 Tbsp sugar
1/2 cup butter, cut into small pieces
1/2 cup fresh cranberries, chopped
2/3 cup orange juice
2 tsp orange zest (if you've got it and have the time. I never add it.)
Directions:
1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
2. Mix dry ingredients together.
3. Add butter and mix until the texture of coarse crumbs.
4. Stir in cranberries, using a spoon.
5. Add orange juice and mix with spoon just until mixture comes together.
6. Empty onto counter and gently form into a rough ball.
7. Press ball into a thick circle.
7. Press ball into a thick circle.
9. Place on doubled baking sheet.
10. Sprinkle with sugar (optional.....I like them iced, but they're great with sugar, too).
11. Bake for 22 minutes, until a light golden brown.
12. When cooled, ice with a thin vanilla or orange glaze if you haven't sprinkled them with sugar.
I always double the recipe and use margarine instead of butter. They're best when made with butter, but at $4 a pound out in these parts......margarine it is!
And now, I'm moving on to start perfecting some lemon scones. I don't think I'll be able to get away with 'zest free' for those.....
Recipes anyone?
** and is anyone else out there having major problems with spacing on blogger? No matter what I do, it won't save the changes I make with the spacing....I give up!!**
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.Monday, January 12, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
'THE' Dress
The one in the middle is THE dress.
The picture was taken with my camera phone, so the quality isn't great, and I was standing outside in the rain trying to keep my phone from getting rained on, but, you get the idea.
The Husband is suggesting a large wrap.
The Boyfriend loves it and is going to colour coordinate his attire. I'm hoping that means a pink tie and not a pink tux.
The Eldest is still in love with the dress, which is good considering there's a 20% 'restocking' fee if she changes her mind. I didn't bother asking how you 'restock' a dress that has yet to be made.
Me? I'm still in denial that my baby is finishing high school in June.
And I still love the dress, too.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Grad Dress Shopping 101
Go shopping.
Bring your youngest sister, who is 2 1/2 years older than your daughter.
Watch your daughter try on umpteen dresses.
Find the perfect dress.
Cry at the sight of your first born daughter dressed in pink tulle and satin, with a look on her face that tells you, "This is the one".
Take pictures of the dress so she can put it on Facebook the moment she gets home.
Take out your Visa card.
Pay for the dress.
Get assurances that the dress you have ordered will arrive before June.
Shake head that the size 0 dress you have just ordered may need to be taken in. And you will have to pay for that, too.
Drive home, discussing accessories, shoes and hair styles all the way.
Arrive home.
Blather on to the Husband about the perfect dress.
Squirm around the question, "How much was it?"
Eventually answer, "Well, it wasn't as much as some of the other ones she tried on. And this one is so perfect. It suits her perfectly. Should we order pizza for dinner?"
Show the Husband the picture of 'The Dress' on your cellphone, your daughter's cellphone and your sister's camera.
Pick up the Husband's eyes off the floor after he looks at the strapless dress his baby girl will be wearing.
Wish Time could slow down a little bit.
Just for a while.
Let you catch your breath.
Bring your youngest sister, who is 2 1/2 years older than your daughter.
Watch your daughter try on umpteen dresses.
Find the perfect dress.
Cry at the sight of your first born daughter dressed in pink tulle and satin, with a look on her face that tells you, "This is the one".
Take pictures of the dress so she can put it on Facebook the moment she gets home.
Take out your Visa card.
Pay for the dress.
Get assurances that the dress you have ordered will arrive before June.
Shake head that the size 0 dress you have just ordered may need to be taken in. And you will have to pay for that, too.
Drive home, discussing accessories, shoes and hair styles all the way.
Arrive home.
Blather on to the Husband about the perfect dress.
Squirm around the question, "How much was it?"
Eventually answer, "Well, it wasn't as much as some of the other ones she tried on. And this one is so perfect. It suits her perfectly. Should we order pizza for dinner?"
Show the Husband the picture of 'The Dress' on your cellphone, your daughter's cellphone and your sister's camera.
Pick up the Husband's eyes off the floor after he looks at the strapless dress his baby girl will be wearing.
Wish Time could slow down a little bit.
Just for a while.
Let you catch your breath.
Weeding
I sat in front of the computer this morning, a cup of coffee in my hand, and my Google reader told me I had 25 unread blog entries.
I looked over the long list and read my favourites first. Then I found myself clicking on some of the links and just marking them as read even though I hadn't really read them.
I'm lying to my Google reader. Is that a sin?
I think it's time for a bit of weeding.
I've started growing disenchanted with some of the blogs I've been reading. The perfectness of their lives is getting on my nerves. Perfect Moms with perfect children. Perfect photography moments and perfect husbands. Perfect meals that they have made from scratch and the pictures to prove it.
I posted my recipe for pumpkin scones once. I tried to take pictures but discovered that the two year old had dropped the camera one too many times and I figured posting pictures of squiggly lines the colour of pumpkin scones wasn't going to add to the whole experience.
So, just like I cleaned the drawer under my oven the day after Christmas (did I mention there was turkey dripping in there? No? Hmmm....must have slipped my mind), I am going to clean my Google reader.
Some (and this is by no means a complete list) will definitely stay.
Confessions of a CF Husband is a blog I've been reading for just over a year now. Miracle upon miracle.
The Dilbert Blog is always a good read. His brain goes to some strange places.
Cake Wrecks is a guaranteed laugh. The cakes are hilarious. Her commentaries are hysterical.
Big Mama is always good for a giggle. And she doesn't make me feel like a pathetic parent.
ProBlogger has some great blogging tips, even for someone like me who doesn't blog to make money. Bonus: It's written with an Australian accent. Well....not really....it's not like he goes around spelling out g'day mate, or anything. But he IS from Australia so you can use your imagination, eh.
Tentative Equinox and Spike is Best are close to my heart. I always read them first.
Bring the Rain is a recommended read for someone who has about 5 hours to start at the beginning. She is an amazing writer who tells her story with such grace and love you cannot read it without wanting to fall to your knees and beg God for just a smidge of her faith. I love her honesty.
And the blogs I'm culling? I'm not that mean to publicly delist them. I'm just at the point where I need to stop feeling like I'm in high school again. I'm turning 40 this year, for crying out loud! It's time to stop comparing my muddle of a life with 'perfect' people. I know they don't exist, but they seem to on their blogs and it's getting to me.
So. How am I going to declutter? Blogs that share the good and the bad stay. Blogs that only share the perfect? I need to take a break from perfect.
And I'd love to hear from you. What blogs have you discovered that you cannot wait for Google reader to tell you they have a new entry?
I looked over the long list and read my favourites first. Then I found myself clicking on some of the links and just marking them as read even though I hadn't really read them.
I'm lying to my Google reader. Is that a sin?
I think it's time for a bit of weeding.
I've started growing disenchanted with some of the blogs I've been reading. The perfectness of their lives is getting on my nerves. Perfect Moms with perfect children. Perfect photography moments and perfect husbands. Perfect meals that they have made from scratch and the pictures to prove it.
I posted my recipe for pumpkin scones once. I tried to take pictures but discovered that the two year old had dropped the camera one too many times and I figured posting pictures of squiggly lines the colour of pumpkin scones wasn't going to add to the whole experience.
So, just like I cleaned the drawer under my oven the day after Christmas (did I mention there was turkey dripping in there? No? Hmmm....must have slipped my mind), I am going to clean my Google reader.
Some (and this is by no means a complete list) will definitely stay.
Confessions of a CF Husband is a blog I've been reading for just over a year now. Miracle upon miracle.
The Dilbert Blog is always a good read. His brain goes to some strange places.
Cake Wrecks is a guaranteed laugh. The cakes are hilarious. Her commentaries are hysterical.
Big Mama is always good for a giggle. And she doesn't make me feel like a pathetic parent.
ProBlogger has some great blogging tips, even for someone like me who doesn't blog to make money. Bonus: It's written with an Australian accent. Well....not really....it's not like he goes around spelling out g'day mate, or anything. But he IS from Australia so you can use your imagination, eh.
Tentative Equinox and Spike is Best are close to my heart. I always read them first.
Bring the Rain is a recommended read for someone who has about 5 hours to start at the beginning. She is an amazing writer who tells her story with such grace and love you cannot read it without wanting to fall to your knees and beg God for just a smidge of her faith. I love her honesty.
And the blogs I'm culling? I'm not that mean to publicly delist them. I'm just at the point where I need to stop feeling like I'm in high school again. I'm turning 40 this year, for crying out loud! It's time to stop comparing my muddle of a life with 'perfect' people. I know they don't exist, but they seem to on their blogs and it's getting to me.
So. How am I going to declutter? Blogs that share the good and the bad stay. Blogs that only share the perfect? I need to take a break from perfect.
And I'd love to hear from you. What blogs have you discovered that you cannot wait for Google reader to tell you they have a new entry?
Friday, January 9, 2009
Making the Big League
I'm proud to tell all of you, my faithful readers, that this little blog has hit the big times.
Yes, I received my first spammy comment. Proof that I've made the big league.
It is my personal opinion that Online Shopping was one of the finer moments on this lovely blog. And the idea that someone way over in New Zealand had read it and taken the time to comment made me feel all warm and cozy.
Until I read the comment. Something about how they think online shopping is really taking off and then leaving a link to their online shopping site.
Don't bother looking. I've deleted the comment.
Great. I don't have enough to clean up around this joint? Now I have to clean my blog too?
I need a coffee.
Yes, I received my first spammy comment. Proof that I've made the big league.
It is my personal opinion that Online Shopping was one of the finer moments on this lovely blog. And the idea that someone way over in New Zealand had read it and taken the time to comment made me feel all warm and cozy.
Until I read the comment. Something about how they think online shopping is really taking off and then leaving a link to their online shopping site.
Don't bother looking. I've deleted the comment.
Great. I don't have enough to clean up around this joint? Now I have to clean my blog too?
I need a coffee.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
A Trip to the Toy Store
The Princess received a My Littlest Pet Shop set for Christmas. She already has that particular set, and we finally got around to taking it back to the toy store yesterday.
Lay off me. It's been snowin' something awful around these parts. And the toy store is a 30 minute drive away. Or the distance of being asked, "Are we there yet?" 8 times.
So the Princess had $25 and change loaded on a gift card after returning the toy. A vast, huge toy store awaited her decision. We looked at Barbies, My Littlest Pet Shop, babies, games, and Polly Pocket. I shuddered through perusing the High School Musical dolls, the Camp Rock crap and an unbelievable amount of junk with Hannah Montana's mug magically changing a 50 cent piece of plastic into a $10 coveted item.
And what did the Princess choose?
A stuffie. A $7.99 stuffed tortoise shell kitty that meows when you choke it. I mean when you push the button in its upper abdominal cavity.
It was torture for me. She had the whole toy store to choose from. "Are you sure you don't want to look at the Barbies again? Check out the Pet Shops?"
Then I had to stop myself. I'll be honest. I hate stuffies. Hate them. The Princess and Baby's room is coated in stuffies. I try every several months or so to weed through them and try and get the Princess to get rid of a few.....they are everywhere.
But the Princess is not me. She loves stuffies. And I had to stand in that toy store and bite my tongue and stop myself from suggesting a different toy. She didn't even want to go look at getting another item since the cat was only 8 bucks. In her mind, the stuffie was of equal value to the $25 Pet Shop set.
And she loves that new kitten. It has been hooked under her arm since she bought it.
Another parenting moment survived. Allowing my child to have her own preferences is more difficult for me than being puked on or sitting in a moving car with the Eldest at the wheel. Losing 'control' is one of the hardest parts of raising children for me.
I don't want my kids to be exactly like me. One of me is enough in this little family of ours. I want my children to be able to make their own choices, be their own person, have their own dreams. And if choosing a stuffie that meows is my 6 year old's dream, so be it.
So. Another parenting mountain climbed.
And if you were wondering, I would have chosen the sets of Barbie furniture to compliment the 18 Barbies I already had. And they were ON SALE! I would have purchased two and had enough money left over to buy a chocolate bar.
But that's just me.
Lay off me. It's been snowin' something awful around these parts. And the toy store is a 30 minute drive away. Or the distance of being asked, "Are we there yet?" 8 times.
So the Princess had $25 and change loaded on a gift card after returning the toy. A vast, huge toy store awaited her decision. We looked at Barbies, My Littlest Pet Shop, babies, games, and Polly Pocket. I shuddered through perusing the High School Musical dolls, the Camp Rock crap and an unbelievable amount of junk with Hannah Montana's mug magically changing a 50 cent piece of plastic into a $10 coveted item.
And what did the Princess choose?
A stuffie. A $7.99 stuffed tortoise shell kitty that meows when you choke it. I mean when you push the button in its upper abdominal cavity.
It was torture for me. She had the whole toy store to choose from. "Are you sure you don't want to look at the Barbies again? Check out the Pet Shops?"
Then I had to stop myself. I'll be honest. I hate stuffies. Hate them. The Princess and Baby's room is coated in stuffies. I try every several months or so to weed through them and try and get the Princess to get rid of a few.....they are everywhere.
But the Princess is not me. She loves stuffies. And I had to stand in that toy store and bite my tongue and stop myself from suggesting a different toy. She didn't even want to go look at getting another item since the cat was only 8 bucks. In her mind, the stuffie was of equal value to the $25 Pet Shop set.
And she loves that new kitten. It has been hooked under her arm since she bought it.
Another parenting moment survived. Allowing my child to have her own preferences is more difficult for me than being puked on or sitting in a moving car with the Eldest at the wheel. Losing 'control' is one of the hardest parts of raising children for me.
I don't want my kids to be exactly like me. One of me is enough in this little family of ours. I want my children to be able to make their own choices, be their own person, have their own dreams. And if choosing a stuffie that meows is my 6 year old's dream, so be it.
So. Another parenting mountain climbed.
And if you were wondering, I would have chosen the sets of Barbie furniture to compliment the 18 Barbies I already had. And they were ON SALE! I would have purchased two and had enough money left over to buy a chocolate bar.
But that's just me.
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