Ding Ding Ding!

Last October, I wrote about some daily phone calls I was receiving from our banking institution.

The daily courtesy calls requesting to speak with The Husband went on for many months. The calls petered out in February and happened sporadically after that. A few times a week. None for a week, then they'd start up again. The vast majority of calls came in the morning around 10 am, despite my repeated repeated repeated requests that they should phone in the evening if they wanted to reach The Husband.

Yes, they came close once or twice. But still no evening calls.

Several weeks ago, the phone calls started up again....every single morning. I didn't even tell them when would be a better time to call. 10 months of calls can take the fun out of anything, I guess.

This past Friday night, at 8:50 pm, the phone rang. It was the friendly courtesy call from the bank, looking for The Husband. And he was home.

After 10 months, they finally got their man. And then they tried to trick him into agreeing to some reverse billing life insurance.

I was not impressed.

The conversation on The Husband's end of the line went something like this:

"No, I'm not interested."

"No, I'm really not interested."

"No."

"Thanks, but...."

"No, I'm not giving you that information over the phone."

"Exactly what branch of our friendly banking institution are you calling from?"

"I think I'll just look at that info online before I make a decision like that."

"I can't look at it online?"

"Sure. Fine. You can put the information in the mail."

"Woah woah woah woah woah....no...I did not just agree to that.

"Are you telling me you're wanting me to agree to negative billing???"

"No.....no.....goodbye. Goodbye. Thanks but no. No."

"DO NOT SEND ME ANYTHING IN THE MAIL. I AM NOT INTERESTED IN NEGATIVE BILLING."

"Bye....."

Click.

Ah. Friday nights at the Mahoney household.

One of the many reasons that's why there's always beer in our fridge.

Another Griswold Vacation

Let me start off by reminding you that I already apologized to the people of Osoyoos for the weather.

But I'll say it again. Sorry about that. I've never experienced a 5 hour thunder and lightening storm with torrential rains and winds either.

Hey. They needed the rain, what with all the forest fires to the north. Yes, that strange weather caused us to leave a day early as it was going to continue on for another whole day, but let's consider that it was a blessing in disguise. It was pretty parched out there.

The annual Griswold vacation wasn't all Clark and Ellen. We had a great four days before the weather changed. We spent our time playing at the beach, floating in the resort pool and lounging in the air conditioned 38 foot trailer. We worked on our tans, de-stressed, ate a lot of hamburgers and drank a lot of these:

My close friend and her husband (howdy KA and K!) drove down from Kelowna and we had a great visit.

There were a few Uncle Eddie moments. I am now the proud owner of a minivan with a mucked up rear bumper,courtesy of some idiot who drove their boat trailer into it and felt the need to not tell us. It's like the cosmos want me driving around a Griswoldmobile. I'm not a vindictive person but I have to say that I hope karma bites you in the butt, Mr. Boat Trailer Man.

I really mean that.

Plus there was the overheating minivan in Manning Park. That pretty much took care of all that relaxing I did for four days. There's something rather odd about it. Manning Park was also the scene of a little trip several years ago that we Mahoneys refer to as, "The Trip To Hell and Back" when the heater core, radiator and fuel pump all went on our car as we drove through the 65 kilometres that is the Park of Manning.

(There were no dents in the bumper of that car, but let's just say it earned its name, "The Beast" for a reason.)

Oh. Then we got back home (thanks to the 17 decades of the rosary I prayed the rest of the way home, thank you Mary and St. Christopher), only to try and move the car with the engine light problems and it wouldn't start.

But Troy the Fish didn't die and The Dog crapped on the kitchen floor and not the carpet, so, really, in the big scheme of life, I think the trip had more ups than downs. Yes....I have some mechanic appointments to make. Yes, the new minivan is on its way to transforming into a white eggplant. Yes, I have 8 loads of laundry to do.

But I'm choosing to focus on the fact that The Princess learned how to swim the length of the resort pool.
The Monkey made 26 buckets of soup on the beach - all of which were personally taste tested by yours truly. The Boy and his friend spent hours in the lake trying to catch trout and the attention of some cute teenage girls.

Many s'mores were made on the bbq. The Eldest baked herself to a bronze hue that would make any dermatologist shudder in grief.


The Husband played with fire and tried to catch the ragamuffins that kept turning off the water to the trailer.

I actually appeared in public in a bathing suit and although I blinded several people with my mayonnaise hued legs, I didn't care.

The kids watched Mother Nature put on a showstopping display of light and sound, water and wind like they've never experienced in their life.

We went on holidays. And we made memories.


95% of them great.

.....and they're off.....

The annual Griswold road trip begins tomorrow.

The van is packed. The food is ready. The house is a mess. And I am sitting in front of the laptop ignoring the piles of stuff everywhere.

Everything is right on schedule.

As The Husband has been so lovingly saying all flipping day, "Death con 3" is an accurate description of my state of being today.

Whatever.

So I best be off to do one more load of laundry and write out the "83 idiosyncrasies of The Dog" list for my absolutely wonderful brothers who are taking care of her.

I love my family. They're the best.

You can bet there's some pumpkin scones coming their way.

So, check back in next week where I'm sure to post some awesome pictures of the family enjoying way too much time together. And hopefully no pictures of us stranded by the side of the road or of any mechanic's butt crack.

Lucky Ducks

The Monkey is still working on learning her colours. I'm always on the lookout for fun games that work on this skill (among many others). We have a 8 foot x 4 foot cupboard full of games, crafts and toys but I work with the philosophy that Candy Land causes hives, so I like to stock up on lots of choices in the hopes I won't be expected to be spending time in Snoozing Sucker Ville.

But bringing anything remotely related to children into the house requires some finesse. I don't want to paint The Husband in a bad light but let's just say, considering his propensity towards collecting lifeguard competition t-shirts, I think he could be a bit more understanding of my need to stimulate our children's brain cells. You'd think I perhaps go overboard or something.

Although that scenario is remotely possible.

It's not like I hide ALL the toys purchases. But any great relationship out there needs some mystery in it, so I'm just working on my marriage, y'all.

I did not have to sneak yesterday's purchase into the house. If you own Lucky Ducks, you know what I'm talking about. When The Husband arrived home from his hectic day at work, the first words out of my mouth were, "It was only $4. Sorry."

Sorry for the quacking, not for spending 4 bucks. I never buy stuff new. You know that.

Well, underwear. I buy that new. Food products, toilet paper, the odd candle.....

Toys? I usually do not buy those new.

Every child with autism I've ever worked with has owned the Lucky Ducks game. Oh, the memories of sitting in a consult meeting and having the consultant proclaim those dreaded words, "Get the game Lucky Ducks". The involuntary gasps throughout the room. Then the stunned silence. The tears of grief.

No. Not that. Anything but Lucky Ducks.

And that's the game I spent 4 bucks on and brought into our home.

If you haven't had the pleasure of playing this game, I give you crappy cellphone video of why I'm an idiot.



That's 17 seconds. It's been playing for 3 hours in my house.

I may have to step on it accidentally.

Ahhh.....A Griswold Summer.

Sorry.

It's my fault. I'll take the blame for this one.

I should have known better. In fact, I DID know better and I did it anyways.

Yes. I signed The Princess up for swimming lessons at the local outdoor pool.

I'm really sorry I caused it to rain.

Yes! I know! I know! It was 30+ degrees out the day before her lessons started. I'm aware that summer had arrived and you were all enjoying your tanning and flowers and dinners on the patio.

But I just wanted her to learn to swim. Her dad runs an aquatics facility, for crying out loud. We have old time lifeguards come over for dinner.....word was going to get out that his 7 year old was not on the junior Olympic swim team yet.

It was the peer pressure that made me do it.

Ya. That's it.

And in my defense, I DID try to save your summer and sign her up for lessons indoors. But they were full.

Stop looking at me like that! I know I'm a Mahoney aka Griwold . I knew that I was taking a risk. And now I'm paying the price.

And so are you. Two weeks worth of crappy weather minus the weekend. 'Cause, there are no swimming lessons on the weekend.

Sorry.

And while I'm at it, I want to take this opportunity to apologize to the lovely people of Osoyoos. I'm sorry that the weather will be awful up there next week. But again, I couldn't help myself. I got all caught up in the thought of a nice family vacation on the lake and failed to think about you.

It was wrong.

But chances are we'll be paying for several of your mechanics' getaways to somewhere warmer, so that even out the ol' karma.

You take Visa, right?

Gol' Darn Tarnation...Young 'uns These Days!

As I lay in bed last night, trying to go to sleep, I had the urge to scream profanities out my bedroom window.

Our little neighbourhood has always been pretty quiet. That is, until last fall when some hooligans moved in. Young 'uns. Young adults exuding testosterone. Youth with a propensity towards alcohol. And fun. And being loud. And swearing in inebriated jest. Then swearing at the people yelling at them to keep it down because there are children trying to sleep. And then cursing at the dogs that are barking non stop at their loud swearing.

It's a vicious cycle.

A vicious cycle that nearly culminated in me losing it and calling the cops.

Yes. You read that right. I'm officially old.

I almost picked up the phone and dialed the non emergency line for our local police. I might have gone through with it, too, if it hadn't meant I'd have to get out of bed and look up the non emergency number.

But I'm old. And I was tired. So I lay in bed listening to the call of the wild mixed with cheap beer and reminisced about how I never behaved like that in my youth.

At a wedding once, but never in my youth.

And so now I'm plotting my revenge. Lawn mowing at 6am? Organizing a little girls screaming contest to be held every Sunday morning? Rent a spot light and bullhorn and give a play by play of what girl dissed which guy's moves? Or perhaps I could rig up some speakers and play Celine Dion out their way once the partying gets past my comfort zone. Or Raffi. Nothing says "The party's over!" like a middle aged man singing Baby Beluga.

*Please note the selection of Canadian artists. I'm all about Canadian content on my blog.

Sadly, I know I won't do anything. Come on, if I'm too lazy to get out of bed and dial a phone number, I can't imagine expending the energy needed to find my Celine Dion CD.

I mean...if I had one. Which I don't.

Honest.

But it's fun to seek revenge, if only in my head.

Finding Childhood Memories

It's strange to think that my dad moving some walls and installing hardwood flooring in his house could lead to me wondering about my mental status.

I was also reminded of my genetic disposition towards being a pack rat.

Renovations always mean sorting through stuff. In my parents' case, it meant some trunks needed to be moved out of a closet in the room being renovated. 8 children x 13 years of school = 2 steamer trunks full of paper. My mom has been going through all that paper and sorting it into piles.

8 kids. 8 piles. 8 tons of childhood memories.

High school drama brochures. Kindergarten valentines. Grade school essays. Memory after memory. Thoughts flooding back from the past.....feelings, field trips and friends.

As I sorted through my pile of papers at my mom's yesterday, I read composition after composition filled with death, knives, haunted houses, eery ghosts, and child kidnappers. After one such composition depicting an attempted murder that was in the news and my ensuing freaky dream about it, my very nice parochial teacher had written, "Very interesting."

I commented out loud that I found it surprising my parents were never called in to the school to have a little talk. My mom replied that I was always a worrier.

Some things never change.

It's an interesting thing, sifting through your childhood. Pieces of artwork that I remember pouring my soul into....so proud of the results. Other items that I had no recollection ever doing. Teacher's comments about messy writing, do overs and "you are capable of doing better".

Some things really never change.

I thought about how much I loved Sister Emily, my first grade teacher. She always made me feel like I was capable of doing anything. That I was smart and clever and was destined to be a teacher. It's hard to argue with a nun.

But back to my neurosis....is. Perhaps my early writing is trying to tell me something from its steam trunking grave.

I should be working on a horror novel, not a children's book.

And I'm sleeping with the light on tonight. My writing scares me.

See? Not crazy.

My parents have an unusual bird living in their neighbourhood.

An Albino crow.
I was driving down my parents' street last week and happened to look up. Sitting in a tree were two crows - one black and one white - preening each other.

I nearly drove off the road.

My parents have been trying to get a picture of the Albino crow for the past few weeks. Today, as we were leaving their house, that white crow flew past, crowing and cawing.

Fortunately, The Eldest had her camera with her and was able to get a few pictures as the bird flitted from branch to branch.

Proof that we're not all crazy people talking about Albino crows.

That can only be a good thing.

Summertime, Summertime, Sum Sum Summertime....

Top Ten Ways I Know Summer is Here

Take 2....blogger hates me today. I don't know why it won't take off the draft I was working on while supervising many children, putting up with assorted teenage angst and does anyone want to tell me why blogger decided that hitting the enter key meant 'publish' and not going down to the next line? It's like blogger and I had a fight that I had no idea ever happened and it's seeking its revenge in the backhanded catty way of a snotty girl.

I flipping need a beer.

Top Ten Ways I know Summer is Here - Take Two

10. The Princess set up an Iced Tea stand today.

9. The ice cream truck has started its hourly drive down our street causing every child in a two block radius to start screaming and begging their mother for 3 bucks to buy Dora on a stick.

8. I only had to pack The Husband's lunch today.

7. Linda and the twins are out. A lot. (If you're not from my neck of the woods....oy, you don't want to know.)

6. I found sand in the kitchen sink.

5. Assorted children are whining at me about wanting to play at the beach.

4. The Monkey asked to wear her popsicle dress.

3. I counted the number of days until school starts. 73.

2. I counted the number of beers in the fridge. Not enough.

....and the #1 reason I know summer is here....

1. I just contemplated buying this:

so I can wear a bathing suit this summer.

I'd look like that in 30 days.

Uh huh.

Well, with stretch marks past the navel.

Whew. Take two was hard.

I'm glad I had already deleted what I had written about reading a book on fasting while eating a bologna sandwich on white bread. It was bad.

I need to get a grip. I've got 72 days left to survive.

An Injury

I have a shoulder injury.

Oh, don't go out and buy me flowers and a get well card. It's a minor shoulder injury. Minor enough not to have to go to the doctor but major enough to complain to The Husband about it.

I'd like to be able to brag that I injured my shoulder playing tennis, lifting weights at the gym, or perhaps saving a child from a burning building.

But this is me. I got injured by toilet paper. I have a toilet paper injury.

Google search is going to have a heyday with my blog today.

I was doing some shopping at my least favourite store in the world. A store that doesn't put their toilet paper rolls on shelves but prefers to cut open the cardboard boxes of TP and stack them up super duper high one on top of the other. Stacked higher than 5'1" little me. Much higher.

Apparently, packages of 30 roll count of toilet paper can get precariously off balance. Especially when a 5'1" person takes a package from one of the middle boxes because she cannot possibly reach the top box.

I learned some things that day. I swear instinctively when being pummelled by copious packages of bathroom tissue. I have the reflexes of a sloth. 30 roll count of TP is surprising heavy when lots of it is falling on top of you. And I am anal enough to actually pick up all the packages of TP and put them back on the shelf with my non injured arm.

The Husband accused me of missing out on a little windfall by not informing someone at the store that their carelessness, nay, negligence, in toilet paper stacking policies caused me an injury. I replied that I wasn't going to be going down in history as the lady who sued Stupidstore for a toilet paper injury. I'd be second in line after that lady who sued Micky D's for making their coffee hot and not telling her she shouldn't put it in between her legs with the lid off in a moving car.

Some days, you have to take one for the team. You make sacrifices to take care of your family. You go and slay the dragon, flaunting your war wounds as medals of honour. You can hold your head high, knowing that you fought the toilet paper and won.....your family will not have to resort to grabbing drive thru paper napkins from the minivan to wipe their hinies.

Sadly, my toilet paper shoulder injury was for naught. I got home and I realized that I hadn't bought any toilet paper.

Apparently, I have a head injury, too.

Yesterday

Lots of people have monumental days.

Yesterday was mine.

I caught a whiff of the greatness to follow when I found myself standing in the kitchen at 7:20 am, coffee brewing, and had the profound realization that I only had to make 1 lunch, not four.

I drove over the Golden Ears Bridge for the first time. The sun was sort of shining, the golden eagles were stunning against the blue sky and I got to my parent's house in 32 minutes.

32 minutes.

What used to be an hour and a quarter to an hour and a half trip took me 32 minutes.

God bless engineers and construction workers.

I picked up the professional pictures of The Eldest's graduation. And the brilliant and wonderful photographer Peggy Wynne gave me a bunch of extra photos that I hadn't even ordered.

The day just got better. My mom wasn't feeling well when I was there, but she called later to say she was feeling much better. You gotta love those kind of phone calls.

The Eldest wrote her final Provincial examination. She's done. She's officially finished high school.

It just got better. The Husband locked his keys in his car, so I had to drive 30 minutes to bring the extra set of keys. AND I DIDN'T TAKE ANY CHILDREN WITH ME.

After unlocking the car, The Husband took me out for a beer and pizza. And we got to sit and talk about life and it was awesome.

And if you can believe it, I topped off the day with this:


I found Waldo.

All in all, a monumental day.

The Girl You Want To Be

A quiet Friday morning.

Perfect timing for a new song,courtesy of The Princess.

The Girl You Want To Be

When you see the girl
You want to be
It's not really you.

But somehow you know
That it's you.
Somehow it's you
You know it.

But it's not really showing
That you are that girl.
And you be that girl.

I know somehow I am that girl
That I know.
I wish I am that girl.

But I am that girl.


I love that girl.

A Snack

The Boy has been hungry lately.

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

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

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

Case in point:


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

The Monkey's New 'Do

The Monkey Baby has a new 'do.

Again.

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

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

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

Weird hair.

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

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

She's our Monkey.

Baby's Birthday Bangs

3 years ago today, I birthed a monkey.

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

A Monumental Day

My baby graduated from high school yesterday.

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

Wasn't it?

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

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

Yes. I cried.

The Eldest and The Boyfriend. The future is theirs.

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

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

And here is the result:

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

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

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

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

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


Apparently, the day was exhausting for everyone.

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

No. The Baby really never sleeps in late.

Can you guess what this is?

Here are the mug shots.

My Baby with a mullet. Nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh.

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

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

*smack upside the head*

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

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

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

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

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

At least, an attitude change by me.

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

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

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

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

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

Today I am choosing to be grateful.

How about you?

Imagine

As I was using my kitchen tongs to fish a half eaten raw hide dog bone out of the toilet at 11:30 pm, a thought occurred to me.

There are some things in life I never thought I'd be doing.

When I became a mom, I knew I'd be puked on. I figured I would see my fair share of green snot, exploding diapers, teenage angst, grubby hands and have a perpetually dirty house.

No one told me about using my kitchen appliances in the commode.

So, do I throw out the tongs?

Boil them for 2 hours?

Throw them in the dishwasher and then tell The Husband what I last used them for as he's placing a cob of corn on his plate using the tongs?

Crap.

I think I'm going to have to throw them out.

Can you top my tongs? What's one thing you've done that you never imagined in a bazillion years you would ever do?

Autopilot

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

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

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

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

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

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

But with less moaning and dragging of assorted body parts.

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

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

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

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

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

Change is bad.

And I think those bungee cords just snapped.

Countdown

There are only 6 sleeps until The Eldest's graduation.

I am NOT freaking out.

Much.

I think we have everything under control. Dress, shoes, nails, hair, makeup, accessories, limo, camera, evening bag, tickets, photographer, time line, boutonniere ordered, volunteered The Husband to deal poker until 5:30 am at the dry grad....yup. I think we're good.

All that's left (I think....I hope) is the house.

Ca-rap.

I've got 5 days. Lots of time. Well, except The Princess has a pro-d day tomorrow, so tomorrow's a bit of a write-off. Tuesday is totally free, but the problem with Tuesday is there's so much time until Saturday I will talk myself into not getting stuff done then. Wednesday's waiting day at the soon to be retired Albion ferry so there won't be much homemaking going on then.

So, I think I can safely conclude that Thursday is my freak out day. And hey, that's 4 sleeps away. I hardly have to think about it at the moment.

Off to get a beer and play some online solitaire.

Random Thoughts of the Week

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

Top Ten Random Thoughts of the Week

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ouch Then Huh?

Writer's block can be a terrible thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Griswold Family's Favourite Things - A Princess' Perspective

I was cleaning the girls' room and discovered a small stack of papers with The Princess' writing. I thought it might be some more of her songs, but I was soon to discover it was a window into a 7 year old's perspective on her family.

There was a page for each member of our family. The Princess seems to have a pretty good handle on us.

Things That The Princess Likes

• butterflies
• school
• drawing
• skipping rope
• Webkins
• books
• ladybugs
• especially Snuggles. She is my favourite toy.

Things That The Baby Likes

• dogs
• the park
• books
• Mommy
• my sister
• Snuggamugga (the Baby's nighttime stuffy)

Things That The Eldest Likes

• books
• sleeping
• movies
• hugs

Things That The Boy Likes

• the computer
• xbox games

Things That Daddy Likes

• poker
• playing golf
• hugs
• kisses
• books

Things That Mommy Likes

• coffee
• hugs
• sleeping
• books
• kissing
• my family

I find it interesting that Daddy likes kisses and I like kissing. Somehow there seems to be a difference.

I also think it's funny that The Boy only has two entries. But it's very accurate.

I love her last entry under my name.

I love my family. And I love the fact that my seven year old knows that.

Border Crossing 101 - Griswold Style

The Husband and I decided to hop on over the border last weekend. Nothing says, "Let's celebrate being married to each other for an awe inspiring 20 years!" like a trip to Seattle.

Because the traditional gift of a 20th wedding anniversary is china.

But, honestly, China is pretty far to go when you are only able to get away overnight. And HELLO! Sleepless in Seattle was filmed there. I think.

Did they end up getting married?

Huh.

So like I was saying. Seattle totally makes sense as a 20th anniversary destination.

But first, we had to get across the border. We had a 90 minute wait but that didn't faze us.

Remember.....no children in the car. We passed the time playing cards and debating how many real parts were left on the hot chicks in the car next to us. Oh, and laughing at the group of cyclists in the truck behind them. Most fortunately for them, the Barbie with 3 real body parts left had to walk alllll the way to the washrooms and then the Barbie with the huge.......loan on her assorted new parts had to get out of the car and get in the driver's seat.

It was like watching synchronized swimming. 6 men's heads moving in perfect time.

We finally got to the front of the line. The Husband handed the scary looking border guard our documents.

The guard looked pretty cheesed that the Barbies weren't in his lane.

"What's the purpose of your trip?" he demanded. His accent was......is 'New York rapper' an accent?

"Heading to Seattle," the Husband answered.

"How lowng?!"

"Just overnight. It's our anniversary."

Scary long pause.

"WEDDIN' anniversary?!"

"Yes. 20 years."

Scarier long pause. Then he looked at our documents. For a long time. Kept flipping through them.

My stomach started churning.

"Mahoney."

"Yes...."

"Mahoney." He looked up and stared at the Husband. "That's how you say it? Mahoney?"

Gulp. "Yeesss....." replied the Husband.

"Mahoney? Like the movie Police Academy?? Sergeant Mahoney??? Hahahahaha!!!!! Mahoney!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"

We laughed with him. We really wanted to go to Seattle.

"So, you buyin' the wife some blang?"

"Pardon me?"

"Some blang.....some blang, for yo' anniversary."

"Oh. Some bling. Ha. Ha. Ha."

Then the guard looked at me. "You gonna pick some blang out yo'sef?"

"Ha ha ha. Yes. Maybe I will."

"MAHONEY. Hahaha. I dig it. I dig it. You all have a good trip. Hahaha."

"Thanks." And the Husband drove away and we went and bought hand sanitizer and Cherry Dr. Peppers.

We drove down the I-5, listening to the Husband's iPod and having conversations such as, "What do you think are the best one liners people must hear living in a community with "Chuckanut Drive" and "Nootsack"?

We apparently haven't matured as much as one might think after 20 years of marriage.

Or it could have been the child free car and hand sanitizer fumes.

Help

Okay. Here's the deal.

I need help.

Your help.

Yes. YOU.

You may have noticed that it's been kind of quiet around these parts. Yet again. I'm not sure what my problem is. Blog envy. Blog burnout. Blog blah. And then my mom (Hi, Mom) called today. She played the mom card and told me she was sick and tired of seeing my really old entry sitting all sad and lonely on my blog and to get on with it.

So what's the problem? I can't decide what I want to write about. I can't even decide what to make for dinner.

Help me. Please. I've whittled it down to 10 possible entries.

Top Ten Possible Blog Entries

10. The Boy - Olympic Snack Champion in Training

9. Why the Royal 'WE' Should Be Outlawed in My Home

8. US of A Border Crossing 101 - Griswold Style

7. Twitter is Rotting My Brain

6. You Stinking Kids Are NOT Turning the New Van into a Garbage Dump. I Mean It!

5. 'N' Stands for "Oh My God, My Baby Just Drove Away In My Van and There's No Flipping Adult in There With Her!!"

4. Recession My *%#

3. Bugs Are Our Friends. Don't You DARE Put That Thing on Me.

2. Ponna Tanna

....and the last possible blog entry is.....

1. The Griswold Family's Favourite Things - A Princess' Perspective

And so, my faithful readers, would you help a lost blogger out? Which topic should I write about?

The Weekend Away

The Eldest and I had a great weekend away.

Judging from the state of the house when we got home, the rest of the family had a great weekend eating takeout and not cleaning anything.

But they're all alive and that is what's important, right?

Right?

The Griswold Girls Weekend Road Trip to Kelowna started off with us deciding to get lost while on a quest to find A & W root beer. I've always wanted to see Boston Bar. Scratch that off the Bucket List.

I never wanted to discover Spence's Bridge. To be honest, I never knew it existed. But discover it we did, which was good because otherwise it meant we would have been visiting Cache Creek which was totally not Kelowna.

If you're confused, that's good. Now you know how I felt when we hit flipping Boston Bar.

And I totally don't blame the Husband for giving me the wrong directions on the phone. I take all the blame. I knew I should have bought him a GPS system for Christmas.

Plus, I learned something. There is no cell phone coverage in Boston Bar. Oh, and always ask the Eldest if she still has her cell phone after using the restroom in Merritt. I think I performed an illegal maneuver making that u-turn on the highway up to Kelowna.

Once we arrived in beautiful Kelowna, we had a great time. Lots of chocolate, salty snacks, great company, cell phone coverage and all cell phones accounted for the entire holiday. We found the perfect jewelry for the Eldest's graduation. As we wound our way down the correct road home, the sun was shining on the snow covered mountains, the tunes were playing and I ignored the reality that was waiting for me at home.

A wonderful trip with the Eldest who used to be my Baby.

Road Trip

I'm blowing this popsicle stand.

Getting the heck out of Dodge.

Hitting the road.

The Eldest and I will soon be driving down the road, in a car without booster seats, car seats, men, young children and fishy crackers.

We are heading out for a four hour drive to spend the weekend with one of my oldest friends. We are going to shop til we drop, find the perfect accessories for the Eldest's grad dress and eat 8 pounds of chocolate apiece.

There will be copious amounts of chatting, conversing, reminiscing, and clucking. Lots of tea. Perhaps a dip or two in a hot tub. A chick flick. Something salty. Definitely some Fuzzy Peaches.

Sunday will come in a blink of an eye, but for now, I'm heading to pack my bag, make a list or two for the Husband and get this party started.

And hopefully come back with a blog post or two.

Griswolds on a road trip?

Most definitely.

Numbers and Rates and Graphs, Oh My!

I had another epiphany.

I know. After sharing my last epiphany my readership fell about 10%. I realize I'm taking my chances here.

As much as I love being at home full time, I miss work. I miss earning money. I miss time away from my children to go hang out with other people's children. Which is kind of ironic. Alannis Morrisette ironic, at any rate. Stay with me, I'm heading somewhere with this.

Besides for missing working with some really cool kids, I miss the numbers and graphs and concrete evidence all rolled up in a lovely package of a binder or clipboard or a pocket PC. I loved being able to see that what I was doing was making a difference, and it all being confirmed with numbers and climbing graphs. Or on the flip side, seeing what wasn't working and figuring out how to change our teaching strategy. And it occurred to me in the wee hours of the night that perhaps that is why I have become obsessed with Google Analytics.

Google Analytics has graphs. Lots of graphs.

There are numbers. Percentages, rates, averages, and oh my gosh, overviews, and my goodness gracious, there are lots of graphs.

I love being a mom, but let's face it, there's not a lot of immediate feedback on whether I'm screwing things up....I mean, other than the fact that they're all still alive and I haven't had to visit the principal's office this week. Some days feel like I'm coasting through this role, hoping I'm not messing up too badly.

And I love writing, but it's a lonely place. But I've discovered that blogging gives me immediate feedback on what I'm doing. Kinda like work. The epiphany that Google Analytics is filling in for my work high is really not that surprising.

A thought has occurred to me. Maybe I should start keeping data and graphing my mothering successes and failures.

No. Just the successes.

I'll have to start small. I most certainly want to build success into my new system.

I'll start with some basics.

• The number of consecutive hours I go without swearing under my breath.
• How many loads of laundry I do each day and an analysis of the correlation between the day of the week and the number of missing socks.
• Tally the number of minutes preparing meals per week. Make sure to post this one on the fridge. Include highlighting and a really fancy graph. In red.
• Keep track of kilometers driven in the new van and gasoline purchases and figure out gas mileage (kilometerage?). Use this as direct evidence when explaining to teenagers in the house the reason why you won't drive to Tim Horton's to get them a double double.

Well. That's a good start.

Tune in next week when I analyse the direct correlation between my mood and the number of chocolate eggs I haven't eaten.

And please tell me you obsess over Google Analytics, too.

What I Learned During Lent

I gave up beer and junk food for Lent.

Maybe you heard.

Once or twice.

It's not like I'm a lush or anything. When I say I gave up beer for Lent, I'm talking about the equivalent of giving up 3 or 4 beer a week. The junk food.....well, uh....yes. I gave that up, too.

I don't always give up something for Lent. Sometimes I DO something. Like get up at 6:30 am and go for a run. In my defense, I was much younger then and had two working hips and two fewer children so it seemed less insane at the time.

Sometimes my Lenten challenge is just between myself and Jesus. But whatever it is, I try not to whine about what I'm doing or not doing because that's not what it's about. Every year I learn something about myself and work on my relationship with Jesus.

But this Lent, there was an added bonus.

For 40+ days, I didn't drink beer. I did not eat junk food. (Except for around my birthday....hey, I was turning 40. What better way to celebrate that but with a Bellini and a thick piece of cheese cake?) And guess what? In those 40+ days, I had only 1 migraine and it lasted for only a day and a half instead of the usual 3 days. And I lost 5 pounds. And I feel better.

It's like finding out diamonds aren't a girl's best friend, my favourite coffee is not ethically grown and my beautiful children write bad things about me in their diaries. Then someone punches me in the stomach and asks if I'd like a lovely cup of Earl Grey tea with the milk poured in the cup first, just as it ought to be.

So that kinda sucks.

Migraines or beer. Fat or chocolate. Feel good all day or feel good for a moment with salty dill pickle chips on my lips.

So the choice has been made. I've been shown the way. If my life is full of junk food and beer then it will also be full of migraines and jigglierer...er arms. Oh, the tangled web that is my life.

This is my compromise. Weekdays will see me walking the straight and narrow. Weekends will be filled with puppy dogs and fluffy kittens and the occasional beer. Or some baked dill pickle chips. Or the odd chocolate fondue. Or cookies or Easter eggs or pop or chips and dip or cake or.....

But today is Tuesday.

We'll see how it goes. Moderation. My new best friend or my new worst enemy?

The Haircut

I got my haircut today.

I've been feeling of late that my mass of frizzy curls was weighing me down. Aging me. Hiding my face.

And it was clogging up the drain something fierce.

It's my own fault. I put off getting my hair cut because I hate strange people touching me. I hate people looking at me and I particularly hate people commenting on my hair.

When I go to the hairdresser, they always say three thing.

1. Wow. You have a lot of hair.

Yes. Yes I do. I have had a lot of hair since the day I was born. I look like I'm wearing a wig in my hospital picture. I am aware of how much hair I have.

2. You want to CUT IT? It's so beautiful long.

Are you kidding me? You just hate cutting a LOT of really wavy hair. Get on with it. And while you're at it, cut it as short as I've asked you to. You never do.

3. Wow. You have a lot of grey hair for your age......you're HOW OLD? I don't believe you.

Um. I have no idea how to respond to this. Yes. I'm a copiously frizzy haired 40 year old. Please cut my hair. Only touch me as necessary and yes, I want it that short.

Today's hairdresser was in a bit of a bad mood. APPARENTLY, someone came in to sharpen her thinning shears and busted them. In case you were wondering, she spent $300 on those thinning shears 5 years ago. And in case you were also wondering, she paid that thief $20 to do it.

She was cheesed.

Cheesed enough to swear 8 times about it. Give or take a swear. It's not like I was counting or anything. I was too busy praying that she didn't cut off my ear.

But, surprisingly, she gave me a great haircut. And, for the first time in history, a hairdresser cut my hair as short as I asked.

Which leads me to believe the next time I call for an appointment, I should request the most pissed off stylist.

And since I know you're dying to see, here's the before picture:



And here's the after:

But not really.