To Quote Hannah Montana...

"Small minded pig-headed cousin's ex-husband say what?"

I'm stunned at how much of an ass my cousin's ex-husband has turned out to be.

WHAT A PRICK.

SERIOUSLY.

If you happen to read this post, you must take some comfort in knowing that YOU ARE A DICK-HEAD.

It Ain't Over Till the Fat Lady Sings

Christmas is over for another year.

Santa Claus came to our house and the kids were beside themselves with happiness over the haul they received. Amazing how much great stuff one can find when you agree that spending $150 on each child is MORE THAN ENOUGH. Sticking to a set budget forces you to actually take a moment and think through the items normally being tossed willy-nilly into the Walmart shopping cart.

I truly don't understand parents who spend thousands of dollars on their kids, when they should be spending that money on themselves....I mean, seriously, get your priorities straight! Depending on the age, give a kid a cardboard box and tell them it's a house or a baby crib, and you've got hours of entertainment right there and you haven't spent a dime.

We've had loads of family and friends over for visits, for eating, for drinking, for laughing, for sharing. If you do the math, there was one dog in this house last night, 6 adults, NINE children (and that isn't counting my brother & sis-in-law's two kids) and it's easy to figure out why Auntie Helley (that's my nick-name with a few of my nieces and nephews) was hoarsely screeching to please keep it down, because she's got a massive headache from combination nasty head-cold (shout-out to Nanny Lee who is on her vacation from working in Kandahar, Afghanistan and brought it with her!), sugar overload (cinnamon buns, fudge, and sister Bebe's lemon squares, OH MY), and alcohol poisoning (just how much vodka really is too much?).

It's been a blast, but I'm tired-er than I ever thought possible. And now I'm about to go make chili for this afternoon's get-together with the fire department and families.

"Dear Santa,
Next year for Christmas, could you please bring me a King-Kong size container of Advil Liqui-Gels? It would be ever so much appreciated if you'd include that with the large bottle of Grey Goose vodka..."

Oh, and did I mention the PMS over the last few days? Ahh....good times.

This Little Elf Went To Market, and This Little Elf Stayed Home

Christmas is in 2 days.

I have not sent out any of the handcrafted Christmas cards I have on hand. (Oh, right, that's because I did not make any handcrafted Christmas cards, despite my best intentions.)

I have not begun baking.

I have not finished shopping.

I have not started wrapping.

I have not made a dent in the mountain of laundry piled up. (Having clean underwear available on Christmas morning ranks quite high on my list of wants this year.)

I did buy the Starbucks Christmas Blend coffee to have at home during the holidays.

I did buy my children (each their own) Advent calendars. (Note to self: next year, the daughter will need two for herself as she eats a week's worth of days in one shot.)

I did give at the office - repeatedly. As in every damn Friday and sometimes twice a week.

I am going to make myself a vodka martini when I get home from work tonight.

Through The Eyes of Babies

Flipping through a magazine yesterday, I came across an ad for L'Oreal makeup featuring Penelope Cruz.

My daughter pointed to it and said, "Dat you, Mummy."

I think it's funny my daughter thinks I look like Penelope, which even on the most fantastic hair/body/makeup day, I wouldn't even run a close second to Marge Simpson, minus the blue hair.

I also think it's funny that she seems to not have made the connection between deep, dark, sultry brown eyes, and mine, which are green, the color of witches' eyes as I was repeatedly teased as a child.

Either way, I'm phoning our pediatric opthamologist today requesting an urgent appointment, all while clutching my pentagram, of course.

When The Apple Falls...

Earlier this week, my son was searching everywhere in his room for the battery charger to his remote control truck. And by everywhere, I mean he looked in the underwear basket in his closet, in the hard to open because it's jammed with all kinds of important crap desk drawer, and on top of the pile of dirty clothes he leaves piled up on the floor - logical places one might find all sorts of missing items.

He asked for my help and I dug through the large heavy-duty plastic container he uses as a toy bin, to no avail.

It was lost and he was TICKED OFF, stomping around, sulking, accusing me of putting it somewhere the last time I cleaned his room (and yes, I know, he's old enough to clean his own room, but a mother's gonna hold onto her ability to legitimately snoop, I mean clean, as long as possible, no?)

The very next night he came to me with a sheepish smile, saying, "Um, Mum? You know that charger I said you lost? Um, well, I kinda found it on my book shelf where I put it." He gave me a hug along with his "I'm really sorry I got mad at you".

We agreed we wouldn't share this with his stepdad because Jeff often mentions my own inability to find anything because according to him, I tend to look with my eyes closed and it would seem I may have passed this trait along.

So, as the saying goes, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but that's probably because it's also sitting on the bookshelf, waiting to be found.

In Which I Talk About Lots of Different Crap

First, let me tell you that because of a city bus strike, my usual 45 minute commute to and from downtown to work has turned into a 2-to-3 hour ONE WAY drive-from-hell-with-a-dose-of-why-the-FUCK-didn't-I-pee-again-before-I-left-the-house-to-do-this-cocksucking-bullshit-drive-AGAIN?! I'm sure you're shocked to know that I swear, but the terminology that usually floats from my brain and out my mouth during this time is so much worse, consider yourself lucky that I'm not typing it here.

The knuckleheads-in-charge don't appear to be in any sort of rush to get this sorted out, which is unbelieveably frustrating on so many levels, not the least of which is that they're screwing with everyone's Christmas shopping

Second, hubby is trying to fix a severe water problem at home. The water is somewhat contaminated. And by contaminated, I mean that it's okay to wash and brush our teeth, but really, we shouldn't be washing or brushing our teeth with it. Hubby has readied a filter system, which seems to be working, except that if the filter doesn't work out we may need to drill a new well. And I'm not sure how much you know about country living, but I've found out recently that it's just a little bit pricey to dig a hole down into frozen ground searching for sparkling Evian-like water.

Third, hubby and I decided that we could no longer live with our living room looking like it has. It didn't look or feel like it was even ours, in our house, but rather a collecting ground for older family members to store their shit. You wouldn't necessarily think that ugly-to-you furniture and paint colors could stress you out, but I'm here to tell you, YES IT CAN. Picture extremely dark green walls. Picture flowery, fluffy, dark green & burgundy colored loveseat and lazy-boy type chair. Picture an 8-foot-long dark-dusty-rose-pink sofa. Therein lies the nightmare we've been living with for far too long. It looked like an interior designer from 1982 barfed in there. We bought new furniture and he has been sanding and painting colors that I picked out, and he very succintly informed me late last night that he's not happy with these new colors. Actually, it was more along the lines of "These new colors suck. REALLY SUCK. They're too princessy-fairy-like." My response was to beat him over the head with a paint brush.

Fourth, our daughter has reverted back to the good ol' days of kicking, slapping, crying, and screaming with full-on temper tantrums. Mummy's just about ready to stockpile vodka, and Daddy is wishing it was May and he could go fishing. The reality is that she's in a new daycare and she does not adjust well to change. This does not bode well for the day I plan to ship her off to a boarding school in Switzerland, oh, but lightbulb!, it'll be someone else's problem then...

Fifth, we haven't started our Christmas shopping. Christmas Eve is 8 days away. For someone who is usually slightly more organized (as in I start shopping and putting things away in July), this is tantamount to a full-scale, five-alarm, wheezing, chest-pain-inducing panic attack.

Which brings me to the sixth thing. All of these stresses are not helping reduce my depression which has arrived, not completely full-on, but close enough that getting up to do this another day is utterly draining and soul-sucking.

And this brings me to the seventh thing. If not for my hubby, whose arms hold me close at night to chase my demons away; if not for my son, who I guiltily feel isn't getting enough attention these days, but who makes me laugh and forget for a moment about all this other stuff; if not for my daughter who is constantly challenging me to be a better mother and who wants to be held like a baby...If not for them, all this crap wouldn't be worth it.

Because of them, I can and I will and I do get up and go another day.

This Post Is Nauseating...

Hubby woke up Saturday night/Sunday morning to hear the boy half-choking on his own vomit, and let me tell you that while vomit never smells very nice, it's even more disgusting at 1:00 in the morning when you stumble into your son's room, still half-asleep, rush to the bed to check on your baby boy and realize you've stepped in warm, liquidy chunks of barf.

Hey, don't say I didn't warn with that title!

My poor little man...I truly never realized one person could throw up that much, that often, or in so many different colors. Honestly, he couldn't even keep water down, much less the pomegranate martini I suggested he try. It was actually red-colored Powerade, and contained the same sweetish smell when it came back up moments later. I was more than a little bit scared because the puking just wouldn't ease up, and he was paler than I ever thought someone could be while still alive. A fever arrived, followed quickly by diarrhea, then his legs were aching and in between all this he had the bucket nearby and a couple of hovering adults trying to comfort, but really not wanting to get too close because holy shi-i-i-t, I don't wanna catch that!

He started to feel a little bit better by Sunday night, but even toast was still making him gag. Then he woke up yesterday morning with a rash everywhere. Seriously? Off to the medical clinic we go, Archie comic in hand, and he is poked and prodded, and blood is drawn, he pees in a cup, and finally, somewhere around the 3rd hour we're there, we're told it's a viral/gastro thing and he needs lots of liquid and rest, but whatever he had, he's no longer contagious.

And now I'm going to check my Thesaurus to see if I've used every possible connotation for the "act of gushing forth one's stomach contents."

And so....

...my love affair with Starbucks coffee continues.

Because it's the CHRISTMAS season, they're serving delectable hot drinks in the stylish red cardboard cups.

This post would be so much better if I'd remembered to bring my camera so I could immortalize my venti-non-fat-extra-hot-latte for all eternity.

Until then, you can rest easy knowing that I'm sitting comfortably, sipping slowly, and enjoying every taste of something I could easily make at home for about 50cents.

Joy

This is my little sister at her recent wedding.

This is my new brother-in-law.

They are very happy together.

And don't they look fantastic all gussied up like that? You'd never know from looking at the picture but it was freezing out there. Almost minus-20-degree weather kind of cold.

Personally, I never cry at weddings. I'm cold like the weather that way, I guess. I've attended many through the years and I'd see other women with tears in their eyes or openly bawling and think, "Come ON. Get a grip. It's only a freakin' wedding. I mean, seriously, what's the big DEAL?"

And then I watched as my niece and nephews walked their mommy down the aisle towards her husband-to-be, who stood waiting, tall and proud, with his two children at the front of the chapel. I saw the look of complete happiness and joy on their faces and finally got it. I cried. Actually cried the kind of cry that brings a huge lump to your throat, the sort of emotional lump you think you might actually choke on. When the service was finished the room was filled with absolute joy and love and peace and rightness that these two found one another.

And this little moment right here? This is what happiness looks like, all wrapped up with a beautiful white bow.

Oh House

I've mentioned that I like Hugh Laurie as "Dr. House", right?

I also adore the oodles of pill bottles in this brilliant pic.

And that's not my drugs talking. The vodka maybe....

Another Reason I Love Christmas

On our way home after standing outside in the cold and wind watching the local Santa Claus parade, the one in which her daddy walked alongside the firetruck handing out candy canes because seriously? Firemen make THE cutest elves EVER; our daughter informed me that Santa 'Coz' lives at the 'ice' pole and is going to bring me a present, "Not a boo chair, Mummy. A pink chair because that's nice."

And my son wrote what is probably his last letter to Santa Claus in which he very politely lists a few items he'd like - and he included the page and item numbers where said items can be found in the Sears Christmas Wish Book.

Last night the three of us watched the Polar Express movie together, complete with hot chocolate and floating marshmallows, and all I could think was how thankful I am to have them.

Could my children get any sweeter? Quite possibly.

And when they do, I'll share all the details with you. I'm obnoxiously proud that way.

Too Much

I haven't written anything in several days for a variety of reasons, the biggest one being laziness.
Truthfully, I've been dealing with Revenue Canada's tax reassessment department and it's not the sort of thing you can ignore even though that's exactly what you want to do. Let's just say that many tears were involved with that particular phone call because I was FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

The bad news is that the 3-year reassessment they did on my taxes results in my having to pay them several thousands of dollars.

The good news is that...who am I kidding? There is NO good news out of that, no silver lining.

Well, actually, maybe the good news is that even with the next bout of depression looming large on the horizon, I didn't want to slit my wrists because of this whole debt thing.

And believe my cheekiness or not, but that's progress on my part.

Check My Flow...Unh

Found this pic while clearing out files on the computer. She was helping us clean out the garage last spring but needed her old winter hat to complete the Kate-Beckinsale-keep-the-paparazzi-away-from-me-look.

Canada's Next Top Model, people.

It's A Beautiful Word

Heading out the door to work this morning, after tripping over the dog who'd found her way in front of my fast moving legs, arms full with a purse, a bag of garbage, Baby Girl's tote-bag filled with her snowpants, mittens, extra pants, socks & underwear, my keys in one hand, oh, and Baby Girl's doo-doo/blanket and baby-doll in the other, still annoyed with hubby about the little spat we had last night, my son reminded me that I say the word 'shit' a lot.

In front of the children.

And, here's the real horror: I don't feel guilty saying it within their earshot. Not for one shitty second.

Ways to Captivate Me

Let me cuddle with you while you read various chapters of your brand new book "The Dangerous Book for Boys". And inform me that after school tomorrow, you're going to make a battery out of old coins and tin foil.

Thankfully, the house insurance is paid up.

Birthday Girl

Dear Bébé,

Yesterday was your 3rd birthday and we celebrated it with family (some were near, some are far away) and let me just say that neither Daddy or I are having an easy time accepting that you are "...'free years old". I'm pretty sure we'd give up a lot of things if only we could freeze time a little bit as a way of slowing down you and your big brother getting any older.

Some of the things we'd be willing to part with include my chocolate and Daddy might even give up his favorite fishing rod. (Not the bass boat, because, let's face it - that boat means as much to him as the very dirty baby-doll you carry EVERYWHERE means to you. The dirty, clothes-less, bacteria-filled doll we beg and plead and bribe you not to bring to the store. But you refuse to leave it behind because even at this young age, you understand something important: No one gets left behind in our house. We are a family and we stick together. Bottom line here is that you have the upper hand in these negotiations...but you didn't hear that from me.)

You were plum tuckered out by bedtime and within moments, sound asleep. So of course, I did what every mother does, and snuck back into your room to take this picture of you:

And then I went to Daddy for a hug. I cried tears of happiness that you are strong and healthy and happy and already a girl who knows her own mind. No one will ever push you around because you just won't stand for it.

I cried tears of sadness because my Bébé is not a little bébé anymore and as much as I want to stop time I know that I cannot. Instead, we will love you as much as is humanly possible and we will kiss and cuddle you as much and for as long as you will allow. (Based on your brother who still cuddles some of the time, we've got a solid 8 years ahead of us to look forward to.)

And I can easily speak for Daddy here too because we "aroo" you too, Baby Girl, "aroo" you so much you leave us breathless.

Love, Mummy

Burn After Reading

A couple of people have mentioned to me in passing that my writing about sex, or how much my hubby does it for me kind of makes them a little bit uncomfortable.

So they should probably read no further. Because I'm going to write about SEX. AGAIN. Because if it makes them uncomfortable to know I'm having SEX on a regular basis with the man I love and live with, they probably also don't want to know that another way my hubby totally turns me on is by putting pen to paper. I get to experience a side of him that I don't usually get to see, and reading what he's written can get him laid faster than it'd take for you to finish this sentence.

And that's just one reason we had sex last night. Again. Poor me.

Damn these couples and their expressions of love and affection for one another.

Keeping My Fingers Crossed One More Time

My recently-turned 11 year old son wrote - what I suspect will be his last - letter to Santa the other night. He had the Sears Christmas Wish Book spread open on the table in front of him and as he flipped through the pages, skipping past most of the baby stuff, he wrote down items he is hoping to get and included the page number and item numbers so that Santa can find the goods more easily. I have raised an efficient, orderly child here, people, one who likes lists almost as much as his mummy does. Now if only I could get him to make his bed...

I'm well aware that we barely dodged this Santa-is-for-sissies-he's-not-real-bullet last year, and I thought that he was in the I-don't-believe category this year. So you can imagine my surprise and deep down pleasure that he was writing to the Big Man again.

I don't know if he'll believe it all the way to Christmas Eve, but I'll certainly do what I can to prolong this childhood fantasy.

I mean, I still believe. Don't you?

UPS Sucks!

My dear friend, Kelly, has bitten me with the stamping bug. (And before you think it's some foreign disease that only close friends share, let me point out that it is, in fact, a craft. As in card-making, and gift-tag creating, and Versa-mark and embossing powders galore, OH MY!)

She figures all's fair considering I introduced her to scrapbooking a while ago, and she became obsessed with that, and then she graduated into this and why should she suffer this madness alone? I am nothing if not a supportive friend...

Anyhoo, me and another good friend, Sue, ordered a bunch of products through Kelly's business (here's the link and I strongly suggest you check it out! http://www.inkandstampit.blogspot.com/) and we have been anticipating delivery with bated breath. Truthfully, we hoped we'd close our eyes and everything we wanted would just magically and instantly appear in front of us but we live in the real world most of the time, so we understood that delivery would actually take a few days. UPS promised Kelly the goods would be delivered to her last Friday. Except the eagle did not land. That's the Canadian translation for WHERE THE FUCK IS OUR STUFF?

The box of goodies is coming all the way from Utah and we're wa-a-y up here in Canada. It's a few days late, and I swear to god, if UPS doesn't get its act together, well, well, well...there's not a whole lot I can do.

But I'm really mad at them because their slowness is holding up my entire Christmas-tag making schedule. And once I'm off track there, all hell will break loose because the tags must be done before I can start on the Christmas baking, and that has to be done before I can even think about decorating, and do you see how UPS is in danger of screwing up my holidays??

The good news is I don't rely on them to deliver chocolate. That would be awful.

It Is Remembrance Day...

A day to remember.

A day to honour.

A day to say 'thank you'.

A day to pray, in whatever form you choose, for all men and women - past, present and future - who have given, are giving, will give, their lives, their spirits, their souls, in the name of freedom.

After - Part 2

This is a partial view of the retaining wall I destroyed on my way to land in the ditch on the opposite side of this driveway.

I'm a big believer in wearing seatbelts ALL THE TIME.

Can't imagine why...

After

Our beloved GMC Envoy will be laid to rest this week.

Thank you for saving my life.

Mish Mash

So you've likely figured out I haven't written much this week because of the vehicular accident on Monday...And it's likely I won't have much to say at this particular moment because the drugs I'm taking to ease the physical pain? They are goooood.

Which means I pretty much can't string more than two sentences together.

Which also means I'll have a lot to say next week when I'm no longer taking medication.

So, until then, be well, and give your kids and spouse extra hugs and kisses today just because you can.

I'll be doing the same thing.

Monday Morning Commute

Driving the truck to work on Monday morning, I hit black ice which led to fishtailing, which led to trying to steer out of the fishtailing, which led to the truck hitting more black ice, which led to a couple of 360's, which led to sliding across the road in a rollover, which led to the truck nose down in a ditch, which led to the back end of the truck hung up on a retaining wall made out of 4x4 wood, the driver's side window and back window blowing out, the windshield shattered and significant damage to the driver's side of the truck we bought in July, inches away from hitting a hydro pole.

A lady stopped and called 911 and another lady (Joanne) stayed with me as I went into shock. She talked and talked and talked while we waited for firefighters, paramedics and police to arrive. Someone else phoned my hubby and minutes after it happened, he was there, holding my hand and despite the fact that he is a firefighter himself who has dealt with scenes such as these, I could feel his hands shaking. It's different when it's your own, he told me later on.

I was in a fair amount of neck, head and back pain, and a firefighter climbed in the back seat of the truck to hold my head in place (his name was Robert) and he too, talked and talked and talked while a paramedic put a collar on me and firefighters cut off the driver's side door to get me out. I was laid down, in one smooth movement, strapped onto a backboard and put into the waiting ambulance.

Firefighters and paramedics told my hubby that when they pulled up and saw the truck, it didn't give them a good feeling about the state of the passenger inside. They told him that I was very, very lucky. Wearing my seatbelt saved my life.

Hubby came with me to the hospital where my favourite black turtleneck sweater was cut off so they could check for other injuries. Miraculously, I did not even have a single cut from all the flying glass. Several hours, x-rays, and a CAT-scan later, I was sent home with prescriptions for drugs, and feeling quite emotional about the whole thing, especially upon seeing my children. That is when I started to shake again, and cry, because how lucky can one person be?

Not that long ago I wrote a post about how I wished to have an accident, just a small one, to allow me time to rest.

Now I know what it means when they say, "Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it."

This Day Can't Be Over Soon Enough

So by now, you're all aware of my extreme fear of bats and to add to that, is my complete distaste for creepy, scary, gory Halloween and a frozen-to-the-spot-with-watery-legs fear of clowns.

This is a holiday nightmare for people like me. The entire month of October is fraught with turns down the wrong aisle at the grocery store where, by not paying attention to your surroundings because you are focused on finding the damn dog food which has been moved from it's usual spot, you will come face to face with clown masks, bloody zombie faces, or freaky, mean-looking skeletons on a stick.

Every year, I hope that the decorations won't be as gruesome as the year before, but they seem to be getting worse instead. I like the happy, friendly, cartoony type of Halloween decorations. The ones where Casper truly is a friendly ghost, and the witch's laugh isn't so much a spine-shuddering cackle as a slightly gruff sound because just maybe she's hungover from drinking too much brew the night before.

Gone are the days when I could dress my son up as a pumpkin and he'd think it was the greatest costume in the world. Today he's dressed as a wrestler - the Undertaker. And even though I'm the adult who put his makeup on this morning, it still gave me the creepies because his face is hiding underneath it.
Little sister saw her big brother dressed like this, screamed, and then ran to hide behind my legs while crying because she was scared.

I truly feel for her...The only saving grace about today is that candy will be on sale and I just might venture out of my comfort zone (head down, eyes front) to buy some because chocolate almost always makes bad things good again.

Then again, it's possible I'll end up face to face with a clown dressed up as a bat.

And just to be clear? THAT little experience wouldn't end well...

Perspective

This photo captures what my children are usually like together. Smiling. Happy. Loving.

Unlike this morning. Picture a lot of screaming (from the angel-face girl). Picture a lot of sticking-out-the-tongue at the girl (from her equally-angel-faced brother). Picture pushing and shoving and more screeching while everyone rushes around trying to get ready for work, for school, for daycare and the alarm went off one whole hour after it was supposed to...and who is to blame for that?

I was innocently sound asleep. So, clearly, the blame can and will be placed on the half-asleep FATHER who fiddled with the damn buttons in the first place.

Perspective. It's a beautiful thing.

Mature, But Bitter

Hey, look, NO SNOW IN THIS PHOTO EITHER.

Up yours, Mother Nature!

How I Long For The Good Ol' Days

I stood on our deck off the master bedroom and took this sunrise photo less than two weeks ago.

Notice there is no snow on the ground.

It Can't Be...

We were warned it was coming.

We watched it arrive.

We rubbed our eyes, not quite believing it was snowing.

Heavily snowing.

In OCTOBER.

I need to stock up on vodka today because based on this? It's going to be one loooong fucking winter.

Family Fun Time

I can't remember the last time I enjoyed my weekend so much. We took the kids bowling Saturday night and it was fun. The kind of fun that makes my heart sing and puts all of us in silly moods. We were all also very tired, and everyone was in bed and falling asleep by 9:30 p.m. that night.

I encouraged my not-quite-ready-for-bed son that at his new age of 11 years old, it was quite alright to sneak his Nintendo DS into bed with him for a secretive game or two without, wink-wink, Mummy's knowledge that he was doing so. Of course, I also asked him to shut it down by 9:45 p.m....and you know what? HE DID.

On Sunday morning, my daughter helped me make very healthy banana-carrot muffins for breakfast. (These muffins had whole wheat flour, ground flax, wheat germ, and honey instead of sugar! Despite this, we did not spend the rest of the day visiting the bathroom...) I started the chili in the slow cooker, then hubby and I had a heart-to-heart about a couple of things while the kids were chasing each other and screaming with laughter. We went for a short drive, came home, made lunch, and hubby left to pick up daughter's new mattress and boxspring. In theory, daughter went down for a nap, the scrapbooking supplies were spread out over the dining room table and my son and I tried to settle in for an hour of crafts. You may see where this particular story is heading...daughter would not nap, and I finally gave up trying to get her to stay in bed. Scrapbook stuff was put away and I took the kids for an hour long bike ride, which included a stop at the brand new park in our very small town.

Back home, it was time for laundry, checking on the chili which at this point smelled quite delicious, putting daughter's bed together, pass the vacuum while the kids were back to chasing each other around the house screaming, make some Johnnie cake (cornbread...but my parents always called it Johnnie-cake. Why? Who was Johnnie? What was so special about him he had his own cake, which isn't really cake, but bread? Sort of. So many questions. So few answers.) Then, I was ready to fall down, exhausted.

As I did so, I made a wish for a fairy godmother who would do most of the cooking, all of the cleaning and laundry and make me a good stiff drink.

Instead, I found one very cold bottle of Mike's Hard Cranberry-Lemonade buried at the back of the refrigerator. And a hubby who gave me a quick lower back rub.

Blessings come in all shapes and sizes and my weekend was full of them.

Baby Bird

This is a photo taken of one of the five baby swans that visit our beach at the cottage.

Its mommy & daddy are there too, bringing the total to SEVEN SWANS A-SWIMMING.

No Kids Allowed

My sister is getting married, out of town, in a month.

Do you know what this means?? We get to spend the night away from home, without our children.

More importantly, it means hot hotel sex. It's like vacation sex only without the sand up your swimsuit.

I Vant To Be Alone

Do you ever have one of those days where you kinda feel like snarling at your boss or coworker or spouse for no reason at all than it would just feel so fucking good?

I'm not in a nice mood today. I feel like screaming and throwing things until they splinter and smash into tiny icicles of glass around my feet and with my shoes I will stomp all over it to hear the crunchy sound it makes. I am so damn tired and frustrated with bullshit. I have moments where I daydream that if I crash my car just enough, I'll only get hurt enough to be drugged and required to stay in a hospital and this would be a good thing (in the moment I'm dreaming it) because then I won't have to think because thinking is exhausting me, draining me.

Instead, I will glare passive-aggressively at the Starbucks girl in her green apron because she just mixed up my order and I can't scream obscenities at her because, really, that's not nice.

Just another day where I feel like I'm swirly chocolate crazy in a vanilla world.

Alternate Lake View

Dockside - Left View of the Lake

Giving Thanks For Autumn Colors

Taken at the cottage on an early morning walk, Thanksgiving Day.

If I close my eyes, I can smell the fresh, crisp fall air....nothing quite like it.

Because I'm Feeling Too Lazy To Write Today

This is a view of the road leading to our cottage. Beautiful, huh?

Denial

It's my son's 11th birthday today, and I haven't cried yet because I promised myself I wouldn't. He got spoiled this year, really spoiled with the celebration (a bowling party last Saturday for him and 10 friends); several gifts, money, and more gifts.

I made the decision to not get all emotional and sappy, but I will leave you with this photo below. (It reads: Hi Mom, I love you a lot. You are sweet. I like it when we have cuddles.) This piece of art is in the hallway and it was something he created for my birthday when he was about 5 years old. When it seems that time is moving much too fast, that he is growing up far too quickly, I stop and read this, and my heart is full because that little boy who loves his mummy is still very much evident.

Especially when he gets something he was hoping-for-but-not-expecting-for his birthday, like, say, a Nintendo DS, for example. With a new game. For example.

Am I Crazy? Wait, Don't Answer That...

Last Friday I participated in my first hot yoga class and I never thought I was the type to try an exercise class quite this adventurous. But oh-my-god, it was seriously the best workout I've ever had. EVER. Even better than that time I stretched my arms waaaay up to reach the half-hidden bag of chocolate chips on the top shelf in the kitchen, which I then dumped over the large dish of vanilla ice cream covered in syrup and wheat germ, because, hey, I know how important it is to elongate my muscles before I eat healthy, and let me tell you, that wheat germ is great stuff.

Last night was the regular vinyasa yoga class and I think I may have finally found it...you know, that exercise that makes you feel really good about yourself, really happy and centered and at peace. Yoga is a great workout and towards the end of class, we lay prone on the floor, the lights are dimmed, singing or chanting music is played softly in the background, we are focused on our breathing, focused on inside....and it happened.

Last night's music was all about connecting with mother: our own mothers, us as mothers, mother earth and feeling love and forgiveness and bountiful-ness of mother. I don't know exactly how it happened but I felt hot tears sliding out my eyes, dropping into my hair. My eyes were shut, and yet I could see myself, could see my children and I was hugging them, holding them, kissing them, giving my love to them directly from my heart to theirs. And then, I saw me. Me as a child. About 7 years old and while a part of my brain was thinking, "wait, what's going on? This can't be happening..." it WAS. My children were standing on either side of me and my arms were outstretched to include 7 year old Shelley and I couldn't stop crying and hugging her. Hugging me. And saying over and over again, "Shh, it's okay. It's okay. You're going to be okay. It's going to be alright." And then a moment later, she was slipping away from me and I could feel that there was so much more I needed to tell her. So much longer I needed to hold her.

Even writing this now, I can feel how powerful that moment was for me, and yet, the cynical part of me wants to believe that it was just a trick of my mind, that yep, I must be a little bit crazy.

So I wonder. If something happens and you're the only that sees it, did it really happen?

Hot! Hot! Hot!

I'm trying out a hot yoga class tonight and I cannot wait to have sweat pouring out of me like the rivers of Babylon. Or, you know, the tiny, little brook in my backyard.

This is a photo of Buddha who sits on my dresser and gives me a moment's pause each morning, reminding me to breathe deeply and to try and feel joy within me.

Shit. I need more practice.

This One is For YOU. Yes, You.

Obviously, I'm not a terribly skilled photographer, but I'm still quite proud of this shot.

Big Blue

Everyone knows my extreme (and justifiable) fear of flying creatures. Having said that, I find this blue heron that comes to visit our property absolutely fascinating. That I am so intrigued by this very large bird makes little sense to others, but is perfectly logical to me: I can SEE this thing coming from a long way off.

That, and it never flys too close to my head.

The Time Is Nigh

Fall has arrived with its usual gorgeous rich tapestry of colors, cloudy days and Canadian snow geese. I'll be posting photos such as this one below for the next couple of days...

Heavenly

This lotion is part of the reason I find it slightly easier to get out of bed and showered in the morning. The scent is subtle and softens my skin and it actually puts a little smile on my face knowing I will step out the door smelling great. I highly recommend it.

Soft Spot

Something about the fluid alto-voiced note combined with the feel-it-in-your-chest deepness of a gong brought tears to my eyes at the beginning of yoga class last night. Eyes closed, focused on breathing, bringing awareness inside.

The beauty of it made my heart ache.

Gemstone

My hubby gave this ring to me for Christmas two years ago and I wear it everyday. Except today.

I was in a rush getting ready to leave for work and forgot to put it on, but I don't feel too bad because since I got that new camera and took a picture of it and a hundred other fascinating-only-to-me-sorts-of-things, I can look at my ring and covet it from afar.

And one of those things I love about Jeff? He notices when I don't wear it.

In This Corner, Weighing In At....

This is Rocky Balboa. He is our pet betta fighting fish.

Obviously choosing his name wasn't much of a stretch.

I can't believe he's still alive after a year with us...

Boobies, Babies & A Nue-noone

For whatever reason, maybe because the sky is blue and the grass is still green? Because she hasn't been watching many Dora DVDs lately?, my daughter has of late had an endless fascination with my breasts. She calls them boobies. She wants to look at them and when she pulls my shirt down to get a better view, she giggles with a downward flash of eyelashes and says "Mine a baby. Dat mine boobies, Mummy." How she ever figured this out I will never know because I breastfed her for only two weeks before deciding "Ow, ow, ow.....this isn't supposed to hurt like this...ow, ow, ow"....tears streaming down my face, biting on a facecloth to keep from screaming and then relief - "Get this baby a bottle of formula right FUCKING NOW!!"

A vigorous nurser is what the doctor told me. Vigorous my ass...it felt like I was being chewed apart by metal jaws used to capture wild bears. I couldn't figure it out because I breastfed my son with no difficulty. I mean, it's not like I didn't know what the hell I was doing. Then again, this was a girl baby. And in my experience, having one of each, THEY ARE VERY DIFFERENT FROM EACH OTHER.

Making the decision to give up trying to breastfeed was, emotionally, very difficult, and I only felt better about it after finally making up my mind. I remembered reading somewhere that the father should give baby the first few bottles because even though she may be hungry, it doesn't smell like mommy and baby might not take it. So, we got the bottle ready, and my hubby sat in the rocking chair, our precious little cargo in his lap and damned if she didn't reach for the bottle to bring it closer to her mouth. I burst into tears, "You little bitch!"

In short order, my breasts healed and sharing feedings with Daddy and Big Brother meant they too got special bonding time with this new little one, who already sensed we were wrapped around her sweet little fingers.

Last night she and I had cuddles before her bedtime, and once again, she tried to pull my shirt down to see "her" boobies. Then she pointed at her own chest and said with a silly grin, "Not you (r) boobies, Mummy. Dat MINE." And then she asked me, "Mummy, where mine baby come out the tummy?" I answered that she came out of Mummy's Nue-noone.

Her reply? "Mine not like dat. Mine a penis." Clearly, she has everything figured out.

Pills

We got good news from the vet that Marla is going to be ok. The lump turned out to be a fat deposit, and she has arthritis which will have to be treated, but first we're dealing with antibiotics for the gross-me-out-bloody-diarrhea, likely a bug or something she ate, but this is clearing. She is on the mend.

As a side bonus, because our dog DOES NOT CHEW HER FOOD, giving her medication is very easy.

Now if only I could get my hubby to take a damn Claritin tablet for his allergies...maybe I should tickle his cheek and shove it down his throat too? But then, see, I'd only know if he swallowed it when he licked his nose.

Which is a possibility. ;>

Oh! There You Are!

We went to an apple orchard near our home this weekend and as family outings go, it was a good one.

My daughter also thought it'd be a hoot to play hide-'n-seek among the hundreds of trees.

All I can say is I was pretty happy she was wearing a bright pink sweater...the little shit.

W-T-F?????

I've removed the National Geographic Photo of the Day feature because just now I almost had a heart attack scrolling down to see what I expected would be another lovely picture of an ancient Mayan ruin or a sunset in Bali.

Imagine my surprise, which quickly turned to the metallic taste of fear and disgust, to see today's picture is A CLOSE-UP OF A BAT.

And we all know how I just adore those little creatures.

The Reason I'm In Love

This is my Jeff and I'm totally in love with him.

He is my best friend, and he makes me laugh, and another day I will write a whole lot more on why I love him.

Not the least of which is because he gets rid of bats and looks fucking hot doing it.

Miss Marla

Our Marla is an 85 pound-would-like-to-think-she's-a-little-piece-of-lap-fluff-doggy-but-umm-she's-not. She is a mixed breed (Australian shepherd and Rottweiler) and is showing the signs of hip dysplasia and what we're pretty sure is a tumour growing on her right side, which is being checked this week.

She came to us over 5 years ago, already mature in years: happy (read: whining constantly for attention), well-trained (read: she didn't, and doesn't, pee on any furniture); and loving (read: whining constantly for attention). There have been times that we have not been the best pet owners owing to mounting frustrations over things that had nothing to do with her, and for god's sake, Dog, stop that damned whining I'm trying to think!, and our underappreciation at times on what a terrific dog she really is.

I don't give a shit anymore about the loads of dog hair covering the brand new futon at the cottage. I don't care that she barfs on the living room rug leaving stains that I cannot get out (no matter what magical product is supposed to work to remove it). I don't care that she whines urgently at 2:30 in the morning because she has to go outside RIGHT NOW to do her business. My heart is breaking because we have to help her up the stairs from the family room when we go to bed at night. Tears fall when Jeff has to lift her up into the back of the truck because she cannot make the jump anymore and she looks at us with those big brown eyes to say, "Please. Help me. I cannot do this alone."

Knowing we may not have much time left with her is a horrible way to truly realize just how much joy and love she brings us...and love her we do. She is on the receiving end of even more cuddles and hugs and kisses from all of us because we understand that the time she has left should be enjoyable and filled with love. She has made us realize that good dogs are a precious gift and we are ever thankful for being on the receiving end of that lesson.

Today's Silver Lining

Mornings are tough these days. So are afternoons. And evenings.

But sometimes, a little thing like wearing the right pair of underwear can make you feel a whole lot better.

...Fall Is On Its Way

Summer's End

Lesson 3: Apparently I Can't Read. Or Count.

Lesson 2 was supposed to include ceramic animals. Lesson 2 instead was on Post-It flags. Lesson 3 might include my learning how to follow instructions on posting items on this blog.

This is Lola. She sits on my desk and I look at her and touch her bumpy hide when I need a good laugh. She never seems to mind.

Lesson 2: Fancy Post-It's

I love the sound they make being pulled out of their little tabbed homes. A perfect "thwick".

Careful if you try this at home.

Lesson 1

Colored plastic paper clips are a simple way to brighten up a dull office.

My next class will instruct you on where to place funny ceramic animals. (Hint: nowhere close to your boss' ass - tempting though that might be to some.)

This One is Heavy

I've only written briefly about this once before, and seeing as there are very few people who read this site regularly, it feels somewhat safer to be writing about mental illness, depression, specifically.

For as long as I can remember, it has been a part of my life, and while on the surface I think it's great it's being discussed more openly by people in all walks of life, it also makes me very uncomfortable and fidgety to hear it being discussed so candidly. A contradiction, yes, but I can't help squirming with the beginnings of an anxiety attack as yet another segment appears on tv celebrating this "cause du jour". For the most part, my experience has always been a private suffering so that to see it 'out there' leaves me feeling dreadfully exposed and vulnerable.

And yet, here I am, writing about my own very personal experience...

It's a beautiful September day - blue sky, cool, crisp weather - exactly my favourite time of year. This morning, I could sense the tentacles of darkness reaching for me, trying to grab hold and sink in. And with every fiber of my being, I am desperately trying to not let that happen, all the while knowing I'm standing right at the edge of tumbling over, ever ready to retreat inside myself for days and weeks on end. It is this trepidation, this knowingness of what's just ahead that tires me out most easily. In short order, though, there is a certain relief because when the monster arrives, it's just there. No more wondering when or how. It just is.

I have been medicated periodically for over 15 years, and have yet to find the magical combination that works for me. Most of the drugs I've tried have left me zombie-like, numb and foggy. I hate that feeling even more than the melancholy and hopelessness that swirls constantly amid the crippling self doubt; the hours spent inside my own head as the devil on my shoulder whispers a constant barrage of horrible, nasty, self-defeating expressions; the certainty that I will never measure up - all of this combined leaves me feeling like a ghost. One little gust of wind and I will quite literally just drift away in tiny particles of dust. There are moments when I stamp my foot against the ground to check that YES, I AM STILL HERE.

I guess by writing about this I'm trying to feel less shame about this disease.

It's a work-in-progress though, because I am quite discomfited by the idea of clicking on "Publish post"...

Rollin', rollin', rollin'.....

We went for a bike ride after dinner last night and herein lies FANTASTIC news to share!

My legs were not as jelly-like pedalling, my bum hurt less sitting on the very narrow seat provided, and this time? I PEED BEFORE WE LEFT.

I think you'd agree...I'm growing as a person.

It's A Sickness, Really

Sanctuary

Words cannot describe the experience I had last night at my first yoga class in over 12 years. But I'm going to try...

To start with, who knew that an old chicken coop could be turned into such a beautiful and peaceful studio? (It even contains a bathroom which I was happy to have an inaugural pee in because I cannot go anywhere in public without finding out first and foremost the location of such facilities.) Honey-colored floors and soft lighting, a lovely bronze gong hanging on the wall, a few lit candles, and the pleasing scent of burning incense, not overpowering in the least, just...soothing.

There were 11 women in the class and each of us laid out our yoga mats; blocks and cushions were pulled close and there was chattering among them before the class began. I sat at the back of the room wondering if I'd be able to quiet my mind from a constant stream of internal dialogue and also worrying about gurgling noises coming out of my stomach, or worse, a fart escaping. BECAUSE THESE THINGS HAPPEN.

The moment arrived with the gentle and comforting bonnnnngggg of the gong. Our instructor, Judith, mentioned that it was perfectly acceptable to smile during the next hour and a half. That we shouldn't worry about holding any one position, that the most important thing to remember was focusing on our breathing.

Goosebumps appeared on my arms and tears filled my eyes as the sound of OMMMMMMMMM was intoned through 12 pairs of lips. We did this with a specific breathing exercise and it was truly one of the most exquisite, stunning songs I've ever heard.

Several sun salutations, warrior stances and goddess poses later, I felt lighter, stronger, and happier within than I have in a very long time. Taking this time for me was, and is, invaluable and I felt much more peaceful this morning. Next week's class can't come soon enough.

Namaste.

On The Road Again

We went for a bike ride yesterday. I haven't ridden a bike in, oh, 15 years?

Five minutes in and my legs were tired from pumping, my feet tingly from poor circulation, my back was getting stiff and need I mention how sore my ass had become? I do not have a tiny bum by any stretch of the imagination and yet all the padding in the world wasn't going to soften the blow of each and every little pebble I ran over.

Feeling the wind cooling my head through the slats in my brand new bike helmet; seeing the open trail ahead of us, waiting for our exploration; hearing cows mooing in the fields as we pedaled past them made it worth every little twinge of pain I'm feeling today.

The best part though? Gulping down a glass of cold water upon our return home and then realizing I still had enough leg strength to make it to the bathroom before peeing my pants.

Little blessings everywhere...

Cranky

1. I am wishing so very much I could ram into your car because you have been ON MY ASS for several winding, twisting kilometers and now you've cut in front of me. Do you really the metal grill of my truck in your backseat?

2. I'm having an "Ally McBeal" moment in which I'm dreaming of punching your lights out and giving you an atomic wedgie just because your cologne reeks and it's making it difficult to breathe in the elevator. Can anyone else hear Elton John's 'Rocket Man' or is it all in my head?

3. If you leave the toast crumbs and blob of jam on the counter ONE MORE FUCKING TIME, I'm gonna go all Sarah Connor on your ass. I think the men in our lives either understand this whole PMS-ing thing or, at the very least, understand the need to pretend they understand it. Either way, clean up the god-damn crumbs. I say this with love, of course.

The lights are on...

I have no problem at all admitting that lately I'm a complete wimp when it comes to being home alone at night.

I may have mentioned my extreme fear of (shudder) bats, and even though my hubby has promised me there will be no more because he figured out how they were getting into our house, I could not fall asleep last night. Every time I started to drift off, I'd jerk awake, heart pounding through my chest, my tongue thick in my mouth, and beads of sweat trickling down the back of my neck because I heard something.

Something turned out to be the dog flapping her ears. Something turned out to be a creak in the kitchen as the house settled. Something turned out to be a nighttime sigh coming from my daughter as she lay sleeping in her room. Something turned out to be my son kicking a wayward foot against the wall in his room as he was sleeping. Something turned out to be the sound of my own breathing freaking me the hell out.

I tried to calm myself down by remembering that, so far, there was nothing flying about and at this point it was after 2:30 a.m....then I remembered that the last bat to get into the house and fly by my head to land one foot away from me arrived just after 4:00 a.m.

That little bit of information, surprisingly, DID NOT HELP ME RELAX. I finally fell into a completely fitful, toss-and-turn-non-restful sleep an hour later, complete with the phone in one hand, tennis racket in the other and the large flashlight nearby.

It seems I might be feeling a little bit cranky and sleep deprived today.

Imagine that.

Epiphany?

There's something to be said about middle-of-the-week-drinking-too-much-red-wine-staying-up-late-talking-and-laughing that reminds me life can still be lived even when you are exhausted from raising kids, drained from the job you detest, and worn out from doing laundry.

And part of that something is a reminder to me, akin to a slap upside my head or a well deserved kick in the ass, I need to take care of myself, physically, mentally and spiritually.

Like many women I've talked to, it seems to be ingrained in us from the time we are little girls that we are supposed to take care of, to nurture, to cook, to clean, to organize, to remember every single little detail (Where is my favourite pencil? Where are my white socks? Nooo, the ones with the blue stripe at the top! Do we need more milk? How much money do we owe the cable company?) about those we share our lives with. We become so preoccupied by all the minute details of everyday that we forget, we put aside until later, the woman and the little girl inside, who needs love and attention too.

Lately, I've looked in the mirror and hardly recognize myself. Who are you? I am soft and doughy from lack of exercise, there are dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep, and a generally haggard, tense expression on my face.

Someone recently asked me, "What's your passion?" I opened my mouth to reply, and nary a sound emerged. This struck me as sad and kind of pathetic. Doesn't everyone have something they are passionate about?

My hubby has mentioned to me a few times of late that I need to lighten up. I took it offensively because who wants to admit they might be wound tighter than a heavy-duty spring? And it stung a little to know he's speaking truth. Today, I can feel the love behind his words and for that I'm grateful.

Time to break out a new notepad and make me a list.

Beginnings

I may have mentioned some time ago that my son would soon be starting sixth grade.

Today is that day.

Putting him to bed last night, the tears started building (mine, not his) as it occurred to me what a huge moment this is. It's GRADE 6. 6. Six. Doesn't matter which way I write it, I'm still not prepared for the years to come. It's only a matter of months, really, before he will no longer allow me to kiss him on his still smooth cheek or hug him tightly in front of anyone other than family, and even that, I'm sure will be limited to those times that I beg and plead and use guilt (or candy) as a motivating factor in order to be on the receiving end of that hug.

Soon to be gone are the days of holding him giggling, in my lap, as I tuck his leggy legs in half and fold his scrawny arms inward and rock him back and forth and pretend he's still my little baby boy; all the while surreptiously sniffing the back of his neck for the smell that is his (and only his) and all little-boy - that outdoorsy-windy-sunshiney--good-smell.

This is how it's supposed to be as our kids grow up. We love them and hold them close for as long as we can. When they start to test their independence and move away from us, there is, hopefully, an unwritten understanding that they know we are only an arm's length away from them.

I get it. I don't like it one little bit. But I get it.

Bring Me Food!

I can't think of a single thing to write about that might hold anyone's interest because I am just too damn hungry and the only thing running through my mind is that my mouth is watering for a chicken caeser salad. And hot sauce to dip the chicken into.

And my hubby. Naked. Maybe dip him into the hot sauce too, but really, what's the point? He needs no extra hotness because he's smokin' as it is...

Not only is my mouth watering, now I also need to go and take a cold shower.

Is this what they mean about your mid-30's and hitting your prime? Because if that's the case, I'm going to drown in hot chicken and sex.

Which begs the question...which came first? The chicken or the SEX?

Did I Really Just See That?

Coming back from an important errand (buying princessy dresses at this time of year is a little like trying to find your lost way out of a neighbourhood of newly built homes that all look exactly the same - hopeful that you've turned in the right direction, but dismayed to find that the pink house you want isn't available in toddler size), my friend Stephanie and I saw the back end of a woman walking down the street.

And I mean that literally.

She was wearing the most see-through pair of flimsy white pants? pajamas? a scarf? It was hard to tell because we were so distracted by the fact that she was either not wearing any underwear at all or possibly the world's thinnest thong, but in either case, we could not tear our eyes away from her bouncing ass. Why bother with fabric AT ALL?

Moments after that, a shirt-and-tie-and-matching-shoes man was waiting to cross the street, directly opposite us. One hand down his pants, left leg cocked at the knee to get just the right angle. And he was scratching his balls. Digging and scratching and more digging and god, help me, would he get his hands out of his pants already?

That lead me to wonder whether Hungry Bum-girl and Hungry Balls-boy know each other and if they do? They should totally get married and have babies and they will live happily ever after as the Ballsy Bouncing Bums Family.

Clothing optional.

Princesses

My daughter has finally succumbed to the princess syndrome. I've been wondering when it would happen, and it has. I can see the days and weeks stretching ahead of us where EVERYTHING will be focused on pink and purple and stars and glitter and magic. Before having a daughter I always believed that I was far too practical a person to enjoy this, but now that it's here, I find myself just as excited as she is. Who knew?

Peering out our bedroom window at a beautiful rainbow across the cornfield yesterday, she informed me that it was "her" rainbow.

"Mine a p'incess, Mummy. Dat my 'ainbow." Yes. Yes it IS, little one.

This morning she gleefully chose to wear a pretty turquoise sundress and she wanted her hair tied up in a smart-little-p'incess-knot and she was so delighted with the world you could see the sparkles in the air and butterflies and sweet little birds chirping all around her.

Then she twirled around in a circle and stopped abruptly with an impatient stamp of her foot because her dress did not change into a proper princessy dress nor did a crown appear on her head.

"Mine NOT a p'incess, Mummy. Not work!"

It's possible we may have watched a DVD in which Dora turns into a princess, complete with hair growing magically to her ankles, one too many times.

All The Way, Baby

Tomorrow is our 6th anniversary and we are going out for an adults-only dinner followed by an overnighter at a local fancy hotel.

If all goes well checking in, before we even go out for dinner, I will probably let my hubby get to second or even third base. I might even let him have sex with me. Because after 6 years, 2 kids, a dog, a now-dead hamster, and a variety of other daily life stresses, I think we've well earned the right to a little afternoon nipple touching.

It's the little things that mean the most.

Summer Vacations are Supposed to be Relaxing...Aren't They?

I'm back at work after a month long vacation in which large amounts of alcohol were consumed, days were spent at the lake trying to chill out in the sun and warm water, moments here and there with my nose in a book, and hours and hours spent with two of the best kids on this planet. And yes, quite possibly I'm biased, but they ARE my children and nanny-nanny-boo-boo to you.

Having said that, I would not exactly suggest that my vacation was a relaxing one. It was more than a little bit difficult trying to figure out how to keep an almost-11-year-old and an almost-3-year-old entertained at the same time. Never before has the eight year age gap felt so much like climbing a steep mountain with no safety ropes.

"Who wants to go to a museum?" I figured this would be an activity that they could both enjoy and smart mummy that I am, they did. I, however, felt like I was trying to corral a couple of wild horses (admittedly there was a moment that I-oh-so-wished I had a whip) because this one wanted to go that way and the other was hell bent on travelling in the opposite direction. And that made me thankful I only have TWO children because I only have two arms and hands and that thought led me to my sisters. One has 3 kids, the other has 4. THREE and FOUR children. Each. I see them sometimes get impatient and sometimes voices are raised because in all honesty, how do you make yourself heard over so many voices babbling at once? But they almost always seem to have an infinite amount of patience with their children. I think I may have missed out on that gene though.

Not for the first time I've wondered how the hell they seem to keep their kids occupied with the same activity.

Not for the first time, I'll be sneaking peeks at their backs and sides and wondering where they hide their wings.

Deceptively simple

Watching a rerun of an Oprah episode last week, my son informed me that I should buy that cookbook full of recipes whose premise involves sneaking vegetable purees into just about everything you cook for your kids.

As he said to me, "You know Mummy, that's a good idea because I hate vegetables too!"

Wisdom speaks at age 10.

Pocketful of Sunshine

We have friends in Pennsylvania (Rich & JoAnn and daughter Alyssa; Doug & Gina and twins Maria & Kristin) who we get to see two or three times a year and at the end of each too-short visit it strikes us yet again how very much we love them and how much we miss them because they are so damn far away.

They are truly wonderful, loving, kind, generous and the most fun-loving couples (and their kids) you'll ever meet. And because I can be selfish and as has been previously indicated have a capacity to hoard this is not an invitation for you to meet them because they are ours. As in not yours. And I'm not sharing. I digress.

Each year there is a summer song that all the men sing, screech, belch, bellow with great gusto (I swear it's not the amount of alcohol we consume together, although the argument could be made that that certainly increases the volume at which they sing). The thing that fills my heart with such joy it is near to bursting are the genuine smiles and happiness they just naturally exude from every pore.

Just being around them, laughing, remembering something funny that happened, the exuberant stories told around the campfire, the LOVE that soars through them is enough to dissipate a bad mood like a cloudy sky beneath a ray of bright warm sunshine.

All I have to do is close my eyes and I can feel their friendship and encouragement and support from many miles away. They may not realize it, but when days are long and hard they are my Pocketful of Sunshine and I treasure them for it.

Lions and Tigers and Bears, OH MY

I decided to take the kids to the zoo yesterday for one or two reasons.

1. If I didn't get them out of the house for a little while to do something fun, they were going to rip each other apart from limb to limb.

2. If I didn't get them out of the house for a little while to do something fun, I was going to rip them apart from limb to limb.

In a car trip that felt like it lasted 2 hours but in reality was only 20 minutes long, my son was very excited to be there, and little sister was happy too although she couldn't figure out what the fuss was all about.

We wandered around in the extreme heat and humidity and they fed goats and donkeys and baboons and capuchin monkeys. We saw silver and red foxes and white tigers and zebras and lynx and coyotes and timber wolves...and as is the case every single time we go, the lions and bears were hiding in the shade somewhere. I pictured them sitting back in their dens, clinking their bottles of ice cold beer together and laughing hysterically at all the humans who'd paid much money to see them and yet, did not because they were smart enough to do what the people were not - which was to GET THE HELL OUT OF THE SUN AND HAVE AN ICE COLD DRINK.

After a few hours and a couple of pounds of sweat had dripped off me and into places that I didn't know sweat could go, I decided it was time to go home. At that point, I felt sick to my stomach from the humidity and being the pale freckle faced individual that I am, could not take one more minute without air conditioning blowing directly on me. And for the uninitiated, air conditioning does not smell like sour animal piss and feces.

In the car, and even though my son was talking a mile a minute about the different species of monkeys we'd seen, it was obvious that he was going to fall asleep within moments, and my daughter was asleep before we left the parking lot.

And me? As soon as we got home, I headed for my own cave in the cool basement, frosty bottle of beer in hand and toasted those bastard lions and bears.

They had the right idea all along.

Not a morning girl

This morning we had to wake the little sleepyhead up and she takes after her mother in that she is, shall we say, a crusty, grumpy, don't look at me until I've had a cup of coffee in my sippy cup kinda gal.

Daddy wanted to snuggle with her, but at first she was having none of it and when he asked her, "Are you Daddy's girl?" She replied with a very firm, "NO. Mummy girl."

I admit to feeling a certain smug satisfaction with her answer considering she is her father's daughter in every other way!

Getting older can just suck it

My knee is still shot from a torn ligament.

My feet hurt and it could be plantar something or other that requires orthotics.

I color my grey hair because I'm just vain enough.

I'm getting my lipids checked. As in cholesterol levels.

And here I thought lipids was just a fancy description for "all you can eat buffets".

Happy Friday!

We're going bowling this afternoon and then off to a bbq at the very fancy home of one of the vice presidents. It will be fun, in part because it's always awkwardly hilarious to see the "bosses" get smashed and sing karaoke off-key and pretend that they are just like us. Which we are very aware they are so NOT.

I'm also happy because in only 4-and-a-half-work-days I will be on a month-long vacation during which I can sleep in (to 7:15 a.m.), read a book (more than 2 sentences in a row), and try to sit still (for more than 3 minutes at a time).

I also plan to drink vodka and Crystal Light in enormous quantities while sitting lakeside, just because I can.

Last Days

We go through the day to day stuff of parenting and hours and weeks seem unending as kids drive you insane with questions, OH THE QUESTIONS, and a minute feels several hours long and you wish for peace and quiet and bathroom time all to yourself because you can't see straight for all the babble coming at you from every direction.

Today is his last day of school and he'll be starting grade 6 this fall. How the hell did this happen? I blink and realize that my baby boy will soon be finished elementary school and I'll blink again and he'll be getting married or having a baby. Someone please explain how we can send a robot to Mars but we haven't figured out how to delay time?

I'm not ready. I want to keep him at this age because he still needs me to guide him between right and wrong, to wash his clothes, to read stories to, to have cozies before bedtime and tuck him in 'snug-as-a-bug'. I want to keep him close to me so I can see with my own eyes that he is safe from a stranger nabbing him at the grocery store, safe from being bullied by teenagers at the park, safe from falling down and scraping his knee, safe from having his heart broken by his first crush, safe from all the hurt and disappointment that will come his way because that is part of living.

It is true what they say: when you have a baby, your heart is forever beating on the outside of your body. It is walking around out there in all it's bittersweet vulnerability in the form of growing children and it ceases to belong to you alone.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Unless I can get it bubble wrapped.

Poor Bébé

The last couple of days have been spent trying to cool the 104 degree fever my daughter was suffering from.

Nothing makes you feel more helpless than seeing your usually very energetic toddler just lay there with barely enough energy to lift her head off the sofa cushion. We ended up taking her to the children's hospital because our family doctor was on vacation, and instead of my usual course of under-reacting to things like this, I actually listened to my gut which was telling me to have her checked out, if for no other reason, than to put my mind at ease.

She had been refusing all liquids (popsicles, even!) for several hours and even when she's been sick before, she has always wanted something to drink. I did not want her to end up dehydrated or puking or having a seizure (which I'm told can happen with high fevers).

As it happens, my daughter does not like doctors. Or nurses. Or having her temperature taken. Or the little heart-rate monitor they tried to stick on her finger. But most especially? She loudly protested the blood pressure cuff they used. And when I say "loudly", what I really mean is the high-pitched squeal followed by the piercing scream of displeasure heard the next province over.

You there, in Quebec? That screech 'round about 2:00 p.m. yesterday afternoon was not the engine of an incoming 737 to the airport. It was my daughter voicing her extreme pissed-off-ness to everyone within earshot and the hearing problem I've had in my right ear for years graduated from a problem to I think I'm now deaf on that side.

Today, she is fever-free but tired. And that means she is tetchy, bossy, and smiling at everyone around her. Loudly.

Happy Father's Day!

My dad. I don't really know what to write because how I feel about him is so much larger than life and I think that whatever I try to put down in words here will not do him justice.

He is strong, emotionally, physically, mentally. He is gentle and loving. He is funny. He is friendly. He is dependable. He gets this look on his face when he's snuggling with one of his 10 grandchildren - it is love and bliss in its purest form. He has been my confidant in times when I could not talk to anyone else and I honestly don't know how he sometimes didn't reach through the phone line to throttle my neck in frustration because whatever lesson I was trying to learn just wasn't getting through my stubborn head.

Even now at age 37, my daddy is still up on a pedestal, even though I do recognize he is a human being. I love him very much. With his superhero cape and everything.

To my Jeff: Happy Father's Day! Your patience with my boy is unending. You explain things to him in a way that only men and boys understand. You have your special hug and hand-slap goodnight, which is amusing for me to see because there is so much love for each other in it.

I love watching you with our little girl. You shake your head with a smile on your face when she says, "No Daddy. ME DO IT." The bond between you is unshakeable and the love you have for her is endless. She is blessed with your love.

She also has your toes.

Suburban Bliss

I'm on a weekend getaway without my hubby and kids.

I miss them, but am relaxing in a way that just isn't possible when young'uns are clamoring for attention. As in, I can read more than 2 sentences at a time in my book. And go pee without someone banging on the door because what they have to say at that exact moment cannot possibly wait the extra 10 seconds I need to finish. I had a pedicure today, while sitting in a vibrating massage chair.

And the good times keep on rollin'...!

Finish Line Is In Sight

Dunh, dunh, DUNH!!

No more wipes. No more Pull-Ups. No more Malteser poops rolling out and onto my bed or the floor.

She is staying dry all night long, she is going pee-pee all by herself - "Mummy, femme la porte (close the door), me go pee!" She craves privacy to read the Archie comics close at hand while taking care of business. She also likes to rub gobs of lotion in her hair when she's done. (And yes, I probably should put the bottle of lotion up higher and out of reach, but then the screaming for MY LOOOOOO-SHHHHUUUUUUNNN would be heard from Vancouver to Halifax.)

The only reward she's ever received during the entire potty-training ritual is our over the top excitement at every little tinkle and fart (because a fart can lead to pooping, and farts are funny!). She also has the pleasure of flushing the toilet. Let me tell you, I think much more in this world can be accomplished, if we'd all only get along and take turns flushing the toilet.

As a parent, you understand just how momentous this truly is - freedom to just pick up and go anywhere is so close I can taste it.

And now I've just grossed myself out by talking about "poop" and "taste" in the same post.