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."