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.