So Be Good, For Goodness Sake

Have you beennaughty or nice?

Daughter's best friend reminded her of this website. We did it last year and, boy, it was accurate. I know it's all in generalities and only has a handful of reports, but it was pretty cool. The kids bought it, anyway.

Three Hours I'll Never Get Back

Husband and I ditched the kids yesterday and caught King Kong.

What a waste of my time.

Oh, don't get me wrong. Everything that is being said about the special effects in this movie is bang-on. Frankly, the guy who played King Kong was great. I think he also did Gollum in those series of movies that, I'm told, I'm the only person on Earth who hasn't seen them.

What got me were the tiny details; the physics of it all. I mean, with all that dropping and catching and throwing around, the Naomi Watts character should have died or, at the very least, had motion sickness. Arms should have been ripped off at the sacrifice scene. And why wasn't the wind whipping around up at the top of the Empire State Building in December? And she was in a sleeveless gown.

It's kind of like taking a crazy long time to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and then doing stick figure hands on God.

Husband's rebuttal was simply put: "Jen," he sighed, "it's a movie about a 25-foot gorilla."

Staples Calendars Suck Bobo

I usually give my mother one of those calendars you get a photocopy shops where photos are enlarged on the colour copier and then coil bound with the months.

The place I usually go has a cut-off of November 30 and my sister hadn't given me any photos of her kids by then. So I scrambled for a place that would do it with a fast turn around. Staples just opened up in town and they said they'd do one in 24 hours.

True to their word, I picked it up yesterday and I'm so disappointed. Not only is there some weird photocopied smudge on my nephew's cheek (he's Mr. December), but there were no annotations for holidays nor was the coil bound the whole way. And, it's a little thing but a big thing, there was no little hole drilled at the top for hanging.

I asked if they had such a drill and the person said they didn't but I could use their 3-hole punch (why???). And then she adds, "I use thumbtacks." Even in December? Must be pretty long thumbtacks, honey.

Why I'd Make a Lousy Teacher, Reason #43: I Intrinsically Hate Knowitalls

I just got back from watching the two older kids skate. Their school booked some time at the rink nearby. Middle Child's class went first so after helping tie skates, I put the bobskates on Baby Boy and hit the ice.

I was astounded at how well Middle Child's skating has come along (Daughter is doing great too). Baby Boy spent most of the time sitting on a chair while his brother or his brother's classmates would skate around with him.

So, after an hour with Middle Child's class, a bunch of moms and I were sitting around waiting for the next batch of classes to come (I was waiting for Daughter's). The Grade 3/4 class were the first to arrive. Her kids didn't even have their skates on when she came clear across the arena to tell us, "Our insurance doesn't cover anyone who isn't in the classes, so you can't skate. Sorry." This was the same cow that seemingly broke the news to me last week that my friend's son, whom I've known since he was a toddler, has autism. Oooh, what a news flash! Thanks, Bessie.

One mom was livid. "Why could we skate for one class and not the other?" She wasn't angry enough to push the envelope. She waited for her daughter to arrive, told her what was going on and went home.

On the other hand, I waited for Daughter's teacher until I started untying my skates. "No, no, Jennifer! I need you out there with the kids because I don't skate!" I told her what I was told and the teacher replied, "Give me your word that you won't sue the school and then go out if you want." Nyeah, nyeah, ni-nyeah nyeah.

Needless to say, Baby Boy was upset. I still kept him off the ice because I didn't want to start a big war (just a little one). Besides, what if my kids get her as a teacher one year?

And then my friend Slowplum gave me a Sudoku book and some wicked awesome banana chocolate chip muffins — still warm! So it all balances out. How very Zen.

Sick, But Not Sick Enough

Yesterday, Middle Child woke up and puked a bit. Obviously, Husband and I thought it best that he should stay home from school.

He moaned and bitched on the chesterfield until about 9ish, when I invited him to do some printing practice. He finished his lines of Bs while I was folding laundry.

When I was done, I found him in his room, stuffing his face with candy that he's been squirrelling away since Halloween.

Needless to say, I sent him to school after that. If you're well enough to eat candy and not barf it up, you're well enough to go to school. He was excited about that because he forgot it was Science Monday at school.

Lego and Let Go

Last weekend, we braved the cold and went to the local Santa Claus parade. At least Husband, the boys and myself got to walk around a bit when we couldn't feel our toes anymore.

Daughter wasn't so lucky. She was on a float.

Her Brownie pack went as the Island of Misfit Toys. Her Brown Owl and Tawny Owl made costumes for all the girls but as they were handing them out, Daughter piped up. "You don't need to give me one. My mum makes awesome costumes. She'll make mine, if that's okay."

That was Wednesday. The parade was Sunday. Why, oh why didn't she take the free costume?

Fine, I told her. You'll go as a stray piece of Lego.

"But there was no Lego in the Rudolph movie, Mumma!"

I made the costume Sunday morning as we were busy at my nephew's birthday party on Saturday. Thankfully, the leftover housepaint dried and, lookit, she looked great.

In the end, she was thrilled with her costume. Brown Owl thought she looked so good, she had her sit up front.

"Could anyone tell you were a piece of Lego, honey? Did you hear anyone say, 'Oh look! Lego!' on the parade route?" I asked.

"Oh, I only heard that comment about, um, A THOUSAND TIMES! It was awesome!"

Building happy childhood memories one by one. That's what it's all about.

Why Do I Bother?

I just finished the last of my 12 sessions with a personal trainer.

Oh, I can see it has been working. My upper body is something else. In fact, just two nights ago, I wrapped a towel around me after having a shower and Husband came in to get ready.

"You're looking a little macho," he said.

I should have slugged him with my superior upper body strength.

But, even sadder, was that I have only lost a measly one per cent of body fat. All that fresh hell for one per cent?!

Another Reason Why Rudolph's Nose is Red

We went to my cousin's child's first birthday party yesterday. It's always great to hang out with my extended family. All the families there lived within a ten minute walk of each other for a good period of time and we used to get together a lot when my grandparents were still alive.

All the families were there except for one, who, ironically, didn't live near us, and are on the outs with the family these days, for reasons I'm not privy to. Not that I care or anything. I'm too old to worry about popularity.

We got stuck in traffic on the way home, so we got some good views of other people's vehicles.

Daughter shrieked, "I just saw a truckload of bleeding mooses." Meanwhile Husband and I questioned her while Baby Boy exclaimed, "Look! Santa's reindeer!" Frankly, it was a more accurate comparison.

There was a pickup filled with about six or more elk or caribou (we think - they were too big to be deer). Blood from their noses, they were piled atop each other, heads hanging off the back of the pickup.

Daughter started to cry. "Roll down the window, Daddy," she asked. "I want to call them 'Meanies.'"

Bonnofie Pie: So Good!

While I was putting away laundry on the second floor, the kids completely destroyed the living room. All the cushions were off the chesterfield. The stocking were down, with one stocking holder broken. Mandarin peels all over and spilled applesauce on the rug. And toys. And paper. And crayons. Ho-lee shit.

So I tidied up the living room and had asked the kids to tidy the playroom. I had just finished vacuuming when Middle Child came down and said, "Yeah, um, well, ah, you see, er, the Christmas tree is broken. (Daughter) tried fixing it but she made it worser."

Sure enough, the tree (fake) was on its side; the top part snapped off. Broken ornaments abound, I fixed the tree the best I could and then went to a friend's house before I did something I would regret.

Of course, the kids were still squirrelly there but a little better behaved. It just didn't seem like it to one of the boys who lived there. Tears abound.

I sat in the kitchen with my friend and her older son, who, with his whack load of play dough made this pie. What's in it? Orange, strawberry, banana, whipped cream and, after a while, he didn't care to name. He just wanted to use every colour he had. The masterpiece is called Bonnofie Pie and is a thing of beauty.

At 4:30, I had asked the kids to start tidying up. By 5:00, they were starting to put on their coats. By 5:30, we realized that Middle Child lost a boot.

I carried him to the car, came home to answer the phone. "Did you forget you had dinner plans with us tonight?" I didn't when I woke up, but by that time, the horribleness of the day kinda smudged my memory. Anyway, we made our way over to their house to be greeted by my university friend, "You look like hell." She knows me well.

I only asked for liquor after Middle Child busted up a guitar their son had made by himself. I asked for another when Middle Child knocked over a shelf of toys in the basement. And threw a pizza. My friends are very diplomatic women. "Oh, he's just acting silly because he worships our son." Probably very true. Their son got Middle Child into Star Wars. They're very, very similar, though their son is three years older than mine. But, further, I thought maybe Middle Child felt like he needed to be noticed because he knows that Daughter and this boy have been friends since they were very wee. Whatever, it all got worked out once the boy brought out his new obsession: dragonology. He indoctrinated Middle Child into that world and, this morning, my kid has a million questions about dragons.

And then I came home to watch INXS perform on Much More Music. I would have turned it off the minute I saw that twit Traci Melchor was the host. Man, that woman can't interview her way out of a paper bag. And why waste airtime complimenting audience members over their tops? Anyway, I watched it all the way through just in case I could spot my baby sister who was in the crowd. And I did.

Loser

I feel like:
a) the biggest doofus in town
b) the worst mother ever
c) the school board make yet another error

I went out this morning, as I always do, and surveyed the weather and roads. Seemed fine. Sure, there was snow but it was rather temperate.

So I bundled the kids up in their snowsuits and off we went the four blocks to school.

I knew something was amiss when I noticed the parking lot was empty of teachers' cars. The only one there was the custodian's. Sure enough, there was a note posted on the front door: No school today Friday the 25th.

Bless Me Father

Daughter had her first confession yesterday. She came home from school and was a bundle of nerves.

I made one of her favourite dinners and then she said she wanted to dress up for the occassion. She put on her emerald salwar kameez (and we aren't from India, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka or Pakistan) and her winter boots. Oh yes, quite the look.

There in the church were all her friends from school and she was actually surprised to see them there. One of her best friends made it a family affair. The little brothers wore suits. The aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandmother were there. Meanwhile, Daughter and I just closed the door to the house with me saying, "Back in about 30 minutes."

She lined up for the youngest priest of the three "because he's closer to being a kid than the others" but the line didn't move fast enough. So she and her three friends started line-hopping. She got out of the confessional beaming and loudly proclaimed, "I only have to say two Our Fathers!"

One of the priests was doing confessing face-to-face up on the altar. He had Parkinsons or something, as he was flailing big time. Needless to say, this was the talk in the schoolyard this morning.

It's Christmastime in the City

We spent Saturday visiting the great-grandmas. Mine already had a visitor, my mum's cousin, who has the amazing ability to mouth the words you are speaking as you are saying them. I don't know how she does it and I'm sure she isn't even aware that she is doing it. But it's cool to watch.

The grand dames are doing fine, despite all the doom and gloom that others say about them. Sure, mine is still very upset about the death of her son this past summer, but she was cracking jokes and was otherwise interested in what others were doing. But, when she was talking about posting some letters, she held up one addressed to my cousin but she was referring to my nephew (both with birthdays in December). She realized she was holding the wrong envelope and went back to the dining room to put it away. Meanwhile, my mum said in a hushed tone, "Oh, my poor mother! She's so disoriented and confused." Whatever.

And Husband's grandmother is getting a little hard of hearing, but is still more "with it" than many people my age.

The next day, Daughter got presented at church. It's not a big deal; the kids in her class were called up to the altar and the parish was told they're going to receive the sacrament of first reconciliation this week. Everyone clapped ("Way to go, little sinners!") and they went back to their seats.

Daughter thought she should milk this so she implored, "Since I didn't faint up there, can we set up the Christmas decorations?" So, tempting fate (the kids are bound to destroy something with this extra time), Daughter and I put them up. Of course, she left me to tidy up.

Meanwhile, Husband went grocery shopping for the first time in about six months. I'm not sure how he did it, but he managed to spend $300 and he didn't even buy half the things I needed (diapers, mozzarella, laundry detergent).

But the kids don't care if I "plate"

Last weekend, I had my baby sister and her boyfriend over. This was Boyfriend's first time up at the house. I walked them around town, came home and I made dinner.

I bought some organic sirloins which I marinaded in a red wine vinagrette with some portabello mushrooms. No big whup, but it ain't macaroni and cheese, either. I didn't want Husband to barbecue it because he likes his meat drier than English humour, so, for the first time ever, I grilled the steaks on my indoor grill. Everything came up nice enough.

My Intention Was Good

It almost always is.

I had volunteered to start Daughter's class on the Flat Stanley Project. This is an initiative to teach children a little geography, language arts and social studies by sending a paper doll somewhere far away. The person (often family or friend) who receives the Flat Stanley takes it around for a week and then write about the paper doll's adventures. When the week is over, the doll and the journal is sent back to the student who sent it.

The principal of the school caught wind and insisted that the children write their own letters, which, at their age, is very tough for most. So now all the kids are at different stages in the project, making it a little confusing for the teacher, it appears. She's going behind the boss' back and gave the kids a photocopied fill-in-the-blank journal to speed things up. A good idea; I hope it works.

Anyway, there was one boy who had no family to send his Flat Stanley to. So I emailed a bunch of schools on the Flat Stanley website and - finally - I heard back from one. And I'm stoked. He'll be sending one to Whitefish River First Nation.

I hope the kid he's partnered with really gets into what it's like up there. But with how the project is going so far, I'm betting the journal will be filled with "I watched CBC Kids and then played XBox. Mom made hot dogs for dinner."

The class project is out of my hands now, save for sending this one Flat Stanley to the reserve. And now I got a letter from the Resource Teacher at the school asking if I'd help with their literacy program every blinking Tuesday morning. This is in addition to being asked to help the kindergarten class for 90 minutes every Thursday. Doesn't the school board have employees for this?

Oh shitwa

DSCN0513
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

This is what I woke up to today.

By the way, "shitwa" means snow in Maltese.

An open letter to Katie Holmes

I glanced at Us Magazine in the line-up at the grocery store today. Katie Holmes was on the cover.

The soon-to-be Kate Cruise (which is funny considering Tom's real last name is something like Mapother) is laying low in seclusion, surely reading all sorts of great Scientology brochures on the joys of a silent birth and the fallacy of post-partum depression. She's also taken up knitting.

Okay, this is what I suggest to you, Katie or Kate or whatever. Knit. Keep knitting. Knit the longest effing scarf ever. Secure it and roll it down the high tower you've been banished to. Shimmy yourself down with your spawn (the father, whomever he is, will surely thank you) and run like the wind.

Not that I care or anything.

A Public Service Announcement from Jen

I was just making Five Alive from concentrate for Middle Child (he caught me at the grocery store at a moment of weakness. I'm a 100 per cent juice kind of mom).

As I was stirring, I read the nutritional information on the side of the can. Get this: there's 120 calories in a serving of 4 tbsp. FOUR TABLESPOONS!!! Who the hell drinks only 4 tablespoons?

So, there you go. My first and last time I will be bringing home Five Alive. Back to the Tropicana, kids.

Simple Pleasures

Yesterday was a good day.

I gassed up at 81 cents (and got $1.30 in Sobey's coupons).

I got some retail therapy done with a very good friend.

Had a rather good and seemingly bottomless cup of coffee at said friend's home.

I bought a pasta maker for $20.

Middle Child attended the first birthday party he has ever been invited to (not a patronage invite, but from an actual school friend). Okay, he accidently locked himself in the bathroom stall at McDonald's but other than those ten minutes, he said he had a great time.

Weighed myself and have lost 10 lbs. since I started at the gym two months ago.

And the temperature in town reached 17 degrees.

My cup runneth over. It doesn't take much, obviously.

Gourd God!

The kids' gourds
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

I would be remiss had I not blogged my older kids' entries into my friend's gourd decorating contest. Daughter won with her Medusa gourd. Middle Child's had gone through many transformations but his final entry was called "Clown Zombie Guy with a Bloody Nose."

Anyway, before I pick up Daughter from school, I just want to diarize my horrific experience today. Middle Child started off his day just rotten, as is the norm with him, unfortunately. Wednesdays are a day off of school for him so I promised him a fun day ahead. I took him to Husband's work, then to the most excellent Festival Loon dollar store where I bought him popsicle sticks for his craft-o-rama. We wrapped a parcel for my new nephew and walked to the post office (I let him pay). Then I took him to this science store called Quark Soup. My God, he could have spent three hours there. He's the only kid his age who knows about Leonardo da Vinci and Albert Einstein and there was a plethora of such paraphernalia there. And TONS of science toys, all out and ready to be played with.

Okay, now there is a children's bookstore in town that I don't like to shop at. It all stems from a visit I had made while it was raining. I was pushing 2-year-old Daughter in the stroller (and I was well-pregnant) and went in the store ready to drop $50 on books for my cousin's son. Well, this craggy old shopkeeper was following me and the wet-wheeled stroller with a mop and pail, stopping when I stopped, mopping as I walked. I turned and asked if I was wrecking their store or something like that. "Well, you are tracking a bit of dirt in here." So I left.

I swear, maybe I shop at Fundamentals once every 18 months. I only go there if I have to.

Well, after we went into Quark Soup, Middle Child had a million da Vinci questions, so I thought we'd go around the corner and see about getting a kid book on the science giant. Fundamentals would probably be the only place in town that would have something like that in stock.

As we were walking there, I told Middle Child and Baby Boy to be their bestest, goodest selves; to "look with their eyes and not with their hands" because the shopkeepers don't really like children.

We went in and I asked the woman at the register for da Vinci books right away and she found me two. I let Middle Child choose (thankfully, he picked the cheaper one) and paid for it. While waiting for my change, Baby Boy got out of the stroller and walked over to this display of plastic knights for sale. He took one that he already had (to show me?) when the woman left the register, grabbed the $5 knight out of Baby Boy's hand and gave the hand a tap. "Don't touch!" she said to him. I stood there, for once speechless. She gave me my change. Baby Boy started to cry and ran out the door of the store. I grabbed Middle Child's hand and ran after Baby Boy, but the shopkeeper was a step ahead of me. She caught him, picking him up. Baby Boy yelled at her, "You a stupid bad lady." I took my son from her and quietly promised myself and my family to never darken their door again.

That's when Middle Child said loudly, "You're right, Mumma. They don't like children."

Jack-o-lantern 2005

Jack-o-lantern 2005
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

Needless to say, Middle Child was in complete awe of me after I carved this baby.

The real Halloween festivities began, I suppose, after the school day and its "orange and black day." The JK/SK class had a party in the afternoon so the sugar buzz began early for them.

We stopped by a friend's house and for the two minutes I was at their front door, the seven-year-old son was doing this hop dance on alternating legs. Did he have to pee? No. That was just pent up energy and excitement.

My kids fared no better - or worse. They wolfed down the taco dinner (in keeping with the "Halloween is the true kid holiday" theme) and were dressed quicker than they ever dressed themselves in the morning.

Daughter went as a Bollywood starlet, complete with her gold-embroidered salwar kameez, flat-ironed hair, false eyelashes, lipstick and a bindi.

Middle Child went as The Human Torch from The Fantastic Four. Husband was walking with the kids this year. He said Middle Child would walk up to the bajillion SpiderMen and tell them they were on his Marvel hero team. I'm sure the other kids couldn't give a rat's ass who publishes their comic books.

Baby Boy was a dog. Yes, the same damned plush dog costume Middle Child had when he was two and had worn it for three years straight. This is Baby Boy's second Halloween as the puppy.

Of course, he didn't really care. He was warm. He was wearing a costume. And everytime he left a doorway from trick-or-treating, he'd exclaim loudly and proudly to his dad, "I got candy!"

I had about 35 kids at the door and not one teenager. Even the very tall kids couldn't have been more than 12. I mean, they all came with parents.

And nearly everyone complimented me on my jack-o-lantern. Thank goodness this one wasn't smashed.

Grab My Finger

Grab My Finger
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

The two older kids were invited to a Halloween party yesterday. I made these almond cookies, which was a paltry contribution compared to what the host had done.

She must have spent a bit on decorations, and there must have been tons of pizza and snacks. The mom and the helper cousin wore costumes (Middle Child loved the mom's Lilly Munster hair) and there was even loot bags and prizes.

And there was scraps. Daughter was particularly upset that the host's youngest son (and one of her best friends) seemed to be having some times of utter sadness throughout the party. Get yourself a roomful of boys and there's bound to be tears.

Daughter couldn't have cared less that Middle Child got upset a few times (and I have since learned that he almost threw a punch at a boy three years older than him...we had a loooong talk). But to see her friend getting hurt and the injury hampered his ability to win the Pass the Beanbag game, well, she got a little miffed.

She told the boy who inevitably won that he should forfeit his prize to the host's son, especially since Prize Boy already won a game. He refused, so she gave him her prize - a pink flashlight.

She's still upset and is all worried that her friend didn't have a good time at his own party.

Or maybe she did some serious scrapping and is feeling guilty. Of course, Daughter would never tell, unlike Middle Child who gave me a blow-by-blow about each instance he lost his cool.

How to Impress a Maltese-Canadian

Kif inti sabieh!

Today is a banner day in the life of my baby sister's boyfriend. For the first time, he shall meet my parents. Surely, this is a sign of respect and commitment on both sister and boyfriend's part and, at the same time, my relatives everywhere are saying, "tenks be to gohd" because we have taken the first step in bringing one more into the fold that is the ever-burgeoning Maltese-Canadian extended family.

But what does this mean? The uninitiated may think, "Oh, they're just like my own parents." Not so! And don't EVER suggest they'd be just like Italian-Canadians.

So here, as a token of my good will toward Sister's Love Muffin "and, wit' Santa 'Lena's help, future ziu ta' bint" I write a handy list of things to know about the Maltese in order to impress.

- You should know that Popeye, Troy and parts of Gladiator were filmed in Malta.
- Maltesers were not invented in Malta.
- Maltese terriers actually were first bred in Malta.
- The eight-pointed cross you see hanging on walls or car grills, key chains, door knockers, crocheted doilies and necklaces is the Maltese cross.
- The Maltese Falcon has nothing to do with Malta.
- The goddess temples in Malta date back to an estimated 5000 BC, making them the oldest structures in the world. And Stonehenge looks like a jumble of big rocks in comparison.
- If you don't eat the fish or gbenit, hate sports and Elvis, and have no interest in talking politics, you will need to find another way to impress a Maltese dad.
- If you have lousy dinner table manners, a Maltese mum will be highly unamused - and above all, do not fart, spit, or burp anywhere around her.
- Maltese believe in the evil eye.
- There is no point in having a debate on the merits of turning Jehovah Witness, or being Muslim.
- "Deh Jahnkshin" is on "Dahndas."
- You won't need a translator. Most Maltese speak English well and you will never forget a Maltese accent. Moosh veru.
- If you are an accountant, or are otherwise good with money, you will greatly impress your Maltese mother-in-law.
- If you run your own business, or have built something on your own, your Maltese father-in-law will be very impressed.
- Remember the Maltese father's motto: "If it's free, it's good for me!"
- The Maltese grandmother is the queen.
- If you are invited to a Maltese gathering, get familiar with the likes of qassatat, pastizzi, rabbit stew, figolli, and qaq tal ahsel. And weight gain.
- If you are Catholic but you weren't confirmed and didn't do your communion, don't mention it!
- Most Maltese take exception if you say, "I've heard Malta is like Italy or Greece."
- If you are over 22 and not married, a Maltese grandmother will think you must have some sort of physical problem or disease.
- If you have been married for a year and are childless, the novenas have begun.
- It is always gold. Even better if you bought it from a Maltese jeweller.
- If you don't understand horseracing, or don't drink hard liquor, you won't get on a Maltese grandfather's good side.
- Never, ever refuse food.
- Always give a gift of money to a Maltese wedding. And it better cover the cost of the plate.
- If you have a Maltese wedding, it must have at least these three things: a sweets table, lots of dancing, and a host bar.
- If you don't know what Kinnie is, find out!
- If you hate to talk, you better be good at listening.
- If you have something to say at a Maltese gathering, say it loudly.
- Know your Maltese celebs: Edward De Bono, (lateral thinking), Jason and Justine Bateman (actors), Robert Palmer (born in Britain but was raised in Malta)
- Everyone has an Auntie Mary and a cousin Charlie ("Chahli"). Many are related to men named Carmen or Juzi and sometimes even Shmoon.
- You don't have to have a Maltese background to impress a Maltese family.

Jabon u laham!

My New Look

Grazie to my friend, Slowplum (the saddest girl to ever hold a martini), who offered to revamp my blog for me. Hey, I like change! And I have no clue as to how to do this kind of thing, so I'm not above accepting charity.

Because I've had questions, here's the answer. The character to the left here is Tank Girl. Middle Child, comic book geek that he is at such a tender age, likes the new look.

"What's her superpowers?"

"Um, she just fights well."

"Then she's not a superhero. She's more like Batman and Robin."

Middle Child picked out a new pumpkin yesterday. He and I decided to keep it in the trunk of the car until carving time Sunday.

Husband had some bank guy come over to the house at 7 last night to discuss the feasibility of the business buying a house to operate from. The house was a mess after dinner. I made lamb (had I known we were having people over, I wouldn't have made stinky meat, but I want to expand the kids' palates). Baby Boy wasn't a fan and had spat out some chewed bits on to the rug. I hadn't done the dishes and Daughter had to get dressed for Brownies so her clothes - and homework - were everywhere. So when 6:30 came around, I had to leave to take Daughter to Brownies, with Husband ensuring me he'd make the place presentable. "Go hang out with your Brownie Mommy Friends."

I did. I came home to a near-spotless house. "And what's that sound?" Husband asked, grinning. "It's silence! I got the boys sleeping!"

Show off.

Having a horrible, terrible, not very good day

Middle Child is a self-professed lover of all things creepy.

So you may very well imagine how excited he is about Halloween. For Daughter, it's all about the candy. For Middle Child, however, it runs much, much deeper.

Knowing this, you could imagine the horrifying shriek that woke up the neighbourhood this morning when he saw that someone took our pumpkin off the porch and smashed it on the road.

He's calmed down now. I consoled him with some salt and pepper chips and I put on Shrek 2. However, every once in a while, he sighs and says a singular comment like, "It was the perfect pumpkin! So big and round" and "They must have been out of their minds. Who would do that?" The saddest one was "They saw we had toys on the porch. They must have known there were little kids who live here. Why would someone wreck the life of a little kid?"

Sweetness, if the only wrong-doing done unto you as a child is someone destroying your pumpkin, then you are blessed and lucky.

Sucker for punishment, when Shrek 2 is over, we're going to buy another pumpkin. He wants me to carve a Frankenstein this year. But I like the idea of doing a George W. Bush. Now THAT'S scary!

I have a new nephew!

I'm an aunt again! My brother-in-law (more like my sister-in-law, really) had a baby boy last night. Quick labour, if labour can be called quick, and out came the 6 lb. 14 oz. bruiser.

We were sent a photo already. My sister-in-law looks so good. You'd never know she just gave birth.

I'm going to call the nephew's great-grandma now. This would make him her 18th great-grandchild. Some people collect stamps...

She can see them screw

My middle sister just moved in to her new home, right behind the Robertson Screw factory (the robbie is my second-favourite Canadian invention, followed by the zipper). Outside of the builder beige that was everywhere, the home is totally splendid. Airy. Bright. Everyone there seems very happy with the move and I'm sure it will be good for everyone involved.

Tomorrow, I will be teaching Daughter's class. I'm taking over the social studies part of the day and will get them into the Flat Stanley Project. The kids will make paper characters and a journal, which will then be sent to far-away family or friends to host for a week. The hosts will write a bit about what Stanley learned about how they live their daily lives and then send it back to the kids. I'm hoping to get photos of Flat Stanleys kissing the cod in St. John's, contimplating life near the Golden Gate Bridge, watching the fly plane come in to some remote reserve in northern Ontario, holding up the Tower of Pisa, whatever. Daughter will be sending hers off to the relatives out west, most probably, and, possibly, off to relatives in Malta because, hey, no one else in the class will.

Anyway, I'm a little nervous. I can control a roomful of kids. I'm definitely not afraid to talk in front of a crowd. I'm just hoping that this project works as well as I hope it will. And I hope the teacher will give me a hand, but, by the looks of it, I doubt that.

I lost two inches on my waist. Only a bajillion more to go. And I made a chocolate cheesecake yesterday.

My friend linked to me on her blog. Here's hers.

Man, I don't do enough here, in comparison. Don't get me started on the asthetic. The dots are, well, like builder beige to me. Fine for now, but remains mute. And the idea of using the blog as a way to write fiction, sheesh, why didn't I think of that? Mind you, I've never tried to write fiction. Gawd, and there's so much I edit from my real life here. Seriously, it can be like a soap opera (or spaghetti western, depending on the day).

When my children's mother makes them dinner...

Hot Dog Mummy
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

When my sister's love interest makes her dinner...

Dinner For Two
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

But how can you stop watching those robot children?

Husband is giving up on The Amazing Race because it appears the teams aren't going to leave the United States.

"How boring!" he exclaimed toward the end of the program. "I can just see it now. 'Go to the Hollywood sign for your next clue.' Yawn. Or how about, 'Find your way to Joe's Cafe in Philidelphia and eat a jumbo cheesesteak sandwich.' What's the entertainment in that?"

But I have to admit, Kitchy Jen loves seeing "the world's biggest...whatever" because they're weird. Seriously, what made the people decide on "the world's largest office chair"?

Here's a collection of odd roadside attractions. I could just eat this stuff up with a spoon.

He's not peeing in jars yet

The winds are a-blowin' and that leads all good Canadian minds to...skating!

We took the kids out to the nearby rink last Sunday. Daughter wore her new figure skates (I practically stole them at a garage sale for $1) and liked them a lot. She's been on hockey skates since she started, so this is a little different. We put Baby Boy back on bobskates, just until he gets his bearings again. Middle Child preferred to sit in the stands and eat popcorn instead. He was destraught to see how many he had dropped, to which Baby Boy was more than happy to pick up.

Middle Child has suddenly become a bit of a germaphobe. He doesn't adhere to the 5-second rule, let me tell you. He is home from school every Friday and helps me wash the floors. I had thought he just liked dunking the mop, but I'm starting to think his benevolence runs deeper than that.

I just hope he doesn't turn into some Howard Hughes or something. The kid's mind runs a little different than most. He's way too analytical for someone his age, and he puts too much into forethought. Maybe he's on his way to being like this old "eccentric" woman I used to see when I worked at Yonge and Eglinton in Toronto. She'd pull out this white kid glove for everything: opening doors, handling money, using the ATM, and dialing a payphone. Granted, I'm sure she had a point. Her glove WAS kinda grey in spots.

Standing cesspools from around the world. Enjoy!

For this, I went to university

I signed up to help with my kids' school's 50th anniversary presentation. And I'm hoping I didn't bite more than I can chew.

It was actually my friend J's idea to join up together. I thought it couldn't be too difficult as I helped out at their nursery school's 50th party a few years back.

But maybe I'm wrong.

"Everything hinges on when the priest can hold a mass," the principal said as we sat down for our first official meeting yesterday, which I was given less than an hour's notice, but I digress.

We're hoping to have a 1950s themed carnival, but have to cram in a mass and some dust-farters speaching it up. I'm hoping he takes my suggestion of forming a choir of students to sing popular songs from each decade. Wouldn't it be a riot to hear these kids sing "Major Tom" or "We're Not Gonna Take It"?

Yesterday was also a banner day for Husband. He and my friend J's husband had to lead the boys' Beavers troop in activities. He said the kids didn't settle down for a minute. It must have been frustrating for him, especially since he had to lay-off one of his employees (a lab tech) yesterday as well.

Fact of the day: Approximately 2 million mistakes are made in the 100,000 labs in the US every day (from coolquiz.com)

Statistics Canada Beware!

I was recently emailed a survey from a friend. "Answer these 30 questions and I'll get a better idea of who you really are." I get sent these often, actually. It's innocent enough.

Favourite movie: The Royal Tenenbaums and Dogma

First school you attended: St. James in Toronto

If you could change one part of your body, what would you choose: my genetics

Yeah, yeah, I know it wasn't exactly the answer one is supposed to give. I'm supposed to say something like "my nose" or "my pot belly." But the question was what would I change IF I COULD.

I can change my nose. I can lose some weight. But I can't change my genetics. Out of all the family members who have died, all but two passed on due to cancer or stroke. My dad and his surviving siblings have varying degrees of heart disease.

Okay, pretty much all of these people had been smoking since, ooh, grade school, but genetics could have hastened their deaths, right?

Being the mother of a daughter who is already concerned about her appearance, I try to be so very conscious of projecting a healthy attitude about straight looks. And it's tough. One day, she's not blonde enough; the other day, she wants to know what anorexia nervosa is (it could be because she wants to be a doctor, but I don't want to take the chance).

She has yet to refuse candy, though.

Speaking of which, do you remember these?

Why I never add :) in my entries

My friend lent me an incredible book called Eats, Shoots and Leaves: a zero tolerance guide to punctuation. I can't even begin to tell you how much I love it.

As an aside, I think Hugh Grant is one hefty piece of luggage. Give me a nice glass of pinot noir, sleeping children, a clean kitchen and a brainless Hugh Grant movie and I'm set.

But there is one movie I have yet to see, out of protest. It would be Two Weeks Notice, with Sandra Bullock. Why hadn't I wanted to see this one? Think. Do you want a clue? There's a problem with the movie's title. Didn't get it? THAT'S why I love Eats, Shoots and Leaves. And, joy of joys, the author presents the reader with this very movie as an example of the world going to hell...and she does so right in the very first chapter! I belong! I belong!

For years, my family regarded me as some anomalous being, all because I am a stickler for correct spelling and grammar. I had always had a lovely relationship with My Buttercup godchild until I completely alienated myself one Christmas when I went on a rant about how I felt e-mail abbreviations were going to kill the already floundering English language. "A semicolon doesn't mean 'I'm winking at you.'"

At the university newspaper I had worked at (for credit), I had been praised for being so stringent with spelling, grammar and style. My editor, James Ip (where are you?), had also often added that I was the only person he knew who could tell the difference between the fonts Times and Times New Roman (it was in the late 80s, so that really was rare among university students, I'm sure).

When I left journalism and went into advertising, I realized that, perhaps, the majority of people in English-speaking Canada cared much less than I did about en-dashes and em-dashes.

Now that I'm a parent, I weep when I get notes from the teacher about "phamphlets" and even, oh sweet Jesus, "Mr. Peter's schedule and it's flexability." And I'm sending my children to you to be taught? Or should I say "teached"?

I'd love this shirt for Christmas, by the way.

Daughter's Amazing Race

Okay, just in case I hear it from more members of the family, my cousin's anti-bullying thing with the Argonauts can be found here.

Daughter is participating in her first cross country race today. I think she runs 900 m. Anyway, she's the only girl in her entire grade who was interested so she made the team regardless of her performance. All I can hope is that she will bathe afterward.

Seriously, I've spent at least $25 over the last little while on bath products, just to entice her in the tub. She's fine once she gets in there but she just draaags it out when I tell her it is bathtime. Recently, I ordered sugar cookie scented bubble bath from Avon (they had a scratch 'n sniff dot so it is scent-approved). I'm crossing my fingers and plugging my nose. No, it's not that bad.

But it's nearly 30 Celcius here today. Crazy October weather, man. Baby Boy worked up a real sweat at nursery school. Ew.

Why The Lark is only selling to 30% capacity, I dunno.

My baby sister, her friend, my friend and myself went to see Amanda Plummer in The Lark at the Stratford Festival yesterday.

I thought this story of Joan of Arc would be a little heavier than it was, but it was actually chuckly in parts (intentionally, I mean).

Okay, the play itself was a bit of a snoozer, but honestly palatable. Amanda Plummer was really wonderful, I thought. She portrayed St. Joan as the country bumpkin she really must have been, which made her story so much more understandable as to why it was remarkable.

Of course, I'm watching it and I kept thinking, "Wow! I'm five rows away from Pulp Fiction's Honey Bunny!"

As an aside, I wore this jacket that reminds me of the Von Trapp children's curtains-then-playclothes. The reference to Christopher Plummer was unintentional, I'll have you know.

Ain't that a kick in the head

Middle Child and Baby Boy were by the gate at the elementary school, waiting for Daughter to be picked up.

One of the special needs children at the school, a Grade 7 boy with Down's Syndrome, wanted to close the gate and pushed Middle Child off. My kid crouches to whisper "Let's run away" to his little brother and Grade 7 goes to kick Middle Child. Instead, his running shoe meets with Baby Boy's right cheekbone, sending my little duffer flying backward. The bigger kid runs away and now Baby Boy has a lovely scrape and bruise.

I informed the head of the educational assistance program, who would work with this kid, of what transpired. Meanwhile, another parent and a bunch of kid witnesses ran in to tell the principal.

I don't expect anything to come of this. I mean, how much of the consequence of action will be understood by this child, who may have more physical and neurological problems than I can possibly tell?

I'm told this kid has done this before. All I can hope is that it ends here and doesn't happen again to anyone else again.

But, really, I'm as mad as piss about this.

And on another note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY C.P.!

Babies having babies

I was at the gym and overheard a woman talk about a relative of hers who is having a baby...at 13.

Thirteen? That's like a baby having a baby! Can the body of a 13-year-old even manage to carry a child, I wonder?

My goodness, when I was 13, I was still in Jenny Meehan's family room with my middle sister and the three of us were making our "comedy tapes." We were watching daytime reruns of Saturday Night Live and wanted to make a show of our own on Jenny's tape recorder. We parodied commercials; we came up with skits (I fondly remembered the one of a pride of lions feasting on Placenta Helper); we had recurring characters like Mrs. Robisnotski; we were our own musical guests.

When I was volunteering at a birth control centre out west, I once had to assist on a pregnancy test for a 12-year-old. Thankfully, it was negative, but the child was, I truly believed, a prostitute or in some really sick situation, so who knows what happened to her.

And just yesterday, Daughter made an out-of-the blue announcement that almost every girl in the class in liked by at least one boy. She has one, who is really more like a best friend and I like it that way thanks, but all the boys have a crush on Nicole. Then she states, "I think boys like blond girls better." Daughter is a brunette. Yeah, I stopped folding laundry and Husband turned off the Golf Channel and we had a nice chat with her.

I should show her how to use a tape recorder.

I'm not pregnant. I'm fat.

Three weeks into a three-times-a-week gym regimen. I'm feeling stronger. And, hey! I need a belt for my "fat days" jeans.

I was, in fact, wearing them yesterday with an old baseball jersey of mine. Not glamourous, but I was comfortable.

So when a mom from the nursery school saw me at the library and asked, "When are you due?" I sucked in my breath and managed a lighthearted, "Two-and-a half years ago." She mutters an apology and said that it must have been what I was wearing that day. Sure.

I picked up my kids from school and this other mom I know said, "Whoa! Are you pregnant with your fourth?" Holy Mary, full of grace; don't let me punch her in the face. "No," I said rather curtly.

But then she went on. "How many kids do you have?"

"Three."

"Then you're pregnant with your fourth," she insisted.

"No, I'm not."

She breathes a sigh of frustration with me, "C'mon. What's after 3? Four! You're pregnant with your fourth!"

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes and I said, slowly (hoping she'd understand what I was saying...in English), "I'm not pregnant with my fourth because I. Am. Not. Pregnant."

And at that, she paused, wide-mouthed, quickly shut her big pie-hole and muttered, "Sorry" as she pushed her stroller away.

I was - and still am - so depressed and discouraged. I want to dust off my old Exploited records and wallow in anger. If only I had a record player.

So let this be a lesson to you all. NEVER ask a woman if she's pregnant. It is soooo rude. And, frankly, it's none of your effing business.

Arrrgh.

And here's an article telling me I'm doubly cursed. All those pastizzi slowed down my metabolism to a crawl when I hit 35.

The Anti-bullying and primo burping expert

I'm trying to put down Baby Booger - I mean Boy - last night (it was after 9 and he was still in party mode). My baby sister calls and leaves a message. "Check out CP24. Our cousin is on."

So, sure, I turn on the TV and I'm watching a phone-in talk show called Legal Briefs. And the guest expert is my cousin talking about bullying. He's a big shot in the community relations department of the Toronto Argonauts and they've got this thing where they go to various Toronto-area schools and discuss student aggression and intimidation.

And he was so great. The makeup department got his oily skin under control, so he even looked good too. Man, he was so authoritative and downright cool. And, yet, all I could think about was, "That's the guy who used to torture toads we found by the Humber River; the guy who played Barbies with us." My sister emailed me after and said, "I wanted to phone in and ask him to burp 'Mary Had a Little Lamb.'"

We all grow up.

This is my cousin's baby.

My cool car freshener

My cool car freshener
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

I unearthed the pink fur seat cover for the gawdawful minivan. It has "princess" embroidered into the sparkly plush. Goes reeeal nice with the hula girl and the Vegas Elvis decorations on the dash.

But this car freshener takes the cake. I paid the ghastly sum of $4 for it but, oooh, how I love it.

Rockstar: Echo and the Bunnymen

My brother-in-law suggested to Husband to use the name "Duke" for the Beavers. It looks like that's the one that's sticking.

I'm such a dork. I am kinda going through Rockstar:INXS withdrawl. There's just something about that JD Fortune guy that makes me want to watch. I swear, he was the only one left that was just plain mesmerizing to watch. So glad he won.

But then he performed a song with INXS that the band had been working on and I thought, "Hmmm, maybe not much of a prize, eh?" I mean, I'm of a particular age that would have been in prime l.p. (yes, vinyl!) buying mode when INXS first came out. They got airplay, both on the radio and on MuchMusic (with Michael Hutchence, how could they not?). But was anyone I know a bigtime fan? Nope.

And if they did a similar show with Echo and the Bunnymen to replace the dead drummer, would anyone but me be riveted?

You heard right

Nope, this time the telephone wasn't broken. Husband's cousin is waiting to get a biopsy.

She's surely going out of her head, what with three kids under the age of 6 and having just built her dream home and all. Just when you think life is just starting...

Broken Telephone

I've learned not to say too much when talking on the phone with my older generation in-laws. I once mentioned off-hand to Husband's grandmother that Middle Child was having trouble adjusting to kindergarten. No big whup. It was the first week of school. About a week later, my mother-in-law calls, practically jumping down my throat about how I have that boy tapped out in too many activities. Huh?

The same happened to Husband's married brother. Mother-in-law probably went over to visit and the brother and his wife got into a little argument. I'm sure it was nothing, if anything at all. Anyway, the grandmother calls and tells me that they're having serious marital problems. Of course, I tell Husband, Husband calls Brother, Brother says, "Huh?"

So now we just heard from Mother-in-law that Husband's 35-year-old cousin has a couple of tumours on her neck and "it doesn't look good." I told Husband and he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no sense getting upset, I guess, until I call my aunt myself."

Where there's smoke...

Yesterday, two people (on separate occasions) asked to bum a cigarette off me. The second time it happened to me (it was a boy who was maybe in Grade 9), after I said, "I don't smoke" actually said, "Are you sure?"

Of course, I replied, "Yes, I'm sure! That shit will kill you and it does horrible things to your skin, you know," hoping this would appeal to an already pizza-faced kid. And then I walked away, pushing a napping Baby Boy in the stroller, thinking, "'Are you sure?' What the hell does THAT mean? Do I look like I smoke?"

I mean, I haven't been asked for a cigarette since hanging out in the smoking section outside of my high school, like a hundred years ago. Hardly anyone I know smokes now, and if they do, the waaaay vast majority are over the age of 55.

Why did these two guys, in the span of about four hours, ask ME for a cigarette? Let's see. What was I wearing? A pair of jeans, my blue "Plays Well With Others" t-shirt and my Barbie pink trench coat. I had makeup on and my hair looked alright. Not that you can tell someone smokes from how they look.

When I signed up at the gym, the staff member naturally asked if I smoked. She raised her eyebrows when I said I didn't, but she quickly countered with, "Well you sound like you do! You got that sexy FM radio announcer voice." Yeah, not when I'm being the Shrill Mom by day, honey.

Anyway, I know I'm making too much out of this, but I just thought it was really weird. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket or not drive a car for 24 hours or something...

What's the deal with smoking in movies? Are tobacco companies compensating movie studios to place smoking in their films or are filmmakers making their actors smoke to flesh out their characters? I can see why Faye Dunaway would have to smoke in Barfly or another actor in another bleak movie. But, here's a website to make you think. And also because all the local papers here have loaded their entertainment sections with Toronto Film Festival caca.

God and Gandalf

Middle Child had his first Beavers meeting yesterday. Husband took him and stuck around for the whole meeting, causing him to be "volentold" as a leader of sorts.

He's fine with this, and even suggested that he can be counted on for two Tuesdays a month.

But what threw him was what he threw at me the moment he walked in the door back home.

"Is Beavers supposed to be a non-denominational organization?"

"Uh, isn't there a vow to 'God, the Queen and the country?'" I wondered. "Why do you ask?"

Well, apparantly, it was storytime or something and the leader pulls out a children's bible and starts talking about Moses and stuff.

"Well, when it's my time to read the boys a story," Husband shrugged, "I'm gonna read them a really gruesome chapter from Lord of the Rings."

Which Lord of the Rings character are you most like? I'm Merry, I'm told. Whatever. I haven't read any of the books nor have I seen any of the movies. So there you go.

I just don't like you

I went to my first exercise class ever yesterday. My friend that I was with is a super friendly person and will try to engage in conversation with just about anyone.

She and I were nervously gabbing before class started and she turned to this woman beside her and asked her a question. Something simple, not like asking "Why do they call it the Holy Roman Empire when it wasn't holy nor Roman?"

Anyway, this woman just gave her a "fuck you" look and walked away. I raised my eyebrows and my friend and I continued talking.

But, honestly, I could never be in a position to call this woman's actions bitchy, because I'm guilty of the same behaviour. Truly, I do it and most times I'm even conscious of doing it. Heck, I'm sure I did it several times on Sunday alone.

But once, just once, I'd love to be confronted. When/if the day comes when someone will call me a bitch to my face, I would love to say, "I'm not being antipathetic. I just don't like you."

And in other news, the kids got their second yellow stripe in karate.

My brother-in-law says this blog is getting political

image001
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

So this photo is the last I'll say about that. I think.

Baby Boy had his first day at nursery school. I thought he'd have a difficult time separating from me but I bid him adieu and he kissed me and went back to his Tonka tractor. When I picked him up, he was sitting at the play dough table, saw me and shouted, "NOOOO! Go away! Leave me alone, Mumma!"

I spent the first morning all to myself at - tada! - my new gym. No more mamby-pamby Curves for me and my lard ass. I joined a Good Life and even bought into a 12-session personal trainer thingie. I enjoyed Curves and all, but I just couldn't find childcare. This place has it.

When I was out west, my sister-in-law took me to a "gym gym" as Husband calls it - cardio machines, weights, classes, even a tanning bed. Best of all, they had childminding. Wouldn't you know, my friends "the Annes" had just joined Good Life when I was out west, knowing I would sign up where ever they went.

And it's working out great. I've only gone twice but so far, so good. The Annes are going often and, gratefully, call me when they think I can make it (which is anytime, now that I have childcare). I go for my first aerobic-ish class on Monday, me and my two left feet. But I have no qualms about making an idiot of myself.

The day after the most wonderful time of the year

Middle Child got the last of his childhood immunization shots yesterday. I'm loving his physician who first asked him what his two favourite lollypop flavours were. So he got them and asked Middle Child to hold them, one in each hand.

"We're going to see which one tastes better. When I tell you, pop the purple one in your mouth first," the doctor said. So as Middle Child is "sampling" the purple lolly, the doctor is giving him his shot in the opposite arm. And then vice versa. No tears! Middle Child truly thought he was doing the doctor a service.

Yes, what a way to start the school year. Both of the older kids had great first days, though Daughter was disappointed her oldest and bestest friend isn't in her class again for the second year now. She's happy enough to play with her "boyfriend" mind you. Apparantly, they're planning on making a movie. Totally innocent, I'm sure.

We signed Middle Child up for Beavers yesterday and Husband kinda got wrangled to volunteer. He was thinking it would be a once a month thing but then the wife of the leader was going on about all the resources he'll have when he's program planning. Anyway, he implored me to be the heavy and inform them of his intentions. Frankly, I don't want him volunteering for more than one Tuesday a month anyway, because all my mommy buddies have kids in the same Beaver pack so there's some rough plans going on about hitting the bar en masse. Lock yer doors, sleepy town!

Husband's time is stretched as it is. Being self-employed can be a time-sucker. And then there's golf. Nothing like a hobby that takes you away from responsibility for five hours at a time! I'm thinking regular spa days for myself.

And now, after being woefully shown up by his rather fit brothers out west, he has taken up this new health regimen. He's joined a gym that's opened 24 hours (he left the house today at 5 am) and is drinking these protein shakes and a bizarre flavour of Greens+. We'll see how long this lasts. The day is coming soon when the chip aisle will be calling his name, I just know it.

What did I pick up from my trip? Good times and all, a reinforced admiration for my sister-in-law, and an article about this guy. Makes Michael Jackson's plastic surgery look like a bunch of 10-year-olds experimenting with their mother's makeup.

And just offside here, check out the iTunes Music Store. What is one of the top downloaded songs this week? The Tragically Hip's New Orleans is Sinking.

Go West

I always admired Kanye West in my own small-town, mother of three, still punk-at-heart kind of way.

Why I watch bullshit TV still confounds me. When I was little, I wouldn't miss the Jerry Lewis Telethon every year. Maybe I really believed it when the announcer would say, "A special TV event."

So when American television put on a one-hour hurricane telethon yesterday, there I was. Okay, Harry Connick jr. looked veritably destraught. He truly was speaking from the heart and was, I believe, devastated. But some of the other actors seemed to me like, well, actors.

Still, I watched, dare I say keenly listening when Mike Myers, in his Scarborough haircut, came on with Kanye West. So Myers reads off his teleprompter. Blah, blah, blah. Breach in the levees. Blah, blah, blah. Then West obviously isn't reading from the script written by some network yahoo. Instead, he's ad-libbing. And wait - ripping a new asshole into the US federal government.

West: I hate the way they portray us in the media. You see a black family, it says, "They're looting." You see a white family, it says, "They're looking for food." And, you know, it's been five days because most of the people are black. And even for me to complain about it, I would be a hypocrite because I've tried to turn away from the TV because it's too hard to watch. I've even been shopping before even giving a donation, so now I'm calling my business manager right now to see what is the biggest amount I can give, and just to imagine if I was down there, and those are my people down there. So anybody out there that wants to do anything that we can help -- with the way America is set up to help the poor, the black people, the less well-off, as slow as possible. I mean, the Red Cross is doing everything they can. We already realize a lot of people that could help are at war right now, fighting another way -- and they've given them permission to go down and shoot us!

Meanwhile, Mike Myers is looking kind of lost. He goes back to the script, but by that time, what he's saying seems as hollow as the rhetoric we've been hearing from the US president. Then, back to my man, Kanye, looking very preppy in a rugby shirt, for goodness sake.

West: George Bush hates black people!

Myers just squeaks out, "Please call -" and then the network cuts off and throws to a live remote with Chris Tucker who looks a little like someone just woke him up.

Finally, someone has the cajones to publicly speak what is increasingly looking like the sad truth. Historically, black Americans have, more or less, been left behind economically, politically and socially. Here now are thousands, literally being left behind to endure much horror, just because of their lot in life.

You just can't compare this to the tsunami in south-east Asia half a year ago. That came out of nowhere, and hit a part of the world that doesn't have sophisticated advantages. This hurricane could be seen days before. And when Bush slashed the budget of the New Orleans army engineers who work on the levees by 44 per cent, where do you think the $71.2 million US went? Gotta be Iraq, baby! I watched NBC yesterday (oh, how I miss the CBC) and they obtained a report on how federal budgets spent on hurricane emergency readiness was slashed over a year. The money that was left was going to TERRORIST emergency readiness.

I'm thinking the death toll and financial devestation of this hurricane will surpass that of the World Trade Center bombing, not to make light of that or anything. I'm just musing.

And did I donate to the telethon? No.

I may change my mind but I think that the US is a very wealthy nation. They have money to blow on being the world's foremost military superpower and building (and fixing) space shuttles. Can't they afford their own recovery costs? I'm shamed as a Canadian and an Ontarian when I learn that schools in the far north are so misfunded and running on fumes, let alone what kind of impoverished conditions they live with at home.

No, I'm in the mindset that if the US intends to keep our $5 billion in confiscated softwood lumber duties, they can consider that our financial contribution. And please, don't call us during dinner again, thank you.

Meanwhile, my kids are blissfully and completely oblivious to all this, despite Husband and me reading two newspapers a day. And they're still not adjusted to the time change.

Observing

I was reading the Toronto Star yesterday. The front page photo was gruesome but, in photojournalism terms, it was striking.

It had many layers. At first, I saw the devistation of this unnamed New Orleans street. Then, in the foreground, you see a foot, then a denimed leg, then, slumped in a concrete hole, a bare, bloody and twisted bottom half of a torso. But, still studying it (something I still do ever since university), I looked for more.

I saw two very long rebar poles with concrete at one end (and presumably off-camera). This pointed out to me by my handy brother-in-law (it was my neice's birthday, so we dropped by). They must have weighed 150 pounds or more, cutting across this man's leg. It probably had him pinned and he was crushed. Looking further, you could see that his leg was broken. The pain and the horror this man must have suffered!

But as I read article after article, I came across one written by an entertainment columnist, Antonia Zerbisias, which just shocked me more than the photo. Her point was that had the media done a better job, maybe it wouldn't have been so bad.

For years, reports of hurricanes were just reporters standing by palm trees saying, "There's some strong winds, y'know." Year after year, that was the standard. So perhaps people didn't take the warnings seriously. I know when my brother-in-law told me about the then impending hurricane before we left B.C., I thought it wouldn't be so bad.

But the columnist went further and mentioned that the US federal government had cut the budget of the New Orleans Army Corps of Engineers (the people who maintain the levees and canals) by over $71 million US. Had there been any mention of this in mainstream media? Nope. I wonder if the citizens of New Orleans were aware of this. If they were, perhaps they could have made a stink - you know, the sqeaky wheel theory? Just last year, National Geographic had a lengthy article about how, should the levees break, it would be catastrophic. All "would have, could have, should have" now.

And then I closed the paper and watched Rock Star: INXS.

Home Again

With bloodshot eyes, I post this entry. Everyone else in my little family came into the house after our five hour red-eye flight and crashed. I sorted mail, listened to messages, returned urgent calls, and took a nice bath. Worked like a charm as I had major kinks in my back that I made in my Houdini poses, finding a way to get Daughter and Baby Boy comfortable enough to sleep. But, honestly, it took them about 90 minutes.

Meanwhile, Husband had Middle Child who promptly rested his head on his "Da" and konked out before the plane took off.

How many hours of sleep did I get? Oh, about 40 minutes. I was having this dream of George Stromboulopolis when I was awoke by a most pungeant smell. Seriously, I thought Baby Boy pooped but it was really the sandwich this guy behind me unwrapped.

Oh, and Daughter spewed chunks. Poor kid. She could have also been upset to leave. As we were taking off, she waved out the window to the disappearing west, saying bye to all her relatives. She was pretty much reciting the whole trip from, "Thanks for meeting us at the airport, Gramma" to "It was fun eating breakfast with you, Uncle N."

The wait for the plane was relatively bearable. There was a play area the kids enjoyed. There was also a TV, which was really just an ad for a so-called children's channel (no other channels were available). But there was a little bit of nookie going on (of the soap opera variety - under the sheets but seemingly naked and lots of tongue). The kids survived a week at their aunt and uncle's who don't have cable and they did okay. I'm sure they're thanking God for DVD players.

I think Husband missed TV more. We stopped by his mother's apartment for dinner before heading to the airport and before he has his shoes off, he flicks it to a sports channel.

Anyway, we're home and we're safe but so tired. I really tried to sleep but I couldn't, not at the airport (the description here of the Victoria airport is bang-on), not on the plane, and not even at home. I'm so screwed.

You can't go back

We spent yesterday back in the old neighbourhood, where my father-in-law still lives.

Man, has it ever changed. Waaay more big box stores. Big time development. I didn't see that many homeless and/or drug addicted people but the downtown was overrun by two cruise ships that had ported.

Father-in-law is still a strange anomoly in the fishbowl of life. Dead of summer and he's wearing jeans and a thick leather motorcycle jacket. Oooh, that jacket is something else. It is the colour(s) of everyone's lawns out here (there hasn't been a drop of rain for three months) and on the back is a painted embossed illustration of an eagle over mountains in attack formation. Sweet.

After lunch of deep-fried yuck (I chose a pasta instead), we spent the afternoon walking around downtown alone (Father-in-law's daily routine doesn't include family he hasn't seen in two years so we walked him back to his apartment to meet him for dinner after).

Anyway, we went back to the same hotel restaurant for dinner. Father-in-law still had a ketchup smear on his cheek from lunch. I was unsure if I should have told him, fearing his embarassment. Instead, i took his photo with my digital camera and showed him after. His reaction? "Sooo, how much was that camera? I like it!"

You see, I've never really got on with him. His brain isn't wired the way it was before his stroke over 20 years ago. Conversations with him are difficult and labourous. But I put on my best reporter's hat and formulate questions prior to our meeting. I stick with topics dear to his heart: his Manawaka-esque hometown in the rural prairies, his purchases, his stroke club, and cigarettes. Still, I'm lucky if he pays attention to me or if he answers with one word. Awkward as all get-go, lemme tell you. Anyway, we sit down; the kids on their best behaviour. And Husband starts reading the freakin' newspaper!!!

I couldn't wait to get out. But why? Father-in-law was in a rush too because he went 45 minutes without a smoke, dammit. So we sit around the parking lot, pretty much just watching the guy smoke. He finishes it, starts up the scooter without so much a "let's go," and launches a huge loogie for us to step over. Classy.

We go back for more tomorrow.

Safe and Sound

If I was a superstitious person, I would have thought the start of our travels were omenous.

We were stuck in Pearson for four hours, waiting for a lightening storm to pass so the plane could be refueled. Needless to say, we missed our connecting flight in Calgary. And there were no tvs on the flight from Toronto, despite the airline's claim that every aircraft had them. We did get them on the flight out of Calgary but it was only operational for about 10 minutes.

We got to our hotel but our room wasn't ready. Husband got a room change and all was well. My mother-in-law thought we cheaped out because we didn't take her advise and get a hotel downtown. Whatever. We got this hotel in the suburbs because it was close to her housing project.

We actually had a lot of full days. The first day there, Saturday, we went to Granville Island where we were invited to our old high school friends' daughter's 3rd birthday picnic/party. Mother-in-law tagged along, and immediately after having a brief conversation with Husband's old friend announced loud enough, "Well, he's still as pretentious as ever." I dunno. I found them both very rapped up in throwing this very perfect party so I spend loads of time talking with my friend's mother who was also visiting from Ontario.

Oh yeah, and Baby Boy ran away.

I told Husband and M.I.L. to take a kid to look after. I had Middle Child. MIL chose Daughter (no surprise for so many reasons; as it was, she needed to smoke so I had Daughter eventually as well). Anyway, Husband was busy being enlightened by Old Friend and I realized Baby Boy is no where to be seen. Husband and I take off, me in the wooded area, Husband by the ocean, where he was found throwing rocks in the water. Little bugger.

M.I.L.'s plan to have an open house for all her favourite hooker and crackhead friends come in and poke our children was thwarted as we just filled all the days with outings. But somehow, she kept directing us to drive back home through some of the worst neighbourhoods in the country. Don't do drugs, kids. It isn't pretty.

Now we're with my very sane brother-in-law and his family. The kids are much more relaxed. There's some great parks right by their home and Middle Child is able to bring his sketchbook where ever.

Oh, and my nephew? Well, Husband and his brothers look very much alike. We walked in the door and my 2-year-old nephew pointed to Husband, whom he last saw when he was 3 months old, and has yet left his arms. He's still not sure of me though.

Bad Timing

As soon as Husband told me he booked this trip out west, I had a weird feeling.

My gut was right.

My uncle, my godfather, died yesterday evening. He was surrounded by my grandmother and his brothers and sisters at his home, which I'm sure was a comfort to them. My uncle was in a coma, so I assume he was already comfortable.

Anyway, funeral home visitation will be on Friday, with burial on Saturday. I won't be able to be there, which is fine with everyone except for me.

And now I just got word that Husband's grandmother, who was rushed to the hospital Monday, is having her pacemaker surgery postponed because they still haven't been able to get her blood pressure down.

I haven't even started packing. What can I say? My mind is on other things.

Musical Wank

Yesterday, our city "celebrated" the anniversary of the big ol' blackout by urging us to not use electricity from 3 to 10 pm.

So I slapped some sunscreen on the kids and we met up with friends at the park where local chefs were having a hibachi cook-off and a non-amplified concert was going on.

The stuff the chefs were cooking were, um, not so kid-friendly. And, well, they were restaurant prices. For example, the price was $5 for two samples. So once you spend the $40, you'll actually have your sea scallop meal. Restaurant prices but in a park. But my kids don't do scallops. Or sushi. Or fois gras.

The concert was a little excrutiating. Most of it was free-form jazz or whatever. I call it Musical Wank - just a bunch of people goofing off. The five kids (actually six because one stranger kid just decided our children were more exciting to be with than her grandma) kinda got bored so they decided to have a grass fight and scream, which, frankly, just added to the Musical Wank. It didn't make it worse.

So when husband finally found us almost three hours later (we waited for him, blanking out everything but our always good conversations), we got out of there and went to a restaurant. Hey, WE weren't using electricity. We were just paying someone to. And who's to say they didn't have a bunch of monkeys in the back hand-cranking a generator?

The last time she gives us produce

So I made the aforementioned squash yesterday. Thanks to my friend JW who sent me a recipe, I made what the kids call Squash Volcano. I steamed the thing, scooped it out and stuffed it with bacon, bread crumbs, onions and the scoopings. Topped it all with some freshly grated Parmesan and baked it.

Husband told the squash giver what we did and she was horrified. I believe she only eats raw food. Her instructions were to just cut it and bake with a little olive oil but, y'know, the kids ate it my way.

But I'm still not one for squash.

Bye Kitty

Maybe my mother, who semi-silently disapproves of my decorating taste, willed it to happen.

The kids broke my Kit-Kat Clock. You know those black and white cats with a clock on its tummy? The eyes and tail move back and forth? Yeah. Mine is on the way to the dump. One eye popped right out, snapped off, as did the tail. Beyond repair.

No one confessed. Daughter tried to sell me on "It just fell," meanwhile they were right next to it holding balls.

I didn't lose control or anything. I just told them I was disappointed and I took off for an hour and a half buying milk.

Huh?

Huh?
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

Welcome to August.

It appears that everyone's backyard vegetable garden is coming to harvest.

Husband got two of these yesterday. Frankly, I thought these were just gourds you use as decoration at Thanksgiving.

Does anyone know if I can cook this? And how would I?
Or should I just get crafty?

There's a world outside your window...

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Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

Daughter and I spent the weekend exploring Toronto and staying at my sister's place.

We took an early train in and met my sister at her very large office building in downtown Toronto. From there, the three of us walked through the underground malls, up Yonge a bit, went to the Eaton Centre, grabbed a street dog at Ryerson University, walked down Dundas through Chinatown, up Spadina, bought spices at Kensington and then streetcar and subway back to my sister's. A very full day and it wasn't even over as we still walked around my sister's neighbourhood later on.

The next day, we went to a South Asian festival by the Harbourfront where Daughter ate some food she never tried before (and the mango lassi was new too). I bought her a salwar kameez, something she's wanted ever since she saw her first Bollywood movie two years ago. She also got a mendhi (henna tattoo) on her hand which she loooves.

I could go into much detail but just let me say that this trip was great for her on so many levels. She got to ride on escalators and fast elevators (which she can't do where we live). She loved walking around the very tall buildings and through the subway. She got to see people from many walks of life and tried foods she isn't exposed to here. She saw where I grew up, where I went to school (and how far I had to walk). She got to visit relatives we don't see often enough.

Best of all, we got to spend time alone, just Mumma and Daughter.

Cover up

I popped in a full-length DVD for the kids so that I'd have time to be on the computer and give myself a pedicure. Yeah, yeah. Water and electronics. Whatever. I have no time for myself and I have to juggle where I can.

Actually, I'm making a compilation CD of all my strange cover songs. Gotta love Great Big Sea doing REM's End of the World. God bless the Newfies!

What do you get when you mix musicians, the 70s, and a big bag of coke? (This has sound...not all good)

Damn you, Mark Burnett

Bless me, father, for I have sinned.

I'm hooked on another mildly entertaining reality TV show, Rock Star: INXS. Granted, my penance shouldn't be too harsh as I don't watch American/Canadian/Hungarian Idol. At least I don't have to hear warbled Whitney Huston, and the contestants seem more like my people. Okay, except for that barefoot hillbilly guy.

I admit, I find it a little distasteful that INXS is doing this show, but I'm still watching. I realize this was their bread & butter, but c'mon. It's just bad manners. And can anyone else really sing Never Tear Us Apart? Michael Hutchence was an icon in his day. Even during his "Fat Elvis" stage (see the "Eloquently Wasted" video), he had a very compelling stage presence.

It makes me love Nirvana more.

I derided Van Halen when they went around changing lead singers (and, ironically, they approached Michael Hutchence once). I don't care how talented the rest of the band is, but most people identify a band by the singer. That would be like changing the voice of Kermit the Frog after Jim Henson died. It just wouldn't be the same.

That being said, I think there's some serious talent there. Deanna has a hell of a voice but are INXS really planning on hiring a female lead singer? Finding a new lead singer would change the band, but replacing Hutchence with a woman, sheesh, they may as well change their name. Actually, they should just change their name anyway, regardless of who they hire.

Mind you, I'm sure this is just a long probation period before they just hire Mig. Maybe because he's Australian and seems so polite, he appears to be a perfect fit with the rest of the band. If I learned anything about management and hiring, you gotta get along with the people you work with.

And, shit, if I have to hear Dave Navarro, a guy I USED to think was sooo sexy, refer to the female contestants as "sweetheart" again, I'm just going to use my old Jane's Addiction lps (yes, I'm that old) as decorative bowls.

Perhaps my penance should be to wait for Mark Burnett's other offering of crack, Survivor, to come back on TV. Maybe then I won't be wondering if J.D. Fortune (another contestant and, to my knowledge, not a porn star) will pick a better song next week.

A waste of time

There's a former city counsellor here who is walking around saying, "I told you so."

Apparantly, he's been going around for years talking about how we should all change daylight savings time by a month either way, just as the Americans are now going to do.

Personally, I'm not crazy about the idea. They're trying to sell it on the idea that it will save energy, but that doesn't make any sense to me. I mean, if there's an extra hour of night in the morning or evening, either way, you'll be using electricity for that time. And, like most mothers, I'm up early.

Probably the biggest reason why I'm against it is because I don't like the idea of getting the kids off to school when it's dark. I have a hard enough time when the sun is out and the birds are singing. And then there's the visibility factor when they're walking.

I think if we're going to seriously look at this idea, we should just take Saskatchewan's lead (and the lead of Creston, B.C. and a few other small Canadian towns) and scrap daylight savings time entirely.

I'm sure people in the far north are just laughing. Seriously, in the land of the midnight sun, how do these people put their kids to bed?

But does he also do the laundry?

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Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

Oh. My. God.

Sure, I'll sample your hot buns.

I saw this article in the Toronto Star about a guy setting up a country inn in Collingwood. I would like to take this opportunity to thank Mrs. Fitzmaurice and Miss Hutchinson at St. James School for teaching me how to read.

Creepy

There was a daytime execution-style murder right by the front entrance of the very large mall my mother works in yesterday.

As soon as I saw it on the news, I recognized it right away. I used to wait for the bus just steps away.

Could you imagine if you were there when it happened? Man, there must have been kids watching. Worse, what if one of the bullets ricocheted?

My mum wasn't even aware that this happened when I called her that evening. Like I said, it's a very large mall.

There's TWO!!!

But don't call him "Chuck"

Daughter's friend has a new baby brother. They named him Charlie. I don't know if they got the idea from me talking about a boy I know, but that would be the second Charlie ("Gawd, not Charles! Could I be that cruel to someone I love? No. It's Charlie) in as many years.

There's this real trend toward 100-year-old baby names. Take for instance the register for a nursery school near my house. There's kids with names such as: Lucy, Alice, Edmund, Oscar, Sadie, and Warren.

The other day, Daughter was having some mixed emotion upon finding her relatively unusual name on one of those racks of personalized items. One part of her thought it was cool that she now has note pads with her name printed on it (bonus! They have horsies and doggies wearing hats on it!), but the other part was downright concern that, in time, she won't be the only girl with her name in her school.

Believe me, you get over it. I swear, every 20-something woman is named Jennifer.

My dilemma for the day: Husband's birthday cake. No one wants to eat cake this year, so I'm thinking of Husband's two favourite snacks. Shall I stick some candles in a bowl of chips or, what I've done before with much success, get some Timbits and either put them in a trifle bowl or get a styrofoam cone and toothpick them?

Works Like New

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Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

I had my old sewing machine tuned up and now it works like a dream.

I decided to make a few more Kool-Aid Jammers handbags after my sister saw the first one (the orange one here). She was really impressed and was happy to hear that I made a swim bag for her daughter (the blue and purple one in the back).

My nephew overheard, so I just whipped up a change purse for him. No sweat for me and yet I remain Cool Auntie Jen in the very big eyes of my nephew.

As I was sewing up his change purse, I marvelled at how smooth my machine was running. So, I woke up a little early today and spent my stolen 30 minutes by creating the green and purple ones here. Okay, I still have to sew the bottom on the purple one, but isn't the feather handle a scream? And you can't really tell in this photo, but the orange one has this cute ribbon and opalescent sequin trim. The green one has shiny dangly green beads at the top.

I still don't know what I'm going to do with them: probably sell them at a craft show or something. Post a comment here and tell me what you'd pay!

The best day of my neice's life

My neice is visiting for a few days and has proclaimed on several occasions today that "This is the best day of my life."

Sure, we took her swimming, which is her favourite thing to do. I took her to the grocery store and told her she could pick any cookie she wanted (she picked those plain wafer finger cookies - the ones with the same consistency as holy communion). But she loooved watching TV.

Apparantly, she doesn't get Teletoon. I thought she was going to pee herself when Atomic Betty came on.

I thought for a moment I should unearth my old VHS copies of Peewee's Playhouse but that would mean getting the kids to watch it on the attic TV where it's, like, Africa hot. We have an air conditioner but it takes a while to cool everything down.

Oh, and I forgot the girl takes forever to get to sleep. Everyone was in bed except for me (I watch Rockstar:INXS with much guilty pleasure). Daughter and the neice were reading books and playing Barbies until 10 when Daughter basically told her cousin she was packing it in.

So Neice came downstairs and watched TV with me. I thought Rockstar would be too exciting for her so we watched a documentary on an Emily Carr contemporary named Pegi Nicol. When my sister called the next morning, asking what time she hit the sack, I replied, "Well, she watched The Daily Show with me."

After all that swimming (6 to 8 pm), she konked out on the chesterfield at 9:30.

Drama

Oh, hooray! I finally got a hit on the Where's Willy website. Okay, the fiver only went 14 km down the highway, but it's on it's way!

I am so easily amused.

Took the older kids to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Husband reads too many newspapers and actually listens to reviewers. Yes, Johnny Depp was channelling a cross between Carol Channing and that actress who played Ted Knight's wife on The Mary Tyler Moore Show. Yes, he had that Emo Phillips haircut. Whatever. Have you read the book? Roald Dahl meant Willy Wonka to be a freak.

All three of us loved the movie. It ain't Citizen Kane, but it isn't supposed to be.

My parents came over on Saturday. They planned to bring my grandmother but she doesn't want to leave my gravely ill uncle alone. Poor woman. She doesn't want to sleep because she doesn't know what she's going to wake up to.

Out of nowhere, while we were eating dinner, Middle Child pipes up.

"I hope we get invited to your brother's funeral."

My mum just about choked.

"Oh, he's not going to die," she said with much fervour. My mum is convinced that despite the fact that cancer has built condominiums in several organs and bones in her brother (the one on his back is particularly troublesome-looking), he will survive this. After she made this announcement, it was swiftly followed by a hush and the burying of heads into the plates.

The Neighbourhood Grandpa

When we first moved to this house a year ago, we used to see this rather dapper-looking old man on our walks around the neighbourhood.

He would always stop to talk with the kids and then give them a loonie or a twonie.

He and his departed wife never had children, he explained. He was an only child and his wife was an English war bride so they don't really have any neices or nephews either.

"I have no one of my own to be grandfatherly to," he said. "So I adopt all the children I pass in my daily half-hour walk."

We don't see him around anymore.

An Unexpected Turn of Events

I have this very sick uncle living with my grandmother. His body is riddled with cancer and it just doesn't look good.

Husband and I made the plan to go visit him this past Saturday and, moreover, spend time with our grandmothers. Hey, as long as they're still alive and "with it", we try to get down to see them at least once a month.

Anyhow, I more or less was steeling myself for my visit with my uncle. Even at Husband's grandmother's house, I was picturing how he may look and how he may feel.

Now, I love Husband's grandmother. She's 86 and totally spry, always with a great story and stuff to do. But it's that 86 thing that got Middle Child all wrapped up on the long drive to her home.

"She's close to 100, right? Will she live that long? Or is she going to die soon?"

Que sera, sera, Middle Child, we said but if that kid didn't have some kind of premonition or something.

The kids were playing in the backyard (oh, yeah, and she lives by herself in the cutest house you ever saw where, as of last winter, she was still shovelling the snow). Husband and I were with her in the living room talking when, all of a sudden, her hands are on her face. She suddenly had a severe headache, extreme nausea, dizzyness and the shakes. Her breathing was loud and very shallow and it looked like she was getting a hot flash. We didn't take long to decide she needed to go to the hospital.

So I stayed back with the kids while Husband drove the short distance to the nearest emergency room. I called Husband's aunt, because I thought that if Gramma was incapacitated, she'd be one who would have a handle on her health. Gratefully, Husband's aunt told her daughter who is a nurse. She came down to the hospital with her mother and asked all the right questions.

So after blood tests and and EEG, nothing came up. They all came back to the house about four hours later. Gramma said she felt that it had maybe been "the time."

Then we went to my grandmother's. My uncle looked pretty good, actually.