Not so Good Friday

"Daddy's making this BAD Friday."

And so began our blessed Easter weekend. My Charming Husband took the day off on Friday (why, oh why wasn't there a lot of backlogged work for him to do?) and decided to do one of his famous purges. I tried to keep up, watching where he was putting everything but I also had to care for the kids so I honestly don't know where he put half our stuff.

Seriously, where are all the splash pants? Dammit, it's spring!

It really is spring, finally. Break out the immature t-shirts.

Oh, and he did laundry, washing all kinds of things like my reserve bag of winter accessories. I don't know how he does it, but everytime that guy goes near the washer and dryer, he manages to ruin at least four articles of clothing. A real bummer, he really fricked up Baby Boy's wicked cool winter hat that made him look like he had a blue mohawk. Now the faux fur is matted like shearling. Uck.

Then he goes shopping and buys a new air conditioner for the attic ("But this one is also a fan AND a dehumidifier" so read expensive) and a new bag for his golf clubs. There wasn't anything wrong with his old one but he said this one was more comfortable (so read expensive). I swear, I was hesitant about buying this very cool skirt at Old Navy for $32, but I hardly ever like paying full price for anything. This is especially the case at stores where I know the mark-up is huge.

Easter was nice. My cousin and her two boys came over, along with my folks, my baby sister and, later, my middle sister and her family. We had way too much food, all good, and the kids all got along well enough (save from a misunderstanding between Middle Child and my sister's middle child that resulted in a scratch across my nephew's face that, had he been bald, would have made him a dead ringer for Dr. Evil).

I've always enjoyed my cousin's company and I was her eldest's nanny (sort of) for a year so he'll always hold a special place in my heart. You just can't wipe someone's ass and not feel tied to them in some way, you know? My aunt had passed away last summer so this family would have probably been alone for Easter. I'm so glad they were invited (or they asked to come, I'm not sure but it really doesn't matter because it was a great idea). I was initially worried they'd feel like the black woman on The Bachelor, there because it was what was expected. But they're such a cool family and we grew up in an absurdly close extended family. I know they felt at home.

The grape juice of the new and everlasting covenant

I just got back to my daughter's class' reinactment of the Last Supper. She got to play St. Peter and, woo-woo, got to sit next to Jesus. It was pretty cute. She was just excited because they were going to really eat pita bread and drink grape juice.

I got there early to help the kids with their costumes (and Baby Boy dumped a load while we were there. Nice). The girl disciples were staying pretty modest, their parents making tunics with sleeves. But the boys all decided to go shirtless, tie their sheets like togas and roll up their pant legs so as to show off the fact they were wearing sandals (because I'm sure James the Lesser wore black Hot Wheels sandals).

The day before, I went to the doctor to see why the hell I'm getting vertigo lately. Yeah, turns out he figures I'm big time anemic. And I thought the dark circles under my eyes were because I'm not getting enough sleep.

My kids aren't performers. Check out Eugene Mirman's Blister in the Sun. I swear, he teefed this rendition from Middle Child.

I think that was a mushroom once

I am on strike from doing dishes. This is what happens if you make a complaint about "not prioritizing." You wanna see what happens when I REALLY don't prioritize my responsibilities???

My friend walked into my kitchen and learned that it truly doesn't take long to turn a kitchen into a health hazard.

But I'll break and clean it up today. There's nowhere to cook and candles only cover up so much of a smell.

I may have even done it yesterday but, c'mon people, shopping therapy was overdue. My friend and I went to Old Navy and Winners, and made great time. I got Middle Child a St. Patrick's Day t-shirt (the kid is inexplicably fascinated with this, where we live anyway, non-holiday). The daughter and I got matching summer skirts. I know, it's corny but I'm only going to have the one girl so I milk it when I can.

Wouldn't it have been nicer to buy a smaller size, I thought to myself. I watch what I eat but I should probably exercise a lot more. I used to but that meant the husband would actually have to look after the kids for an hour three times a week. Frankly, there were days when I know he'd rather be suffering with a hernia.

I keep thinking I would like to try one of those unhealthy crash diets, just because I never had (there's logic for you). But I just don't worry about anything enough. Seriously, if I ever had, I'd be like a walking contradiction: a kind of woman who worries about the lead in her water and the fat content in her bag of Miss Vickie's, but drinks enough vodka to make her liver plead for mercy in five languages.

Too many snacks. So little time.

I SURVIVED MARCH BREAK

Hot damn!

As much as I love my kids, there were times they drove me a little around the bend. I didn't get the "I'm bored" complaint. Instead, it took everything I had to get them to do anything but mess up the house.

I'm spending the day picking up toys and, shall we say, "categorizing" them.

But my house could be worse.

I woke up late (6:10) and only got in one load of laundry so far (found: 43 cents, 2 Werther's Originals wrappers, and a startling comic Daughter drew of her kissing a boy with a "K" on his t-shirt).

But they all got to school on time and quite happy. I ran some errands (Middle Child is having a "dress up as your favourite character" day at junior kindergarten tomorrow and I have to make a Beast Boy costume pronto) and whist at Giant Tiger, Baby Boy crapped up his back.

And that whole bag of Hershey's Kisses that was in my purse is missing.

The Bad Smell is a Party Pooper

I wrote this whole thing about my mum's 60th birthday party, about how she had a great time but I didn't. It was soured because of The Bad Smell which is also known as a relation of mine whom I haven't got along with since I was way too young. How The Bad Smell jokingly tried to abduct my Baby Boy (like an abduction can ever be a joke...getting an inkling why I consider The Bad Smell so gross?).

Anyway, Baby Boy just tried to pop in a scratched CD rom into my ancient iMac and I lost my post.

So, to sum up: Mum = happy, me = threw up in my mouth a little, Baby Boy = safe, food = good, cousin's bruchetta = especially good, my youngest aunt = sad, my stupid off-hand comment to sad aunt = result of a brain fart brought on by The Bad Smell.

Oh, but I would be remiss not to mention my sister's actions on behalf of one of her best friend who had lost her mother on the doomed Air India flight 20 years ago. Nikki (the friend) has been imploring all who can and would to contact the prime minister to ask for an inquiry into this, Canada's very own terrorist attack and the debacle of its investigation and trial. Paul Martin's email is pm@pm.gc.ca if you care. I'm going one step further and contacting my backbenching MP. I didn't vote for him, nor will I ever, but since he's there, he can shake his fat ass for my taxes.

Could you imagine the fresh hell this woman goes through every day?

Just Don't Start Drinking Absinthe and Cut Off Your Ear

Middle son spent all day drawing yesterday. He's a great little artist, I must say. You should see his Medusa. He also drew a lovely pteradactyl and Jack-Jack (on fire) from The Incredibles with The Fantastic Four's The Human Torch. "He's babysitting."

I kept bringing him snacks, tried sitting with him so he didn't feel neglected, but he curtly asked, "What do you want?" Sheesh!

At bathtime, he weaved this enormous story of the moster and superhero children that go to nursery school with him. "Blob Boy hasn't got any nose. Just one eye and a mouth and he can only go, 'Uuuuhhh.' So when he sings Iensy Wiensy Spider, it goes like..." and then he sung the whole song in "Uh-uh." His standby character, Witchipoo, attends nursery school too. You'll spot her right away. She has green skin and white hair. She likes the kitchen set best, of course.

Took my daughter shopping for this and that, as well as figolli shapes. I bought citrus Listerine with its claim, printed right on the bottle, "Less Intense Taste!" Tried it. Less intense than what? Napalm?!

I Swear It's Better Than Lipton's Chicken Noodle!

I had my middle sister and her three kids over to take a group portrait with my kids for my mum's upcoming 60th birthday (shhh).

Needless to say, they were all over the studio, except for my sister's middle son whi is an angel. When the photographer told him to sit on his big sister's bum as she was lying on her tummy, he was hesitant at first. After his mum and I told him it was okay, he did it with aplomb, just like a cowboy.

Of course, it had to be one of mine who was the most uncooperative. Baby Boy was too distracted by the photographer's props, demanding to hold one or six. And middle son scowled through the latter half of the shoot.

We got a few good ones, picked one where all but my youngest nephew was laughing. My sister put it best: Mum will appreciate the gift for what it is AND for the effort we put in. I went out a few days before and got each kid a solid coloured shirt (each one different) and they wore jeans and bare feet. So cute.

My neice wasn't feeling well. She came in my door all crotchety and when I went to kiss her, I noticed the tell-tale sign. When she's sick, her breath can kill a moose. Nothing I did for her was right.

I called my brother-in-law earlier in the week to see what I could make them for dinner (these guys aren't adventurous eaters. My mum says if it's frozen and in a box, they'll eat it). "Stir fry," he said. "(My sister) makes it all the time." Knowing these kids will eat pasta, I thought I'd make the stir fry with Shanghai noodles. My neice looked at what my kids were eating and stated she won't eat the meat or the vegetables. She agreed to have the pasta with some tomato sauce. But when I put it in front of her, she took the tiniest bite and announced, "It tastes horrible and it smells like poo. Cook me something else." Yeah, well, I'm not a short order cook, no matter how much I love you. So I replied, "That's dinner and now the kitchen is closed. Help yourself to a bowl of Cheerios. You hurt my feelings."

I wasn't her favourite aunt.

Growl a lot and blow off shaving: Jen in the morning and Chewbacca have a lot in common

Chewbacca. Chewbacca. Chewbacca.

We visited our old friends from university days last Saturday. Their 7-year-old son suggested to my daughter and middle child they play "Star Wars" together. My kids haven't seen the movie(s) so I guess he described it in detail. Since then, all my boy can talk about is that damned Wookie.

Waaay too many questions about Chewbacca. Neither the husband nor I could remember the minute details so, father that he is, the husband took off when the kids were asleep and rented "Star Wars" (episode 4). The boy saw it but, in typical style, would watch 5 minutes of it and then draw characters for another half-hour.

Earlier in the day, the husband took the two oldest kids to see "Robots" which they enjoyed (you can tell by how much depending on how much they talk about it days after. "The Pacifier" is still garnering rave reviews from last week. Yeah, I give Vin Diesel's body two thumbs up).

Sounds as though middle child doesn't get a lot of exercise. You'd be right. Case in point: on Sunday, the husband said, "Here's an idea for the day. Let's hit the rink." "Great idea," I replied. "You take (the daughter) and (baby boy) and I'll take (middle child) grocery shopping." "I thought we'd do this as a family." "I assure you that (middle child) will pick groceries over physical exercise any day," I said. We gave the boy the option and he looked at us as if we were from Pluto. "Groceries, a-course."

Thankfully, he has karate but he probably keeps his stick figure by all the fidgetting he does.

And what did he make me buy at the grocery store? "Robots" Pop Tarts and steak, "because Chewbacca would want to eat that, right Mumma?"

I bet my cousin C.A. remembers this
I got George Clooney, not Vin Diesel

A Self-Serving Post

A few of you have had trouble commenting on my posts. Sorry! I have no idea how to help you but if you know me personally, or know someone who knows me, just email me.

My baby sister was a little shocked to see that people I don't really know are reading my blog (D, friend of JW, I've heard a hundred stories about you too! Sounds like we'd catch on like a house on fire). Funny, because it's just me shooting off my mouth, writing down what goes on in my very exciting and cosmopolitan life. Yeah, you can read into "cosmopolitan" and I'm not as think as you drunk I am, but wait until tonight. I drew a "get out of bedtime free" card and will be supporting the local bars during what must have been a difficult week for them financially (the water is good again, by the way). See? I'm a thoughtful, civic-minded person.

But I digress...

In case anyone in Toronto and the GTA are reading this, my sister asks that you please consider helping out this very worthy charity where she volunteers.

Fife House
Eat for AIDS hospices!

And while I'm at it, in case he ever Googles his name, James Ip, Young Colt Ip, Jimmy Ip, James Ip who was my editor, please call me (I even changed my email address since I last wrote you)! I lost your number, your email, your address, everything during my move.

Male Cats Eat Their Young

To get us out of the house (school was cancelled) and, perhaps, to address my husband's crazy love for pasta, we decided to pack up the kids and go to the next city 25 minutes away for dinner.

Middle Child loved East Side Mario's the last time we went. I think he just dug the little loaf of bread they give you as an appetizer. Anyway, we went there thinking it would make him happy.

But you never know with Middle Child...

We got there and he became all sullen. He refused to open his eyes and walk from the car to the restaurant, so I carried him. When we got our booth, I put him down and told him he could slide over and sit by the window. Instead, he fell face first (on purpose for dramatic effect) into the polyurethane seat and starting this moaning cry, "Eah, eah."

"What's wrong?"

"Eah. Eah. Eah."

I gently slid him over to the wall, took Baby Boy from my husband and put him in the high chair. Husband then propped Middle Child up so he could take a seat beside him. We ordered and figured the boy would stop once the beloved bread came.

Nope.

We tried reasoning with him. We asked, and then told, him to stop. Waiters started to come by to see what was the problem, some plying him with candy. Daughter knocked over her water all over her jeans so I took her to the bathroom. When we got back, my husband said, "Put my food in a doggie bag," got up, throwing Middle Child over his shoulders and they sat in the car while Daughter, Baby Boy and I had a rather nice dinner...until at the end when Daughter decided to count very loud and exaggerated and Baby Boy crapped his diaper something fierce.

We got home at 7:15 when I put pyjamas on the kids, had Daughter read us all a story and turned off the lights (interrupted once by a phone call from my dad who, in typical fashion, implored me not to pay my water bill this month. Dad's all about stickin' it to The Man).

Husband was so upset, he couldn't even eat chips during The Amazing Race. I just left him to get lost in the program while I went around to flush out our water pipes (we're now under a "boil water" advisory).

Thankfully, there's school today.

Deodorant Only Goes So Far

So, all my family and friends, go ahead and Google the city where I live and the word "car wash" and you'll see what we're up against here today.

So for nearly 24 hours now, we've not used water at all. We can't wash dishes, do the laundry, let alone drink or bathe.

But since there's no water, there's no school. And all those people working in restaurants are off today as well. The Tim Hortons are open but aren't selling coffee or tea. I just made my morning cuppa joe with bottled water and it was a-okay.

Luckily for us, the husband gets water delivered to the office every other Monday morning and, voila, he's received six big honkin' jugs yesterday. He handed them out to the staff when I called with the news and they all went across the street to the Shoppers Drug Mart to buy the last bottles of Purell.

All the same, it was pandemonium at the stores. People were clamouring for water. The variety shops were taking this opportunity to sell a flat of bottled water (what, like 15 750 ml bottles) for $10 each. Ca-ching!

And it looks like the "no water" thing is going to continue for another 24 hours at least until they flush everything out.

We don't have it so bad, really.

What do you get when you have a room half-full of Maltese women?

The tray of pastizzi empties a little slower, is all.

The daughter and I spent Sunday at my aunt's for my cousin's baby shower. Of course, my mother had to criticize what I wore...loudly. Yep, she said I looked fat in my top, which, admittedly, was loose on me but I hadn't the time to alter it AND make the 90 minute drive to my cousin's party. Oh, but shortly after the insult was barfed out of her mouth, she said that at least red is my colour. Nice to know where I inherited my bitchiness.

Baby showers are funny. Usually, you only get them for your first child but you have no idea what you're going to need. So you end up registering for all sorts of crap you'll never use or you get people who give you stuff off the registry so you end up with 20 newborn onesies. And what a shame. Mind you, the next size up would be good in copious quantities. Memories of the pooh explosions that go right up their backs are flooding me now.

My grandmother was there. She's 83 or 84 (I forget because she looks waaaay younger) and was the prettiest woman there. Especially since her grandchild looked so fat.

My cousin would probably like to find goth maternity clothes.

Stuff we gotta do since we don't have a DVD player in the car.

When You Care Enough to Send the Very Best...or was just really meaning to

I'm such an idiot. I have been meaning to send a sympathy card to my mum's friend whose husband died. The guy passed on last Thursday. Mind you, if you know my mother, you won't be surprised to hear that she only just told me on Tuesday. What WILL surprise you is that I was NOT the last to know this time.

Why is it that I can remember all sorts of dumb trivia but I forget things like this, and when it is my kids' library days at their school, and to buy diapers.

I gotta chillax, as my brother-in-law says. I need to watch "Joy of Painting" with Bob Ross. I don't think it's on anymore but when I was waaaay too stressed out at this one particular office job I had, I used to come home, watch Bob and just zone out.

Do you know who Bob Ross was? He would do an entire landscape theme in, like, 25 minutes and the whole time his calm voice was talking about "happy little clouds" and "dancing evergreens, swaying with the gentle breeze." I swear, his show was like Gravol to me. If I could be any more relaxed, I would need Depends.

Bob Ross died in his 50s. How long will you live?

Amazing Race, How Sweet The Sound

The kids fell asleep before 8:15 so that left the husband and I time for...The Amazing Race (yeah, pathetic).

Thankfully, there weren't too many "dating models" or "aspiring actors" but they still cast to a formula. Gay son/PFLAG parent, beefcake brothers, cheesecake blondes, a couple of homelier women, guys you'd likely see at a Star Trek convention, old gits, gay couple, African-American couple, long-distance couple, couple dating off-and-on, etc.

I'm told the next race will be made of teams of four, with one of them being a minor. That should slow them down a bit. "Check the Berlitz. How do you say 'McDonalds' in Hindi?"

The husband has a complaint about the disproportionate casting of gay people. "Shouldn't it be one in 10, as opposed to five in 22?" He later recanted, stating that the gay couple this time were going to be the most fun to watch.

YOU try finding a clue in a bunch of haystacks