Why I need a hobby

Have you ever watched a movie that was okay and all but one scene stuck with you?

I have been haunted by "The Rules of Attraction" which I saw on the weekend. Yeah, I found James Van Der Beek from "Dawson's Creek" as a drug-dealing man-slut to be an interesting casting choice. Ditto Fred Savage ("The Wonder Years" and the voice of my kid's favourite cartoon "Oswald"!!!) as the junkie college student who shoots heroin between his toes.

No, what is reverberating in my head is this scene where a young woman slits her wrists in a bathtub while Harry Nilsson's icky song "Without You" is playing in the background.

I don't know if it's the visual or if it's the song that won't go away. Neither are very nice.

Does this happen to anyone else? How do I get rid of it? I was thinking of subjecting myself to something more - or equally - worse, like, say, watching American Psycho again (that one was just stupid. Gross, but stupid. Two hours of my life I'll never get back again) or perhaps a Barbie movie retrospective. Or maybe I should do the opposite and watch something highbrow; something that will make me think. Or perhaps I should listen to more of that innane middle-of-the-road music; the stuff I had to listen to ages ago at the easy listening radio station I worked at for three years. I swear, I can sing waaay too many songs by The Carpenters and Terry Jacks for someone my age.

Or maybe I should just get a life.

The One-Eyed Babysitter

Baby Boy watches Elmo Visits the Firehouse about two times a day. Sometimes, he doesn't watch TV at all, but he doesn't go to sleep until he's seen "Eh-mo firefighter" at least once.

It is this child's vice.

If I'm not home at bedtime, Charming Husband, father of the year, plops it in when Baby Boy gets tired and will just play it over and over again until he konks out.

The problem is the only copy we have is a VHS tape that is on it's last legs.

If any of my friends or family come across the DVD of Elmo Visits the Firehouse, please pick it up for me and I will pay you back.

The only place where I've seen it is on the Chapters website. It looks like this but $23 seems too steep to me.

I know he'll grow out of it eventually but for now, it is a great source of joy to him and, frankly, sometimes the only way I can get him in the house. Darkness doesn't do it. Neither does being covered in mud.

In my culture, rabbits are a delicacy

Those of you reading this from afar may have heard we had snow these past few days. It actually stuck around for four days.

I worry for my Japanese maple, which is a bit of a finicky plant, particulary when it is budding. But my spring bulb flowers are doing alright.

Until I noticed some leaves that were broken off.

And then a whole side of a hyacinthe just about to fully bloom.

Damn, I thought. I have rabbits at the new house! We had an awful time at the last house with those pests. Once my daughter tended to this sweet pink tuberous begonia for a little less than a week when she went out one morning to find it nibbled all the way to the ground. A rabbit was nearby, licking its paws. I half expected that bugger to belch or fart his gratitude for the fine meal.

Then, the next day, I caught Baby Boy plucking a hyacinthe bud right off. And he had another bud in his other hand.

And he laughed at me.

No actual rabbits were harmed in this game. My high score was 330.

Kinda like flakes of dandruff

Musicians leave their mark everywhere.

I mean, around the world for thousands and thousands of years, people have been making music. Some stick around, permeating commercials, movie soundtracks, elevators. Others mark a generation, make you think back to the person you were when you first heard that song (or imagined your grandfather heard it). Others just collect dust in a forgotten corner. And others are like farts: obviously there, experienced by a few or at least just one, but then disappears.

This came to me when I stumbled across this.

How many of you can name this tune within the first 10 seconds?

Here is my challenge.

If you were born after 1977, forget it. If you were born before, say, 1960, you should probably give up, too.

But my sisters better get this one.

Goodbye Kitty

An addendum to yesterday's post. I got this from my middle sister.

A kindergarten pupil told his teacher he'd found a cat, but it
was dead.

"How do you know that the cat was dead?" she asked her pupil.

"Because I pissed in its ear and it didn't move," answered the
child innocently.

"You did WHAT?!!?" the teacher exclaimed in surprise.

"You know," explained the boy, "I leaned over and went 'Pssst!'
and it didn't move."

Ouch! My empty womb!

I saw my friend A.H. and her new baby girl yesterday. She's so sweet, she could kill a diabetic.

Of course, the baby was nursing and Baby Boy was upset. He has been weaned for about a month now but he still asks for it EVERY DAY. Am I setting this kid up for a life of therapy or what?

Enjoy this game another friend sent me. And she's even a cat owner! My high score was 726 ft.

Oh Rats!

"So, Pope Benedict," my friend told me over the phone yesterday.

"That's what he picked, eh?" I replied.

"What kind of devout Catholic are you? Weren't you watching on TV?"

"Nope. As soon as they said, 'Cardinal Ratz...' I turned it off."

Let's get things straight. Just because I go to church every Sunday doesn't make me devout. What part of, "Welcome to the Birth Control Clinic. My name is Jennifer. How can I help you?" tells you I'm a good Catholic? Especially under Pope Benedict XVI (or any others, really).

My sisters and I had a strange upbringing from the hands and mouth of our mum, the über-Catholic. She had us all wearing scapulars and Miraculous Medals. We went to Catholic school all the way through. We all learned to pray the rosary and the Chaplets of Mercy (though I think I'm the only one to remember how, but I digress). We were well taught in the ways of Roman Catholic dogma, and if you strip away at most of the rules that were placed on it over the last 2000 years, what you have is a lovely tenet, a real guidebook on how to be good and just a general feeling of being loved and wanted.

And yet my parents also raised us with strong feminist and liberal ideals. Never were we to feel that we were inferior to anyone with a penis. This comes partly from our culture of very strong women and partly from my mother's devotion to The Phil Donohue Show (and she even is the splitting image of Marlo Thomas).

And liberalism? Hey, my dad used to teach us union songs and picket line chants.

I would have liked to have seen a pope who could have embraced Vatican II, perhaps even draw from its spirit and move the Church a little further. Mind you, the guy has had the job for 24 hours. Who knows what will happen? But I'm not holding my breath.

Just sometimes I find it difficult to evangelize. My daughter has been questioning me endlessly lately about the lack of a visual presence of women in Roman Catholicism. Most of the time, I give her the answer, the one that has been passed down from the Vatican, but my delivery is weak. It's sad when the first thing my baby sister noticed at my parish was that we have a female usher. She thought that was so forward-thinking. Hey, we almost got a female deacon too! Woo-woo!

But if I could hope for anything, I'd wish that the new pope truly will listen. I hope he will be open not just to his advisors but to local bishops and lay workers, to regular joe Catholics, to the young, to the old. I believe that there are many roads that people can take to find God and Catholicism isn't the only one or the best one. So I hope he reaches out to other religious leaders and sane, altruistic world leaders...and Bono!

But am I surprised that he was picked? Not in the least.

Who needs memory of Grade 10 Theology class when you have the internet?

But she still has to clean her room

My daughter was in her first competition ever (I think). She was playing her violin (Beethoven's Ode to Joy) in the Kiwanis Music Festival.

A big group, eight kids, ranging in ages I figure about 5 to 10. They were all so cute and so nervous except for a boy who has lessons after my girl but I don't think anything riles that kid.

Anyway, SHE CAME IN THIRD!!! No "participant" ribbon for her! Oh, she was soooo happy. Best of all, the boy she knows leaned over and gave her a big "thumbs up" when she won, even though he didn't place. There's hope for future generations.

Now I need a drink.

Things no one old me about getting older

1. Pimples are not an affliction restricted only for teens.
2. Cholesterol and osteoporosis
3. Dying your hair becomes more a necessity rather than a fashion statement
4. And if you wanted to go grey, it won't come in in any attractive streaks
5. You think about a good night's sleep the way you used to think about getting wasted or some gorgeous but utterly unavailable guy
6. You won't use Grade 12 Algebra...ever
7. Cleaning up after a party is prep work for picking up your kids' toys every day
8. Chin hair
9. You won't flinch when having to clean vomit or other bodily fluids once you have kids
10. You'll need to find time to read
11. Bubble baths are a luxury
12. A moment on the lips is truly a lifetime on your hips

And I know there's still waaay more I have yet to learn.

I bet if this guy knew how his life would turn out...

Smoking blows

An uncle of mine will be going into the hospital early next week for an operation to help battle cancer. I'm told he will be having his jaw split so doctors can access the back of his tongue through the lower palatte. He will also be getting a tracheotomy, a swell little hole in his throat so he can breathe, though he'll have to cover it to utter any speech.

I got most of this information from another uncle who happens to live with him and my grandmother. "He'll be operated on Tuesday and dancing by Friday," he said. I began to hesitate in my speech when he said, in the sternest voice I ever heard from this otherwise very softspoken guy, "Ah, Jennifer, you don't have to spell it out. I'm just joking about the dancing, but that's what he thinks. You can't live your life the way he did and not expect to pay some kind of price."

This coming from an ex-smoker who quit the FIRST time his brother had a bout with smoking-related disease.

Yeah, the doctors will be operating on a 60+ year old man who has been smoking heavily for most of his life (I kinda recall him smoking unfiltered for years and years but I don't go around him when he sparks one up). He's also an alcoholic, albeit that term has never been used among each other, though no one would deny that he has a problem with the hooch. I've seen the guy drink a bottle of beer for breakfast. Seriously, his liver must look like a nubbly piece of leather.

I love the guy. Really, I do. And I respect him for all the things he has done, especially for my grandmother. But, as one of my sisters said, "His actions aren't of a man who wants to live."

And now I wonder what kind of life will he have left?

I'll tell you, I'm not going to bring my kids around to see him after the operation. Crap, one of my grandfathers had a tracheotomy, unbeknownst to me and my sisters. "Let's go visit Nannu," my parents said and, without any warning, we saw our grandpa with this gross hole in his throat and he talked like frickin' Darth Vader. Ewww.

Scarier was when he was sent back to the hospital, I saw another cancer patient with a trach smoking out of the hole in her throat. Nice.

And on a brighter note, my friend's husband has gone about a month without cigarettes. By forecasting the family's havoc that will ensue from this rather serious surgery next week, I can see that his decision to quit may save his kids from having to suffer, seeing daddy get sick and all. Quitting smoking? THAT is treading lightly through life.

A run-down on oral and throat cancers from a site my husband referred me to.

Life's an Itch

I was asleep for about 90 minutes when Baby Boy started wailing. Husband always gets up to get him and, when we were weaning him, he'd stay up and be the one to put him back to sleep.

Things have changed now.

So husband goes to crying child and brings him to our bed. Problem? Oh, only the same one he's been suffering with for almost three weeks now - eczema. His skin isn't red or oozing or chapped, just really rough and, apparantly, itchy as all get-out. The little guy would scratch himself raw (only at night) if we let him.

Because Baby Boy has been, for the most part, weaned (he still asks, though), the Husband pats the boy on the head and flips back to sleep. I guess I was tagged.

I took him downstairs, so as not to wake anyone, but that's a misnomer because he in fact DID wake someone...me! Baby Boy fell back asleep by around 2:30 or so and I didn't konk out again until about 5:30. What was the point of that? I was up making lunches, preparing breakfast and picking out clothes for the two noisy older ones by 6:45.

And there wasn't anything really interesting on TV either except for the West Coast feed of The Daily Show and even that was a little dry. The guest was Bob Dole, for Pete's sake.

500 channels and nothing good to watch but commercials.

Stinkerbelle

My daughter needs to bathe.

Is it her age? Is it an aversion to hair washing? Is she just too busy to get some soap on her skin? I dunno, but, in all honesty, I can't remember the last time that girl got in the tub.

Once she's in, either bathing or showering, she enjoys it well enough, and ends up playing for a long time. But getting her in is another story.

I had an old friend from university over with her posse yesterday (she'll be having a caesarean on Monday, for those of you who know A.H.). Topic of conversation went to the "bad water" emergency we had in this city.

"I realized I work on the other side of the tracks," she said, referring to her job as a Grade 1/2 teacher. "During the water crisis, I had a couple of kids really upset at the news, saying, 'But Monday is MY bath night!'"

Ewww, I initially thought, these kids only get clean once a week. But then I thought that my daughter isn't that far off.

I've bought her bubble bath, tablets that change the bath water's colour, bath beads, deluxe soap, toys, etc. but she still fusses.

My boys, however, are crazy about their bath. You can hug them; they smell great. They use this baby shampoo and body wash that smells like Thrills. Funny enough, it's called Li'l Goat Milk Shampoo.

"Take a bath already! There are poor children in Iraq who would love one, you know."

Getting your colour palatte from Maybelline

It takes a man strong enough in his masculinity to walk into a bathroom his wife just painted and say, “That’s a really beautiful pink! This room looks so much better.”

I spent the whole day painting our main floor two-piece in “Unspoken Love”. Actually, I went to the Benjamin Moore with my favourite eyeshadow and told the guy, “Can you match this?”

This is where watching too many of those home decorating shows gets you in trouble. Who's that southern chick on Trading Spaces? The one with the curly auburn hair? Anyway, that one once said that all powder rooms should be painted in a colour that most complements the skin tone of the woman of the house.

And yet, I’ve always loved the bathroom no one dared use at my Nanna’s house. It was all powder blue and white with gold accents (and a cherub theme). She did that up in the late 50s and, well, you could tell. (Just a sidebar here, I mean, NO ONE used that bathroom. She had baby blue toilet paper. Anyway, my cousin, who was about 5 at the time, decided she wanted to use it - we all secretly used it once in our lives. She made a plunker but forgot to flush. My grandmother was all in a kafuffle, searching for the stink days after).

So was it the gold accents? I thought I’d take a shot and I bought some gold Krylon; that’s the paint you can spray on anything, including glossy plastic. I did the switch plates. Oh man, they are a thing of beauty. Then I started spray painting fricking everything - the wire shelving, a plastic cup I use for storage, a wicker container that holds my tampons. I love this stuff! Pink and gold rock! Now I’m thinking I’ll do some sort of Parisian theme, get some fleur-de-lys, go through the husband’s backpacking photos and see if there’s any I can use. I’m getting silly.

And still, the husband asked when I’m going to do the other bathrooms. Did he think I did a nice job or is he just happy because he didn’t have to work?

The bathroom was originally a beigy white,

so not really "fugly" as much as boring.

K got a chub

While my daughter attends Sparks (like Junior Brownies), I cruise around the city with my friend K.N. whose daughter also Sparks it out.

Last week, we were at the grocery store (okay, we go out but we're pretty sedate). She was looking for a chub of summer sausage - that just had me laughing 'til I cried - and I checked out the extensive magazine rack for Budget Living.

Ever since I was introduced to this magazine last Christmas, I have been searching high and low for a copy. I once found one at this supermarket but hadn't since. K.N. suggested I try the smoke shop right downtown. "Great idea!" I thought, and then promptly forgot about it...

...until this morning. I also forgot that this smoke shop has, I swear, every magazine known to man, even more than Chapters, I swear. I looked and looked for Budget Living but couldn't find it. Then I noticed a sign reading "Can't find it? Ask us!" So I did and the city councillor/shopkeeper (can you tell I don't live in Toronto?) showed me straight away.

And now, don't bother me. I got my coffee, my magazine, a sunny day, and a sleeping baby.

I SO want to make this!

Ode to my clothesline

A friend of mine lives in an upscale part of town. Newly built, the telephone wires and such are buried underground. For this, I'm told, their taxes are huge. She pays something like $5000 a year for a house and lot about the size of mine. The sum is so much, they end up paying their property taxes on a weekly basis, just to keep up.

There's also a list of restrictions in her neighbourhood, stuff I find weird like no company vehicles are allowed to be visible. They also cannot have clotheslines.

Ack! I dunno. Another friend told me I have issues because of my love, at 10-years-old, for Rene Simard (JW, didn't you ever have celebrity crushes? I have a list a mile long). But here's another admission for you all to ponder my sanity: I can watch my kids' clothes rippling on my clothesline in the gentle breeze for eons. It is oddly serene.

See? I'm so retro!

If you don't already, try hanging your clothes out. Here's some things I've learned along the way:

1. When hanging dress shirts, put them on hangers. They dry faster and smoother and, well, you're going to have to hang them in the closet eventually.
2. Hang jeans on the line because they take bloody forever in the dryer.
3. Save a couple of loads of socks, underwear, and other small things. Run those in the dryer because they'll dry super quick.
4. Because sheets dry very quickly, hang them last on the line so you can take them down first. You'll then have more room for more clothes.
5. Turn your dark clothes inside out and then hang them. This way the sun won't bleach the colour.
6. Hang things upside down (from the hem). Then you won't get peg marks at the shoulder.

My electricity rate is increasing this month. Charming husband used to balk about his clothes hanging outside, but not anymore!

With our very special guest...Charro!

I was reading an article with Goldie Hawn yesterday which reminded me of Bill Hudson. No, really.

They were married once and from that union came Kate Hudson, in case you didn't know. Now, I believe the guy is married to Shirley Feeney. What was the actor's name? Y'know, from Laverne and Shirley? Oh, yeah, Cindy Williams.

Anyway, remembering Bill Hudson reminded me of the Hudson Brothers Razzle Dazzle Show (I think that was the name). I loved that show but, truly, I can't remember it. Perhaps it is because my mind is littered with all sorts of aimless, brainless variety shows I used to pollute my time with when I was a kid.

I remember Kermit the Frog went on the Sonny and Cher Show to talk with their daughter Chastity, and Cher sang while lying down on a piano.

Man, everyone had a variety show back then. The big one for me and my sisters would probably be The Donny and Marie Show. I could probably still sing most of their signature songs. Sad. Very sad.

When my parents weren't complaining, or when they let me linger past my bedtime, I admit I watched The Tony Orlando and Dawn Show, The Captain and Tennile (is it true she sang on a Pink Floyd song?), Sha Na Na, Flip Wilson, The Muppet Show, and Bobby Vinton. I think his was taped in Toronto. Remember he had this Monty Python-esque opening with his head falling off a statue? And am I the only person who thought Bobby Vinton looked like Chuck Barris? Oh, and I saw the Rene Simard Show. I loved Rene Simard. You could just weep for my generation.

And I still graduated with honours.

I think this is the most comprehensive list of 70s variety shows. But they're missing Rene Simard.

Winter the Pooh

After what felt like a long winter, all the snow has melted.

Since the weather is so much more cooperative, I've been walking the kids to school again. Okay, cooperating weather aside, walking is also dependant upon Middle Child cooperating as well.

Neat to see what was under all that snow: tons of leaves (am I the only loser who rakes?), chip bags and other variety store paraphernalia, and the ubiquitous doggie doo-doo.

We were out on our first walk to school, not even one block and I stepped in some. I thought it was just mud, then I thought one of the kids farted or that Baby Boy dumped a load, but no. It was me.

If a bird craps on you, that's considered good luck. Can accidently stepping in dog poo be considered good luck too? Or is it just unfortunate?

Here's a game to see what kind of dog you'd be. I'm a pug, apparantly.

The Hilary Duff poster is already hanging in her room

It's official. My daughter has become a pre-teen, or is showing signs leading to that.

She lost her two front teeth. Combine that with some birthday money and she bought a very cheap personal CD player. Cute, I thought, and I made her a mix so she could play it.

Well, she carries this thing around like some kind of colostomy bag, replaying The Counting Crows' "Accidentally in Love" over and over again.

But there are worse things.