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.