Adoration of the Sacrament: Praying and Preying

I'm locking my doors these days.

You do that when there was an attempted murder and abduction on your block.

I live across the street from a Catholic church. On Fridays from sunrise to Saturday's sunrise, they have what is called the Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. This is where they leave a blessed communion wafer up at the altar, thus meaning that the body of Christ is there, open for all to see. A handful of parishoners sign up to be at the church at all times; "You don't want Jesus to be alone," my mother says.

This past Friday at about 6:40 pm - not late - a woman was in the church alone when a man walked in and asked her for some coffee money. She told him she had none but instructed him how to find the priests.

He left but came back shortly with a big shard of glass and demanded the purse off the woman. After he found she truly had no money, he tried to take her. She managed to get away but he cut her on the back of her head. She called police and they found him at the park just over the bridge.

I talked to the pastor today about the incident. Apparantly, he was a drifter; not even from town nor had he any familial ties around here. "It doesn't shock me that someone would do that. What is shocking is that it would happen in our town," the priest said.

Hey, padre, if our county can be the number one crystal meth producers in Ontario, you can bet that there are a whack load of meth users too.

All the same, I wonder if the church is going to rethink the Adoration policy. I'm rethinking my own policy of allowing my children to play on the front yard.

Preparing to Say Goodbye to Superdiaperbaby

I think we turned a corner.

Since Thursday, Baby Boy has been using the potty more times than not. He still wants to wear diapers but, woo-hoo, I think he's only had six dirty nappies in four days. He even woke up dry on Saturday.

Mind you, I don't know how diligent I should be. He doesn't want to wear underwear or go commando, so I don't want to push my luck and have this be a "one step forward, two steps back" kind of exercise.

Speaking of shit, the federal government has a preliminary appointment of a new supreme court judge. Before the guy gets instated, MPs will get to ask him questions and then decide if he's an appropriate appointee.

Critics say this may lead to the American way, where it just ends up being another political game where whatever party has the majority will obviously approve of a judge that falls in line with their party's agenda.

Granted, this could very well happen, but I like the openness of it. Sure, we've elected some serious yahoos, but if the guy is some anti-choice, bigotted homophobe, wouldn't you like to know ahead of time?

Madonna, Don't Tell Me You Have Dishpan Hands Too!

Madonna told a reporter in London, "I must admit, I have to pat myself on the back. It's not easy to be married, to have a successful career, to have children." She was commenting on how difficult life can be being married to someone as ambitious as she is.

Whatever.

You think you have it rough, Madge? I just wonder, have you ever changed a diaper or mopped barf off the floor at 3 a.m. or is that the work of one of your round-the-clock nannies? Have you had to buy your family clothes or are you still relying on the freebies the scads of designers send you? Have you ever found yourself rushing to make it on time to pick up Lola and Rocco from school because of a meeting that ran late or that your minivan was stuck in traffic or because you ended up picking the slow line at the grocery store again? Do you and Guy have the money to treat eachother to date night every once in a while? I heard that's important, you know.

Yeah, you deserve a pat on the back, honey. Except when I give it to you, it'll be more like a shove into my seemingly bottomless laundry pile. Have you ever seen one of those before?

I'll Pass on That Steak For Now, Thanks.

Guess what movie we saw on Friday?

I think Middle Child drew an excellent Captain Jack Sparrow. He also drew a ton of skeletons.

It was practice for seeing the Body World exhibit at the Ontario Science Centre on Saturday with Baby Sister and her boyfriend. Middle Child couldn't have been keener. He wanted to see everything and wanted me to read every sign that accompanied the displays. There were tons of medical people visiting and a handful of them would interrupt us and answer Middle Child's questions (thank you ENT doctor from Buffalo, NY and the angioplasty nurse from McMaster-Chedoke Hospital in Hamilton).

He got to hold an adult brain as well as two livers (one diseased and one healthy). He had no qualms about viewing the pregnant woman display but had more interest in the embryos from weeks four to eight (thank you U of T medical student for the quick run-down on the neurological developments at each stage).

Daughter, on the other hand, got freaked out and left with Baby Sister. I had her calmed down initially, but other people's comments were sinking in to her and she started to walk around with her eyes shut, humming to herself.

She had the best time at every other part of the Science Centre - "That was funner than Wonderland!" - but in the car, she started to worry. "Does this mean I don't want to be a doctor?" We assured her that she has lots of time to decide what she wants to do when she's a grown-up and that, maybe in time, seeing real bones and organs won't disturb her any more. She said she was used to seeing these things covered in blood, like they're shown on TV, "but here they looked like zombie meat."

I didn't have the opportunity to get Baby Sister's boyfriend's take on it. He was a butcher.

Mother Nature is a Bitch

I am the picture of calm.

I am the picture of calm.

I am the picture of calm.

If I say it enough, will it be true?

The schools in the entire county are closed for the second snow day this scholastic year. Not too bad; pandemonium has only broken out now at nearly 10 am.

It started out as a slow burn when I asked Middle Child if he really wanted to go to the Body World exhibit tomorrow as planned. My sister emailed saying that Daughter told her he didn't want to go. As it turned out, she was trying to ditch her brother.

Now, Daughter is yelping and running around the room with Middle Child standing beside me calling her "poopy-head" and "stupid girl" and "stinky fish pizzahead".

Meanwhile, Baby Boy is rolling around in my just folded clean laundry, bare-assed naked, happy as a pig in sunshine because he used the potty twice this morning.

Now, I Must Clean

I was given some free tickets to a Carlos del Junco gig here in town (thanks Jules!) and took my baby sister. Not my kind of music, but I appreciated the artistry. Seriously, they were all supreme musicians with that wonderful ability to really tell a story out of their instruments. Baby sister loved the $4 beer and wine. Can't get that in the big city!

I had my middle sister and her family, as well as my parents and the aforementioned baby sister and her boyfriend over on Sunday to celebrate Daughter and Baby Boy's birthday. I was wondering why it felt like I didn't have enough food; that I was missing something. I was slapped with the answer this morning as I stared at the tubs of meatballs in Diana Sauce in the freezer. I now have three pounds of the stuff. I'm thinking meatball sandwiches tonight.

Baby sister's boyfriend gave all the kids rather big bags of candy. Middle sister's kids liked it well enough but my three tore right into the Pop Rocks, Bazooka Joe, Fizz, licorice, etc.

Candy, cake, cousins and gifts. It was a banner day at the house.

He Won't Grow Up To Be a Nutritionist

I give the kids the option to choose their birthday dinner. I thought Baby Boy would certainly choose McDonalds or something, but he didn't.

"I want crackers."

"Crackers?"

"Yeah, the fish ones."

"Anything else?"

"I can pick more? Okay, crackers and cinnamon rolls."

This Sucks

They're making vacuum cleaners in vibrant colours now. I came home with this one and Husband sighed, "Couldn't you have found a normal-looking one?" In all honesty, I could not.

I went to the store with Daughter. She wanted the one that was apple green with silver sparkles.

We saw Nanny McPhee two weekends ago with all the kids. It was Baby Boy's first theatre experience and he did okay; we just need to remind him about a quiet voice inside.

This weekend wasn't as much fun. We "visited old people" as Husband puts it.

We first hit his grandmother who was getting ready to celebrate her 87th birthday. She implored my kids to eat all of her food that was expiring soon.

Then we went to my grandmother's who had a wicked tikka masala ready for us. It was the first time she made it and it was the best I've ever ate. She told me her son (he's a jackass and I don't call jackasses "uncle") possibly has the beginnings of Parkinson's Disease. What goes around, comes around. I hope he suffers miserably and then dies alone.

We went to my parents' and, to our surprise, my sister's kids were there. My kids are really great about visiting people. They're very polite and they find their own fun, but I know it can be a drag for them. Seeing their cousins, even for an hour, made it all worthwhile.

It was raining when we left for the 90 minute drive home. When we got there, we were greeted with a whollop of wet snow which bent two of our spruce trees in the front yard.

"Don't make me angry. You won't like me when I'm angry."

Baby Boy had a cold Monday and I gave him some medication which knocked him out after lunch.

He was resting comfortably when I got the phone call.

"Jennifer? Hi, this is (Middle Child's teacher). Um, we had a little incident and the principal needs you to come to the school immediately."

It turned out that after gym class, Middle Child's teacher annointed him with the seemingly prestigious role as "the caboose" in the line-up back to their classroom. One boy decided he'd rather be the caboose. Middle Child told him that he couldn't; that it was his turn. Then the boy pushed Middle Child to the ground.

Even when he was a baby, Husband and I nicknamed the kid "The Hulk" because he'd be all mild-mannered but then the shit would hit the fan and he'd totally lose his cool.

That's what happened on Monday.

Middle Child got up, pinned the kid to the wall and bit him on the shoulder, leaving a pretty decent mark.

The teacher and principal were great about the whole thing. "He's not entirely to blame, is he?" the principal said to me when I got there. "Yeah, but it doesn't excuse his reaction," I replied.

I took him home where he wrote a letter of apology to the boy ("I'm sorry I bit you. The next time I will solve my problem with words," he wrote. "I'm not going to say he was right or anything because he wasn't right," he explained). We agreed to a suitable punishment (no Star Wars anything for five days) and then I called Husband to concur.

When I explained what had happened, Husband proudly said, "That'll teach that kid not to mess with The Hulk."