"Whale Oil Beef Hooked!"

An early birthday gift was given to me this week. I've always wanted to see the Maritimes ... and now I will!

Daughter knew of the plans for a little while. "Is Nova Scotia far? Remember how we read Anne of Green Gables together? I still love that book. How allergic are you to shellfish?"

But it wasn't until Baby Boy came over to me after Daughter whispered something in his ear that I got an inkling.

"Would you like to stay in a hotel for your birthday?"

Husband knew the jig was up, so we went out for dinner and a card was presented to me.

He planned everything with guidance from three of my friends. Everything is booked, which was another reason why he wanted to give me the heads-up now. He figured that I would find out about his plans when I'm on the internet. The itinerary was emailed to him and he knows I check the history, because I want to see what the kids are surfing for.

My parents might come with us, too. It's going to be wonderful.

I've been to the West Coast many, many times and even travelled across the country that way via train and car five times. My friend Jules, who lived in the Maritimes for a bunch of years, made an astute observation. "You'll love it because as beautiful as the mountains and the Pacific and all that are, there's precious little history. The East Coast is a gorgeous part of the country AND it has history out of the wazoo."

I can't wait to see Pier 21. I absolutely loved hearing my Auntie Mary and Zi's emigration stories. My dad was only six so he doesn't remember as much as his older sisters did. And the only thing that my grandmother, who used to talk with me often, told me about that time was, in fact, about arriving in Halifax. She said she was treated with the utmost respect when she and her parcel of children came off the boat. A man, who also spoke Maltese, helped guide her to the train station and rode with her until he departed in Montreal. She knew then that she was going to be okay in this new country and that, like that man, was going to be good to her.

It's a Gift

I've been tutoring some kids in English and, to wrap up, had the children write and perform a play based on The Mouse and the Motorcycle in front of their classmates.

When the performance was done, we opened it up to questions. Middle Child was the first to raise his hand.

"If you were given more creative license, what would you transmogrify into?"

But what was more startling to have come out of Middle Child's mouth happened when I was nudged awake on Mother's Day.

"Where do you keep the cooking spray?"

He made cake-in-a-cup and wrote a poem that went like:

Where I'm From
I'm from the gifts that you give me for no particular reason.
I'm from the music you blare in the car.
I'm from you changing your hair from black to red to purple.
I'm from the yummy dinners you make every day.
I'm from the good smelling quiche you make for me when I come home.

It's Smashing!

Husband and I were jolted out of sleep last night at around 3:30 with the doorbell ringing three times (I think. Hey, I was just waking up so excuse the fog). Husband went downstairs but couldn't see anything and went back to bed.

We both woke up early to check out what happened. We had a few things smashed at the end of our driveway and our neighbour's for sale sign was put on our front lawn. Nothing else appeared to be damaged but we baggied the smashed stuff (not ours) and made a police report.

Daughter woke up and looked out her bedroom window to see a police cruiser in front of our house. She woke Middle Child and the first thing of their day was seeing Daddy talking to the police. I assured them that everything was fine.

We think we know who may be responsible. We're not freaked out.

I'm going to the office today.

Marvelous

I took my little comic book geeks to see Iron Man yesterday (that would be Daughter and Middle Child; not the biggest comic geek in the house. He stayed home with sick Baby Boy).

I really enjoyed it, but I've always liked flawed characters. Tony Stark (Iron Man) was an alcoholic in the comic books, so when I heard Robert Downey Jr. was cast, I've been looking forward to the movie ever since. I'm such an 80s girl – I love Robert Downey Jr.

Sure, there was a lot of explosions. Yeah, people got hurt (but, perhaps taking a page from Wile E. Coyote, there was very little blood). I'm sure the kids aren't scarred for life.

But how much of a Silver Snail Weiner is Middle Child, you ask? He spotted Stan Lee in a cameo appearance as Hugh Hefner. He knew Obidiah was going to be the foil. And he predicted, "because it's a Marvel movie", that there would be a throw to another movie while the credits rolled. Sure enough, the theatre was almost emptied and the credits were about half-way through when there was one extra scene hinting that, yes, we'll be seeing Iron Man again.

Middle Child walked out of that theatre very full of himself.

Daughter was happy because I told her it was a "grown-up movie."

Weekend Done Like Water Off a Duck

I'm so tired.

We had my aunt's wedding on Saturday. I forgot how long it takes for us to drive to Toronto. I had hoped we'd get there with a half-hour to spare so Daughter and I could rehearse.

Did I mention that as my aunt and her fiancé were leaving Middle Child's communion, the conversation turned to Daughter's violin playing?

"Oh, I'd love it if you could play something at my wedding!" Auntie exclaimed.

Middle Sister piped up, "She'd love to. She's good too. I'm sure she'll pick something really nice."

So from there, Daughter was to play Pachelbel's Canon as Auntie walked up the aisle. Grudgingly. Daughter does NOT like to perform in front of people. Unlike her mother, she's quite shy.

As the days wore on, Daughter became more and more upset until this week when, in convulsions, she was about to give up. I opened my pie hole and said that I'd unearth a flute and accompany her. Yes, a flute.

I haven't played one since I was 13 and pretty much strong-armed into doing it by my grandfather. Initially, an instrumental music class was offered to the gifted students of my elementary school which my parents were very keen on. That evolved into the expectation that I would one day sit with my clarinetist grandfather in his marching band. To understand my mindset, I was very aware that there were no flutes in any Ramones songs.

Anyway, so, yeah, I got the flute out of retirement. The first day of practice was relearning how to breathe. I forgot how to do that so I was getting dizzy. Then I had to review scales. But by the end of the week, I realized I wasn't going to be able to do the harmony all the way through so we figured a way for Daughter to play something more difficult while I just fumbled through.

And, in the end, we had to cut it even shorter, without the flourishing end because the city hall wedding chapel aisle is pretty short and Auntie walks at a clip. And that suited Daughter just fine. Mind you, at the spur of the moment, she decided to play the newly wed couple out with Ode To Joy. No practice ... and you could tell. But it was the thought that counted.

The reception was at this beautiful restaurant in Don Mills. It was converted from a heritage home just south of the 401. Thankfully, we were assigned a separate area. Thankfully because we're a loud bunch. Thankfully because I wondered how long it would take for the kids to start goofing off. Thankfully because it's almost inevitable that someone was going to drink too much.

You know you've had too much when the wait staff literally takes away your table and you're left sitting all alone in a chair. The funny thing is that this relative still brought out his cell phone and checked his messages or whatever, as if this was normal. My younger cousins and I were giggling at this and reveled at how half the family can hold their liquor and the other half can't. "Maybe it's those of us with the big nose that can control it," observed my cousin M. There's got to be an upside to this nose, right?

I ordered the duck and then offered my niece and my kids a taste, without telling them it's Daffy. They all liked it. Then, before I tucked in, I told them what they ate.

Anyway, crazy as it was, I decided that we should drive all the way home. It was a good choice for everyone involved. We were to have slept over at my parents' since we were all going to Oldest Nephew's communion the next day, but I knew my mum wasn't going to be up for company. And I really like my bed.

Actually, a big reason was because I promised Middle Sister that I would bake a nut-free cake and I forgot! When I got home, I thought I would bake the layers and freeze them for easy frosting the next morning but I realized I was out of eggs. I went to bed and woke up at some ungodly hour (when will I get a full night's sleep???). I hauled my ass out of bed and went to the 24-hour grocery store in town. In my Tinkerbell pyjamas. Because I could. And I made a pretty awesome cake to every specification Oldest Nephew gave me earlier in the week (chocolate cake with vanilla icing in the centre and green on the top. I added some chocolate chips between the layers. Huzzah). It looked great. Too bad Middle Child dropped a book on it on our drive down. We had to pull over off the highway so I could fix it. Boy, was I pissed.

Off to Middle Sister's in what we thought would be ample time but traffic was crazy for a Sunday (and that fixing the cake thing). We pulled into the driveway much later than we anticipated and, as a result, didn't have enough time to get a seat at the church. So I played with my other nephew who was left at home with a very huge Baby Sister and her cankles.

Middle Sister really knows how to lay out a spread. There was so much food, it was crazy. After all the rich food at my aunt's wedding, all I could manage to eat was a self-made veal-on-a-bun and some green beans. And Dr. Pepper! What a treat.

And I still woke up at the crack of dawn to hit my class at the gym this morning. I could have skipped it and tried for some extra minutes of sleep but I can still feel that duck swishing around my gut, I think.