A Bag of Hammers

Pattern

2009-07-13T09:06:00.002-04:00

Happy anniversary, V and P.

Meanwhile, we learned another long-time couple, one of husband's best friends, have separated. Ironically, we received a wedding invitation from a young friend of mine.

Friends get married in their 20s, have kids in their 30s, divorced by their 40s. That's the pattern around us anyway.

Shake It Up, Baby

2009-07-05T20:41:00.004-04:00

Mum came for a visit about three weeks ago and rearranged everything in the kitchen. Only now do I have a good grasp as to where she put everything.

She moved the little 1930s china cabinet that was in the dining room. Now it's in the kitchen. Thankfully, she kept all my Fiesta Ware and Jadite bowls there. But, for some unknown reason, only moved half of my vintage shot glass collection.

My mum loves to rearrange furniture. She did it to Middle Child's room, unbeknownst to him. He came in and freaked, so we put everything back.

And Daughter was a little disappointed that Granny didn't attack her room. On the flip side, she is knitting Daughter a pair of mittens that Bella wears in the Twilight movie.

Anyway, Mum also rearrange my pantry a bit. I found cherry pie filling (mmm...) and some vanilla pudding mix so I'm going to make some of that cracker dessert I learned from my friend with a diabetic daughter. Simple, but sooo good. I also found some coconut milk. I'll get some sprouts and make pho tonight.

Gawd, my life is so boring sometimes. Seriously, please stop asking me to Twitter. How I fill my days really isn't very interesting.

And the Neighbours Complained About the Noise

2009-07-03T10:55:00.002-04:00

I'm either the best mom in the world or the craziest.

Last week, Middle Child had a birthday party. He really has no best friends. Instead, most of the boys in his class spend recess playing soccer together. It gets very testosterone-laden but it sounds like everyone finds a place to play. So, we invited every boy in his class to come. With a water gun. True story.

Thankfully, the weather was great. Thankfully, they all got along fine. Thankfully, I was able to get them to stop for a minute so they could eat. Various stages of undress. Lots of that boyish goat smell. It got a little Lord of the Flies-ish. Definitely saw some Jack, Simon, Ralph and, yes, Piggy.

Daughter was a champ. She was on the water refueling station, getting totally soaked. However, she loved having this position of power and got to lord it over the younger boys. "Hassle me some more and I send you to the back of the line, bub." I couple of the boys were crushing on her, I could tell. She was completely oblivious to it. When Slowplum (who was there to help out for a bit) mentioned it too, Daughter looked like she smelled something funny.

I bought about a 100 Timbits instead of a cake. I hate having leftover cake or paying for something that is just going to get picked at. I find kids either like just the icing or just the cake. Few will eat the whole thing. But Timbits? Every kid likes them. I made a lovely mountain, and lit the candles which were blown out by some punk kid who I didn't give birth to. We tried to relight but the wind wasn't cooperating and the natives were getting restless. So, with Middle Child's go-ahead, I told the boys to help themselves.

What was the scene? Well, do you remember that Looney Tunes cartoon with the termites attacking whole trees and leaving a pile of crumbs in less than a second? Such was my Timbit mountain. Boys were stuffing their faces with four or five of them at a time. It was entirely disgusting and unrefined. One boy would bite into one, not like the taste, put it down and another boy would pick it up and eat it. Three cheers for the Y chromosome.

My RPM Training Experience

2009-06-01T09:08:00.006-04:00

It's been a week since training to be an RPM instructor. RPM is another Les Mills fitness program, an indoor cycling class where you ride to the rhythm of music.

My club is in desperate need of instructors and I find there's a bit of pressure to instruct more than one discipline. Since I'm horribly uncoordinated (read: clumsy), step aerobics or any of those dancey-dance aerobics are out of the question. My voice isn't exactly soft and calm so I can't teach the yoga-ish class either. RPM? Sure, sign me up.

Training was only for two days. We began with a master class, the only one of the weekend. Had I known, I would have paid better attention to the master trainer's cues in the hopes of picking up something cool.

In fact, we didn't spend a lot of time on the bike. I was led to believe that we'd be spinning the whole time. So much of the weekend was discussing musicality and the finer points of being a Les Mills instructor. This was fine because out of the 20 participants, only three were certified instructors (one taught AquaFit and the other instructor went to Pump training with me last fall, funny enough).

The focus of the program has changed. They used to encourage RPM participants to ride to their own top level. Now, one needs to find the beat of the music, and stay on it while having enough resistance on the bike. It's a goal to reach for many, including me. I'm running out of gas before the class ends.

There are nine songs in one RPM class; seven are working and the last two are recovery and stretch. I lose pace by the end of track 6 but I'm getting better. I have to. Apparently, if I don't have the correct pace for more than 15 seconds in my certification video, I will fail. Yes, it's necessary to film prospective instructors teaching a whole class. An assessor will then pick apart every move made and every word spoken. No pressure.

The first day ended with a bit of a bang. After learning how to set up a bike (all of us were riding in the wrong positions), proper form, and a bit of prompting, we were ready for the Ride of Truth. It sounded so fierce but really was just a series of time trials. It was tough but not unreachable. Cycle to the beat of the music for 30 seconds. Then 60. Then two minutes. Then five. Something like that. Those participants who hadn't taken many RPM classes prior to training had their work cut out for them, but I was warned and prepared.

We were assigned tracks to learn overnight and be ready to teach to the class the next morning. I was given the last working track, which was tiring but suited my gruff persona well. Besides, I had instruction experience with Body Pump so I was well ahead of the game.

I came home (training was only 30 minutes from my house), listening to the music in the car. I pretty much had it memorized, feeling confident that I could bat this one out of the park with a bit more time to spend on it.

But welcoming me home were Daughter and Baby Boy with a lovely case of the chicken pox. Daughter felt it coming on not an hour after coming home from the babysitting course she took that day. Baby Boy had one solitary mark on his waist when I checked on him. Ten minutes later, they started coming up FAST. By the evening, he was entirely covered. I have never seen anyone get it worse than he did. He had them inside his mouth, on his tongue, down his throat (he said), just all over. He was in agony or else he just has a really low threshold for pain. He was up and down all night. Thus, I only got two hours of sleep and no time to prepare my track.

We had to present immediately at the start of the class. My track 7 had to have energy and intensity. Sure, I knew my choreography but my instructor mojo was gone – still in bed where I should have been catching up on my sleep. The other participants were gobsmacked at my teaching. "Great use of your voice." "Your cues are so fluid." "You seemed so comfortable up there." Whatever. I sucked. I knew it. The master trainer knew it. I could have done sooooo much better but I just wasn't on my game. My pace was off. I let my form go once or twice. Yes, I wasn't nervous but that comes with experience. I learned at my Fitness Instructor Specialist course that what you lack in substance can sometimes be made up by attitude. I think it's a cop-out, though. I strive to deliver awesomeness every single time. And I didn't. My standards are high.

So we watched the videos the trainer took of us teaching. She asked me how I felt how I did. I said I sucked, followed by a chorus of "No way!" The trainer just smiled. She knew that I knew what she knew, you know?

More blah, blah, blah about cues and musicality and attitude. A break for lunch had me try my first Booster Juice. I ordered a strawberry protein shake that sat really heavy. I wish I had a coffee.

The afternoon was yet more sitting around and discussing how we can care for members (name retention, keeping it "real", and other ways of connecting). We were back up on the bikes for one final crack at teaching our tracks. The master trainer actually came up WHILE I was instructing to give me criticism. Um, I'm teaching here?! Where were we? Oh, yeah. Add resistance and standing climb!

I sort of felt the trainer didn't like me much. She constantly would ask me for my opinion based on experiences and then shoot them down in flames. "That is just not me. But, hey, if that works for you, Jen, whatever." Her way was the best. I didn't pick any fights. Yes, you are the master trainer. I bow to you. And I did. I was very open about it. She was even in one of the Pump training videos so I went in there admiring her before having ever met her.

In hindsight, I think she was really frustrated. It's unusual for training to have so few certified instructors. She really had to start from scratch many times.

Most of all, there was one participant who just wouldn't shut up that was giving the trainer much grief. She was so annoying. She was one of those people who had to give her opinion (always unsolicited). Any time someone spoke, she had something to say. Someone would give their fitness stories (always based on a bad high school experience, it seemed), this woman would turn it into My Life Sucked More Than Yours - a game for two or more players. We never heard the end of how difficult the Ride of Truth was for her. Suck it up, princess. Are you up for this? It's kinda like the wolf complaining about the wool stuck in his teeth.

At the end, we did the Les Mills hongee (I'm spelling it wrong, I'm sure, but it's a Maori greeting) and everyone got their pass. The trainer pulled me aside and said, "I want you to know it was a real pleasure meeting you." How nice. But I'll bet when I see her at the national conference this summer, she'll look right through me. Such is life.

And back to my chicken poxed babies and a sink full of dirty dishes.

Pox On You!

2009-05-11T10:50:00.002-04:00

Tucking Middle Child in on Saturday night, I noticed that he was still wearing his dirty socks.

I pried them off his feet and noticed he had some blemishes. I lifted his pajama pant leg to see a few more. Lifted his top to check out his belly. Blisters. Yup. He has the chicken pox.

He went to bed happy, knowing that he'll be missing school for a bit. What I didn't dwell on is that it's going to get worse before it gets better.

Sure enough, he woke up with marks all over his face, clusters in crevices like his underarms. I may have been better off just pouring the bottle of calamine lotion on his back like I was marinating a flank steak. Today, he has pox on his eyelids, inside his nose and ears. He must have one in his mouth because he screamed when he drank his orange juice this morning.

This didn't deter Daughter from begging Middle Child to cough on her.

What To Do?

2009-05-08T09:26:00.002-04:00

I keep getting emails for another woman. I assume our email addresses are very close which makes me wonder how much of my stuff are getting to her.

What is the protocol when you receive someone else's email? I end up opening it, which maybe I wouldn't do if I was worried about viruses and stuff. However, even if I don't know the sender, it could be a business thing. The subjects are never anything untoward but are almost always chain mail or a bunch of jokes. And on more than two dozen times, I get this woman's very personal emails.

I know that she has a son who is a complete hellion in his preschool. Another son has auditory problems. She's a realtor with a lot of investments across the country. She also has a very ill aunt.

I know waaay too much about this woman.

One freaky time was when my cousin's husband invited her to be his Facebook friend but sent it to my address. I asked him to tell her about this email situation with her but he said, "I'm a Facebook friend whore. I'm not even sure I know her." So I send him a photo of her. Yes, I even get photos of her.

Again, I don't know if it's socially acceptable to write back to the people who mistakenly send me email but I do. Usually one email explaining that they sent a message (or three) to the wrong recipient and that ends that.

But there's one person who keeps sending me crap. The first time, I sent her my standard letter. The next time, I sent the standard but added that perhaps she hadn't received the first one. The third time, I was a little more curt. The emails kept coming. I just deleted without opening. I figured that maybe if she didn't receive a response for a while, she'd phone or something.

Nope. I'm still getting "You've been tagged" or "Send this to fifteen amazing women" stuff. Worse are the ones that are so content-heavy that they take forever to load into the inbox.

Just last Friday, I sent a cease-and-desist in the most demanding tone I could emit from my keyboard. I guess I'm not a talented writer. I received eight messages in seven days.

So, being the bitch that I am, I'm thinking of sending this one person stupid emails back. Perhaps I should start with this video my auntie sent me.

Update

2009-04-29T19:36:00.002-04:00

Middle Child came home today with a package of papers for me. In it was a recommendation that he sees a public health nurse to discuss his emotional needs. By signing the consent form also would mean that any of her findings would end up in Middle Child's file (OSR).

Husband and I are trying to be very upfront about everything with him. And Middle Child is great about asking questions if things aren't altogether clear to him.

"What would it mean if the nurse writes stuff I say and it ends up in my OSR?"

"Well, pretend that after talking with you, she thought you were on drugs. Then she could recommend you see a special counsellor for that and it ends up in your records for years and years. Any teacher can take a look and see, that in 2009, that nurse thought you were on drugs."

"Then no. I don't want to do it. And I'm not on drugs, Mom. But that was just a crazy example you used, right?"

Finally Finding My Sea Legs

2009-04-29T10:38:00.002-04:00

I tend to be a bit of a pessimist but when something good and fortuitous happens, I'll call it.

I get to meet a LOT of people as a fitness instructor. People from all walks of life come to the classes. If I ate pork, I could so get a great deal on a half pig or something. I had a lively discussion about double negatives with a retired writer. I probably know more than I want to about incontinence from two palliative care nurses.

Thankfully, I met up with a psychologist and mother of a gifted child in one of my classes. I shared with her some frustrations with Middle Child (barely scratched the surface, really, because one instructor's advice to stay as private as possible resonated). Anyway, over the last couple of days, she's helped me get some serious balls rolling to get Middle Child attended to.

And the timing couldn't have been better. He got picked on again yesterday. And, again, he took all the blame because he didn't want to fink on his "friends".

I got the phone call from his teacher the minute I walked in the door from the gym, still on an endorphin high. "I found in his possession a piece of paper that read, "(Middle Child) is better than (Joe Blow)', and '(Joe Blow) sucks.' I called him out on his inappropriate language as it followed me walking in on him telling another boy, holding a tennis ball in his hand, 'I'm aiming for your balls.'"

I hope I came across as a little calmer than I really was. I asked what happened before these experiences. "Well, as you know, he's pretty tight-lipped." So I made her aware, actually reminding her, that Middle Child is being picked on and has been since kindergarten. He is a square peg trying desperately to fit into a round hole. Perhaps if she got to know him, gave him the benefit of the doubt, she could assess that in him and use her education and teaching experience to make his school days less like a fricking gulag.

Mind you, Middle Child has lost much respect for her as a representative of fairness and peace after she publicly accused him of stealing from the school's third world charity project.

What hurts the most is seeing him so unhappy. Coming in second is that he's accused me of not fighting hard enough for him. Why does that kill me? Because maybe he's right.

At Least He Didn't Swear

2009-04-21T14:50:00.003-04:00

Husband is so cute.

He has some ads on the local radio station these days and was asked if he'd like to be on a segment of the morning show to discuss sport mouthguards.

He spent the next week reading and rereading stuff about mouthguards and sport injuries. I told him that the interviewer will lead the discussion and it would be over before he knew it. Don't overprepare, in other words.

But like any other time in our marriage, he didn't take my advice.

He was fairly nervous. He's not much of a talker to start with and his answers were really short. I asked him about that later and he said, "He asked a question. I answered it. There really wasn't much to embellish on. I mean, 'What are mouthguards made of?' I told him. Next question."

But then Husband mentioned that he makes anti-snoring devices and all that reading about mouthguards went out the window. That's all the interviewer wanted to talk about from then on.

The kids turned off the Smurfs when I told them Daddy was on the radio. Daughter stood by the speaker the whole time. Baby Boy lasted as long as the novelty of hearing his father's disembodied voice wore off. Middle Child shrugged, "Yup. That's Dad. Like I haven't heard him before." And went upstairs to get dressed.

Husband will be getting no celebrity love from those kids.

So, Like, Um, Yeah

2009-04-20T13:35:00.003-04:00

I heard on the radio about a 13-year-old girl in the US who amassed a $3000+ cellphone bill. How did she rack up those charges, you wonder? ALL TEXT MESSAGES.

What has me laughing on the outside but crying in the inside is that almost all of them were sent to and from her best friend. How much do you want to bet that this said best friend was sitting beside her most of the time?

I retold this story to a 20-something and she just shrugged. "I can see that happening. I myself never talk to anyone anymore."

!!!

Seriously?! You never talk with anyone anymore? Sweet mother of John A. Macdonald! Are we going to have a generation of people who don't know how to converse? In all honesty, this person was in a job interview situation with Husband and he said it was like talking with a robot.

Granted, I love to write. Arguably, I probably come off as a cooler, better person in type than I do in real life. But there are certain nuances that can't be translated in to text, or if you try, they can be convoluted or misread. And, I'm sorry but emoticons don't count. Let's not go there unless you want me to open up a can of literary whoop-ass on you.

Jesus Wept

2009-04-09T04:47:00.002-04:00

I can't sleep. I feel like I've let Middle Child down. I should have protected him better.

The back story is that he was beat up again. This would be the third time in a year. The first time was more or less understandable. It was a tussle from a soccer game. It got a little physical and Middle Child pushed the boy away to get at the ball. The boy and Middle Child fell over with my kid on the bottom. The other child was steaming and he bit Middle Child's arm, leaving a lovely bruise. What does my kid do? He doesn't fight back. One of my mommy mantras is, "Use your words; not your hands." So, he yelled at the kid, "You fucking bitch!" Boys are bastards, honey, but then was not the time to get into the nuances of language. The swearing startled the kid and he began to cry. Finally, the yard duty adult figured something was amiss. Duh. Result: both boys got a talking to and a detention for their aggression.

Time #2 was when a kid in senior kindergarten decided out of freakin' nowhere to give Middle Child a beating. He thought it would give him credibility if he picked on an older kid. Hey, there's a boy who is spending recess reading. And I was told that he threw about 25 punches. Middle Child did nothing. "I'm not going to fight a little kid." Result: other boy was suspended. Middle Child was humiliated but the girls in his class had a new respect for him.

This time, again out of nowhere, one boy pushed Middle Child on the ground while another pinned him. Middle Child would consider these two as friends. He's been trying for years to impress them. They're very athletic and popular. Middle Child is decidedly not. He has taken to acting like the class clown and to dumb things down so he'd fit in better. Okay, I'm getting sidetracked. So Middle Child was pinned into a puddle of water and slush while the bigger boy scooped gravel-encrusted slush down Middle Child's splash pants, in his hair, in his mouth. What does my kid do? He yells at them, lobbing the f-bomb like grenades. Result: all three kids get moved in the classroom next to quiet, obedient girls and all three get detention. Yes, even Middle Child because "the school has a no-swearing policy."

Now, when the teacher phoned me to say he was going to miss his recess, I thought it was because of a prior incident when the three boys were throwing an empty chocolate milk carton at each other in class. It was only last night, two days after the fact, that I learned it was because of Middle Child swearing.

In my books, I think his retaliation was in line; a natural reaction and a relatively peaceful one. I mean, he's getting crap shoved in his mouth. What do they expect him to do – just lie there and take it?

I've apologized to Middle Child for not sticking up for him and that I was proud that he stood his ground (and that maybe he should consider the criteria of what makes for a good friend). I mentioned that I will talk with the principal today and tell him that I thought he was faultless and that his parents condone his swearing in this incident. But Middle Child just rolled his eyes.

"Just forget about it, Mum. I have. Please, just move on. I'm happy. Really."

But he's not. He's been so disorganized since then. He's dogging it more than usual when it's time to go to school. His homework is all over the place. And he purposely flubbed a math quiz (did ten questions out of 50 and the answers he did give were outrageous). He's totally rotten to everyone at home; just being plain mean. He's been unreasonably demanding. And, what's really telling, his appetite has waned.

Thankfully, we're gearing up to Easter so he'll have some time off from school. Maybe staying at home where he's accepted and cherished for the interesting person that he is will bring his self-esteem back to normal. Until some other mother's son kicks the shit out of him.

Did I mention that he asked when he'd be old enough to lift weights with me? I bought a couple of one-pound hand weights for him (in slime green, of course).

Apparently, Pigs Can Fly

2009-04-03T16:39:00.002-04:00

I was named Instructor of the Month at the gym. Go figure.

It was at the seasonal meeting for instructors when our regional manager said, "We don't usually do this at these sort of things but this person is so much fun, I thought I'd make a game out of it. Okay, March's instructor has a great sense of humour."

Lots of names were batted around. The friend who initially approached me to instruct was the only one to say my name.

"She fills in last minute."

Fewer names. Two people said my name now.

"She's a tiny ball of energy!"

So now only the short instructors were named.

"Oh, come on! This will be the give away. She made a Facebook group for the club and she held a St. Patrick's Day party class where she had snacks and prizes for everyone, and even drank her water out of a can of Guinness."

"JENNIFER!!!"

And my mouth gaped open. Seriously?

The Marketing Department Read Twilight As Well

2009-03-19T06:00:00.000-04:00

Middle Sister, also a bit of a "Twerd", sent me this. As someone who used to work in advertising, I applaud those responsible for this. I mean, there's just so many creative ways to promote feminine hygiene products. A little, um, unorthodox but creative as all get out. And trendy too!

Still by far, my favourite ad for these types of products was one done in the early '90s for Playtex Tampons (I think) in Europe. Two little girls are in a field of daisies, lying on their tummies.

Girl A: What do you want to be when you grow up?

Girl B: I think I want to be a teacher or a doctor. What do you want to be?

Girl A: Well, I don't know what kind of job I want but I know I want to use Playtex because then I can ride horses, go swimming, wear the nicest white pants...

March? Yes. Break? No.

2009-03-18T06:06:00.003-04:00

I'm trying to study for this fitness instructor test that I'm to take in about 10 days. How sad is it that I'd rather take a Pap test?

I'm also furiously trying to make stuff for the next craft show which is in 9 days. Guess what I'll be doing at my booth while waiting for a sale? This isn't coming easy to me. I'm so out of practice.

March Break is here. I could tell right away because the numbers were down in my Monday morning class. Yesterday's class was the fullest I've ever had but I was running a St. Patrick's Day thingie. I had prizes (a green juice bag tote, Irish Spring, green gum, green tea, pencils), brought in snacks (honeydew, cucumbers, iced green tea). People like free, it seems. I had my water in an empty can of Guinness. When I brought it to my lips the first time, I swear, people gasped. "It's water. I swear!" I got more guffaws from my "Irish for a day" sash and green hair extensions. Any bozo can go to the dollar store and get that. The water-in-the-Guinness thing was imaginative! Sheesh.

Middle Sister came to my class. She said I really motivated her ("I think that was the first time I ever broke a sweat in a Pump class") but, apparently, I don't lead the way she's used to by the instructors in her club. "Don't get upset," she begun. Hey, if I was afraid of criticism, I wouldn't be up on stage making a total ass of myself twice a week.

Daughter is spending the next few days with her and I have Eldest Nephew in return. Middle Sister has actual plans to keep her busy. She doesn't need it because when Daughter and Niece are together, they need no one. I, on the other hand, just hope to keep Eldest Nephew and my boys away from the screens for part of the day.

And when Daughter comes back, the first order of business, she tells me, is to go to the store and buy the DVD of Twilight. Say what you want about my parenting (and Middle Sister did), but I'm letting her read the book series. I'm reading ahead, just so I know, and it's a good idea. The girl has been gulping it down like other kids did with Harry Potter, a series she never could get into. She's just not interested in fantasy, I explained to a friend. "But Twilight is about vampires! That's fantasy." Er, not entirely. It's more of a romance than anything else. Kinda reminds me of Brideshead Revisited, you know?

Daughter has always been a good reader but this series has her coming home, doing her homework and chores, and then curling up on the chesterfield to get lost in Forks, WA. She's soooo impressed that I've been to Port Angeles. No joke. And, get this, she helps with the cooking. She's keeping her room tidy. She's washing the dishes after dinner. Why? Because that's what Bella does. I'm telling you, I'm okay with her reading the books.

Is the romance bits over her head? I don't think so. My tween is still a kid, don't get me wrong, but she has moments of maturity beyond her years. Maybe it's an oldest child thing. Maybe it's an estrogen thing. I don't know, but I'd like to think I understand my kid. I believe she can handle this and I want to give her the benefit of the doubt. I want to give her some independence. I've guided you from here; now I'm going to let go of your hand for a little while and be right beside to catch you if you fall. Baby steps.

Hopefully, she'll heed my opinion that, chances are, she'll never meet a guy quite like Edward Cullen. Further, if she gave up her whole life for a guy, she can expect a slap upside the head from her mother. And I'll get a slap upside MY head from Middle Sister with a smattering of "I told you so!"

Me and My Big Mouth

2009-03-11T13:21:00.002-04:00

There's a governing body for fitness instructors in Canada, and I took their course last weekend so I could be certified as a specialist.

The other instructors I work with all told me to skip the classes and just take the exam. But since I didn't have a science background like they did, I signed up for the classes anyway. I took another staff member with me, R, a high schooler but an old soul. She's studying to teach Zumba, a Latin dancercise class.

We were quite happy to be going, taking it all very seriously, and really hoping to learn tons. We got in to the university with seconds to spare and took our seats just as the pro trainer was introducing herself and wanted introductions from the 21 of us in the class.

Maybe because it was in a university, but half of them were kinesiology students. Two older women wanted to open up their own gym in their small town. One guy with a brain injury and could barely put two coherent words together wants to teach Body Combat (good luck and God speed). One woman wanted to teach Step at her local GoodLife.

At this point, the trainer said that teaching the Les Mills programs at GoodLife is horrible. "There's no personality to them. The music is the same. The moves are the same. They're even given cues that they have to say."

And then they got to me. "Hi. My name is Jen and unlike most of you, it's been about 20 years since I've stepped foot inside a university. And unlike many of you, I don't work in healthcare or nutrition or athletics per se. But I am a Body Pump instructor, certified by Les Mills International.

"And I take issue with your comment about GoodLife and Les Mills.

"Yes, the music is the same. You can go to any of the 72 countries in the world that have Les Mills programs and the music will be the same, regardless of the language spoken. They spend millions on great music. It keeps people coming in.

"Yes, the moves are the same. They are choreographed and approved by a team of fitness professionals and medical personnel to ensure they are fun and safe and reachable for all levels of fitness.

"Yes, we have compulsory cues. They're always there so we're mentioning the technique needed to perfect and perform the moves in a safe but effective way.

"But boring? I take offence to that. My Pump class would be different from yours or hers or his because we're all individuals with a unique style and unique focus. And there's even a difference in classes because of the participants. I have young and middle-aged members on Monday and retired folk on Tuesday.

"And I know I'm not alone. There's a reason why GoodLife is the number one gym in Canada."

I'm pretty sure the trainer had some spin experience because there was some serious backpedalling.

Of course, there were other things that got my heart rate up, and it wasn't the endless fricking grapevines I had to do. Oh, yes, we spent 90 minutes on musicality: how to find the beat in a song. Seriously, everyone had White Man's Overbite. I wanted to cry, it was so frustrating. I ended up trying to wrap up the discussion by saying, "If I could impart my experience here, may I say that musicality comes with practice. You'll learn to identify the downbeat, learn to talk in cadence with practice. You're not going to come out of this class being as good as our trainer here."

"Or Jen," R added. Sweet kid.

This came after spending scant amount of time on anatomical issues, which was what I came for. But in a room of kinesiology students, I suppose my needs were trumped.

We had to choreograph two warm-ups on the first day. The first one was a high/low one to be done alone. I had to go first because I had instructing experience. I've never done anything like that before in my life, but I whipped something together, faking it completely. I even worked in some jokes about how I wished I had a bar and 50 pounds instead. So what I lacked in aerobic knowledge, I made up for it in personality.

Knowing I wasn't a bouncy-bouncy girl, I was then matched up with the two guys in the class to do a cardio-kickboxing thingie. I have no experience with that so I let the boys show me the moves and I led the class from there. "That was the best kickboxing demonstration I've seen," the trainer said.

"Great, because I didn't know what I was doing there either!" I told her.

So when it came to choreographing a muscle portion (I had to demonstrate interval training), I incorporated lots of creative but effective moves. Frankly, I rocked the house. I mean, I better! But then the trainer had the cojones to CORRECT MY FORM! On DEADLIFTS! That's probably the easiest thing in the world to do. I coached the proper Les Mills way: tip from the hip, bar held with hands just outside your hips, tummy in, toes out at 11 and 1, knees slightly bent, taking the bar to the top of the kneecaps while having it just skim the thighs. The trainer told everyone that a deadlift goes away from the legs and as close to the floor as possible.

"That may be true if one were to work with a personal trainer or on their own," I interjected, "but that is entirely unsafe form to be teaching in a group exercise setting. If someone in my class couldn't reach that far and hurt themselves, then I'd be up the creek."

"Oh, you and your big corporation. You're so wrapped up in legal issues." And she moved on.

The weekend was a complete Gong Show. R and I debriefed our team leader on the next day. Our stories made her visibly shake with anger.

"It's just too bad we need the certification," she said. "And maybe too bad for you because guess who will be marking your exam, Jen."

Why It Sucks Being a Body Pump Instructor In a Small Town

2009-03-04T13:05:00.000-05:00

I was at the grocery store today with Baby Boy. He was pleading, wearing me down, like only he can, begging for a bag of Oreos.

If you're a regular mom, you'll understand. I pick my battles. This wasn't one of them. I put the Oreos in the cart.

And then I saw one of the participants in my early Monday morning class. "Cookies, eh? But you won't have any, right, Jen?"

Of course not. If it were Chunks Ahoy, however, I'd be home in a minute with a glass of milk. Still, I felt a little stung. Even now, I don't know if I'm embarrassed to have bought cookies or because my parenting may have been put into question.

And then we went to check out. The cashier recognized me.

"Aren't you the new Body Pump instructor? I was in a Flow class with you and the instructor there introduced you to us."

And then she started ringing in my Kotex, my Jolen, the aforementioned cookies, Kraft Dinner Crackers, psyllium fibre cookies (for Middle Child's wonky digestive system, I swear), etc.

Struck By Lightening v2.0

2009-03-03T12:56:00.001-05:00

I went to an RPM spin class taught by my boss. After class, she pulled me aside.

"Who is that blonde woman, really yoked, in the back corner?"

"The one with the distinguished grey-haired guy, J? The total flirt? That's A," I said.

"Are they together?"

"No! They're just friends. That's what they told me a year ago. Besides, I talked with J at the Farmer's Market in December. He was holding hands with another woman and they were telling me about their basement, so I assume that was his wife."

"Well, then these two are having an affair because I've been seeing them going like rabbits in his truck in the far back parking lot where staff parks."

Ewww. Now I can't look at them.

I came home a little shaken. I don't like hearing crap like that, you know?

And then, that afternoon, I found out that my friend's husband is having an affair. He used her cell phone to forward a text message to his married "qahba".

So if I was shaken before, now I'm crushed.

What are the chances?

2009-02-24T13:23:00.004-05:00

Quick recap of what happened while I obviously haven't been writing...

Christmas was great. Got to spend another one with my grandmother, which is always a joy because, well, you never know.

Submitted my video for Body Pump certification. I had to film myself on stage presenting a whole class and then ship it off to headquarters for someone to assess my skills. I'm thrilled to say that I passed with flying colours. It was a glowing report. I'm teaching two classes now and even have groupies! Two people follow every class I teach.

We went back to Daughter's Mecca over the weekend. Husband's grandmother was having a birthday party nearby so we made our way. Before the party, though, I ran into the Home Hardware to buy a t-shirt. Any Avril Lavigne fan worth their mettle knows about the Napanee Home Hardware shirt she wore on Saturday Night Live. Anyway, I walked in, took a cursory look around and then just went to the counter.

"I'm looking for 'the t-shirt.'"

"Ah, yes," said the clerk. "And how old is the recipient?"

Daughter was absolutely chuffed. "It's totally the exact same!"

It's great to see that girl smile again. We had lightning strike twice earlier this month. Daughter's friend's mother suddenly died of a cerebral aneurysm. She was only 34; the mother of three. My friend was fit and quite possibly the nicest person around. I've never seen her in a foul mood. I've never heard her raise her voice. She was so calm and friendly. She lied down to sleep. Her husband turned off the lights and not long after came the aneurysm. Quick.

I see people that look like her all the time. I still can't believe she's dead.

I signed Daughter out of school so she could go to the funeral home with her friends. When we got home, I was bracing myself to answer those tough questions when Daughter said, "Someone left us a message on the phone." So I had her answer it. It was from her violin teacher's husband. It turned out not 12 hours after the one mom died, the violin teacher had a brain aneurysm too.

Thankfully, she was very lucky. They took her to Buffalo of all places (they looked locally, even to closer big American hospitals, but no beds were available) where she's had a few surgeries and is expected to make a very good recovery. They're unsure if she will be able to play music, though. I call her every once in a while and she's very scared to pick up the violin.

Anyway, Daughter has learned a hard lesson about the fragility of life. She has been absolutely golden these days, albeit a little clingy. She makes a point of kissing me goodbye or goodnight. She hasn't been nasty to her brothers. She has little tolerance for people who are in the Happy Life Night Club and they're complaining about the noise. She knows life is short. It's a big pill to swallow at her age.

So Busy

2008-12-31T05:23:00.002-05:00

I only have time to ask:

Am I just being nostalgic or does "Chinese Democracy" start off the same way as the theme from "Beverly Hills 90210"? Seriously, all Axl needed to do was add the hand claps.

Guns 'n Roses fans are suckers for having to wait for that tripe. Not my cup of tea.

I Fall To Pieces

2008-11-25T09:51:00.001-05:00

And now the furnace is busted.

All That I've Left is a Band of Mould

2008-11-16T10:54:00.003-05:00

What I didn't include in that last post was why, when I finally and happily arrived home from my weekend of sadistic fun, my high was cut down like a sucker punch in the solar plexus.

"Congratulations, but I have bad news," Husband said immediately. "The second-floor bathroom ceiling fell in."

Thankfully, no one was hurt. But I suspect our bank account will have a scar for a while.

We had noticed a few drips a couple of weeks back. We cleaned out the eavestrough, thinking that was the problem and, sure enough, the drips stopped. But we had a hard rain on Saturday which brought the ceiling down, displaying a colourful array of mould. Nice.

It turned out that we had a bare spot on our roof, not that we could see it. A roofer came by early this week and patched that up but told us that there's nothing under our shingles. I know the people we bought the house from and learned they did the roof a year before we bought it. Of course, my next question was, "And who did the work?" I want to make sure we avoid the company at all costs.

So the short of the story is that we need to tear down the entire bathroom ceiling, air out the mould and remove it. Then we'll do a bit of renovating.

The funny thing is that we were discussing short- and long-term goals at my training weekend. I mentioned that I want to earn more money so I can start on renovating that bathroom, which was supposed to be a project I was going to tackle with my dad. Looks like there's no time like the present.

My BodyPump Instructor Training Experience

2008-11-10T10:32:00.003-05:00

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. I'm sore, yes, but I can still climb stairs and sit.

So - hooray - I passed the Pump training weekend. It was crazy but so very cool. I wasn't the oldest (there were two other women in their mid 40s). I wasn't the fattest, either (two others were heavier than me, I reckon). Still, I went in there, looked at the group of 19 and thought, er, should I even be in their midst? There was a natural body building champion (and she was absolutely gorgeous to boot - no, I loved her), more than half the class were already certified Les Mills instructors (tons in Combat), and fricking everyone was wearing Lululemon and makeup. My middle sister warned me...

Should I have been there? Well, my worries were quelled right off the bat when we ripped right into a masterclass. My friend and instructor, SVN, was so right. I had more weight than anyone (even equalled one of the three guys). The skinnies around me saw me slapping on the 10s during squats. "Seriously? You can do those weights? Do you need a spotter to get it over your head?" I giggled and told them I'm a mom and I live in the country and swung that baby over my head like it was a scarf. Respect from other participants? Check!

There was lots of mental work on the first day. Discussing choreography and technique took up most of the afternoon. We did some more physical challenges, broke for dinner (I went with the bodybuilder and another woman who trains in a big city south of me. Why? We were the alternative girls. How alternative? The nearby woman is named Morticia. True story). Because I signed in but went to the bathroom before getting my stuff and signing up for a track, I was left with two choices: lunges or shoulders. So because of my crappy ankle and the ear infection that's screwing up my balance, I chose lunges. Makes total sense, right?

Went back to my sister's, with a bundle of nerves. Opened up Jools's portable DVD player to rehearse, rehearse, rehearse, and found the card she made me. And I cried. Hard. Had a crappy sleep (I could hear the lunge track in my dreams). Woke up waaay too early. Drove to North York, not being able to listen to music at all and feeling like I wanted to barf. We presented in groups of three - so three people are simultaneously teaching the same track in another part of the studio. I was presenting with a superstar step instructor and possibly east Toronto's most popular Combat instructor (another Combat instructor was pretty much laying prostrate before her all weekend). But I dug in, nailed the choreography and was highly complimented on my technique after everyone watched the video that was taken of me. The trainer said my coaching was good for a first timer, but that I needed to vary my voice and use sharper arm movements. He asked how I felt. I said that it was not unlike giving birth: much nervous anticipation, hurt like hell, felt very vulnerable, and then complete relief when it was over with a real sense of accomplishment.

The rest of Saturday was very physical. There was one challenge that was going to be saved for the afternoon but we worked through what was supposed to be our lunch break because, seriously, if you did this on a full stomach, you'd hurl. So, get this: there's five stations positioned around the studio. Each station has a set of six barbells, starting with 7.5 kg on each end and the other five bars are in increments of 2.5 kg. The stations had two different moves each (eg. squats and clean-and-press) which we had to do 20 reps with a weight 50 to 75 per cent more than what you regularly use. Yeah, I entered the hurt box. We broke for lunch and seven of us all decided we wanted hot protein. I swear, it was the best chicken souvlaki I have ever tasted. A little more blah, blah, blah on coaching and connecting which was very cool to have the instructors with us sharing what works for them in their Attack class or whatever.

Then, with the morning's critique and armed with what we learned so far, we presented our tracks again. I did even better. The trainer said my group was the most advanced threesome he's seen in a long time (maybe he was just being nice, but I took it). We were "master technicians" and I was singled out for being so far advanced for someone who has never done this before. Of course, a lot of what I did up there, I stole from classes I've taken back home. After we watched this second video, I was told that I'm a natural at connecting with the participants but I need to keep them hooked in because I varied my range of voice to the extremes. I was too quiet during the transitions and too animated in other parts. Balance has never been my forte.

Before we broke for the day, I was told I would be teaching the shoulder track. Now, I am the weakest in my shoulders but I was feeling strangely confident. Was it because I was actually learning? Was it because the trainer would take me aside at every break and tell me that I was hitting it out of the park? Was it because I was having fun? Or was it because I could see the light at the end of the tunnel?

Went back to Baby Sister's. Home Chef made delicious fresh pasta with veal-wrapped asparagus. Daughter was spending the weekend with them and, wow, I was amazed to see how much she and The World's Easiest Baby (TM) had bonded. He was reaching for her, just lighting up when she even so much as looked his way. They had a big day, too. Baby Sister had a medical appointment downtown and then they went to St. Lawrence Market and to Home Chef's place of work, a media powerhouse. Daughter got to sit at the news desk table thingie of a breakfast morning show we watch. Got to stand in an entertainment news show's set. Toured a music station. Big day for her. Very exciting and new.

Drove back up to the gym in the morning with a good night's sleep behind me and the ability to have eaten a filling breakfast. I was mentally able to listen to the shoulder track in the car, going over my cues. I did that twice. I was that confident.

We did our tracks. Shoulders being the last teaching track, I was tired but was "on". Nailed the choreography (save one part near the end), the technique, connected wonderfully with a nice contrast in voice range, but the trainer thought I was too funny for the song. I need to mind the humour and be more gritty and serious through the song, saving the humour for transitions. The guy told me the day before to have more fun and I guess I took it too far.

More technique drills, getting and keeping new participants, and on what is called "fitness magic" which is what happens when everything clicks, and then we presented one last time. And I was PERFECT! The body building champion bowed in front of me and an Attack instructor asked me to write down some of my funny cues for her. I was so honoured. "There's nothing more that I can tell you to do. Just keep physically pushing yourself," the trainer told me. "You were born to be a fitness rock star, Jay-Z."

Yes, that was the nickname I was given the minute I first walked into the studio on Friday. It was only because there was another Jen and not because, when you look at me, you think of a millionaire rapper married to Beyonce.

So I left there feeling awesome but sore. I made a great friend in Morticia. When she gets certified, I'm SO going to one of her classes. Maybe we can team teach. That would be a riot!

It's funny. When I was told who the master trainer was going to be for my weekend, about four other instructors at my gym pretty much grimaced. But maybe he was having a great day because I found him warm and helpful and encouraging. And I made him cry at the end when I thanked him for such a profound personal experience. "I'm a big bloke, Jay-Z, and you reduced me to rubble. You really do have the gift of connection. Kia Kaha."

Kitschy Coo!

2008-10-15T16:48:00.003-04:00

A little over a week ago, my friend and I had a table at a craft show in a relatively big city nearby. We had to apply to get in as "guest artists"; it was all so above-the-board.

We've had a table at our local farmer's market for a couple of months now, run by myself and my friend's husband. His t-shirts sold pretty well, often selling three or so every week. My stuff, on the other hand, ran hot and cold. Some days, I would sell a couple of album bags and other times I would be lucky to sell a little $5 wallet. It's not the place for us to sell our funky stuff. People are there to buy meat. But the cost of the table was cheap.

Participating in this craft show, however, was like coming home. The DJ was already set up, cranking out Stevie Wonder's Superstition as we walked in with our boxes. A good start. After we set up and walked around a little, my friend made the astute observation that all the sellers looked like us. We all dressed the same. We all had bobbed hair with the severe bangs. Oh yes. We fit in quite nicely.

And our handiwork? Well, not only were the other crafters like-minded, but the customers were too. Finally, our stuff was appreciated. My friend's retro hanger plaques, the ones that never ever sold before, were all lapped up within a few hours. Many people were buying two at a time, as they were with her coil-bound journals. My album bags were well-received, along with my purses made from books and way more Kool-Aid Jammer accessories than I thought would sell. Profit? Well, let's just say that I earned enough for that bathroom sink, cabinet and faucet I've had my eye on.

The other crafters came around to see us through the day and they were very welcoming. "You guys put the 'kitsch' in our name." We were even invited back to participate in the Christmas show (which we are SO doing).

We were also asked if we'd be interested in joining their roller derby team. I considered it for a nanosecond, but then remembered I like my teeth.

Visiting the Queen

2008-09-29T10:16:00.003-04:00

We went to Daughter's version of Graceland over the weekend: Napanee.

Daughter is a huuuuuge fan of Avril Lavigne and has always wondered when we'd go visit Husband's aunt and uncle who live there. However, we'd see them when they'd visit Husband's grandmother in Toronto – kind of like meeting half-way, you know?

But now that Gramma moved to Napanee, we made plans to go visit. And Daughter promptly mapped out all the places she wanted to go while we were there: Avril's favourite pizzaria, the church she sang at, the Home Hardware to get a shirt like she wore on Saturday Night Live, her school, etc.

We stopped to visit friends along the way (they took me to this thrift store where you buy records by the pound) and despite that Husband's friend had made a cannon that shot potatoes, Daughter couldn't wait to get moving.

It was such a long drive that Husband needed to pull off the road and rest his eyes a bit. I couldn't take over because I was just as tired. Of course, neither of us could really rest with the nagging in the back seat. "We're so clooooose! Daaaaaad!"

As we were finding Gramma's new home, we passed La Pizzeria, home of the Avril Lavigne pizza (which, Daughter informed us, wouldn't be what she'd eat now because Avril is a vegetarian). The "Oh my gaaawwwds" started there, pretty much. We ate there after a quick visit with Gramma (who rushed us out a bit - in a polite way - because she had a euchre game) and Husband's aunt and youngest cousin met us there.

And it really was excellent pizza. Everyone had one pizza but Daughter had to have the Avril Special (green olives, mushrooms and pepperoni, despite that Daughter hasn't acquired the taste for olives yet).

Auntie J told Daughter that she should ask the owner for a tour. "He's a really nice man. I'm sure he wouldn't mind." And he didn't. Daughter was allowed behind the scenes, got lots of photos taken (Avril memorabilia everywhere) and was given a notebook to write her favourite rock star a personal message. Apparently, when Avril is back in town (or was it when her parents go to visit her?) the notebook is presented.

Daughter had to do two things more. The first was when we first came in to the restaurant and no other customers were there: Daughter sat in every chair so she could say she sat where Avril sat. The second thing had to do with sitting too. She went to the bathroom. "I know I got the same bathroom she used," Daughter exclaimed. "There's only one toilet in the girl's room!"

Anyway, we had a great time and ended up sleeping in a retirement home. It wasn't bad at all. For $50 a room (we took two), we were given nice beds with full bathrooms, satellite TV and even a walk-out to the Napanee River. The rooms were on the activities floor so no one else was there. If we weren't such a big family, Husband's aunt could have taken us in but there's so much up at their farm that trigger my allergies, I would be better off sleeping on the main road.

Gramma is doing very well. I swear, the woman has so much courage. She's a born and bred Torontonian but moved to an assisted living place out in Eastern Ontario because she wanted to look out to nature rather than, oh, Bathurst Street or a brick wall. And her new home is really, really nice. I've seen lots of these places, tagging along with Husband when he makes house calls (yes, he still does). Gramma's home is one of the best, if not the creme de la creme. Even their food smelled great. AND they plated it!

The boys had the best time ever at Auntie J's farm. Auntie J's whole family was there, including her 4-year-old granddaughter who led my kids everywhere. I'm still picking hay out of everything. They caught all sorts of insects, played with the animals, dug in the dirt (I got a hazelnut tree!) and slept divinely on the way home.

It was such a great trip, by everyone's account. My only downside was when I almost drank a housefly. I made tea in the farmhouse (a swell abode built in the mid-1800s). I don't know if the fly was already dead in the cup or if I smothered it with the teabag and drowned it with hot water. I was drinking the very last bit (I'm dry-heaving as I type this, mmmlleck) when I got a small clump rolling around my tongue. Initially, I thought it was a sugar lump that didn't disintegrate but, rolling it on my upper palate now, I realized that wasn't it. Maybe a bit of twig? I discretely pushed it out past my lips when I saw it was a fucking housefly. I spat out the tea in my mouth back into the cup, dumped everything in the sink and went outside toward the barn wanting to barf but couldn't.

I still want to barf just thinking about it. And I may never drink tea again. On the way home, we stopped at an apple orchard. While Husband and the kids went to get 20 lbs. of royal galas, I fished through the overnight bag and gargled with mouthwash for as long as I could. Something like that would drive Baby Sister and The Artist Formerly Known As Sunshine to boil their tongues or get a colonic or something. Am I right?

Baby, Baby, Don't Get Hooked On Me

2008-09-22T16:29:00.003-04:00

I think Husband wants to have another baby.

Since spending some time with The World's Easiest Baby (TM) a couple of weeks ago, he's mentioned, in passing, that it would be great to have another baby. Okay, he didn't say that in so many words but his comments over the days ranged from:

- You look so sweet holding babies, Jen.

- Do you miss the times when the kids were that little?

- Oh, you don't want to eat? Are you nauseous? Do you think you're pregnant?

- I'm still young. I would still have the energy for a bigger family.

And my favourite:

- Nothing is foolproof. We can change the plumbing, if you're game. I wouldn't mind. (Because, without saying the word, the only way I could get up the pole now is if I bumped uglies with another guy, if you catch my drift.)

Would I mind having another baby? Oooohhhh, I so would.

Frankly, my younger husband probably does have the energy for a bigger family, but I don't. I'm still tired from going to a drink-up with a bunch of 26-year-old friends on Saturday.

No More Acoustic Motorbike

2008-09-18T17:47:00.003-04:00

Waaaahhhh! Someone stole my bike!

It happened in a rainstorm very, very late on Sunday night. What slays me is that the thief didn't take the others' newer, more expensive bikes, nor did they take any tools. Just my crappy bike with a dented rear wheel that was completely flat. AND they had to move the said more expensive bikes out of the way to get my bike.

Lots of people steal bikes around here for meth money. Good luck trying to sell mine.

Pox on your family, fucker! The bike was a piece of crap, but I loved it!

2008-09-11T13:25:00.002-04:00

All three kids are pukey sick today. I blame the A & W dinner their dad bought them last night.

And my grandmother's surgery went a-okay!

Very Superstitious

2008-09-09T14:28:00.002-04:00

If my grandmother wasn't having surgery tomorrow, I wouldn't be so rattled by the three chain e-letters I received today.

You know the sort: blah, blah, blah, God is great, here's an angel for you, now be strong enough to pass on this letter to eight of your friends in eight minutes and a miracle will happen tomorrow. Or something like that. Chain letters suck. It's proliferated by superstitious people, I say. Maybe my sense of spirituality is skewed but I believe in preordination or karma or whatever. If you knew the story of how Husband and I met, you'd know why I think this way.

I saw my grandmother at The World's Easiest Baby's (TM) christening on the weekend. She seemed to be in good spirits but one could tell she was worried none-the-less. I mean, how else do you read her sighs of, "Whatever happens, at least I saw this little one's baptism."

My grandmother is one strong dame. She's still very "with it" in her head and in her body. She stays active. She gets out with friends. She still lives in her own home. And you would SO be on her shit list if you called when "The Young and the Restless" is on. I believe she has strength on a different layer, knowing how she lived her life and the tough situations she maneuvered with aplomb. Case in point: she knew she had to learn to speak and read English because my grandfather was in the army and got moved around quite a bit. So she picked up some Beano comics and started from there. That story never gets old!

Simply put, I can't imagine life without her. I know it will happen one day, but I'm not ready for that. Will I ever?

My mum and my aunts (and cousin C) were there at the christening. I don't know if they were just enjoying the day or if they were taking it as it comes, but they seemed very relaxed and happy. I think I can safely assume that they are as tense as I am, if not more, but seeing them laugh and having a good time made for a day of happy memories.

Anyway, I didn't pass on the chain letters. I figured my grandmother herself would say it's a load of crap to believe in their threats.

Jitters?

2008-09-02T04:57:00.002-04:00

I don't know if it's because today is the first day of school but I had the shittiest sleep last night (note the time stamp here).

I woke up twice because of bad dreams. One I was revisiting a murder scene. It was really creepy. I was walking down an alley but it looked like a country road. I was spooked because the murder was never solved. The other one centred around a white rat that daughter found. It was pretty large and was either dead or was dying. So, uh, she put it beside me on my bed while I read and the kids played around the bed. I was about ready to call it a night when I looked down at the rat and noticed her eyes were blinking and she was having babies. Baby Boy said, "Yeah, it is. I just saw two of the babies on the floor." Then the little dark grey rabbit MIddle Sister had in university chased after the baby mice but they escaped in the corner of the wall. So Daughter and I took the rabbit and put it outside, but I felt like a dolt because I thought I took the rat.

Bad dreams for me often foretell bad times up ahead. Again, maybe I'm just uptight about the first day of school. I don't know why. The kids are dying to get back to it.

Pump It Up

2008-08-28T10:44:00.000-04:00

I received a sort of frantic message from my gym's head office. "I know you're all ready to take RPM instruction, but I need you more now in BodyPump."

So now I'm back to my original plan and am a little freaked out because it's way tougher. I also requested to take instruction next month in Burlington (the other options were Windsor or Calgary - and I have to pay my own expenses). However, GoodLife bought a new chain of gyms and their existing trainers and instructors will be going for Pump certification in Burlington. That being said, they're desperate for me to start asap so I have five (FIVE) people at head office shuffling things around for me so they can fit me in with these hard bodies. Great. It's going to suck so hard for me.

On the one hand, these people are brand new to BodyPump where I have been taking the class for three years. On the other hand, they're already fitness instructors. I'm a short 40-year-old mother of three who doesn't say no to cherry cheesecake.

I hope I can go through all three days without crying.

A Moment On the Lips and a Lifetime On the Hips

2008-08-27T16:23:00.002-04:00

"A Scottish Treat" read the sign at the apple fritter kiosk at the local farmer's market. Curious, Daughter and I decided to fork over the $2 and give it a whirl.

What is it?

Hands up if you said, "Deep fried Mars bar." I am so not kidding.

It's battered and then deep fried for, I swear, five minutes. It has to be the richest thing I have ever ingested. Daughter and I split it and we couldn't finish it. And, yet, I know of an Irish girl who can eat two-and-a-half in one go.

Having been turned off by this was not the reason why I'm glad Husband hired the fresh-off-the-boat Portuguese immigrant over the been-here-30-years-and-still-has-a-brogue older Scottish dude. He's looking for a lab technician and put in ads all over. The Portuguese guy has been in Canada for two years, reasonably good English, wife, two young children. He's currently in the last month covering a maternity leave but will need to buy a car to get to work out here in the country. The Scottish guy was in his mid to late 50s, pretty much runs a lab but wants a slower pace.

I was thinking of writing about the details of Husband's decision-making process, but I'll refrain though I do believe he made the right choice. Let's just say that sometimes I really don't understand the guy.

A Change Will Do You Good

2008-08-19T22:22:00.004-04:00

Middle Sister, do you like this layout now?

She said my last layout was too faint for her. Hopefully, this works for everyone because, God knows, the whole damned world should be reading what my spawn are up to.

Such a fascinating life I lead, eh?

Oh, and, JP, I'm all for Trojans in Teen Packs. You forgot I volunteered at the birth control clinic out in Squidney.

I'm Becoming My Mother: Chapter 5

2008-08-18T15:36:00.002-04:00

Perhaps only my sisters and maybe my cousin C would understand, but I'm having another "I'm feeling old" day.

I bought Daughter her first Shopper's Drug Mart Teen Pack.

I am now going to listen to some James Last, pour myself a G & T and pull the rocker on the porch. And weep at how time flies.

As always, comments are welcomed. You can do them anonymously. Just be kind.

Putting the Rocker on the Porch

2008-08-09T11:36:00.004-04:00

Ever since Husband's birthday (my younger man), he's been quite down in the dumps. His age, it appears, has slapped him upside the head. And it hurt him.

He's generally happy with how his life is turning out. He says he doesn't really have any regrets about things he's done or failed to do.

What gets him is how big his forehead is getting. What gets him is that he notices he isn't as fit as he once was (still stick-figurish but now with minimal muscle tone). What gets him is that he is suddenly middle-aged and feels it.

Then there's me. I'm doing okay. I wear my age like a badge of honour. I'm being pro-active about my health. I just need to do something about my job. So, yeah, I can't say I've been the most supportive wife there ever was. "You're younger than me," I say to him, half joking, "so suck it up and get 'er done."

Middle Sister is another one who doesn't like aging. I've never heard her complain about herself but she has a problem with my advancing age. On my 18th, she was nauseous at the speed at which my life was slipping through my fingers. Since that birthday, cards from her were always signed, "I can't believe you're (fill in the age)!" When I turned 40, she was in a downright funk that I might as well have been 140.

I don't think I'm alone in having an image of myself frozen in time – around 20. In fact, I have recurring nightmares of looking down at my university class schedule and not knowing where the hell to go (or feeling that I've missed so many classes). I don't shop at Tan Jay and have no intention of doing so. Granted, once the wrinkles are more pronounced, I'll probably have to tone down or abandon the Dita von Teese/Amy Winehouse School of Makeup. I don't want to scare the kids like the local middle-aged woman with the white hair and black lipstick and blush look does.

Which reminds me: The Slits are back together! Ari Up is a grandmother now. Which would make her husband, Johnny Rotten, a grandfather.

Wait until I mention that to Husband. It will make him feel so old.

You Spin Me Round

2008-08-04T13:14:00.004-04:00

I was asked by a fitness instructor to consider instructing BodyPump last winter. It's a low weight/high repetition exercise class.

So after jumping through a series of hoops, I had my audition today. Sort of.

I did an "extreme" spinning class for an hour and then spent the next hour at BodyPump. Then I met with the group exercise coordinator for our region of Ontario.

"As far as I'm concerned, you had your audition already," she said. "I strongly urge you to take up instructing RPM (the spinning class) instead. You're a natural."

"But I haven't been taking RPM nearly as long as Pump," I said.

"Look, take Pump instruction if you really, really want. But I could use someone like you in RPM. You have great posture, awesome strength. You have cadence and speed. Seriously, you'd do well and I plan on expanding the RPM schedules."

I start certification in September. Pedal on.

My (Free) Hi-Fi!

2008-08-01T09:26:00.001-04:00

What's better than a stereo but a free stereo?!!

My professor friend, J, accepted a position at an American university and is purging. The family needed a good home for Granny's hi-fi which J was given but never hooked up.

"I thought 'retro' and thought of you!"

So, upon my pleading, Husband helped to move some furniture around the dining room and I hooked up this sweet Pioneer/Technics system and – get this – the speakers are made by Enigma. Funk-a-dunk-dunk!

I unearthed some of my albums, much to the curiosity of the boys. The first one I pulled out was The Who's Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy. God, it was awesome to hear again that fullness of sound that albums give.

Then I started in on a bunch more: Bowie, The Clash, The Dead Kennedys, The Bunnymen. Ah, the spoils of youth!

Then I started in on stuff I haven't heard in probably 20 years: The Mighty Lemon Drops, Japan, The Gruesomes (man, they were great! What are they doing now? Probably real estate agents in Pointe Claire or something).

Then I started getting silly, listening to Kajagoogoo, Captain Sensible, John Denver's Christmas album (only my sisters understand that one).

I'm waiting for Husband to get home from the golf course (yes, he's golfing in the pouring rain. It's like a demanding mistress or something). He'll be impressed that I got it hooked up and working. And then he'll crack out his Rick Springfield records to, yet again, prove to me that: a) I met him when I did because I wouldn't have given him the time of day before that, and b) we really don't have much in common.

This Was a Total Waste of Nice 'n Easy

2008-07-27T08:20:00.002-04:00

I spent the week choreographing and practicing my routine. I had nightmares. I refused a trip to Dairy Queen. I exfoliated, dyed, waxed. And the bitch cancelled on me at the last minute.

I was just changing into my "I look thin" workout clothes when Husband said, "Oh, you're back from the market." I was hocking my stuff again, completely preoccupied, mind you. "Your gym friend, Sweet Young Thing, called about an hour ago. Your audition was cancelled."

I phoned the gym to confirm. Yes, sure enough, it was cancelled.

"Any reason why?" I asked. "Is it postponed or something?"

"Uh, all I know is that we were told last night that the audition was cancelled and I was to tell that to anyone who asked."

Word is I was the only person who confirmed interest to head office in becoming an instructor. This really isn't a surprise to anyone. Not everyone is comfortable enough to stand on a stage with perfect form and shout out choreography that will be two beats ahead of the music and the moves you're currently doing. Often, when approached to consider instructing, people's response is usually, "Are you fucking crazy?"

So, did they cancel because only one person was going to audition? Why waste the gas on just one, sort of thinking? Or should I take it personally? I don't know, but common courtesy would have been to have contacted me to let me know it was off, I think.

I emailed the woman who was to do the audition, politely asking if she'd reschedule. Any time I've emailed her, she has never written me back. Oh, except once, though it took her two weeks to do so.

I made myself a rather splendid chocolatini last night.

Baby Sister's Baby's Nickname

2008-07-21T17:08:00.004-04:00

We visited Baby Sister's house on the weekend where my brother-in-law, Home Chef, made a wizard barbecued cheeseburger pizza. The kids are still talking about it. And they had a cake for Husband whose birthday is soon.

Anyway, I just want to say here, in public, that Baby Sister has The World's Easiest Baby (TM). Yes, this will be my sweet nephew's new nickname here until I am proved otherwise.

Also on my mind:

- In case you are wondering, I'm on Team Whoopi. Why? Because my gay friends can call themselves queer. Same diff.

- I'm a little freaked out because one of the hardest bodied instructors at the gym is voluntarily taking me under her wing on Thursday and will help me to choreograph a routine for my audition with the regional manager.

- I am so loving Jemaine Clement. Would it be wrong to put up a picture of him in my laundry room, despite the fact that a) I'm not a kid, and b) Husband is more of a Bret McKenzie?

- Baby Boy can sing a bevvy of classic rock songs thanks to Guitar Hero. It's funny to hear him break out into "Rock You Like a Hurricane" in the middle of the grocery store.

Selling Pieces of Craft

2008-07-19T12:22:00.002-04:00

Jules's husband and I shared a table at the local farmer's market today. It's something that he's been on about for some time. Well, he finally decided to go through with it, hoping it will result in a full-time job or something. And I'm tagging along for the ride.

I made my record album bags and some Kool-Aid Jammer accessories. Not a lot. I figured I wasn't going to sell anything because people didn't know we were there, it being our first week and everything. Okay, I thought my Jammer headbands would go because I priced them at a toonie.

I did sell half of my Jammer headbands, but also two Jammer purses and a record tote! It was a K-Tel album called Power House with a very ugly picture of a nearly nude Styx. The woman was thrilled with it. "It's for my sister's birthday. I was just going to head out to the mall, but this is perfect! It's so ingenious! You should be paid double just for having the creativity." She said she would have bought the Rod Stewart's Greatest Hits one for herself but didn't have the cash. She'll be back next week, she said. We'll see.

Jen's Babysitting Service

2008-07-15T09:22:00.003-04:00

Was it a moment of weakness or onset guilt that made me agree to a sleepover at our house after Daughter had dinner at her friend's?

Whatever it was, I had, at the time of agreement, forgotten that the mother of said friend is not the most punctual person. I only remembered it when she was late to pick up her daughter the next morning that she had done this to me before. The last sleepover resulted in the friend being picked up just shy of 90 minutes late.

"My other daughter has a soccer game tomorrow morning so I may be a little after 11 am picking up. Is that okay?" the mom said.

"Sure. A little late is fine," I reassured her. Eleven o'clock or 15, possibly 30 minutes, later would still allow me to get to my grandmother's house in north Toronto for her afternoon gathering.

Yeah, 11 am would have been fine. Of course, the mom didn't pick up her daughter until 2:30.

"That was some rain storm, eh?" she said possibly by way of an excuse.

So she got some free babysitting and I feel like a chump.

So much has happened, really.

2008-07-09T10:53:00.005-04:00

I turned, er, an age that is, literally and figuratively, an f-word. Got my drunk on with very close friends though none of us got actually drunk. And we went home by 11. No need to call Children's Aid on us moms. I did, however, introduce the group to whiskey sours and some guy tried to pick us up.

He started on me because I was wearing the tiara and leopard print elbow gloves, I assume. He asked me to marry him and I replied, "Sorry, but that would really piss off my husband." Jules added with a guffaw, "Stay away from the cougar! She's the mother of three, you know." That scared the guy off enough to hit on my friend and gym instructor I shall call Tall Blonde.

Now, Tall Blonde is rather beautiful in a classic good looks kind of way. Perhaps that gave her the obvious experience in handling the guy with aplomb. She kept her distance but was really nice, later explaining that she was trying to get the guy to buy us a round. Then he made a comment about how Jules, Tall Blonde and I could probably kick his ass, which may be an astute observation considering we're gym rats. Tall Blonde then decided to ditch him and unleashed a barrage of intimidating questions. It was lots of fun! I didn't feel bad for the guy. He was pretty drunk to start. I mean, the guy stumbled to our table. And he really was just a baby. He was drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade, for goodness sake.

And I got a nephew on my birthday too (which I hadn't mentioned in that earlier post). When Baby Sister told Middle Sister and I that she was pregnant and when the due date was, I gave her a hug and said, "So, I guess I'll be sharing a birthday." Everyone, my parents, the husbands, poo-pooed the notion. "Your birthday is nine days later. There's no way." "You'll see," I replied.

Husband thinks I should play the lottery.

The kids are finished school and, mean mumma that I am, I am making them do a page or two of "homework" every day in order to earn screen privileges. On the flip side, I got a season's pass at the local outdoor pool which is just around the corner from our house. They all did well on their report cards. Middle Child was especially pleased because he finally got an A in gym, making him a true straight A student. Okay, he didn't get an A in music, but it is a well-known fact that the music teacher doesn't give A marks to anyone (which pisses Daughter off supremely. "I knew what mezzoforte meant in Grade 2 because of my violin lessons. I'm in two choirs and even I don't get an A.")

We just got back from touring the Maritimes as well. We've seen Western Canada many times, but not Eastern. Actually, Husband only has to get to Newfoundland, NWT and Nunavut and he's seen it all. We had a great hotel in Halifax, right downtown, spacious and everything. We did tons of walking which wasn't the easiest thing for Baby Boy to do, so he was carried a lot. I think we did really well to fill the days, though we did hit every candy store we passed.

My parents came too and had a great time. My father immigrated through Pier 21. He wasn't in the door 90 seconds when he began to cry. You see, Dad was paying our admission fee ("It's my honour and privilege") when the woman asked, as every Pier 21 employee and volunteer asks, "Do you have any history here?"

"As a matter of fact, this was my port of entry. I immigrated through here."

"Welcome back, then!" The woman reached down and pulled out two gold stickers that read "Pier 21 Alumni" and handed them to Dad. "You could wear one today and keep one as a souvenier."

And that got the waterworks flowing the first time. He cried a few times after that. Mum told me the next day how much he enjoyed the museum; how much it moved him. "I think he cried so much because he was thinking of his mum and his sisters and how much he misses them now that they've died." I kinda disagreed. "That's probably only part of it. He mentioned many, many times that he had recently retired and how he owes so much of his happy life to Canada." Dad is fiercely patriotic. He had also mentioned to one Pier 21 guide that his sons-in-law are a descendant of the United Empire Loyalists, the son of recent immigrants and a status Indian. That kind of shit turns my dad's crank.

And all my video that I took is, I think, wrecked. I think there's something wrong with the DV cassette, dammit. Photos are fine, though.

Oh, and I made the local CBC News on the first day we arrived. They showed the boys and I sitting on rocks and pointing things out in Dartmouth Harbour. Apparently, there's going to be some development there. We weren't interviewed or anything.

Daughter said the Pier 21 day was her favourite. Middle Child enjoyed the scenic countryside drives, the seafood and going to a Ministry of Fisheries biological institute where he got to see (and touch) mutant fish. Baby Boy's favourite day was the beach in PEI and the hotel pool.

And I bought myself a totally rad Six Million Dollar Man t-shirt to which Husband simply sighed and muttered, "When are your middle-aged boobs going to wear floral prints?"

I may be older, but I'm not sagging yet.

Parenting Mistake No. 386

2008-06-19T09:27:00.002-04:00

Why, oh why can't I learn from experience?

Every year, I ask Middle Child what he wants to do for his birthday and every year he says something along the lines of "nothing." The worst is that when his birthday does roll around, he freaks out because nothing very special was planned.

This year is no different.

You see, my problem is that the guy doesn't have any close friends. He hasn't fit in but, as of last year but more so this year, he has been willing to find a way to be interested in things that most boys his age are interested in. He's not one for team sports, but will join in a game if there's one going. Last year, he'd wait to be asked until Husband told him that he just has to go in there, do his best, and act like they just forgot to invite him. Thankfully, Middle Child has the cojones to do just that. Sometimes, he's included. When he isn't, he still hangs around and takes the roll of colour commentator or sideline interviewer. THAT he came up on his own. Neat, eh?

This morning, I mentioned that his grandparents were coming over on the weekend.

"So that means I'm not getting a party?!??"

"But you didn't mention you wanted a party when I asked," I replied. Do I look like Kreskin?

Middle Child started to tilt his head down and make his eyes big so that tears don't fall (when they do, he averts his face). I knew he was crushed so I made all sorts of suggestions. I almost had him on having a birthday party after the last day of school and we were going through those he wanted to invite. When I realized he wanted to have every boy in the class except for two, I said that we should just invite everyone.

"Forget it! I don't want a party!"

Okay, now I didn't understand. Does he hate these kids so much that he'd scrap everything?

It took 40 minutes of discussion (no exaggeration) when we came around to the decision to have the party again. Then he asked, "Why are you so hung up on wanting to invite those other two?"

I tried to explain that it would supremely suck if there was a party and you found out that everyone was invited except for you. That's when it dawned on him that this actually happened to him. Many times. Many, many times. And he said so.

"So now I'm thinking I don't want to invite anyone because they didn't invite me to their parties."

"But you should be the bigger person, and maybe by coming to your party, you'll be invited to their next one. Maybe they'll see a different side of you. Maybe they'll want to get to know you better. Besides, you wanted to invite them before I brought it up."

"But now I realize that my friends aren't really my friends. They're just putting up with me."

Fuuuuuuccccck. By this time, we're at the gate to his school and the bell was about to ring. I was willing to stay with him, letting him skip school if need be but he was having none of that.

"I'm done discussing this, Mom. No party. Just forget it, okay? The guys are playing baseball. I'm going in."

Jesus wept.

Home Chef's Just Desserts

2008-06-17T16:41:00.003-04:00

Reflecting on the visit with Baby Sister, Home Chef and Youngest Nephew, Husband and I were amazed at how natural Home Chef was with his son. We all expected Baby Sister to be good – she's had lots of baby practice with her own nieces and nephews. But there was Home Chef, Mr. Calm with this youngest of humans, like he's been around babies his whole life.

What makes it remarkable, Husband and I mused, is that here's a guy who had very, VERY limited exposure to children, save for his friend's son. Sure, the dude really made huge efforts to win over the nieces and nephews, making sushi out of candy or bearing giant bags from Sugar Mountain for example. More than that, Home Chef was present and attentive which may seem so, well, pedantic, but know that kids can see through shams. They can spot a phony from here to Disneyland. My kids took to Home Chef very quickly.

What makes it remarkable is that he's someone who didn't even consider having children or settling down in any real way. He had his job. He had his toys. He had his bar. And then he met my sister who, early on, told him that if he was dead set against fatherhood, maybe she wouldn't stick around long. Ballsy move on her part. Ballsy move on his for facing the uncertain all for the love of Baby Sister.

And what a reward.

Of course, he'll make mistakes that he'll probably look back upon and laugh at. Don't we all? Husband himself used to change Daughter's diapers every time she made a sound in her sleep. Actually, he laughs and cries over that because now, when the kids need parental assistance at night for a nosebleed or extra blankets or whatever, they call Dad.

Live and learn, Home Chef. Bonne chance!

To Everything There is a Season

2008-06-16T22:04:00.003-04:00

One of my most common phrases I say to my kids is "Everything has a beginning and an end."

It's a phrase that comes in very handy for many different occasions: playdates, vacations, ice cream, TV shows, summer, bedtime, and people.

Today, it was because of our pet Peewee, the world's most docile and friendly hamster.

The Peester was getting up there in hamster years. About two months ago, we noticed how she was slowing down, not eating as much and didn't like to be bothered too much anymore. Very recently, I noticed that her abdomen was hard and her breathing was laboured. I knew she wasn't long for this world and mentioned it to Daughter as often and as gently as I could so as to prepare her.

Daughter and I were watching a rerun of the Much Music Video Awards together tonight (we were in Toronto this Saturday and saw a few performers practice). Husband finished tucking in the boys and wanted to watch a bit of House. It was time Daughter went to bed anyway.

"You can read for a little while," Husband said. "First, brush and floss and wash your face."

"And feed your pet," I added.

She opened the cage, reached in and took Peewee's red food bowl out. Then, startled, she gasped, "Oh my God!"

And then, shoulders shaking, "Mummmmeeeeeeeee....."

There Peewee lay, eyes closed across the threshold of a little cubby she used to store nuts.

Middle Child heard the commotion and came downstairs. I don't know if he was ashen because Peewee died (he didn't seem as attached to her as the other two had been) or if it was because Daughter was so grief-stricken.

Baby Boy was asleep. Either he'll take it very hard or my little consumer will see this as an opportunity to replace Peewee with something else.

The funeral is tomorrow morning before school. This may be setting her up to be completely miserable for the whole day, but, hey, everything has a beginning and an end.

Another way the phrase can be used? Baby Sister gave birth to a healthy, cute, chubby son. Daughter gained a cousin but lost a pet. We saw him (and his parents) on Saturday. Baby Boy was really looking forward to this baby. Every morning, he'd wake up and ask, "Did Auntie Baby Sister have the baby when I was sleeping?" Knowing how excited he was, Baby Sister wanted him to hold Baby Baby Sister. My little guy held him so gingerly, so tenderly. It was really precious until, "Ewww! My baby cousin farted on my hand!"

And thus ended his turn to hold my new nephew. Everything has a beginning and an end.

To stretch out the day and to make the long trip (and gas money) even more worthwhile, my brother-in-law Home Chef suggested we walk around. And, yeah, we watched the set-up of the MMVAs. And we ran into a friend, oddly enough, who was on a break from a 24-hour shift at a hospital. Then we went home because everything has a beginning and an end.

And I gotta get to sleep. Everything has a beginning and an end.

Go Suck a Lululemon

2008-06-11T17:27:00.003-04:00

I thought exercising was easy until I took my first class. It was a low weights class. C'mon, how much damage can five pounds do? Well, the next morning, I found it so hard to get out of bed, I thought I had a paralyzing stroke sometime in the night.

And yet, almost three years later, I'm still at it.

My body shape has changed and I feel the healthiest I've been in eons. I'm not rail-thin but for a middle-aged mother who had five abdominal surgeries, I'm not a Sherman tank either. And I'm so strong that I can carry all my groceries in the house in one trip.

I take my gym time seriously. I listen (and take) the advice of my very awesome class instructors. I stick to a schedule. I really try to do the right things. And it's work. It's hot, sticky work.

So I asked a gymfriend I'll call Big Boobed Lena who always wears tanks despite, well, her big boobs where I could get supportive tanks. She obviously doesn't wear a bra underneath her tank tops and I'm envious because these D-cups sometimes need to be double-bagged.

"You gotta check out Lululemon. You have to drive into the bigger cities but they have several styles worth checking out. Not cheap but if you're looking for quality stuff with good support, that's the place to go."

Middle Sister, also a bit of a gym rat, has been telling me this for ages. She swears by their capris.

I happened to be at a mall in the Toronto area this weekend and thought I'd check out the store. I found about four tanks that said they were for high impact, so I took some. I went to a sales clerk to ask which of them would suit me best.

"What sort of exercising are you planning on doing?"

"I'm at the gym five or six days a week taking 60 minute classes since 2005. I do high-impact aerobics. Obviously, I will always require a bra for that. But I also do endurance weights and spinning."

Then the little 12-year-old stick figure looks me up and down and has the gaul to say, doubtfully, "No way."

I caught her eye and gave her a sour face.

Handing the merchandise in her hand, I said as politely as I could, "I don't think this is the store for me. That was quite rude."

I really wanted to yell at the kid, "Look, you little mosquito bite-titted girl, let's see how you look in 20 years and after you squished out three human beings. If it wasn't illegal, I'd punch you so hard, your baguette thighs would land in Lake Ontario." I believe I handled it quite maturely.

Just Keep It In Your Pants, Darling

2008-06-06T10:56:00.002-04:00

"(Middle Child) came up in conversation at the dinner table last night," said my friend T.

"Did he get into a fight with one of your girls?" I asked.

"No, no! My youngest, out of the blue, stated that she was going to marry him. She said, 'He's really smart, so he's going to get a good job and make lots of money.'"

Get Yer Motor Runnin'

2008-06-03T10:22:00.003-04:00

Not that I want to put the old man in traction, but my sisters and I bought him the most appropriate retirement gift for our dad.

If you know him at all, he's always dreamed of having a motorcycle. He has books, toys, mugs, shirts, all kinds of shit with motorcycles on them, despite the fact that he's never owned one.

Hold on there, cowboy. We didn't get him a scoot. Do I look like I'm made out of money? No, we got him the next best thing: motorcycle riding lessons at his local community college (a three-day course). He is incredibly excited.

When this was in the planning stages, I had to ask when a good time would be. My parents fill their days quickly. Before I received my present (the trip), I knew there wasn't going to be a fuss made about my f-word donut-year birthday because Mum suggested the weekend of my birthday.

Now, she mentioned that she and Dad will come up the evening of my birthday. Too late, chumps! I'm going drinking with friends.

On a side note, I found out there are about 125 calories in a whiskey sour. I wish I knew that before I went balls-out at the gym and sprained my fricking ankle three weeks ago. It's still really sore.

My writing sucks these days, eh? Let's blame the Tylenol and lack of sleep, okay?

"Whale Oil Beef Hooked!"

2008-05-18T08:01:00.003-04:00

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

2008-05-12T10:35:00.002-04:00

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!

2008-05-10T08:34:00.003-04:00

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

2008-05-07T09:59:00.003-04:00

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

2008-05-05T10:14:00.002-04:00

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.

And Then There'd Be Fewer April Snowstorms

2008-04-28T10:04:00.003-04:00

As an addendum to that last post, I heard on the radio this morning that a sheet metal worker in Seattle is trying to spearhead the institution of a four-day workweek. He figures commuting to and from work is one of the biggest contributors to global warming.

Tack on some extra hours after each Monday to Thursday shift to make up for the "lost" day but, in the end, it's a win-win situation for employers, employees and Mother Nature. People come back to work happier after a three-day weekend. They can do more with their families, so that's good for society. Employers benefit because they not only get the same amount of hours from their workforce, but the employees are more apt to be productive if they're content. And, hey, less cars idling in traffic.

Of course, I already thought one of the smartest men on the planet was a sheet metal worker. Apparently, now, there's two.

Long December

2008-04-26T11:39:00.008-04:00

Hooray! I think spring has sprung at last. Although I prefer winter to summer, I'm welcoming the warmer weather but saddened a little to put away my groovy vintage green houndstooth coat. Daughter has retired her jeans and is now in full capri, skirt or shorts mode. The boys are outside playing some take on Marvel/Teletoon heroes game in the tree fort. Husband has left me for golf. And my bulbs are blooming and smelling divine.

Aren't these sweet? Those of you who know me well would understand why I have an affinity for violets. I love how my back garden is coming alive again with a bevy of these little things.

And this is what my in-laws woke up to on April 19th. I'm told Al Gore came over later that afternoon to make snow angels.

Thank You. Thank You Very Much.

2008-04-19T17:32:00.002-04:00

Just got back from the spin-a-thon. Much fun. Very hungry. Must eat steak. Eleven teams of four fundraised around $4500 which surpassed the organizers' expectations. Now it is safe to have a heart attack in my town. Thanks again.

Positive Spin

2008-04-17T14:18:00.003-04:00

Baby Sister's shower went very well, I think. As is always the case at family get-togethers, there was too much food. Of course, that's a good thing.

Baby Sister had a good time. Her work friends started a chant, "Cry, (Baby Sister), Cry!" which isn't a difficult feat. What took me off-guard about that was it followed a speech Baby Sister had made. The work friend who started the chant is a Jehovah's Witness whom, I was told, would have to leave the room if someone made a speech. Or was it a toast? I served liquor, too.

My cousins on my dad's side arrived first. Mum and Dad were out with some last-minute stuff. "My parents are gone," I said. "Let's raid their liquor cabinet!" My eldest cousin thought that was a riot and she hadn't even had a sip of the vermouth yet.

Middle Sister wasn't feeling well. She stood off to the sides, not wanting to touch anything or anyone, so my mum took over. Other relatives helped out, too, which just sort of happens. You don't ask; you just do. Mi casa, su casa and all that jazz.

The only problem is that I'm not getting enough sleep now. Ever since the baby shower, I set my alarm at the ungodly hour that I always to in order to get to the gym by 6 am. The alarm goes off and it seems so hard to get out of bed. That's unusual. I've been hitting the sack before 9:30 for the last two days, but you'd never know.

This is a drag because I'm participating in a six-hour spin-a-thon Saturday to raise money for the local hospital's ER (they need a new adult crash cart). Three others and myself are dressing up like The Incredibles (naturally, I'm Violet, and most of you who read this know why) and we've agreed to take 30-minute turns on the stationary bike. And it won't be simple cycling. No, it will be half-hour classes by instructors from four different area gyms. I have to pack lots of water and probably some food, or I might just phone Husband to walk over a sandwich or something to me. I really have no idea what to expect except that I will probably be very tired.

And thanks to those of you who have sponsored me, including those who don't even live in my town. My sister said, as she wrote down her name, "I'll sponsor you because I encourage your craziness but also because I'll feel better if Dad's crappy ticker konks out when he's visiting you."

Do The Right Sesame Street

2008-04-06T14:15:00.003-04:00

The things you do on a lazy Sunday...

I tidied up the front garden a bit, now that most of the snow has melted (again, I welcome you to the country). There was quite a bit of garbage left lying there through the winter and my bulbs are starting to peek out, so after the boys and I did some serious bubble blowing, I got my fingernails dirty.

Hmmm, then what.

I thought I'd check out my email and from there, I started farting about. And I found THIS!!!

It marries my love for one of my favourite movies and one of my favourite TV shows. Actually, when I first saw Spike Lee's Do The Right Thing, it reminded me of Sesame Street. Both are set in decidedly-not-Manhattan-New York. Both use racial harmony (or disharmony) as a backbone. I took a guy to see the movie once and he was very unnerved by the interracial couple thing. So blind I was that when I was told in sociology class that Sesame's Maria and David were possibly the first interracial couple on television, it hit me like, uh, a bag of hammers. Having been introduced to interracial couples when Sesame first aired on the Buffalo PBS station, it didn't cause me to even blink an eye when I saw Tina and Mookie.

Both Sesame Street and Do The Right Thing are full of colour and character. The first hour of the movie has quite a bit of joy in it; all kinds of stuff that makes me love urban life and my childhood in the Junction. Sesame was lovely and optimistic and fun ... and then adulthood set in, which is kind of like the insipidness that pervades the second half of the movie. WAKE UP.

And, on top of it all, the guy who made this video uses Fisher-Price toys which, after Barbies, were my favourite.

I love this stuff!

From a Communion to a Don Mills Wedding: Reasons to Buy New Shoes!

2008-04-05T18:21:00.004-04:00

Middle Child had his First Communion last weekend. Mum brought back one of those white ribbon things Maltese boys wear on their sleeves. So he had a cool silver vest and tie ("I look like a man!" he exclaimed), hair styled in the best skateboarder shag I can do, ribbon pinned on and off we were off to the races. Middle Sister, her family and my parents arrived bright and early for the 8:45 mass.

The kids, Husband and I brought up the offertory. Irreligious Husband was a little freaked out because he didn't know what to do, but we looked okay. Turns out Husband is considering going to mass more regularly after a few of his patients phoned him up this week to say, "Hey, doctor, I saw you at church!". Husband thinks it'll be good for business. He just may be going to hell. I told him he may as well be golfing instead so patients can say they saw him there but he reminded me that we live in the bible belt of Ontario. The links are barren on Sunday mornings.

The highlight of the mass, though, was when the priest called up Middle Child at the end so the parish could applaud him. The kid turned around, puffed out his skinny little chest, arms to the side and had the most serious face ever. Actually, think "deer in the headlights" look and that about covers it. He explained later that he wanted to look solemn. Yeah, too bad his whole family, including Mum the über-Catholic, was shaking violently with the giggles.

I set out a pretty good spread for lunch. I made a pretty good braided smoked salmon tart that went over like a kegger at a frat house. My grandmother and aunt came with some yummies too so there was plenty to go around. Mum got a little cemented on the strawberry daquiris I made but was still fine enough to go to a Divine Mercy hour of prayer halfway through the party. No one minded. Daughter rented - with her paper route money - a karaoke video game because she knew how much Baby Sister loves to sing. Frankly, the whole family likes to sing. Middle Child's youngest son did a swell rendition of the Pussycat Dolls' "Don't Cha".

So the next event on the list, outside of parent-teacher interviews, would be taking Daughter to see Avril. She wants to skip school that day because she won't be able to concentrate. I'm already going to mortgage the house to gas up the car to get there; I don't want to pay for a sitter too. Then we have Baby Sister's baby shower. Oh! And we're getting a Winners, so I'm squeezing in a grand-opening trip this week. Then there's dental appointments, the spin-a-thon (thank you to all who are sponsoring me), Middle Sister's eldest son's First Communion (and grand opening of her renovated basement), and my godmother's wedding in Don Mills. I'm not complaining one little bit. I love parties.

Spending Money

2008-03-26T20:47:00.003-04:00

I found out today that training to be a fitness instructor will cost me $300. On the upside, I won't need to get a hotel during the three days because one place is five minutes from Husband's grandmother's house and the other is ten minutes from my parents' place.

Still, I told Husband and he winced at the sum because the gym really doesn't pay well. They mostly cover your expenses and the monthly gym membership fee is waived, but I somehow only pay $16 a month. Shhhh. I think they screwed up and I don't really want to tell them that info, you know?

That being said, I overheard Husband telling a friend that $300 is worth it if he can say he's married to a fitness instructor. Yeah, that's if I pass the test, darling. And the key word here is "say". You can still tell I had three c-sections, if you catch my drift.

Mind you, I couldn't do any worse than this one instructor I went to on Easter Monday near my mum's house. Her choreography was waaay off and her positioning was, well, dangerous. Middle Sister came with me and by the second song, I told her that she should just watch me do the moves. You go for a workout; not tendonitis.

My parents dragged their knuckles out of the Stone Age and bought a computer a little while ago. I took my dad out and told the sales guy exactly what we were looking for. If you know my father, you could well imagine that he did his research before buying anything.

The only problem was getting online. These are two people who asked, "What's that flashing line, Jennifer?" "That would be your cursor." Yes, Baby Boy can maneuver his way around better than his grandparents. Dad tried to get hooked up on his own but couldn't. He doesn't hear well and the tech support has been outsourced to India. An accent and a hearing-impaired computer newbie isn't a good combo. I was there on Easter and realized that the computer was, in fact, already online. Mum and Dad just didn't know how to connect. I couldn't get their email going, though, and I tried for hours at the expense of hanging out with the family unfortunately. I'll get email for them another time and as far as the family goes, Dad is just super happy that the computer is working.

Shave the Last Dance For Me

2008-03-08T19:14:00.002-05:00

Ding dong. The beard is gone.

Husband came home Friday at lunch (I was home with the kids because it was a PA day. Yes, a PA day on the Friday before March Break. Go figure). A local dentist called that morning to request a meeting to discuss a possible association with him. Like I said before, money talks. The beard came off because Husband thought it would make a better impression.

"But you never told me I look like a dorkstick. I have a weak chin!" he complained.

He doesn't have a weak chin at all. In fact, I think he's handsomely angular. Okay, he's got a youthful face but he IS younger than I am, after all.

Counting

2008-03-06T11:27:00.004-05:00

The days of Husband's beard are numbered. People telling him he looks like the guy on the Febreze commercial didn't deter him. Having the kids run from his kisses didn't deter him. Threatening him to carve "ew" with the Lady Remington while he slept didn't deter him. No, apparently money talks.

He had just finished his lunch and went in to see his 1:00 for a consultation. The patient seemed a little distracted but it wasn't until the guy left that Husband looked in the mirror. He had a drop of his milkshake hanging on the left side of his mustache.

Husband promised it would be gone before my 40th. I told him it wouldn't matter because I'd be gone by then. No, I wouldn't leave him over something like facial hair. I was thinking that I'd like to go on a road trip. One of my friends suggested it because she just came back from one and saw a sweet retro polka dotted raincoat and thought of me.

But, chances are, Baby Sister will be going into labour that weekend so I don't want to gas up the Falcon just yet.

On that note, I'm almost done creating the invitations for her baby shower (April 13 at Mum's). I thought the invitations would be the biggest thing I'd be doing this week (I'm not even joking, sadly), but I was wrong. I got a little editing gig and – wait for it – I was asked, point blank, if I would be seriously interested in being a fitness instructor.

I've been taking a low weight/high repetition class religiously for two-and-a-half years. I really like it and I can open my own pickle jars, thank you very much. There is one instructor who is cutting right back and she does most of the early morning classes. They have people who have reluctantly agreed to take over, but no one else will substitute for them. So, given the choice of teaching or having the class dropped, yes, I'll instruct. Am I physically ready? I doubt it. I need serious work on the shoulders. I must take a break mid-way through the track, but I do half of my push-ups on my toes. Does that count for anything? And I really ought to have stronger abs. Anyway, I'll know more about it tomorrow.

This came on the day someone told me I had a killer bum. She doesn't know how hard it was to earn that Jennifer Lopez booty, let me tell you. Here's a video of the exact class I take, but this one is from Chile.

Y Chromosome Chronicles

2008-02-22T20:11:00.003-05:00

Middle Child came home with a sheet explaining that his teacher talked about how male and female bodies are made differently and both help in the birth of a baby. It was very open-ended stuff, and part of the curriculum.

Sure enough, as I was reading it, Middle Child said, "Yeah, I have a few questions about that."

And so, I told him the facts of life.

He was grossed out.

Husband and I told him later in the evening that he needs to keep this information, true that it is, under his hat because there will be classmates of his who haven't been told. "It's not up to you to tell them how babies are made," I said.

"Don't worry, Mum. I won't say anything, but I'm a little disgusted of grown ups right now. And I used to be sorry for you for the doctor cutting your stomach to get me out but I'm glad I didn't come out the way you said is 'regular.'"

Leave it to Science Boy to like things neat and clinical.

And in other news, Baby Boy got to sit in "time out" in class today for saying, "Oh! That almost got me in the biscuits!" When I confronted him about this, he replied, "Fucking shit, Mum. 'Biscuits' isn't a bad word!"

He is in so much trouble.

Shave a Prayer For Me Now

2008-02-10T21:22:00.000-05:00

Before CTV starts airing Dexter, my friend Slowplum has kindly lent the three original novels (two down, one to go) and the first season's worth on DVD. The show is great however, like most adaptations, it veers from the books. Characters are a little different (ie. Dexter's girlfriend's son). Plots are a little different (Tony Tucci anyone?). Some book characters are expanded on the show. Angel No-Relation is a very minor character in the books but isn't in the show. Suits me fine. I have a thing for nattily-dressed chubby Latinos. Stop it with the "Jen and Los Lobos sittin' in a tree" jokes.

And speaking of sideburns, Husband is growing a beard. I think. Sometimes on weekends, he blows off shaving and does the Chewbacca. I can't say I'm crazy about that being the daughter of a guy who religiously shaves every morning. I swear I woke up to the sound of Dad smacking the razor against the porcelain every morning. But when Monday rolled around and Husband didn't shave, I wondered. By Wednesday, I called him on it. And you have to understand that Husband never ever comments on my appearance. Magenta hair? No big deal. Another bowling shirt? Oh. So though it's nice on one hand, I also don't get nary a wolf whistle when I've actually put in an effort. It's a trade off, people.

So, yes, I called him on it.

"Ummm, what's with the face?"

"I don't know yet."

"Please don't tell me you're growing a beard."

"Hey, I said nothing about the time you were a redhead."

"But that didn't physically hurt anyone."

And his scruff DOES hurt; never mind the fact that it looks like spikes growing out of his face. All three kids either ran away from his kisses or just flat out told him he looks awful. And I didn't put them up to that, I swear.

He's starting to complain that his face is itchy. I suggested that he should shave. He considered a soul patch. Yeah, I never understood the attraction there. Every time I see a guy with a soul patch, I have to hold myself back from saying, "You missed a spot!"

When we were first dating, I used to love watching Husband shave. He does it old school, with the brush and bar soap. I would squeeze in to his tiny bathroom and silently watch. He thought it was weird of me, but I thought I was watching something rather personal. He wasn't (and still isn't) a very forthcoming person, so to watch him shave made me feel like he was sharing something somehow.

I miss that.

Baby, You Can Drive My Scar

2008-02-05T13:25:00.000-05:00

Not only is he driving me insane by repetitively singing the chorus of a Limp Bizkit song (relax, it's one of the rare non-profane ones), but Baby Boy picked the damned scab off his face. So despite having bought $11 vitamin E cream that I was prepared to religiously apply until the scab just gently fell off, the little bastard is going to have a fine scar.

Oh well. It hasn't hurt Harrison Ford.

Marketing Mishap

2008-01-27T10:38:00.000-05:00

Here's a rather disturbing advertisement for Kinder Surprise Eggs from the UK. It aired in the 1980s and was pulled, obviously I think, because it scared children. Middle Child found this one.

Another Reason Why Mumma Hates Lego

2008-01-26T21:10:00.001-05:00

I hadn't been this knocked out by a cold in probably 10 years. I even missed two of my five weekly exercise classes, which, if you really know me, would indicate how truly awful I was feeling.

I even had to go to the emergency on Thursday. No, it wasn't for me. Just before bedtime (why is it always then?!?), the kids had a great idea to play Super Hero Tooth Decay Fighters while they were getting ready. On his way to the bathroom to get his toothbrush, Baby Boy ran through his room, strewn with his brother's dirty laundry. I've been after that kid to tidy up now for a week. Well, he tripped jumping over a hard container of Lego and fell face-first into the Lego pieces that were spilled out on the floor. And he cut up his face badly.

One cut on his right cheekbone was in need of stitches so while Middle Child guiltily picked up his bedroom mess, I piled Baby Boy in the car and took him to our little hospital. It may not have every diagnostic equipment, but I've never had to wait long and they've always fussed over the kids, making them feel very comfortable.

Baby Boy was coddled immediately upon arrival, which he ate with a spoon. He was given his choice of stickers to put on his admitting ID bracelet ("SpongeBob, please!"). He was carried to the cot in the observation room and was given a warm blanket, fresh from the dryer. Even the attending physician redid the two stitches because she initially didn't like the way it sealed. He was given a topical anesthetic so Baby Boy didn't flinch one bit. At the end of it all (10 pm, waaay past his bedtime which was part of the charm), he was given two huge stickers and a banana popsicle.

"This was the best day EVER!" he announced when we were driving home.

Send In the Clowns

2008-01-21T15:08:00.000-05:00

Get this: my MOTHER dyed my hair on Saturday. Granted, I've always trusted my hair care to my mum (she missed her calling, I swear) but what makes this unique is that Mum dyed it that purplish tone I've been trying out. I know she hates it. I know she hates that it's killing my hair. But she still did it, and did an awesome job, too.

She also rearranged Daughter's bedroom furniture (another of my mum's hobbies) to make way for an antique three-way mirrored vanity that belonged to my Aunt F. Daughter woke up completely disoriented. Will I go to mommy jail if I tell you it was kinda funny watching her get out of bed when I woke her?

Cheeses Love the Little Children

2008-01-15T10:07:00.001-05:00

I came back after picking Daughter up from Girl Guides last night (anyone want to buy those fricking cookies at $4 a box? Email me!) I found Husband on the phone with his mother. Meanwhile, Baby Boy was reading his new pop-up book while eating a huge chunk of cheddar the size of my palm.

Needless to say, the poor kid is really plugged today.

I don't blame Husband. It's almost impossible to talk with his mother. There are too many subjects that aren't to be touched, and the topics that CAN be discussed can give anyone a headache ("The current government is a paradigm for a military-enforced racist, patriarchal, homophobic society." "Oh... I had the best pie the other day!"). No, Husband needed all his wits in order to concentrate on the mine field that is a mother-son chit-chat.

I think I have some dates and figs in my pantry.

Starry-Eyed Surprise

2008-01-14T11:32:00.000-05:00

I crave spontaneity and I so seldom get it. So when my weekends are a crap-shoot, I usually am all ready to start the new week afterward.

I thought this weekend was going to end with me resenting someone (did I write that out loud?) but after Husband put in five hours in the lab, he came home and arranged for my mum to babysit so he and I could catch a movie or something. We piled in the car and drove the two-ish hours. Middle Sister was there with her kids, so everyone was happy, except for Mum who bought bad chicken. The roast was great, though, as were the brussels sprouts until Husband broke the Pyrex my parents got for their wedding.

After dinner, Husband and I split and drove to a new theatre my dad encouraged us to go to. He also had free admission coupons. I guess so did everyone else because we couldn't find parking. So we had to take the highway to another theatre, but that one had a line-up waaaaay out the door, which wasn't moving. Fuck that, we thought. I'd sooner go catch a movie alone in my local pisspot of a theatre.

So we went to Chapters instead. And if you saw us and registered our excitement, you'd have to remember that we're from a small town where we don't have big box stores. I'm not hungry for a Wal-Mart or anything but I adore Chapters. I like the smell. I like the comfy seats where I can peruse AND drink coffee. I like the vast selection. And don't even get me going on the magazines or the stationery. I picked up a cute journal with a Margaret Keane-inspired goth girl on the cover for a whopping $4. I also bought a gorgeous J. Otto Siebold (the guy who illustrated Olive, the Other Reindeer) pop-up book of Alice in Wonderland for only $6, a very encompassing encyclopedic X-Men book for $7 because of the torn dust jacket, and a novel that, well, I just liked the cover which had this retro Latina on it. I really enjoy Mexican folk art and the book is sort of based on La Loteria. I just wanted to have it around and, surprisingly, Husband didn't object or call me pack-ratish names. He must like me these days.

Husband bought the Radiohead CD. He almost got one by Mark Knopfler but I made a face like I would have if I was watching orthopedic surgery or something.

We slept over at my parents' and spent the next day in Toronto. Husband visited people and I took my parents to the Apple Store to introduce my dad to the idea of getting a computer. We looked at an entry-model iMac. "Where's the rest of the computer?" Dad asked when I was showing him around. He couldn't believe that everything was inside the thin monitor. Actually, I think it might have made him more hesitant somehow.

After, we all met up at Baby Sister's house. The guys got all hepped up on testosterone and watched football on the HD. My mum, sister and I got all domestic and discussed baby laundry and ideas for the nursery.

We made our way back home with the kids konked out in the back so I got to listen – without complaints – to my boyfriend, George Stroumboulopoulos. Husband knows well of, but doesn't understand, my thing for Strombo. "Why can't you just lust after Brad Pitt like a normal woman?" Maybe because I'm not normal, sugar. I mean, how many judge their days by the amount of spontaneity in it? And everyone thought I'd grow up and calm down. I must be a huge disappointment to so many in my life.

Ahhh! White Noise!

2008-01-07T10:41:00.000-05:00

The Earth is crying today. The weather is insanely mild with a reported high of 12 C today in my area (15 tomorrow). I'm going to use my time wisely and take down the Christmas lights and then all of the decorations inside. It's a hell of a job; that's why I'm writing instead of working.

I'm glad the Christmas holidays are over. It sounds awful but I'm happy to get everyone out of my hair. Husband and I got in a huuuuuuge argument after one of his throwing-out-stuff moods.

Apparently, he tossed our bassinet, which I wanted to keep partly because my grandparents gave it to me and because lots of babies slept in it. I even wrote their names in calligraphy with their birthdays and birth weight at the bottom. I was looking for it to give it to Baby Sister when Husband broke the news.

I swear, unless it's smaller than a loaf of bread (never mind a bread box), he'll toss it. I had to go to the Goodwill to buy back my crib when I found out he just donated it. It converts to a double bed, which might come in handy. It was disassembled and doesn't take up much room this way.

But you could imagine my surprise when I once saw my one and only teddy bear at the Goodwill on my occasional troll for shot glasses. My dad bought it for me on the day I was born. Teddy has been with me during all my surgeries, very lengthy hospital stays, first day of school, and was on my bed forever. Needless to say, I bought him back. Fucker.

Typical Husband, though. I wanted to discuss this like adults should and he left the house for, like, all day and most of the night. I thought for a moment that I should just pack up the kids and fuck off somewhere without a forwarding note, but two wrongs don't make a right. So I waited. And waited. Daughter picked up on the bad air and told me she was scared. Poor thing. I hope I calmed her. She gave her dad an earful the next morning, though.

But that's his way. I need to remind myself that he's from a fucked-up family. If physically running away from a problem is his way of coping or whatever, then I should count my blessings. There are worse things.

Anyway, all is fine now, I suppose. He's back to work. The kids are all in school. My exercise classes are back to their regular schedule and I am thinking that I need to take a long, hard look at myself. I should make a resolution. But will I?

There's a Happy Feeling Nothing in the Woooorld Can Buy...

2007-12-28T09:42:00.000-05:00

I can let a few cats out of the bag now.

After much orchestration, I bought a Wii for the family for Christmas. We had agreed (most emphatically by Husband who is from a Dungeons and Dragons, Intellivision, board game background) to forgo gifts to each other and blow all the dough on a Wii. This was in October.

By mid-December, Wii-less, I was all ready to go out and get some emergency gifts for the kids. Santa was going to be really good to them, as well, but I felt they needed something under the tree.

I had my friend Slowplum doing much of the legwork. She called two people she knew who worked at places that sold Wii consoles. It was her sister-in-law that came through. When the shipment came in to the store she managed, she called Slowplum who called Husband's secretary who helped to track me down and the kids' school secretary got the call and buzzed me over the p.a. system to get my ass down to the office and take Slowplum's call. I left immediately, right in the middle of a bake sale I was helping with, got it and hid it back at the school in the principal's office.

I thought I was going to get a HUGE reaction when it was opened. All I got from Husband was, "Oh. My. God." And then he turned his head to me and said, "That's nice, Jen. Thanks." I stood there, gap-mouthed. Of course, I'm forgetting that Husband is a bit of a milquetoast in the emotions department. He's not one for overt public displays of affection, though he still puts his hand on the small of my back at parties if he's feeling comfortable. Still, everyone is happy. Slowplum and her family are coming over Saturday to indoctrinate us into Wii-world.

We had a good Christmas. Actually, Baby Boy announced to everyone many times that it was the best Christmas ever. He was wide-eyed about everything. We went to Husband's grandmother a few days before and got to see a few aunts, uncles and cousins, too. Gramma is getting quite hunched over and so incredibly intolerant, but she's still on her own and maintains her own home. She's a marvel, really. Mind you, the oldest sibling does a lot to help her out and this particular aunt isn't a well woman. She has breast cancer among a host of other illnesses.

Christmas Day was spent at my grandmother's, another woman approaching 90 and still living at her own home. My uncle lives in the basement and is treated like crap. Mind you, he gives it right back. But the driveway is shoveled, the grass is mowed. My grandmother (with help from my aunts, mother and one of my cousins) makes a hot meal for everyone. That would be around 40 of us. My contribution was a Greek pasta salad and biscotti that Grandma quickly hid for herself. The kids went off to play video games with the basement uncle. Husband hung around his golf buddy who is also my uncle by marriage and only 10 years older than we are. I flitted around, trying to make myself useful in the kitchen, talking to almost everyone, and finally settling down with my cousins, some 22 years younger than I am, with my Taboo game. It was girls vs. boys and the boys defeated us soundly. One cousin brought her boyfriend of three years for the first Christmas. Surprisingly, we didn't scare him off. They recently bought a condo together but it won't be ready until 2009.

Boxing Day is always at my parents'. Mum makes finger food and the kids go hog wild. I love going to my parents' house because I CAN set the kids free and between one of the adults, all kids are well-taken care of.

The other cat left to be set out of the bag is that I can safely say that I'm going to be an auntie again. Baby Sister is about 17 weeks pregnant and everyone is just thrilled. So next Christmas will be just a wee bit different. And I can't wait!

Let's Eat the Lamb of God!

2007-12-24T13:57:00.001-05:00

Oh, come let us adore... the gingerbread crêche I made! I really strive to be a cool mum.

And before you tell me it's blasphemous to eat it, remember that I'm Catholic. We eat Jesus at every mass.

Damn My iPod

2007-12-18T11:31:00.000-05:00

I was finally getting around to writing my Christmas cards. I was in my spinning class this morning when I realized I only have a week, so I should get at it. I was writing a few, listening to my iPod (including a note to my uncle to let him know that I love him. I'll probably get in shit for it, though). I end up forwarding a lot of songs because they remind me of another time or people from long ago.

"Play That Funky Music White Boy" by Wild Cherry reminds me of my mother-in-law's second husband getting down at my wedding. We lost touch after they divorced, sadly. He was a great guy.

"Planet Claire" by The B-52s reminds me of my roller disco days at Scooter's. I never did a proper shoot-the-duck, though.

"Tonight, Tonight" by The Smashing Pumpkins was the last song I heard before I gave birth for the first time. It also reminds me of riding with Middle Sister to her wedding with me and Baby Sister singing along while the bride probably wanted to puke.

"So. Central Rain" by REM reminds me of this mixed tape a guy made me and, being young and dramatic, I read into it and wondered why he never called.

"Mr. Brightside" by The Killers reminds me of a time long before the song came out...but never mind. Let's leave that one in the past. Too bad. Great song.

There's always something, though. Some songs even remind me of my loved ones' pasts and I didn't even need to be there with them. Pretty much every song reminds me of something so if I were to take them off the mp3, I'd have nothing there.

Am I the only one who can't listen to a song without associating it?

Alone Again, Naturally

2007-12-10T05:37:00.000-05:00

Yet again, I am single-parenting this week. Husband is helping to move his dad into a nursing home out west, yet having to travel about two hours from his brother's home to his dad's old apartment.

He really didn't want to go. I would have done the moving for him but Husband has power of attorney, so there were things needed to be done that only he could do. Seriously, I'm as fit as I ever was; lifting weights now for two years. Moving furniture wouldn't be an outlandish activity for me. Besides, Husband is self-employed. If he doesn't work, he doesn't get paid.

Having him gone, however, brings new opportunities for me and the kids. I'm totally indulging in the kitchen, making stuff that Husband hates. I've got a box of instant mashed potatoes that Daughter would hug if she didn't think she'd get teased. I made baked onion rings. Yeah, they're healthier than the deep-fried ones from Harvey's but, uh, onion rings were dinner. We had ricotta ravioli with ketchup. If you're not one of my sisters, you'll never understand that one, I'll bet. Come to think of it, I think I remember Middle Sister's youngest eating ketchup ravioli once, so the tradition lives on through the branches.

The kids and I went over to Middle Sister's last weekend. The youngest took my hand as soon as I got in. "Auntie Jen, your hair is red. Your lips are red and your hair is red. Your hair is RED!" He kept touching it all afternoon. "So soft!" Apparently, he likes it, unlike my mother and one of Daughter's friends who said I look like a clown. I'd just shrug that one off, but I think the boy is the next Carson Kressley and I've always at least listened to style advice from my gay friends. I'm still liking it, though. I've just gone from black liquid liner to brown to soften things up a bit. However, the retro red lipstick stays.

Husband left just after we had parent-teacher interviews. Daughter's lasted all of about four minutes, and only lasted that long because I had asked the teacher to explain these new diagnostic tests and Daughter's results. "My job would be so easy if I had a whole classroom of (Daughters)," she said.

Middle Child's, on the other hand, lasted about a half-hour. His report card was a sea of A's (except in gym and drama), so academics aren't his problem. It's the fact that he's soooo methodical about everything. He's the last one to get his snowsuit on or off. He's the last one to get his books and pencils ready. He's the last one to hand in a report. And if he's answering a question, he answers it and then somehow segues into another idea that would fascinate him but would lose the rest of the class. Like when he answered that one Catholic sacrament was marriage, he then went on about the break up of the Church during Henry VIII's reign and, oh, let's also talk about his many wives. Or how about when the class had to write a proper letter to the teacher, where everyone else's was "thanks for teaching me", Middle Child's first sentence was, "Have you ever wondered about the dung beetle?" And it ended, "I can tell by your age that you're probably going to retire soon, but you are still good at your job." Thank God his teacher has a great sense of humour.

I think it's subtle.

2007-12-03T12:06:00.001-05:00

I dyed my hair with a colour called "electric grape". It came out fairly magenta on my grey but, overall, it has a nice burgundy hue.

Husband asked when I was going to grow up. And my mother is going to hate it.

He Knows If You've Been Bad or Good

2007-12-01T14:28:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I handed out individualized letters from Santa to each kid in Middle Child's class. It was awesome to see their reaction. They're still young enough to totally believe in the guy in red and, for all their acting cool, reading the letters had them wide-eyed with wonder.

The letters had lots of kids swell with pride with all the compliments and embarrassed giggles with the suggestions for improvement. Nothing harsh, they just said stuff like, "eat all your vegetables," "get to bed when your parents tell you," and "please remember to raise your hand if you have something to say in class."

Slowplum's son was a bit baffled when he got to the end of his letter. "Santa wrote something in Spanish. I don't know Spanish!" Actually, it was Portuguese and if you saw the kid, you'd know there's a kitchen rooster in his relative's house. Luckily, I knew it read "merry Christmas and happy new year" in Portuguese and told him. "That's incredible! He knew I was Harry Potter for Halloween AND he knows I'm kind of Portuguese!" What was incredible was watching him and his classmates read and reread their letters.

Middle Child's letter, of course, was most detailed. It went to great pains about how he needs to stop arguing, particularly with his siblings. And when he got home, he bitched about Baby Boy being in his way all the time and bit him on the bum.

Middle Sister once got a lump of coal in her stocking. She was a teenager and it was a bit of a joke (she got her gifts later), but it made a point. Would it be awful if Santa did that to my kids? I know Middle Sister would kill me, but, boy, all the kids would be really freaked out by that.

A Few Things That Piss Me Off

2007-11-27T17:04:00.000-05:00

1. People who walk on the road in slushy and/or icy road conditions instead of walking on the sidewalk are just asking to get hit by a car.
2. Hoarking. Ew. Ew. Ew. I don't care if you're congested. Use a tissue.
3. Phony bastards who treat me different when they learn I'm "a doctor's wife".

Let's expand on number 3, shall we? Granted, I'm not your average middle-aged mother of three, or at least I don't think I dress the part. I play the car stereo way too loud. My footwear of choice is usually Chuck Taylors or Airwalk slip-ons (the 80s version). I wore liquid eyeliner and red matte lipstick before it was in fashion and I'll still be wearing it when it goes out (yup, me and Dita von Teese). Sure, some people look at me like I eat kittens or something.

But it's these same people who take their parents to Husband and then see my photo (holding baby Daughter) in the opertory and then, the next time we meet, I'm worthy.

I don't watch Oprah. In fact, I hate her with the fire of a thousand suns. Okay, maybe I don't hate her. I just don't relate to her and she could never relate to me. Oh, and I think she reeks of falseness. But I digress. I caught an episode (actually could only stomach 15 minutes of it) about how people judge you according to your appearance. A stranger immediately upon looking at you will make assumptions on your income, upbringing, and way of life. And I'd buy that. I know this from my days as a blue-haired goth with straight As (except in math – I won't lie).

So when people treat me differently when they know what my husband does, I get put out.

Only today did I realize that when people ask us, "How the hell did you two ever get together?" or make the comment "You guys are such opposites," that maybe people are wondering what could Husband possibly see in me.

I Ache

2007-11-17T21:20:00.000-05:00

My mum was over this week. If you know her, you'd know she had me hopping. Time to sit on your ass? Hardy har-har. Thank goodness she has a bad back. She's been hell-bent on dismantling the boys' bunk beds, repainting my red dining room a pastel or something icky, moving bedrooms around and bringing my main floor laundry to the basement. On the flip side, my kids were treated with the best soup in the country and I got caught up with lots of chores while Mum kept Baby Boy occupied.

I did, however, make a serious dent in my Christmas shopping while she was here. I'm just kicking myself in the ass for not picking up a Little Tykes digital camera for my nephews though. I went back to the store after Dad took her home and they were all gone.

It looks like Husband is going to visit family yet again. My father-in-law had a bad fall months ago and it looks like he'll never totally recover. This means he's going to be put in a nursing home of sorts. This also means that Husband and his brothers have to plow through all sorts of shit to get the old man settled. This may mean a really fucked up Christmas, but I hope not. Husband may not be westward AT Christmas, but with the lost work days, he's going to have to make them up somewhere. Such is life. We knew this day was going to come at some point. It's just a crappy time because he gets lots of patients calling just before Christmas. But I can't complain too much. My brother-in-law and his wife are doing the lion's share already.

I feel sorry for Husband's dad. He doesn't have much so he really prided himself that he lived alone, despite his disability. Now he doesn't even have that. And we're going to have to get rid of almost all his stuff. I mean, there's nothing really that anyone would want and he won't be able to take them along. I'd love his old photos, but I'm sure he can take those with him. It's his doodads and furniture I'm talking about. Actually, he does have this velvet green day-glo painting of a couple going at it – in a driftwood frame no less. I'd looooove that but:

a) could I hang that up in the house with kids around?
b) is it middle-of-the-road enough for Mr. Milquetoast, I mean, Husband?
c) would Husband actually carry it through an airport all for the love of me?

No, no, aaaaaand no.

So, to get me laughing again, Middle Child and I watched this series called Making Fiends on the internet tonight. The school librarian told me all about it after we learned we both share a great love for Franny K. Stein. There are a few similarities, though Franny is much, much friendlier than Vendetta.

Lunch With Richard Manuel

2007-11-02T14:16:00.001-04:00

I wasn't invited or anything. I just showed up for lunch at Richard Manuel's place by the river. I brought tea and oranges (yes, they came all the way from China), as well as some leftover tandoori chicken I made last night. I don't think Richard minded. By the looks of things, no one is beating a path to him these days.

So, you're probably wondering, "Who the hell is Richard Manuel?" Ever heard of The Band? They had songs you'd know if you heard them like "The Weight" and "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" and "Up On Cripple Creek". Anyway, he was the keyboardist.

Now, I live too far from my relatives but I really wanted to have lunch with someone today. It's a New Orleans tradition, though it's supposed to be done around 12:01 a.m. Yeah, if I ate that late at night, one of the gym instructors would give me a lecture if they found out. Anyway, Richard doesn't live far.

I talked a bit, pulled some weeds and did some polishing with the napkin I packed. Got hit with a couple of wonderful inspirations (could it have been the creative presence of a musician? Or maybe I'm just that brilliant). And I enjoyed the sun that found its way to beam on my face. Ooh, it felt so great I needed to really bask in it, so I lay down beside Richard right there on the cold, damp floor. I dig juxtapositions. I wondered aloud if many women lay with the guy these days. But, again, by the looks of things, no one has been around much.

Hopefully, I'll do it again next year. I forgot how peaceful cemeteries can be.

Lunch With Richard Manuel

As Count Floyd Would Say...

2007-11-01T17:24:00.001-04:00

2007 Pumpkin
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena

"Scary! Eh, kids?"

This year's jack-o-lantern was George Bush. Most people got it right away, which is a far cry from last year's Kim Jung Il (who, in my mind, is far scarier).

My neighbour and substitute husband (every woman should have a spare) said, "Dumbing it down for the people who don't read newspapers?" Sad, but true.

Another one of my neighbours took a photo of it last night. "I look forward to your pumpkins every year, Jen," he said. He emails out pics of my pumpkins every year along with photos of his two children.

So, I think I need to invest in a Dremel tool so I can get into some heavy-duty carving.

Baby Boy got one more wear out of the plush dog costume. I bought it for Middle Child about four or five years ago. I'm cheap that way. Actually, I'm cheap in lots of ways as well.

Middle Child went as a vampire again, but told everyone he was Louis de Pointe du Lac from Interview With a Vampire. He got the idea from me, admittedly. He was disappointed because he has fairish hair. "Vampires have black hair." "Not Louis de Pointe du Lac," I said rather absentmindedly. Thus began.

At the last minute, Daughter decided to go as Kat von D from LA Ink. She loves that show. Thinks it's all about girl power. "That's why you like it, right Mummy?" I don't want to tell her that I have a huge crush on the chubby, balding Corey. It's never the standard guys. Never was. Never will be. Anyway, Daughter did an AWESOME job. We got these fake tattoo sleeves from the Tiger. She threw on a black skull t-shirt and black pair of peg pants, her low-tops, a flower in her hair, red lips, big goofy glasses and a wide white belt with silver stars. I got out my liquid liner (there is no substitution. Never was. Never will be) and drew the stars near her eye and leaves on her neck.

Am I asking for trouble?

She went out with two friends, trailed by her dad and brothers. And, by her account, it was the best Halloween ever.

You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Lusts You

2007-10-29T09:30:00.001-04:00

I live on Wisteria Lane.

I was putting the garden to bed when I heard someone getting, uh, bedded. It was my neighbour who came to her backyard to skank with someone who wasn't her husband. Granted, I haven't seen the husband around much, but he does show up now and again.

Either I was very quiet or my neighbour didn't care, but I heard them come out the door and then she said, "Let's go up against the back fence." Yeah, where I was only about 10 feet away.

Apparently, my neighbour likes to talk dirty when she's having sex.

I didn't want to make a sound because I feared they'd freak out on me and, well, wouldn't that make for months and months of awkward moments on the shared driveway? I stopped ripping out the tiger lilies and just sat there wishing I had my iPod and hoped – prayed – that the cordless phone I brought outside wouldn't ring.

I waited until the fence stopped bobbing back and forth, making a mental note that maybe we should reinforce the posts sometime in case we get another tornado. And I hope it was all worth it for them because it was only about 10 minutes.

But this isn't the first time and I'm worried there might be something in the water. This summer, the couple directly across the street from me split up. I saw him bring home a young slip of a thing, but the wife is back now.

Down the road and across the street, a woman kicked out her husband. I think he had some drug dependency issues, but the guy's pretty cool. He rides weird bikes and can balance several coffees while doing so. He came back after about two weeks.

The gay couple who live on the corner had a falling out last spring. One guy threw all this shit out on the lawn and I heard the other guy say, "You can't kick ME out. This is my house, remember?" A very young man came around quite often after that.

And then there's the mother of the children my kids play with. They live a few doors away. She was having an affair with her children's teacher and then had the balls to kick out her husband to move the boyfriend in. Moxie! Mind you, this boyfriend had it done to him a few years ago. His now ex-wife was fucking the teenaged babysitter (male and about 20 years her junior) and got pregnant. Baby Boy is friends with said love child.

Don'tcha love small towns? Fuck. And I mean that figuratively and literally. Just call me Mrs. Kravitz.

And Right In the Middle of Oktoberfest, Too

2007-10-18T12:53:00.001-04:00

A recent poll was taken in Germany. It asked if people thought there were any positive things the Nazis did. About a quarter of the people surveyed said that they actually did a few good things.

Okay, so for anything Germans may appreciate the Nazi party for doing, it all be negated when you remember, oh yeah, they killed 11 million people.

Saying, "The Nazis built a terrific highway" or whatever is akin to saying, "Sure, Paul Bernardo is a child killer, but he always kept his lawn immaculate."

I am the Curse of the Leafs

2007-10-16T14:44:00.000-04:00

Did you see the game last night? I had the kids all tucked into bed and went to watch at least the third period. The Leafs were up by two goals by the end of the second. Barfalo quickly scored two goals. I went looking for my knitting and the Leafs scored. I sat back down on the chesterfield. It was tied at the end of regulation. End of the third period, and I decided to wash my face and get ready for bedtime. By the time I got back, they were well into overtime which was just about to end and the Leafs scored on their own net.

Is it a coincidence that the Leafs got scored on every time I was watching? Some may think so, but this happens all the bloody time to me. True story.

"I'm the curse of the Leafs," I said to my dad not too long ago. I explained the way they're always scored upon when I'm actually watching the TV and how they score when I'm having a sneezing fit or went to answer the phone or yawning with my eyes closed or looking down to my crafting.

"Don't be ridiculous, honey," Dad said. "You may not remember it, but you were alive when they last won the Cup."

"Uh, no I wasn't, Dad."

"I thought you bled blue and white! They won the Cup in 1967 and you were born..." He looked at me funny.

"Shit, sweetheart. Stop watching the games, okay?"

Huh?

2007-10-15T09:47:00.000-04:00

Riddle me this: last night I had a dream that one of my teeth fell out. It was loose. I flossed and it just popped out. No blood. I woke up and I was holding a book I'm reading (Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay) with two hands in the air.

I'm having a great hair day today. It's kinda doing this Laura Petrie thing.

This Boring Post Asserts My Fatigue

2007-10-12T11:49:00.000-04:00

Thanksgiving has come and gone. We had it at Baby Sister and Home Chef's place where the guy actually barbecued the turkey. It was incredible!

I got in lots of snuggle time with Middle Sister's youngest. The others had no use for any of us, but isn't that de regeur?

A few days before that, I went out with mommy friends. Jools and I and one other had the foresight to grab a bite to eat prior. Okay, we also split a litre of wine, but we had some gourmet pizza which didn't sit right with me somehow. Hmmm, how do I settle an upset stomach? I drink something bubbly. So we went to a bar where several others caught up with us. Jools ended up going home early. The rest of us stuck around until this band came on. They were exceptionally loud and, er, not my taste. Most everyone left at that point. Slowplum, her boss (!) and I hit another bar. After one more pint, I seriously felt like I just ate two loaves of bread. I had one drink an hour, so I was alright, but I've never felt full from a night of drinking. Weird. I stuck around, though. At 3 am, we started to walk home. Slowplum could barely walk so I rolled her to my place and gave her a lift. One of the merits of living in a small town is that no one lives further than seven minutes away. Good thing. I was tired. I must be getting old.

Baby Boy had a sleepover guest last night. It was a girl!!! He's at that age where there is no difference between girls and boys, so it's no big whup that his best friend doesn't wear y-fronts. I would have had this girl over any time, but as it was, I was helping her parents out with some babysitting while they went to a party out-of-town. This little girl has been in my care since she was a wee baby. Her mother and I have been trading off babysitting for years because if you can be without kids while you're getting a pap test, it makes an unpleasant task a little more bearable.

But as it is, I woke up at 2:30 this morning and couldn't get back to sleep. I was hoping to fuck off today and maybe sneak in a nap, but I just can't. I don't feel like doing any work either, mind you.

Womb With a View

2007-10-01T11:25:00.000-04:00

"Can I play with my friends over at the church?" Daughter asked me yesterday while I was painting the porch. "There's something going on there. They're with their mums. Is that okay?"

"I guess it's fine. Just don't roll into traffic!" And as she took off, it dawned on me. The mums were there, with enfants, to join the Life Chain. That would be a line of people on Main Street showing support for the pro-life cause. My daughter. Mine.

Sure enough, she came home and had a million questions. "What exactly IS abortion?" I was unsure how to handle this one. How to explain the pro-life/pro-choice debate without getting too detailed or without clouding her with my opinions?

I chose to explain in very general terms but nothing vague and no lies. I think she's old enough to talk about this. We've already discussed the whole menstruation thing. I don't want her to think she's bleeding to death, you know?

But as I begun, she asked, "Would you have gone?"

Husband walked by at that precise time and laughed, "Mum would only go there to heckle!" So now I had to explain why, which I did again in general terms.

"Yeah, I thought it wasn't your thing," she said. "Actually, my friends asked if you'd be coming and I said that you probably wouldn't because you probably gave women abortions."

!!!

"Um, what gave you that impression?"

"I dunno," Daughter said. "You know a lot about women's health stuff and I remembered you volunteered at a family planning clinic. Some lady said that they give women abortions at those clinics."

So now Daughter knows about:
- menstruation
- abortion
- the birth control pill and other contraceptives
- the political system and women's current access to health care of their choice

But I haven't really talked about sex yet.

All I wanted to do yesterday was put a second coat of paint on the porch, dammit.

Apparently, I'm Going to Hell

2007-09-28T12:39:00.000-04:00

Surely, I wasn't the only parent who had their back up when we were sent a letter from the principal of the school and the chair of the Catholic Education Committee.

It stated that they were encouraging us NOT to support the Terry Fox Foundation during the school's Terry Fox Run because they have ties to NCIC which carries out research with human embryonic stem cells (hEC). Despite the fact that NCIC's website states that no money from the Terry Fox Foundation is used to support research involving hEC, the school wants us to write cheques to another charity and that they were going to write a letter to the TFF outlining the school's concerns.

When I learned this was going down at the kids' school, I sat down and wrote an email to the principal. Apparently, I was the only one. It went something like this:

"I appreciate that, as a Catholic school, (the school) must maintain the tenets of Catholicism. That being said, I feel it would have been more democratic to have brought this issue up at an open-door meeting instead of having a letter, with content some may not agree with, sent to a very worthwhile organization in everyone's name. And had the majority present at such a meeting agreed with sending a letter, I would take no issue with this. Because this will be sent without discussion or option, I feel misrepresented.

"With so few true Christ-like Canadian heroes to expose our children to, Terry Fox is one that even the youngest in our school can comprehend. He suffered daily, in training and during the Marathon of Hope. He suffered physically, emotionally, financially, and he did it willingly for the benefit of all who are touched by cancer.

"If money from the Terry Fox Foundation is not supporting the NCIC's research using hES, I really don’t understand why we are diverting funds from this very important and helpful organization. It sullies the legacy of this great young man and the work of all those who choose to do good in his spirit."

The principal ended up phoning me last night. "You sent such a compelling letter, Jennifer. You raised points I didn't even think of."

Whether I'm pro or con hEC research isn't the point. I'm just pissed that such a contentious issue can be brushed under the carpet. And, uh, did they do their homework before they sent the letter or are they just going to come off looking like twits - in my name, I may add?

Anyhooo, he asked me to present my very valid points at the next council meeting. "Or I can stand for you, if you want."

Hey, I said, I'm a big girl and I've never shied away from controversy. I can hold my own, I told him. All I can hope for is that the parent council actually hears what I'm saying.

2007-09-23T08:02:00.000-04:00

Crazy week. Got tsk-tsked by The Artist Formerly Known as Sunshine for not updating this blog. "Death to Facebook!" she wrote me. Hey, honey, I haven't updated Facebook so much either.

Anyway, last weekend, ma famille and I made the long trek into Hogtown to attend the First (Hopefully) Maltese Potluck among my paternal cousins. It was actually my idea, born out of the tailwind of a great family gathering last spring. I love Maltese food. I love my cousins' company. And there are fewer and fewer opportunities for us to get together. Getting together at funerals isn't so much fun, either. Add it up and, voila, the idea came to be.

Actually, I had mentioned the idea years ago and my youngest paternal cousin reminded me of it at the tailwind of a great family gathering last spring.

I wanted to host it, but I live too far for my Toronto-area family. Baby Sister graciously ended up having it at her new house. She and Home Chef ended up renting a 55-cup coffee maker and a whack-load of chairs, all which we didn't need.

At the last minute, we had a flurry of cancellations. So only five cousins came (with families). And it was fine. Better than fine. It was still an awesome time.

I fell in love with Youngest Cousin's two children, thrilled that they took to me and happy to give Youngest Cousin some time off. Been there; done that. Eldest Cousin scored two cases of Kinnie, bittersweet pop available only in Malta and, in my opinion, the best thing to come out of a bottle. E.C. and her sister gave me their mother's Maltese apron, which I wore proudly through the party. The grown-ups stood around the kitchen gabbing, and the kids were in the basement watching TV or playing in the backyard. It was just like what we did at our Nanna and Nannu's but the cousins graduated to the kitchen.

Everyone brought one (or more!) Maltese dish. We had pastizzi, torta, those fried spaghetti pancakes (does anyone know what they're called?), Maltese picnic salad (again, don't remember the name), stuffed eggplant, patata-fil-forn, ros-fil-forn, and pudina. The kids also got into crudité and chips, but they all ate Maltese. Even the youngest, 10 months old, tried her first pastizzi. Everything tasted great and we had more than enough food.

Eldest Cousin phoned me later in the week. "I just wanted to reiterate that you had an excellent idea and that my sister and our families had a really, really good time," she said. "We really want this to happen next year."

I want that, too. And, Artist, you can come as well if you want.

All By Myse-eh-elf

2007-09-12T09:49:00.000-04:00

Shhh. Can you hear that? No? That's because – whoop-whoop – it's so quiet! Mmm, delicious!

Today was Baby Boy's first day of junior kindergarten. He'll be at school all day Wednesdays and Fridays and every other Mondays.

So many people were asking if I'd be all teary today, what with my baby gone, empty nest syndrome and all that. Nope! Maybe I should have lied and said how gut-wrenchingly difficult it was going to be. Maybe then people wouldn't think I have such a cold, cold heart.

But this, THIS is something I haven't had in over nine years: Jennifer time! Oh cripes, I bid the little guy goodbye (he was so excited and happy) and I got applause by two of my friends who knew what day it was for us. Anyway, so I was starting to walk home and thought, "I could plug in the iPod and jog it home. Or I could walk over a couple of blocks to the diner and order up some hash browns and not have to share." The possibilities were endless.

I made sure I have nothing to do today so I can do whatever I want until I have to pick up the kids. No meetings. No housework. Okay, Baby Sister has me going out to pick up stuff for a party we're having at her place, but even a trip to the store without kids is going to be just great. Pathetic, eh?

So, I'm going to sit in a bath this afternoon with a Manhattan, give myself a facial, a mani-pedi, wax myself silly, NOT listening to Avril Lavigne or Simple Plan or fucking Steely Dan (you can't convince me otherwise, Jules and Slowplum, that stuff is just musical wank to my ears). The hum of whatever is on Family or Teletoon or Treehouse will be off. That's not to say I won't be cranking something myself but, again, the possibilities are endless!

I probably wouldn't be like this if I wasn't 100 per cent certain that Baby Boy would have any difficulty with this new life chapter. The child has never woken up in a better mood; he has never jumped out of bed faster. He laid out his clothes the night before (frog t-shirt with yellow Hawaiian shirt with woodies and surfboards over top, jeans and his Mickey Mouse belt. Skeleton Airwalks on the feet with TMNT socks). Backpack: check. Full lunchbox: check. Hoodie if it gets chilly: check. Favourite trucker baseball cap: check. Lock and load, Mumma. And we were outta there.

Do I dare expect this day to go off without a hitch? I'm crossing my fingers while I blare some music.

Hey, Good Lookin', Whatcha Got Cookin'?

2007-09-11T09:43:00.000-04:00

I'm kind of out of my funk now.

I had a great visit with my aunt T, who isn't much older than I am. She hasn't been over for a visit here in probably 18 months, but as I hardly get any visitors, that's actually a good track record.

My parents called from the Motherland. Mum had the accent already.

I'm feeling happy enough to really cook again. The weather is getting chillier so I'm more apt to work over heat as well.

Yesterday, I made four cheese cannelloni with fresh pasta I made myself. I bought this Mario Batali silpatish thing. I can't bake on it but it's great to roll dough on.

So I just made flat lasagne-like pasta and rolled up a mixture of ricotta, parmesan, pecorino romano, and mozzarella with a bit of egg and herbs. I used the last of my parents' tomatoes to mix in the sauce (and had to pick them all out for Middle Child) and even made a béchamel roux (actually, more of a balsamella). I used skim milk and it came out just fine. How awesome is that?

Yes, it takes time. Yes, all that cheese isn't cheap. But it was so worth it because everyone ate it and wanted seconds. I still had some left over so the kids took it in their lunch today.

Now THAT makes me happy.

Ever Have One of Those Days?

2007-09-06T12:03:00.000-04:00

I have. In fact, I'm having one now.

They have the "easy" button. I would like the "rewind" button.

Sometimes.

On the Road Again

2007-09-05T09:42:00.000-04:00

I need another night like the one we had last week.

Husband comes home and I get my drunk on with my friends. I am the best wife ever.

Seriously, I felt like I deserved it. Single parenting is no cakewalk, yet, even despite this, I do enough around here that I'm entitled to get out. Husband doesn't hold me back but I just don't do it.

So when Jools decided we needed a Mom's Night Out (capital letters for sure), I started counting the hours.

We had a false start to the evening. We pretty much got kicked out of one bar because it was wing night and we were only interested in drinking. So we moved down the street. Thankfully, living in a touristy town, there are no shortages of restaurants and bars.

Some of our friends came, drank and went. Some stayed until we literally closed down the bar. This was when we realized that the city rolls up the sidewalks early – and how were we to know? Collectively, we're so strung out by 10 pm on most nights.

So, Jools and I decided to take some shots of us playing in the middle of the main road (which is also a provincial highway). That's me in the pink Harriet-Nelson's-gone-insane dress with my purse that is discreetly screened, "hi. cram it."

I hope we do it again relatively soon. Not only did I have a great time, but I'm dying to get away from Baby Boy. Sounds bad, eh?

Seriously, the kid is riding on my last nerve. I need to put myself in his little shoes, though. He's gone from having a neighbourhood of playmates to none, zilch, zero. What's worse is that he doesn't start school until Wednesday.

The kicker here is that he should have started today.

You see, I received the student info form for him and the other two yesterday. It just has the kids' personal info and you need to make sure nothing changed. But I noticed that they had Baby Boy born at the end of the year when he was actually born in the beginning of the year.

I spoke with the teacher today about it, hoping to sneak him in maybe later in the week, but I can't. And, as it is, he's the second oldest kid in class. Bugger!

I know I sound like a horrible mother, wanting her youngest out of her purple highlighted hair, but I'm not. It's Baby Boy himself who finds it difficult to walk his siblings to and from school and he's not a part of it. A day for him is like a month for me, so this waiting period is just killing him.

He's watching Sesame Street beside me now and practicing writing his alphabet. And bitching. There's just so many cookies I can placate him with. And I'm wondering if it's 5 o'clock somewhere.

Baby's Got Back

2007-09-03T07:16:00.000-04:00

Husband came home from a two week visit to his family and friends out west. He had a great time, as I knew he would.

He spent the bulk of his time with his middle brother and his family. Taught the nephews that in his world, it's perfectly acceptable to eat salt and vinegar chips for breakfast. And, as is the case after every visit with Middle Brother, Husband is on a new health food kick: smoothies. The blender hasn't seen so much work. But when you're drinking about five of them a day at the expense of chewable food, doesn't that negate the nutrition? I mean, surely you can't live on fruit and yogurt alone. But the man is also a stick. Why I married a man with a smaller ass than mine is beyond me.

Ah, but my said ass is shrinking. I went shopping for myself while Husband was gone (see? I held it together) and I have lost two pant sizes. I'm sure if I could leave Le Tigre Giant without a 44 cent chocolate bar, I would have the body of Kate Moss – with D cups and a c-section scar.

Even my former personal trainer noticed. I haven't seen him in about 18 months when my contract ran out and I switched to verrrrry early morning classes at the gym. My friend Jools thankfully took care of my kids while I went this one afternoon. I was bending over, tying my shoe, when he said, "Wow! You look great, Jen. Your whole body shape changed." I mean, the whole thing sounded like a porn script, but I took it for what it was and felt wonderful. And I don't think it was the new workout gear I bought. It wasn't expensive.

Meanwhile, Husband got in visits to old high school friends, his mother, his youngest brother and his father who is in the hospital after falling awkwardly and breaking his ankle. Being paralyzed for years, the guy is stuck in the hospital for months now. Husband initially thought this was going to be a great for him health-wise but apparently he still gets out to smoke as often as he can. He even has someone bringing him Big Macs and fries on a regular basis. And the man will outlive us all.

Husband must have had a nice visit because he still tells me stories of what happened. I just told him that the kids all stepped up to the plate and really helped out around the house. Daughter's room still looks like Dresden after the bombs. Middle Child broke a few glasses. Baby Boy decorated the side fences with sidewalk chalk (we need a big rain). But I painted another floor's worth of our ornate trim, which is no small feat when you live in a Queen Anne revival.

On another note, Husband's dad was to fly out a little while ago but couldn't make the flight since he was in the hospital. One great side of being a Junior, Husband was given his ticket because, well, it's in his name. He has a year to use it, should he want to go to Winnipeg. Um, yeah.

Who Needs Botox?

2007-08-22T06:22:00.000-04:00

You want the Fountain of Youth? Go back to your parents' house for a few days.

Don't get me wrong. I love going there in the same way my mum liked going to her mum's when my sisters and I were little. Granny kind of takes over and the shackles to the oven are loosened a bit.

The kids absolutely love going to my parents' house. They are the creme de la creme of grandparents. They take them to the park and everywhere. They have a very fine collection of movies. They play with them outside. They always have great (and favourite) food. They even have a play room stocked with toys, books, and craft supplies.

But, as it should be, their house means their rules. And that goes for me, too. This is how a nearly 40-year-old instantly loses 25 years. They didn't yell at me for not making the bed by 8 am or anything, but I did have to mind my p's and q's.

My mum's mind is on a host of other things. Baby Sister is in the process of moving into her first piece of real estate, just a week after getting in a yucky car accident. Middle Sister has a lot going on (I live the life of Riley in comparison) and Mum just wants her to be happy. And there's my grandmother (very active but well into her 80s), my dad's health, her volunteering and now this month-long trip to the Motherland.

She and Dad are going with my aunt and uncle. Now, I don't know if my aunt is more organized or if she's just really, really excited, but Mum was all freaked because she hasn't packed yet like my aunt did. My dad is more relaxed about it. "What's it take? I'll pack two shorts, two pairs of light pants, six underwear, a bunch of shirts and I'll wear my jeans on the plane." "Two shorts? Two?! Honey, that's not enough! You're going to embarrass me." Then again, what does my dad care? I doubt he'll do the laundry.

Anyway, I got the distinct feeling that she was glad to see our backs. Initially, she wanted us to spend the week with her but I didn't want to. As it turned out, she also realized that we'd get in her way. And whenever I'm there, I never know what I can do to help. I try but my efforts aren't up to their standard. Again, feel like a kid.

No, I'm sure that as soon as our car pulled out of the driveway, she was packing.

I'm an Adult Now

2007-08-15T15:41:00.000-04:00

Daughter is into Avril Lavigne. She's been listening to her for about three years now, but, being a pre-teen, Avril is part of her identity. She's dressing like her. She's reading everything about Avril. She's a member of her fan club. Frankly, I'd rather she'd be into her than having her singing around the house about her "lovely lady lumps."

Niece found the Beatles at summer camp this year. She's borrowed her Granny's CDs and when her brother sings along, she defiantly tells him, "You can't like the Beatles. They're MY group!" I wonder if she knows how old the songs really are.

My boys will listen to just about anything, really. They have their favourites. Currently, Baby Boy is digging on Peter, Björn and John and, since getting the Shrek 3 soundtrack for his birthday, Middle Child is just loving Led Zeppelin of all things.

So, good and groovy mum that I strive to be, I made a mixed CD of Zeppelin songs for him. And I confess here that I've been just cranking it in the car.

Yes. Led Zeppelin. Me. All of you who know me can stop laughing now.

I'm a west-end girl from Toronto (I don't usually get personal but I've learned that my efforts for anonymity on the 'net are shite). By and large, west-enders don't go east, and vice versa. Honestly, the first time I hung out in Scarborough was when I was 20 (unless you count my cousin's baptism) and, until then, I always painted that end as populated with a bunch of long-hairs who go to Laser Floyd at the Planetarium, spitting out sunflower seed shells and hanging out at donut shops. And pregnant teens. And Led Zeppelin. Lots of Zeppelin. In other words, everything I was not.

Zeppelin to me was just my cue that the high school dance was going to end. Like I wanted to slow dance to "Stairway to Heaven" with some guy with lame come-ons like, "I guess I can't hide my affection for you." I would rather cut an apple in half and watch it turn brown.

Did you see "Wayne's World"? Mike Myers said many times it was a pure reflection of living in Scarborough.

Then what of the "Bohemian Rhapsody" scene in the Mirthmobile? High school friends of mine who read this now (thanks, Facebook!) can attest that I did that all the time.

I guess it's a sign that I'm – gasp! – mature. I can look past labels now and accept things at face value. I can listen to Led Zeppelin without looking over my shoulder and play it as loud as anything else I like.

But I still can't stomach Husband's Steely Dan.

Hmmm...

2007-08-13T19:24:00.000-04:00

This is what I don't understand: why do radio stations play Bryan Adams's "Summer of 69" but bleep out, say, in Wheatus's song "Teenage Dirtbag", the word "gun"? The lyric goes something like, "Her boyfriend's a dick/He brings a gun to school."

I mean, the whole Adams song is about, well, 69. Not the year. Not some number between 68 and 70. No, it's about THAT 69.

You could go crazy with censorship. Where do you draw the line? I don't play Tenacious D's "Fuck Her Gently" around the kids, but they've heard all of the latest Amy Winehouse CD many times in the car. And I have no problem with the un-Wal-Mart version of the Avril Lavigne disc I bought Daughter. Like she hasn't heard swearing.

It's thoughts like this that hit me like a sudden itch. "Summer of 69" was playing at the grocery store and I found it very incongruous when I saw a grandmother singing along. Mind you, she must have been in her 20s when the original "Lady Marmalade" came out. And my grandmother just loves Tom Jones. She's the mother of 8.

When it gets down to it though, I wish radio stations stopped playing "Summer of 69" because it sucks hard. And you can read into the word "sucks" all you want. Censor that.

Yin and Yang

2007-08-11T19:24:00.000-04:00

I just want to say that I have, for the past year, kept off 13 lbs. I could still lose some more but I'm quite pleased with my bum.

Meanwhile, Husband is still thin in a pale, concave, weedy, oven-rack-for-ribs, baguettes-for-thighs kind of way. He hasn't seen an exercise machine (or weights) since watching me do my thing on the cruise last spring. He farts away these protein shakes which cost $80 per bucket to buy and have done squat for his intension of having a Daniel Craig body.

Damn!

And I say that because $80 is a crazy amount of money to spend on a protein drink when I, personally, would rather spend the money on some really fine steaks. And "damn" because I confess to seeing Casino Royale more than a few times if only for the beach scene.

See? There's always been a few blond guys in my life who have broken through the tall/dark/handsome barrier I had. Husband included.

I wonder if mild-mannered Husband ever envisioned himself with a purple-haired girl? Oh, he knew what he was getting into. You should have been there today at Baby Boy's final soccer game. Soccer Mom. Drives a minivan. Purplish hair, the t-shirt with the fondue pot on it saying "Let's Fondue It!", sweet new wave Vans, getting all nostalgic and shit by listening to Black Flag on her iPod. And 13 lbs. lighter.

Snap

2007-08-01T11:21:00.000-04:00

My father-in-law has never been in good health for as long as I've known him. He's sort of confined to a wheelchair but he does have some movement. The wheelchair and scooter is just his transportation of choice. The guy would take his scooter in his apartment to go from one chair to another.

You can imagine our surprise to hear that he was actually standing (with support, I'm sure) when he had a big wipe out and broke some bones on his good side. Thankfully, he fell in the hall. If he was in his apartment, he may not have been able to get to a phone and, as no one lives with him or near him, who would hear his cries for help?

So Husband was told by his physician that his dad will be in the hospital for - get this - six weeks. Husband is very, very bummed out now. He's upset that his dad didn't get to go to his small Manitoba hometown, but Husband is also upset because his dad didn't buy cancellation insurance ("But think of the money he'll save on hotel and restaurant bills," I said to lighten things up. I only got a "harumph").

But I think what might upset Husband most is that this totally cramps his own style. He was to be going out west to visit his brother and friends, but now he figures he's going to have to spend more time with his father. Oh yeah, and he's resurrected the idea of putting him in a home. I don't think that idea will see the light of day, but it does ride on his mind. I think it's just that he would feel more comfortable knowing his dad was being taken care of, especially since he lives so far. But, hey, he made that choice. Anyway, that may give a glimpse of the conflicting emotions swirling around Husband these days, even though he's the king of the poker face.

He has yet to comment on my violet highlights. It's the most I've ever spent on myself, I think. Oh, and it's way more sedate in indoor light.

This is Volunteering?

2007-07-28T09:41:00.000-04:00

I'm one of a small handful of moderators of an online group. I do it for free. I do it in my spare time. I do it because I think it's a valuable service.

On Thursday, I learned someone wanted to sue us.

It started when the person who is moderating this week approved a post that shouldn't have seen the light of day for a number of reasons. She went back to it a few minutes later, realized her error and deleted the post from the group's archives. Of course, it was already sent out; there's nothing she could do to stop that.

A flurry of really biting emails came in shortly thereafter. Who does the moderator turn to? Me. Of all the others, she came to me. Damn.

So I've been spending the last few days putting out fires. Thankfully, we moderate on an anonymous basis but when someone said they were going to sue for libel, I cracked open my university notebooks. Nice to know my legal liabilities class was good for something.

So far, so good. No one has been served with papers but this has been a stress I will be glad to be rid of.

My Accoustic Motorbike

2007-07-20T11:36:00.000-04:00

After much procrastination, I finally took my bicycle to the shop for a tune-up. The back tire hasn't been holding air very well and, as you can see, it's probably older than me.

I bought it at a Value Village for the tidy sum of $18. It was in fabulous condition; no rust, bent spokes, nothing. There's a sticker under the seat that states the bike was bought from a shop in St. Boniface, which hints at its age. St. Boniface was a Franco-Manitoban town, but has now become part of greater Winnipeg (which is another reason to buy the bike: an homage to Husband's family).

Another clue as to the age? The store's phone number starts with two letters. Mind you, I remember my mother ordering from the Eaton's catalogue, giving our number as "Roger 9, blah, blah, blah". Perhaps that makes no sense to my friends in town because, while Bell Canada had the monopoly on home phone service here, everyone had the same first two exchange numbers. Some people still give their numbers here in five digits instead of seven.

I'm digressing.

Anyway, when I wheeled the bike in to the shop, the sweet young things behind the counter made various comments like "What a relic!" and "It's a Garry!" (which is the name brand of the bike). Of course, after they took a look, they assured me that there's absolutely nothing wrong with the bike, but that they'd check out the tire problem.

Sure enough, they oiled the chains and changed the leaky valve and it runs like a dream now. I have my little wicker basket and I ride totally upright, channelling my inner Hepburn. If only my hair could grow faster, then I could pull it back in a jaunty ponytail. Until then, I will put up with, what someone used to call it, my Ramones hair. And I'm sure he didn't mean that cute little bob that Dee Dee had. No. It must have been that bird's nest mop of Joey's. At least, that's how I feel about it now. Serious action is needed soon. Humidity is the devil's work.

I'm digressing again.

So the total cost for the tune-up was $11, bringing the total cost of my sweet ride to a whopping $29.

I brought it home, freshened up the paint on the bumpers (which I regret because now it looks too white) and I shined up the wheel rims. Lovely.

That being said, yet again, Husband retains his title as the World's Most Expensive Spouse. He brought in his bike, a racing bike he probably spent too much on in the 80s, and also wanted a tune-up. Oh, and change the handle bars to something more upright. Total for his bike? $108!!! This comes days after he spent hundreds on a new driver golf club. And he gets mad at me for bringing back another souvenir shot glass. "But it only cost 35 cents!" "Jen, it's just another piece of crap. And you don't even drink straight liquor!" I'll give him the big Margaret Keane eyes and he lets it drop.

And I know my family out there agree with Husband, so I'll let it rest.

Pedal on!