I'm a Winner!

I figure it has a lot to do with being one of the last ones to drop in a ticket.

I don't win raffles. In fact, I've only won two (technically three) in my life. One was in 1983. I was so moved by the senior band's prize of a JVC boombox blaring Duran Duran that I bought a ticket during the dying minutes of the last period. I'm pretty sure I was the last person to drop a ticket in the box. Anyway, I won my very first stereo which got to play all sorts of fine 80s music (Japan, anyone?).

The kids' school had their annual Family Fun Night. The school doesn't fundraise, but holds these sort of things in order to get some bucks for extra school supplies.

I really hate Family Fun Night. Imagine every kid at the school, along with their family, coming out for fall fair type games in the gym. And the hall is lined with baskets that each class had made. Middle Child's class basket had an "I Love to Bake" theme so everyone donated something related to that. Daughter's class had a Family Bath Night/Spa theme.

We got to the school 30 minutes before it wrapped up. We quickly bought tickets (from Slowplum - here's your shoutout, child) and divided them up - 3 raffle tickets for each kid and one for me. Daughter and Baby Boy dropped them for the baskets they really wanted. Middle Child told me that we had a better chance mathematically to enter a ticket for a basket that didn't have too many tickets. So I put one in the Coffee and Tea Time basket. He chose Patio Days, I Love to Garden, and the autistic children's sensory toys.

The president of the council called out the winning numbers shortly thereafter. We won the coffee and the patio stuff. Husband went up to accept one of them and was coming down the stage steps when another one of our numbers was called. If you know Husband, geez, was he embarrassed.

But he said it was worth his embarrassment because the stuff people donated was insanely good.

Crackbook

I blame Baby Sister.

She was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back when she "invited" me to join Facebook.

Granted, it's been a nice way to keep in touch with my cousins whom I used to see very, very often growing up and, now, we hardly see each other at all. With the exception of a few of my younger cousins who don't want their geezer cousin Jen listed as a "friend" (chickens!), most of us have a Facebook profile.

What I hadn't expected was to be found by all sorts of people from my diverse past. My best friend from Grade 7 found me last week. A gay friend who was relentlessly teased at my high school is now in contact with me. People that I see every day are on my friend list, too. And, yesterday, one of the coolest people I worked with at one of the worst offices I worked at found me.

But what slays me is that it can be a real time-sucker. Middle Sister won't go on it for that reason, I believe.

This past week, my kids had a Turn Off the Screens week where they not only didn't watch any TV, movies, played with video games - Daughter didn't even play with her Tamagotchi - there I was feeling REALLY guilty for turning on the computer.

I'm back from my vacation and a good time was had by all.

Jules sent me off with a travel journal and a pen with the strict instructions to write, write, write. And I did, did, did. In fact, I wrote so much, I ran out of ink.

So, obviously, there's tons of detail in there. If you want to read it (and you know me), let me know. There's nothing untoward or offensive. Maybe because writing on paper is labourous and my mind works slower (or that I'm afforded the opportunity to edit in my head before I plunk it on a page) there are very few swear words, even. And if you're a regular reader of this blog, or if you've been out with me socially, you'll know that I swear like a sailor.

Honestly, the only disappointment I had was getting my period because I packed lots of white pants. Oh, and I wish there were fewer Canada-hating, US-centric Americans, but there's always a few bad apples.

I also posted photos on my Facebook page as well as many as I could on to Flickr. Again, if you have my email address and you want a link to the photos, tell me. I've detailed the photos best I could so that would be the best way to describe my trip rather than me writing about it here.

But to sum up, it was a good trip and long overdue. We were expecting lots of liver spots and Husband thought he'd have to trudge through dinner with old people complaining about their dentures, but this wasn't the case. There were lots of families with pre-teen or teen children, so most of the adults were about our age or just a tad older. There was absolutely tons to do on board. We only swam at night (the pools were salt water) under the stars. It was great and we didn't have to share the pool. I won the trivia contest. Husband learned to play Blackjack from our dinner table mates from South Bend, Indiana (they were so incredibly nice). Husband also saved an old lady who fell face first in the ocean in her all-white outfit. She was from Syracuse NY and was with 9 other friends for their 50th high school reunion. When we got back to the tour bus, they all sung O Canada in appreciation. Freaky. I still went to the gym every day. Husband ate and ate and ate and is still skinny.

My OCD is in full swing. I blame my esthetician. You see, I went for my pedicure yesterday (it's a pre-vacation rule, you know) and told me what I thought was a cracked heel was really plantar warts. I gasped because I know they're highly contagious and they're an HPV with loooong roots. Ick. Ick. Ick. I probably got them (I have two very close together) from walking barefoot at the kids' swimming lessons. You have to take off your outdoor shoes and, well, I didn't want to get wet socks!

I apologized to the esthetician, telling her that I know they're very contagious. "Oh, please. I'm not exaggerating if I say that every other client has them. I bleach everything and I think I'm genetically incapable of catching them."

Still, now I'm going to be scrupulous about covering my feet until they heal, and probably afterward so I don't catch it again.

So, from this nasty reminder about viruses came a renewed interest in ensuring I have enough Purell. I was going to anyway because of all those reports of people on cruises getting ill. I'm also bringing a bottle of anti-bacterial Febreeze. I intend to spray the bedspread. They don't wash them, you know. I don't even want my capris touching some stranger's spunkum or whatever.

Jules thinks I'm a little off, but any one in my family (extended too) can attest that we're all like this. How many outside of us were washed in Dettol as children? "But Mummy, it's buuuuurning me!" "Hush. That's just the Dettol killing all the bugs on you." Is it any wonder?!?

*********

"Middle Child is going to hell," Husband announced yesterday.

Apparently, some kid in his class was wearing a Sidney Crosby shirt and Middle Child taunted him by saying it was "Sidney Crotch-bee".

Going to hell? No, he's just a Senators fan.

See? It's stuff like that which will make me miss my kids when I'm away on vacation. I'll miss it when Baby Boy climbs on my lap and says, "I have a present for you" and then he plants a kiss right on the lips. Daughter hid love notes in our luggage. It's supposed to be a secret, I think, so I haven't read them yet.

Baby Boy is going around saying he's "going to par-tay" when we're gone. I swear, that kid really will be the president of his frat. This is why I call him Otter, people.

But they will be in excellent hands: the hands that raised me (and washed me in Dettol). I wouldn't be leaving if it were any other way. Probably.

My Ersatz Homemade BodyPump Tracklist

I know the stuff my mother says comes from total care and concern; a really good place in the heart and mind. Like yesterday, when I told her that I plan to go to the gym on vacation, she got all freaked. "Don't you be going there first thing in the morning like you do when you're home. You don't know who's in there lurking behind a treadmill or something."

As a reporter for a large daily newspaper in Toronto, I was sent out countless times in the wee hours of the night to get man-on-the-street reports on shit like gang violence and crack houses. And they didn't send me out to Rosedale either. No way. We're talking Parliament and Gerrard, Chinatown alleys, Regent Fucking Eww-Eww-Eww Park.

And my sweet mother is worried about middle-aged guys on a cruiseship?

I go to the gym at the crack of dawn at home because that's the only time I have to myself. Whether I do that when I'm on vacation is still up in the air. But I do totally intend to hit the gym every day (or so).

My workout depends almost entirely on people barking orders. I really need the classes or else I get lazy. I can probably get on an elliptical trainer and cardio out on my own, but for muscle conditioning, I can only do the BodyPump class. I've been at that for about 18 months, so I'm pretty good at it and have the choreography down for the most part. Some of the music sucks (call me old, but Trance is boring), but I figured out what is looked for in a song they choose for the classes.

So, I'll load my iPod with these and have a go at my very own BodyPump class:

Army of Me - Björk (warm-up)
Pump It Up - Elvis Costello (squats)
Love Shack - The B-52s (chest) (or Salt n' Pepa's Push It? I'm Not Dead by Pink?)
In Between Days - The Cure (back)
Take Your Mama Out - Scissor Sisters (triceps)
Pump It - Black Eyed Peas (biceps)
Castles In The Sky - Ian van Dahl (lunge - trance, I know, but I'm really good at this one in the class)
Sabotage - The Beastie Boys (shoulder)
Lose Yourself - Eminem (abs)
Bobcaygeon - The Tragically Hip (cool down and because I need some Canadiana while I'm away)

Kinda commercial, I know, and really old school but it's worth a shot. And some of these songs are from the class, too. But if you have any suggestions, let me know.

Fight the Power!

I went for a check-up this week. I'm fighting genetics, people. I'm fighting hard.

I am at the gym five fricking times a week. I do nearly two hours of cardio in those five days, as well as muscle conditioning. Yet I still look pregnant. I've lowered my cholesterol, but not nearly what it should be due to the exercising and taking those awful salmon oil pills.

Many, many tell me that I am the spitting image of my paternal grandmother, which is true. Of all her bajillion grandchildren, I took after her the most. And she was obese. Funny, though, I have no recollection of her eating. Ever. Cooking? yes. Drinking coffee? Yes. Eating? No. And Nanna had loooots of heart trouble. As does my dad (not nearly as much as she did, but enough to say he has heart disease).

Anyway, that visit made me even more determined to spend my Good Friday morning at the gym. I completed that 90-minute exercise class (props to Jules) and will be starting a new diet on Monday (more fish, less meat and no junk food until Sunday). It will be just in time for the vacation. If you have any words of advice, please comment below or email me.

When you see your kid's school on Call Display, you kind of don't want to answer because, nine times out of ten, it isn't good news.

Yesterday, I received one such call from the school principal.

"There was an altercation in the playground with Middle Child. He and his buddy were trying to get in on a basketball game with the more athletic boys in his class. Anyway, they didn't want any new players and that somehow escalated to one boy announcing, 'Let's attack Middle Child.' He was caught and another boy spat in his mouth."

Ew. And oh!

"So, Jennifer, I'm calling for two reasons. One, Middle Child has calmed down some. He spent the remainder of the lunch hour with his teacher in the staff room, but as he knows more about bacteria and viruses than the average 6-year-old, he was really, uh, grossed out. We have some anti-bacterial mouthwash. It contains alcohol. May we have permission to let him gargle?"

He could drink the whole bottle, as far as I was concerned.

"Secondly, he hasn't mentioned anything but do you think it would help if you came by the school to give him a hug?"

If it were Daughter, I'd already have my coat on, but Middle Child would be mortified if I pulled him out of class. I mean, when I'm in the school tutoring other children, he doesn't even acknowledge me! No, I think it is best that I stay home. If he can't settle down in class, then give me a call and I'll come by.

I spoke with his teacher after school. She was dry heaving while she was telling me. Anyway, he settled in and seemed comforted to have that bottle of mouthwash at the secretary's desk if he needed more, she said. But the whole incident ruined her day. She explained that after giving the kids a piece of her mind, she was so put off by the whole thing that she scrapped her plans to do something all Eastery with them. Thankfully, no one knew of these plans. As if Middle Child doesn't feel ostracized enough, imagine if the others knew he was part of the reason why the class didn't get treats or do a fun craft?

It was report card week. Daughter did excellently. Mostly As with big improvements in math (two As and a B+). Middle Child got A+s all the way through ... except gym and drama/dance. And in the "Learning Skills" section, he only got a "satisfactory" in the "patience with other students" section.

Good Morning!

This is what I woke up to.

And we're expecting 15 cm more this weekend. This is when my daffodils were just about to bloom.

We had a green Christmas, but we'll have a white Easter.

What I'm Up To

I went to the One of a Kind Craft Show in Toronto on Sunday with my pal Jules. Then we hit Lick's and - gasp! - Square One Mall, for old time's sake.

I joined Facebook and, after reading what my younger cousins are up to (they are about 20 years younger than I am), I should be ashamed to admit that my Sunday outing was the most fun I've had in absolutely ages.

I picked up the world's coolest keychain. It's made of pink marbled vinyl with a clear vinyl bubble in the centre which holds a jewelry box ballerina. Okay, it's the most I ever spent on a keychain, but this guy's work was so incredibly unique. He had these insane backpacks that, if I had $80, I would have bought one for one of my kids.

My mum called yesterday in full-out freaky mode. "You gotta find a place where you live to hold your sister's wedding reception!" Didn't she elope in order to avoid fuss? Well, yes, but now there's an apparent need to hold a party. I called a handful of places, but I don't know if anyone from, say, Toronto would want to make the effort to drive 90 minutes. I mean, every time we go to a family gathering in Toronto, we're bound to get at least one person commenting how great it is that we came "all this way." It's not a big deal to us but we're used to it.

Anyway, I found one place that seems to be a great deal. If people want to make a day of it, come visit and walk around downtown here during the day and go to the reception for dinner, it might work. But that may not work for everyone. Anyway, whatever. I did what my mother told me to do, like the good girl I am.

No laughing!

And I was told I was Mother-of-the-Year by Daughter and Middle Child because I bought those Vachon Igor muffins for their lunchboxes. Whole grain, trans fat free, with prebiotics and calcium, and nut-free, I thought it would be a nice treat. And it was on sale. Tried one. Tastes like cake. No wonder they loved it.

Speaking of eating crap I shouldn't, I've signed up for a 90-minute exercise class. I'll be doing BodyPump (weights), BodyStep (step aerobics), BodyAttack (high impact aerobics), BodyJam (a hip-hop cardio class) and BodyFlow (a mix of yoga, pilates and tai chi). I'm hoping to finish the hour-and-a-half. If I crumple to a heap and cry like a baby ... or die ... it has been a slice!

Indeed!

It's amazing what you'll find at the supermarket these days.

What a Nightmare

Could it have been any worse?

Upon Baby Boy's insistence, we went to Le Chalet Swisse for dinner. But for some reason, as we were shown to our table, Baby Boy was possessed by a demon and walked on the floor on his knees, talking - no - CRYING AND YELLING like a baby.

"I want a bookie!" meaning a book because when he plays the "I'm a baby game", every noun gets the "ee" sound at the end.

Well, he was still freaking when we sat down. Husband and I calmly told him to stop. He didn't, so I threw him over my shoulder and took him outside until he calmed down.

When we got back to the table, Husband already ordered drinks for us and Daughter and Middle Child started up. I don't know how it started, but at this point, they were in full "I got you last" mode.

"If you guys don't stop, we'll move one of you beside Dad," I threatened.

A minute later, I got up and moved Daughter, who was in the middle of the boys beside Husband. As I'm doing this, the waitress came by with our drinks.

Two drinks were on the table and I was just about to take my seat when the ketchup bottle toppled off her tray, thus tipping the tray over my way. Drinks, Chalet sauce and two kinds of salad dressings came flying off. I got up quickly but not quickly enough because my right pant leg got soaked.

And Baby Boy started freaking out again because his paper placemat got wet.

I muttered, "What a nightmare!" and as I rolled my eyes, I noticed the kids' school principal in the table facing us. He waved at me.

Actions Have Consequences

Daughter got detention and Middle Child got a girlfriend.

Instead of bringing home her homework, Daughter dogged it and played at her friend's house (she said he had detention for the same reason. Hmmm). She finished her homework during detention and to add to her misery, I made her finish her nightly math question. The teacher gave her a sheet of 14 questions to be completed through the week. Instead of taking two questions a night, she did four earlier and that's that. Obviously, the whole thing needed to be done, but, gawd, the drama! And then there was the pull of Fairly Odd Parents and SpongeBob Squarepants playing just a littttle too loudly by the boys.

Your choices have consequences, I always tell her. Yesterday was another case in point.

I remind her to practice violin and do a little extra work every day when we're walking home from school. Does she do it? Not always.

So while I was getting a pencil for Daughter last night, I overheard Middle Child phoning his older (by two years) friend. "There's a girl in my class who likes me. What do I do?" I pulled him aside after and we talked about it.

He's flattered as can be but he's a little freaked out. "What if she wants me to kiss her?"

"Well, I think you're a little young to be kissing. You should ask her for a rain cheque for when you're 16, I think."

"Older Friend said I should give her something, like flowers or jewelry, but I don't want to. That's too romance, and I still want her as a friend and I don't want to make her sad. So I like the idea of giving her something, but what?"

So today, we packed an extra two cookies for the girl.

Funny thing is, she's one of those girls I'd be scared to date if I were a boy. She's the last-born child, the only daughter in a family of seven boys!

"Your shirt's on backward, Middle Child."

"Yeah because it's Backward Day at school. It's also Crazy Hair Day."

"Oh, too bad I didn't know before. I could have got something together for you."

So, I gelled his hair spiky at the top.

"It's not crazy enough, Mom."

So I hairsprayed the sides too.

"Still not crazy enough. How about some colour?"

Argh. Colour. What could I use? I decided on food colouring, so I put a few drops in and rubbed. And now I can't get it off my hands! Suggestions are very welcomed.

Husband and I are going on a vacation. It's our first - sans enfants - since our honeymoon, which is really quite sad.

My mum will pack up her life and take care of the kids for us. Must get the soup pot ready.

Actually, I have to get lots and lots of things ready. It isn't just hauling summer clothes out and stuff. I also have to do all the extraneous cleaning that my mum will nab me on. Sure, the place must be tidy and stuff (which is a huge deal when you have a messy family like mine), but I'm going to have to do all the little stuff like:

- clean and disinfect the fridge and freezer
- clean and deodorize the sink drains in kitchen and bathrooms
- wash down cupboards
- vacuum fridge coils
- thoroughly wash floors including corners

And if there's still time, I'll reorganize my closet.

If you have a Maltese mother, you'd understand my need. However, I'm really doing this more for me. I know my mum will keep the place tidy while I'm gone (and do a better job than I do), but if I do all this stuff, I know she'll be able to keep up with my kids. Cleaning up after them is like shoveling during a blizzard.

It's Spring!

The thermometer read 26C yesterday. I hung out my laundry and opened windows. Ahhh!

The Family That Drinks Together...

Last Monday, I thought I was ahead of the game and took my vintage suit in to the dry cleaners in preparation for my cousin's Saturday wedding.

"It'll be ready on Wednesday."

Wednesday came and I was told that, for some reason, it said it wouldn't be ready until the end of the day. Fine, I thought, I'll pick it up tomorrow.

Thursday came and I had planned to get it after I picked the kids up from school. Until I got the phone call.

"This is B---- Cleaners. There's a problem with your green dress. We had to remove all the beading so it won't be ready until the end of next week."

WHAAAAAAT????? "I was told it was going to be ready on Wednesday. Next week is too late. I need it for a wedding in Toronto this Saturday. You should have told me when I dropped off the dress that it was going to be trouble for you. I would have taken it somewhere else!"

So we bantered back and forth and I held my ground. I told them I would be there at their shop Friday at 4. And the dress will look awesome with the beading intact.

Of course, when I got there, I got, "The dress isn't ready yet."

"Well, then I'll wait here until it is."

I got the dress about 35 minutes later.

Why the big fuss? I really wanted to wear it because it matched so very well with my cousin's mother's silver cocktail purse. My aunt passed away and I know how much she and my uncle would have loved to be there to see their son get married (finally). And one of my relatives even recognized the purse being Auntie Mary's.

It was a great wedding. My family does parties very well. Mind you, I don't know how much input my cousin had in it because it seemed to be very bride-side-of-the-family, but that could be said of many weddings. It's all about the woman in the marshmallow dress.

Middle Child loved all the Jewishness of it. It was a big departure from the last wedding he went to, and, culturally, new to him. He liked eating the challah best of all, he said.

And though I love to eat well, drink lots and dance my feet off, the best part of weddings and all family gatherings is being with my cousins. We don't see each other nearly enough and, considering that we lived within the same block growing up, I'm sometimes envious of friends who have relatives that they can visit during the week or babysit their kids or whatever.

But despite the months (and sometimes years) that keep my family apart, when we get together, we're like slipping into a comfortable pair of shoes.

So, of course, when I got carded, I thought nothing of boasting to everyone. It must have been because I was wearing pink lipstick and foundation (retro dress needed retro makeup and hair).

Yeah, I got CARDED! The waitress was going around with wine at our table. My grandmother (the living one, obviously), my similarly aged Uncle P (did I mention we're Catholic?), and Husband were served and she walks right by me. "I'll have the red, please!" I waved at her. "Are you old enough to drink?" My eyes started to water and, I guess once I smiled, all my wrinkles cracked my face. I was served then.

But, get this, I'm used to us all getting kicked out of weddings after 1 am or something. However, everyone was starting to leave right after dessert. I talked to the bride before we left at 11:30, which seemed to be when the party ended. She didn't understand why everyone had left. I shared my thought that it was because the bar was outside of the hall and tucked away in the far end of the foyer.

I mean, we had a great time, I'd say. During the ceremony, I sat near my dad and my Uncle A who were cracking jokes the whole way through, as they always do. "J, take this cup, given to you by L, as a sign of nourishment..." And my dad, who is hard of hearing and may not have realized that he was pretty loud, said, "Oh, shit! She's already driven him to drink!"

I turned to my cousin F, who lives near Houston, and whispered, "Did you miss us?"

She slyly smiled and joked, "SOME of you."

Why I'm Going To Hell: Reason #23

I was raised in a relentlessly Catholic family. We went to Mass every Sunday. Mind you, I eagerly anticipated the after-trip to the Italian bakery nearby because my dad would always buy my sisters and me some gelati or some kind of treat.

As long as my sisters and I were in that house, we had to go to Sunday service. End of discussion. Even when I end up sleeping over there on a Saturday now with my family, I'm still expected to attend Mass.

But on my own? Yeah, I'm not that diligent. Last Sunday, I went to the local church for the first time this year (shhh, don't tell Mum) and the priest went off a bit on secularism and how it's a cancer on the soul of humanity.

I'm sorry. IVF? It's a good thing. Controlling the spread of STDs with the promotion of condom use? It's saving lives. And don't get me started on birth control. Pierre Elliot Trudeau's shining moment, in my mind, was when he said that the government has no business in the bedrooms of the nation. And, frankly, neither does any organized (or unorganized) religion.

I might just sleep in again next Sunday.

The Photo Screams, "I Need a Vacation"

Yesterday was the day one would re-register at Baby Boy's co-op nursery school. How weird was it for me NOT to saddle up to the desk? Very. I have had my children at that school since 2000, without missing a year.

In a small way, not only will a chapter in Baby Boy's life end when he graduates in June, but one in mine will also.

And after a photo taken of me at the end of the day shows, it may not be a bad thing.

Husband decided we all need passports. We aren't going anywhere, but having updated passports would make it easier to just get up and go. So, while he was working late, I rounded up the troops and took us to get the photos done.

I suppose with all the counter-terrorism fuckwad stuff going on, there are changes not only to the application but to the passport photo too. No smiling. No black and white. No closed necks. Apparently, the federal government WANTS you to look like a thug.

We got them done at a camera store downtown, where they have lots of very breakable things on low shelves. And, wouldn't you know, my kids went batshit all over the store, all running off in different directions. I'm tired. Spent all day going through old paperwork. Got slapped in the face with my mortality at nursery school. Took the car in and found out it would take two hours so I had to find places to occupy Baby Boy and I in the middle of the industrial section of town. And it's cold. And I'm just waaaaiiiiting for the kids to drop something very expensive. And I'm growing out my pixie cut and have very unfortunate hair today. And I forgot to wear make-up.

So, believe me when I tell you that I took the world's ugliest passport photo ever. I mean, Husband recoiled in horror when he saw it.

We're All Dying, Honey

If you have kids, chances are you have lost your sense of privacy.

The eldest is good about respecting the closed door, but the youngest hasn't quite figured that one out yet.

Wouldn't you know, it's that time of the month. The door was closed and I was juuuuust about to change the pad when Baby Boy walked in.

"Mum, can you WHAAAAAAAAA???!?!??!??!??"

And then he started to wail. Oh, jeez.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" I ask while I'm still going about my business. Hey, a girl has to do what a girl has to do, first of all. Secondly, I was thinking that perhaps by getting the job done quickly, I can just sweep this matter under the rug, so to speak.

Baby Boy replied, still crying, "Mummy, you're DYING!"

Last GTA Barbie, I promise

SCARBOROUGH BARBIE: This Barbie now comes with stroller and infant doll. Optional accessories are a GED, cigarettes and a Metropass. Gangsta Ken and his 1979 Caddy were available but are now very difficult to find since the addition of the infant.