Safe and Sound

If I was a superstitious person, I would have thought the start of our travels were omenous.

We were stuck in Pearson for four hours, waiting for a lightening storm to pass so the plane could be refueled. Needless to say, we missed our connecting flight in Calgary. And there were no tvs on the flight from Toronto, despite the airline's claim that every aircraft had them. We did get them on the flight out of Calgary but it was only operational for about 10 minutes.

We got to our hotel but our room wasn't ready. Husband got a room change and all was well. My mother-in-law thought we cheaped out because we didn't take her advise and get a hotel downtown. Whatever. We got this hotel in the suburbs because it was close to her housing project.

We actually had a lot of full days. The first day there, Saturday, we went to Granville Island where we were invited to our old high school friends' daughter's 3rd birthday picnic/party. Mother-in-law tagged along, and immediately after having a brief conversation with Husband's old friend announced loud enough, "Well, he's still as pretentious as ever." I dunno. I found them both very rapped up in throwing this very perfect party so I spend loads of time talking with my friend's mother who was also visiting from Ontario.

Oh yeah, and Baby Boy ran away.

I told Husband and M.I.L. to take a kid to look after. I had Middle Child. MIL chose Daughter (no surprise for so many reasons; as it was, she needed to smoke so I had Daughter eventually as well). Anyway, Husband was busy being enlightened by Old Friend and I realized Baby Boy is no where to be seen. Husband and I take off, me in the wooded area, Husband by the ocean, where he was found throwing rocks in the water. Little bugger.

M.I.L.'s plan to have an open house for all her favourite hooker and crackhead friends come in and poke our children was thwarted as we just filled all the days with outings. But somehow, she kept directing us to drive back home through some of the worst neighbourhoods in the country. Don't do drugs, kids. It isn't pretty.

Now we're with my very sane brother-in-law and his family. The kids are much more relaxed. There's some great parks right by their home and Middle Child is able to bring his sketchbook where ever.

Oh, and my nephew? Well, Husband and his brothers look very much alike. We walked in the door and my 2-year-old nephew pointed to Husband, whom he last saw when he was 3 months old, and has yet left his arms. He's still not sure of me though.

Bad Timing

As soon as Husband told me he booked this trip out west, I had a weird feeling.

My gut was right.

My uncle, my godfather, died yesterday evening. He was surrounded by my grandmother and his brothers and sisters at his home, which I'm sure was a comfort to them. My uncle was in a coma, so I assume he was already comfortable.

Anyway, funeral home visitation will be on Friday, with burial on Saturday. I won't be able to be there, which is fine with everyone except for me.

And now I just got word that Husband's grandmother, who was rushed to the hospital Monday, is having her pacemaker surgery postponed because they still haven't been able to get her blood pressure down.

I haven't even started packing. What can I say? My mind is on other things.

Musical Wank

Yesterday, our city "celebrated" the anniversary of the big ol' blackout by urging us to not use electricity from 3 to 10 pm.

So I slapped some sunscreen on the kids and we met up with friends at the park where local chefs were having a hibachi cook-off and a non-amplified concert was going on.

The stuff the chefs were cooking were, um, not so kid-friendly. And, well, they were restaurant prices. For example, the price was $5 for two samples. So once you spend the $40, you'll actually have your sea scallop meal. Restaurant prices but in a park. But my kids don't do scallops. Or sushi. Or fois gras.

The concert was a little excrutiating. Most of it was free-form jazz or whatever. I call it Musical Wank - just a bunch of people goofing off. The five kids (actually six because one stranger kid just decided our children were more exciting to be with than her grandma) kinda got bored so they decided to have a grass fight and scream, which, frankly, just added to the Musical Wank. It didn't make it worse.

So when husband finally found us almost three hours later (we waited for him, blanking out everything but our always good conversations), we got out of there and went to a restaurant. Hey, WE weren't using electricity. We were just paying someone to. And who's to say they didn't have a bunch of monkeys in the back hand-cranking a generator?

The last time she gives us produce

So I made the aforementioned squash yesterday. Thanks to my friend JW who sent me a recipe, I made what the kids call Squash Volcano. I steamed the thing, scooped it out and stuffed it with bacon, bread crumbs, onions and the scoopings. Topped it all with some freshly grated Parmesan and baked it.

Husband told the squash giver what we did and she was horrified. I believe she only eats raw food. Her instructions were to just cut it and bake with a little olive oil but, y'know, the kids ate it my way.

But I'm still not one for squash.

Bye Kitty

Maybe my mother, who semi-silently disapproves of my decorating taste, willed it to happen.

The kids broke my Kit-Kat Clock. You know those black and white cats with a clock on its tummy? The eyes and tail move back and forth? Yeah. Mine is on the way to the dump. One eye popped right out, snapped off, as did the tail. Beyond repair.

No one confessed. Daughter tried to sell me on "It just fell," meanwhile they were right next to it holding balls.

I didn't lose control or anything. I just told them I was disappointed and I took off for an hour and a half buying milk.

Huh?

Huh?
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

Welcome to August.

It appears that everyone's backyard vegetable garden is coming to harvest.

Husband got two of these yesterday. Frankly, I thought these were just gourds you use as decoration at Thanksgiving.

Does anyone know if I can cook this? And how would I?
Or should I just get crafty?

There's a world outside your window...

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Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

Daughter and I spent the weekend exploring Toronto and staying at my sister's place.

We took an early train in and met my sister at her very large office building in downtown Toronto. From there, the three of us walked through the underground malls, up Yonge a bit, went to the Eaton Centre, grabbed a street dog at Ryerson University, walked down Dundas through Chinatown, up Spadina, bought spices at Kensington and then streetcar and subway back to my sister's. A very full day and it wasn't even over as we still walked around my sister's neighbourhood later on.

The next day, we went to a South Asian festival by the Harbourfront where Daughter ate some food she never tried before (and the mango lassi was new too). I bought her a salwar kameez, something she's wanted ever since she saw her first Bollywood movie two years ago. She also got a mendhi (henna tattoo) on her hand which she loooves.

I could go into much detail but just let me say that this trip was great for her on so many levels. She got to ride on escalators and fast elevators (which she can't do where we live). She loved walking around the very tall buildings and through the subway. She got to see people from many walks of life and tried foods she isn't exposed to here. She saw where I grew up, where I went to school (and how far I had to walk). She got to visit relatives we don't see often enough.

Best of all, we got to spend time alone, just Mumma and Daughter.

Cover up

I popped in a full-length DVD for the kids so that I'd have time to be on the computer and give myself a pedicure. Yeah, yeah. Water and electronics. Whatever. I have no time for myself and I have to juggle where I can.

Actually, I'm making a compilation CD of all my strange cover songs. Gotta love Great Big Sea doing REM's End of the World. God bless the Newfies!

What do you get when you mix musicians, the 70s, and a big bag of coke? (This has sound...not all good)

Damn you, Mark Burnett

Bless me, father, for I have sinned.

I'm hooked on another mildly entertaining reality TV show, Rock Star: INXS. Granted, my penance shouldn't be too harsh as I don't watch American/Canadian/Hungarian Idol. At least I don't have to hear warbled Whitney Huston, and the contestants seem more like my people. Okay, except for that barefoot hillbilly guy.

I admit, I find it a little distasteful that INXS is doing this show, but I'm still watching. I realize this was their bread & butter, but c'mon. It's just bad manners. And can anyone else really sing Never Tear Us Apart? Michael Hutchence was an icon in his day. Even during his "Fat Elvis" stage (see the "Eloquently Wasted" video), he had a very compelling stage presence.

It makes me love Nirvana more.

I derided Van Halen when they went around changing lead singers (and, ironically, they approached Michael Hutchence once). I don't care how talented the rest of the band is, but most people identify a band by the singer. That would be like changing the voice of Kermit the Frog after Jim Henson died. It just wouldn't be the same.

That being said, I think there's some serious talent there. Deanna has a hell of a voice but are INXS really planning on hiring a female lead singer? Finding a new lead singer would change the band, but replacing Hutchence with a woman, sheesh, they may as well change their name. Actually, they should just change their name anyway, regardless of who they hire.

Mind you, I'm sure this is just a long probation period before they just hire Mig. Maybe because he's Australian and seems so polite, he appears to be a perfect fit with the rest of the band. If I learned anything about management and hiring, you gotta get along with the people you work with.

And, shit, if I have to hear Dave Navarro, a guy I USED to think was sooo sexy, refer to the female contestants as "sweetheart" again, I'm just going to use my old Jane's Addiction lps (yes, I'm that old) as decorative bowls.

Perhaps my penance should be to wait for Mark Burnett's other offering of crack, Survivor, to come back on TV. Maybe then I won't be wondering if J.D. Fortune (another contestant and, to my knowledge, not a porn star) will pick a better song next week.

A waste of time

There's a former city counsellor here who is walking around saying, "I told you so."

Apparantly, he's been going around for years talking about how we should all change daylight savings time by a month either way, just as the Americans are now going to do.

Personally, I'm not crazy about the idea. They're trying to sell it on the idea that it will save energy, but that doesn't make any sense to me. I mean, if there's an extra hour of night in the morning or evening, either way, you'll be using electricity for that time. And, like most mothers, I'm up early.

Probably the biggest reason why I'm against it is because I don't like the idea of getting the kids off to school when it's dark. I have a hard enough time when the sun is out and the birds are singing. And then there's the visibility factor when they're walking.

I think if we're going to seriously look at this idea, we should just take Saskatchewan's lead (and the lead of Creston, B.C. and a few other small Canadian towns) and scrap daylight savings time entirely.

I'm sure people in the far north are just laughing. Seriously, in the land of the midnight sun, how do these people put their kids to bed?

But does he also do the laundry?

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Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

Oh. My. God.

Sure, I'll sample your hot buns.

I saw this article in the Toronto Star about a guy setting up a country inn in Collingwood. I would like to take this opportunity to thank Mrs. Fitzmaurice and Miss Hutchinson at St. James School for teaching me how to read.

Creepy

There was a daytime execution-style murder right by the front entrance of the very large mall my mother works in yesterday.

As soon as I saw it on the news, I recognized it right away. I used to wait for the bus just steps away.

Could you imagine if you were there when it happened? Man, there must have been kids watching. Worse, what if one of the bullets ricocheted?

My mum wasn't even aware that this happened when I called her that evening. Like I said, it's a very large mall.

There's TWO!!!

But don't call him "Chuck"

Daughter's friend has a new baby brother. They named him Charlie. I don't know if they got the idea from me talking about a boy I know, but that would be the second Charlie ("Gawd, not Charles! Could I be that cruel to someone I love? No. It's Charlie) in as many years.

There's this real trend toward 100-year-old baby names. Take for instance the register for a nursery school near my house. There's kids with names such as: Lucy, Alice, Edmund, Oscar, Sadie, and Warren.

The other day, Daughter was having some mixed emotion upon finding her relatively unusual name on one of those racks of personalized items. One part of her thought it was cool that she now has note pads with her name printed on it (bonus! They have horsies and doggies wearing hats on it!), but the other part was downright concern that, in time, she won't be the only girl with her name in her school.

Believe me, you get over it. I swear, every 20-something woman is named Jennifer.

My dilemma for the day: Husband's birthday cake. No one wants to eat cake this year, so I'm thinking of Husband's two favourite snacks. Shall I stick some candles in a bowl of chips or, what I've done before with much success, get some Timbits and either put them in a trifle bowl or get a styrofoam cone and toothpick them?

Works Like New

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Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

I had my old sewing machine tuned up and now it works like a dream.

I decided to make a few more Kool-Aid Jammers handbags after my sister saw the first one (the orange one here). She was really impressed and was happy to hear that I made a swim bag for her daughter (the blue and purple one in the back).

My nephew overheard, so I just whipped up a change purse for him. No sweat for me and yet I remain Cool Auntie Jen in the very big eyes of my nephew.

As I was sewing up his change purse, I marvelled at how smooth my machine was running. So, I woke up a little early today and spent my stolen 30 minutes by creating the green and purple ones here. Okay, I still have to sew the bottom on the purple one, but isn't the feather handle a scream? And you can't really tell in this photo, but the orange one has this cute ribbon and opalescent sequin trim. The green one has shiny dangly green beads at the top.

I still don't know what I'm going to do with them: probably sell them at a craft show or something. Post a comment here and tell me what you'd pay!

The best day of my neice's life

My neice is visiting for a few days and has proclaimed on several occasions today that "This is the best day of my life."

Sure, we took her swimming, which is her favourite thing to do. I took her to the grocery store and told her she could pick any cookie she wanted (she picked those plain wafer finger cookies - the ones with the same consistency as holy communion). But she loooved watching TV.

Apparantly, she doesn't get Teletoon. I thought she was going to pee herself when Atomic Betty came on.

I thought for a moment I should unearth my old VHS copies of Peewee's Playhouse but that would mean getting the kids to watch it on the attic TV where it's, like, Africa hot. We have an air conditioner but it takes a while to cool everything down.

Oh, and I forgot the girl takes forever to get to sleep. Everyone was in bed except for me (I watch Rockstar:INXS with much guilty pleasure). Daughter and the neice were reading books and playing Barbies until 10 when Daughter basically told her cousin she was packing it in.

So Neice came downstairs and watched TV with me. I thought Rockstar would be too exciting for her so we watched a documentary on an Emily Carr contemporary named Pegi Nicol. When my sister called the next morning, asking what time she hit the sack, I replied, "Well, she watched The Daily Show with me."

After all that swimming (6 to 8 pm), she konked out on the chesterfield at 9:30.

Drama

Oh, hooray! I finally got a hit on the Where's Willy website. Okay, the fiver only went 14 km down the highway, but it's on it's way!

I am so easily amused.

Took the older kids to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Husband reads too many newspapers and actually listens to reviewers. Yes, Johnny Depp was channelling a cross between Carol Channing and that actress who played Ted Knight's wife on The Mary Tyler Moore Show. Yes, he had that Emo Phillips haircut. Whatever. Have you read the book? Roald Dahl meant Willy Wonka to be a freak.

All three of us loved the movie. It ain't Citizen Kane, but it isn't supposed to be.

My parents came over on Saturday. They planned to bring my grandmother but she doesn't want to leave my gravely ill uncle alone. Poor woman. She doesn't want to sleep because she doesn't know what she's going to wake up to.

Out of nowhere, while we were eating dinner, Middle Child pipes up.

"I hope we get invited to your brother's funeral."

My mum just about choked.

"Oh, he's not going to die," she said with much fervour. My mum is convinced that despite the fact that cancer has built condominiums in several organs and bones in her brother (the one on his back is particularly troublesome-looking), he will survive this. After she made this announcement, it was swiftly followed by a hush and the burying of heads into the plates.

The Neighbourhood Grandpa

When we first moved to this house a year ago, we used to see this rather dapper-looking old man on our walks around the neighbourhood.

He would always stop to talk with the kids and then give them a loonie or a twonie.

He and his departed wife never had children, he explained. He was an only child and his wife was an English war bride so they don't really have any neices or nephews either.

"I have no one of my own to be grandfatherly to," he said. "So I adopt all the children I pass in my daily half-hour walk."

We don't see him around anymore.

An Unexpected Turn of Events

I have this very sick uncle living with my grandmother. His body is riddled with cancer and it just doesn't look good.

Husband and I made the plan to go visit him this past Saturday and, moreover, spend time with our grandmothers. Hey, as long as they're still alive and "with it", we try to get down to see them at least once a month.

Anyhow, I more or less was steeling myself for my visit with my uncle. Even at Husband's grandmother's house, I was picturing how he may look and how he may feel.

Now, I love Husband's grandmother. She's 86 and totally spry, always with a great story and stuff to do. But it's that 86 thing that got Middle Child all wrapped up on the long drive to her home.

"She's close to 100, right? Will she live that long? Or is she going to die soon?"

Que sera, sera, Middle Child, we said but if that kid didn't have some kind of premonition or something.

The kids were playing in the backyard (oh, yeah, and she lives by herself in the cutest house you ever saw where, as of last winter, she was still shovelling the snow). Husband and I were with her in the living room talking when, all of a sudden, her hands are on her face. She suddenly had a severe headache, extreme nausea, dizzyness and the shakes. Her breathing was loud and very shallow and it looked like she was getting a hot flash. We didn't take long to decide she needed to go to the hospital.

So I stayed back with the kids while Husband drove the short distance to the nearest emergency room. I called Husband's aunt, because I thought that if Gramma was incapacitated, she'd be one who would have a handle on her health. Gratefully, Husband's aunt told her daughter who is a nurse. She came down to the hospital with her mother and asked all the right questions.

So after blood tests and and EEG, nothing came up. They all came back to the house about four hours later. Gramma said she felt that it had maybe been "the time."

Then we went to my grandmother's. My uncle looked pretty good, actually.

But is Kathie Lee Gifford in the Belfry?

At the end of my street, there are two churches, both with bell towers.

The Catholic church's bells ring at noon and six. That's nice enough, but the Anglican church (I think that's Episcopalian to you Americans) absolutely sings. Their bells ring out long elaborate songs, richly layered and, frankly, rather catchy.

I had always assumed that the songs it plays, usually around 7 pm, were hymns. But yesterday, we were out for a walk (okay, going to the 7-11 for Slurpees), when we ran into one of the kindergarten teachers at my kids' school. She was pushing her stroller with her husband and the two of them were laughing.

"Having fun?" I asked.

"Yeah, we're actually trying to play 'Name That Tune' and it only took us 26 steps."

"Huh?"

"St. Andrew's bells! They crack us up! Haven't you noticed that they play a lot of middle-of-the-road 70s songs? Listen. They're playing 'I'll Never Fall in Love Again.'"

Sure enough, they were. So that gave me the incentive to sit on my porch and keep listening. I didn't get the next one but the one after that was definitely Can't Keep My Eyes Off Of You.

If they take requests, I hope they know some Edward Bear songs. Those are in my range.

Thinking of Drinking

Hey! I need your help!

If you can think of a famous Canadian alcoholic, let me know. You can post your comment here or, if you know me well, email me.

I'm compiling a list and I can only think of Mordecai Richler (well, he just looks drunk), and, the easy one, Sir John A. Macdonald. Americans learn their first president couldn't tell a lie. Ours couldn't stand!

Ernest Hemingway working at the Toronto Star doesn't count as being Canadian enough.

By ways of jogging your memory, check out this site. It's called The National Pist. And I'd sooner read it before that CanWest rag.

Loudmouth Golf Pants

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Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

I finished the pants Husband wanted and, I must say, I did a fabulous job.

I matched all the plaids, made the pockets out of sturdier fabric so it can hold golf balls, and even made Husband's beloved cuffed hem. It's made out of fabric that has a bit of stretch to them. All in all, a great pair of golf pants.

Then I moved on to making my neice a Kool-Aid Jammers swimming lessons tote bag and my 20-year-old sewing machine bit the dust. It's fixable, though. Thankfully, there's a sewing machine sales and repair shop not far from my house.

First Full Week of Summer Vacation

The two older kids are spending the days this whole week at an arts camp run through our local art gallery. According to Middle Child, he had anticipated that it would be the highlight of his summer. At Junior Kindergarten, they discussed what they were going to do while they weren't in school. Middle Child mentioned Art Camp. Are you going on any trips, he was asked? "I think so. But I'm going to Art Camp."

Anyway, he went today and he said it was "a little bit stinky." He wouldn't really elaborate, but I have the distinct impression that he feels that he's better than anyone and there's nothing the instructors can teach him. Oh well, suck it up. Mumma paid for the whole week. He had more fun yesterday at Ikea (where the five of us ate dinner for $12! And we got the frozen yogurts at closing for 50 cents each).

We spent Canada Day at home. My parents and sister came over for the day and we did lots of small town stuff: walked around downtown, went to the city's daytime Canada Day celebrations (the kids got their faces painted and they got free balloon animals, popcorn and cotton candy so they were happy), had a barbecue and then wrapped it up with the city's parade. It's a candy grab but I waited in anticipation for the Tim Horton's float. The local owners hand out waxed paper wrapped Timbits and water bottles.

The folks left and Husband took the older kids to the big fireworks show. I plunked Baby Boy into the stroller and went for a walk, hoping it would knock him out. I popped some popcorn, left it to cool and went out. My route was going to be to walk to the kids' school and back but just as I was walking past my friend's house, one of her sons said, from the backyard, "There's Jen!" They poked their heads out, hands full of sparklers, and invited us to light them off with them.

That led to a glass of wine.

That led to us sticking around until the fireworks which we could see near perfectly. I swear, it was the longest show the city has ever put on: about 30 minutes.

Today's American Independence Day. Huzzah. I had to call a company in Pennsylvania to clear up some stuff regarding a magazine subscription payment. Apparantly, their bank has problems recognizing credit cards from "international banks". "Well, I personally am going to call up your bank up there today and make sure everything's hunky-dory," Becky Sue told me (and I'm not making up the name). I explained that it may be difficult "because this was our, for lack of a more understandable term, our Fourth of July." "Oh, happy Fourth of July!" "Actually, it's the first of July and we call it Canada Day." "Well, happy Independence Day! Enjoy your tailgate parties." "Yeah, I'm just gonna get my biscuits and shoo-fly pie out of the oven and rev up the barbecue for some beer can chicken."

No sense trying to educate. Yeehaw!

Hereditary TSN-itis

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Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

Okay, let's try uploading a photo.

Here's the aforementioned putter Husband bought for Baby Boy. I've put one of Daughter's Barbies as a size reference.

Eggs are cheaper in the country

Last week, I went to Kitchener. Gas was 94 cents. I had gassed up in town here and, lucky for me, it was 83.9. Still is. So we went on a road trip.

Our little movie theatre will not be carrying Sharkboy and Lavagirl so I took the older kids to see it in London. They loved it, as I knew they would. Meanwhile, Husband took Baby Boy to a huge golf superstore where he killed the entire two hours in.

He bought two gloves (one regular and one for rain), a towel, two boxes of balls because the one he got for Father's Day wasn't on the "recommended" list by Golf Digest. Oh, and he also bought the world's tiniest putter for Baby Boy.

Yes, it's cute. Yes, if there ever was a little one who could use a putter properly, it's Baby Boy. But, yes, it was expensive. Quite the toy for him, it set us back $40, excluding tax.

Husband now has ideas that he'll take Baby Boy to the club's practice green. The kid still wears diapers and he wants to take him golfing?!

And if I can ever figure out how to post images, I'll take a photo of Baby Boy's newest addition to his arsenal of sporting equipment.

Meanwhile, Middle Child is home talking my ear off. He's explaining, with self-drawn illustrations, how a cactus retains water. The kid is a sponge. Sure, he can remember all the planets in Star Wars, but in that same chamber in his brain, he has the ability to remember other details of life.

Maybe I should teach him the periodic table this summer...

Why I need coffee

I snuck in a quick nap with Baby Boy this afternoon. By quick, I mean I may have been out for 10 minutes. I could have used more sleep but I woke up after having a bizarre dream of people I really only know of.

And let me preface this by saying I fell asleep watching an Oprah re-run; the infamous one with tom Cruise jumping on her yellow leather chesterfield.

In my dream, Katie Holmes was on some red carpet tugging at the arm of a very unshaven Tom Cruise. Thinking, "That girl is smiling a mite too hard" I look closer behind her and there are plastic surgeons holding her together. One of these doctors takes off her mask and it's Brooke Shields holding a uterus.

I, in turn, step forward and take this uterus and give it to Tom Cruise. "Here," I said. "Shall we transplant this one in you or do we wait for you to grow one? Maybe after that, and when you go through all the physical, mental and emotional pain you get from babymaking, then I can stand to hear your opinions on post partum depression." My breasts start to leak milk and I can even feel the once-familiar dampness in my dream.

And then Tom Cruise morphs into James Van Der Beek.

It doesn't take much to thrill me

I was at Winners the other day to buy teacher gifts (with five to buy at the nursery school alone, I was all about the bargain). In between the $20 Silpats - which was very tempting - and the stacks of Bodum coffee and tea stuff was a french fry cutter.

It's niiiiiccce!

I used it for the first time yesterday. The kids thought it to be as groovy as I did.

You put a potato into this chamber, throw back this lever which presses the potato through a metal grate and, voila, perfectly cut french fries.

I tossed them in a little olive oil, threw on a bit of sea salt and baked them. Good stuff. Husband enjoyed them on many levels: good because they're fries, good because I made them with salt (I very seldom cook with salt), and good because they were natural and therefore healthier than the stuff McCains puts out.

The next time I may parboil them and then bake them, just to speed things up a bit.

I could probably use this with carrots and zucchini. Oooh, I could make sweet potato fries too, not that I'd eat it mind you, but it would fit nicely into my "make one new thing each week" vow.

And after showering last night, I used something called a Soft Coeur made by Lush that my sister V gave me for my birthday last week. It was kinda like rubbing chocolate on you but was invisible. It left such a nice feel to my weary skin and it smelled mmm-mmm-good. Middle Child sat on my lap and just snuggled his face into my neck. It was a sweet moment but imperfect as I could hear from his breathing that the boy had some big boogers up his nose.

The four-day long birthday

Middle Child's Star Wars birthday on Saturday went swimmingly. The three kids arrived and I introduced myself as a Jedi Master and they were all Padawans here for Jedi training. The weather held up and we did a lot of running around outside. We only went in to play "Pin the Staff on Yoda" (which I did a damned good job drawing). This way, Husband could fire up the Wookee Cookies (hamburgers) with no fear of kids running into the hot barbecue.

I made a cake. Just a sheet cake with white frosting but I got some stuff that's like black spray paint for cakes. I made a stencil of Darth Vadar's head, sprayed it and then piped the details in black icing. Not quite as divinely creative as the cake I made to look like a box of crayons (with iced twinkies as the crayons!), but Middle Child was very tickled.

The next day, my parents, sister L, and sister V and her whole crew came over to celebrate Father's Day/Middle Child's birthday/my dad's birthday. I wore a dress and got a ton of backhanded comments. Anyway, sadistic humour runs on my mum's side of the family, a bunch of big-time teasers. We had middle child open all his presents and promised him that his Auntie V got him something extra special. He opened up a couple of pairs of shorts and a striped shirt. We made it look like that was it for his gifts and I asked him to stand up and make a speech of thanks. Then, as arranged Daughter and my neice, in Oscar-worthy performances, announced they found another gift under the table. He opened up his most coveted Darth Vadar Voice Changer mask. And all was well in the world.

The next day, Middle Child's real birthday, he woke up and asked to open his gifts from his immediate family (and grandparents from far away). A change from tradition, but it worked out because when he came home from school, he konked out on the chesterfield.

That put a damper on our other family tradition of the Birthday Dinner. This is where the birthday person gets to choose what they want me to cook or go out to a restaurant. So we saved that for yesterday where Middle Child picked a diner that serves Mickey Mouse-shaped pancakes. This kid can pack away a half-dozen pancakes, I swear.

And all this and my friend and I put together the elementary school's yearbook and put it to press. Crazy.

Everybody was kung-fu fightin'

We were able to have a relatively civil birthday celebration. No more hands in cakes.

Daughter made me a vase from a paint-your-own place, but it's not ready yet. I also got a very decent digital camera and if I can ever learn how to post photos on this blog, ooh, the creative messes I could get in.

Another very excellent gift was from Baby Boy who announced he had to pee and took off his diaper and had a wizz in the potty. I should probably be more pro-active about his potty training. But you know, it's always something.

Like on Monday, despite my rule of No Bringing Toys to School, Daughter smuggles her Tamagotchi and...she lost it. Oh, was she ever miserable, I was told. I actually saw her at last recess, walking the perimeter of the school yard with her friend, searching and searching. I was at my friend's house working on the school yearbook (holy time-sucker) and her backyard faces the school yard.

Anyway, at dismissal, she comes out, sees me and starts to cry. I suggested she ask the principal to make an announcement in the morning to see if anyone found it. So she went back into the office and explained to the temp secretary. "A pink Tamagotchi you say? Does it look like this?" The look on Daughter's face could have supplied electricity for a dancehall. She still wanted an announcement: a note of thanks to the anonymous finder.

Yesterday was more running around for the yearbook. We had asked for candid classroom photos from teachers months ago. We received a scant few so I just went in and started snapping. Wouldn't you know, the teachers then all reached into their desks. "Yeah, I was meaning to get these to you..." Now we have too many photos.

This morning was spent looking for black icing for Middle Child's Darth Vader cake (I found some!) and general doo-dads for his little party. Maybe I should have held off because just after I picked him up from nursery school, I got a phone call from his "big school" principal.

It turns out he and Daughter, along with two boys in Daughter's class got into a fight with three Grade 4 boys. And would I please bring Middle Child to the school during third recess where this will all be sorted out and dealt with?

The principal had them all discuss the fight together. They shook hands and for detention, they have to write a letter of apology and future course of action. Then he got them alone to see if there was anything they were hiding. Well, Daughter let it all out.

Her best friend brought a Lego figure to school, which he was not supposed to do because his parents would ream him out if he did. Anyway, he, Daughter, another boy and Middle Child were playing Star Wars with it when these "big boys" walked by and grabbed at the figure, taking its cape. The biggest stuffed it in his pocket. Now this kid and the other boy Daughter was playing with (we'll call him Todd) have been known to fight eachother before. Some teasing, game playing went on, when Todd said, "I know karate" (which he doesn't). Of course, Daughter, her best friend, said, truthfully, "So do we." Grade 4 boys teased them for not being able to retreive the cape so they said, "We're like black belts then. Bow down to us." Not to be outdone, Middle Child said, "I know karate too. Wanna fight?" And they did. Punches, shirt pulling, taking off the little kids' shoes and throwing them over the fence. Then the bell rang and that was that.

Thank goodness I cut their nails this morning

What was that Chapters-esque smell up here in the attic? It was coming from the new portable air conditioner which was leaking water and soaking the carpet. Turns out Husband set it up incorrectly but he won't let me touch it. I didn't get a close look but it appears that he followed the instructions, but we still called in a technician to have a look. And since it's still under warranty, the wait will be two weeks!

Meanwhile, it just got blisteringly hot up here. The kids were just bummed because this is their playroom.

However, yesterday, Husband decided to celebrate my birthday early. He mistakenly bought a huge Dairy Queen cake, so he figured we may as well stretch it out a couple of days. We'd do the cake thing and then spend the afternoon out and about.

He set the table with my precious Fiestaware which Middle Child decided to play Old West Saloon with, sliding plates down our dining room table like shuffleboard disks. None of them broke because we caught him doing it just as one was precariously perched on the edge.

Daughter decided she was going to sing at the top of her lungs, despite our pleas for "normal voice." Worse off, she thinks she sounds good when she tries to sing operatic, which for Daughter, translates to some weird high-octave that doesn't even sound like her. Oh, and she was doing this while dancing.

And Baby Boy took all the birthday candles and started to bite them or snap them in half.

We managed to get the cake to the table, find an unbroken candle and light it. Baby Boy kept blowing it out. After the fifth match was blown out, we tried moving things around, but that, I guess, made the kids think they could get their keisters off the chairs and start chasing each other...

...which ended when two hands went into the side of the cake.

Birthday over.

Husband and I cleaned everything up. The cake is salvagable so we said we'd try again tomorrow. Daughter started to cry hysterically, "Give us one more chance." Nuh-uh, as we explained that we asked each one of them to settle down many times in that past few minutes, including a reminder that my top request on the birthday wish list I wrote was "well-behaved children". Anyway, Daughter flew into a rage and ran up to her room screaming, "I want cake! It's no fair!"

This crying of hers went on for about five minutes, when I finally went into her room and said, "You know what is most disappointing about your behaviour now? It's that you're not crying because I missed out on a nice moment with my family. You're crying because you didn't get sweets."

She shut up after that and came back downstairs where the boys just went on playing X-men meets Sharkboy. And I gathered up my stuff and went grocery shopping.

When I came back, their rooms were relatively clean, they were quietly watching a video together, and Husband was in the attic, put a huge bin under the portable air conditioner to catch the still leaking water, and had painted the bathroom ("Bermuda Pool", which I bought two weeks ago but never got around to the job).

Today is my actual birthday. We'll see what is in store. I'm not expecting much.

Possibly the most mangled Lord's Prayer ever

Middle Child did the morning announcements over the school intercom yesterday. Though he can read very well for a 4-year-old, the principal read the announcements. He just read a cute little prayer and then said the Our Father.

It went something like this:
Our Father, whose art's in heaven, hello be my name.
My king has come and will be done on "erf" as a heaven.
Give us today a daily bread and (mumble, mumble)
As we forget those who dress past again us.
And (mumble, mumble) but deliver us some email. Amen.

And this is the child who, last Christmas, put on a play and then came around and blessed us all. Or the one who makes us genuflect in front of my mom's Mary statue every time we pass by it in my parents' garden.

Oh, and then they played the national anthem off of a CD player. The principal holds the mike near the speakers which was also near Middle Child. The little patriot sung O Canada REAL LOUD.

I walked with him back to his classroom, wiping the remaining tears of laughter I peeled with the school secretary out in the hall. Teachers popped their heads out of their classroom giving Middle Child high-fives. "Best announcements EVER!" "Great job!" and "That was worth coming to work for!"

Hot monkey love

Can't sleep. Too hot. And this room smells like Chapters with that mix of paperie and ground coffee. Don't know why, though.

Daughter had a field trip to African Lion Safari yesterday. Nothing like riding on a school bus for hours in a heatwave. And then, they stay on the bus while they drive through the zoo, letting monkeys climb all over. I'm told the kids loved it.

Apparantly, the driver inadvertantly left his window open and a monkey got in. I would just freak right out if that happened to me...but it wouldn't! Hello, guy. Though I appreciate the fact that the bus is hot, think about it: open window + monkeys = not good.

Thankfully, there was a splash park. It was about 30˙C and then something worse with the humidex. Initially, I was worried about the actual travel to the park (field trips just aren't the same after "The Sweet Hereafter". Damn you, Atom Egoyan). As the day wore on, I was just praying that Daughter was wearing her hat and drinking enough fluids.

She had to be at school by 7:45 (which was a major undertaking because it also meant that I had to get the boys ready too). They returned at 4:30. A long day, to be sure. Daughter ended up sleeping the whole way back.

There are better places to sleep in public. My middle sister, Charming Husband and I had to sleep once at YVR once. Long story. Husband's fault. The description of the Victoria, British Columbia airport is bang-on.

Jesus Kenobi

I bought myself my own birthday present for Charming Husband to wrap. I picked up this swell red handbag - nothing too large. I'm looking forward to the day when I don't need to carry around my diaper bag, however much I love the corderoy zebra print with the hot pink lining.

I also picked up some gifts for yet another birthday party daughter is invited to this Saturday and Middle Child's birthday present. I bought the Star Wars game that you plug into the tv and challenge different characters to light sabre duels with an actual one the player holds. Middle Child has it in his head that he'll play with it while he's wearing the Darth Vader voice changer mask.

My middle sister said she'd get it for him. "I'm his godmother so let me be the hero this year." My mum heard about her plan to get it so she volunteered to pick it up at the department store she works at because toys were 10 per cent off.

She called me the next day and told me she picked up something else instead. "I didn't want to get him that evil mask! It's all about darkness. It's horrible!" Yeah, but it's what the guy is truly hoping for. "It's okay. I picked up a Star Wars spacecraft instead. It belongs to the one who looks like Jesus." Of course. However, Middle Child doesn't have the corresponding Obi Wan Kenobi action figure and, well, anyone who knows Middle Child would remember that the kid has no interest in vehicles of any kind. Weird for a boy, I know, but we go with it.

Anyway, my sister said she'd just return it and get the voice changer mask herself. I'm dying to see Mum's reaction when Middle Child will end up trying to blow out his candles with it on.

This probably dashes her hopes of him becoming a priest.

Why Middle Child and Woody Harrelson would get along

Husband took the two older kids to see Madagascar at a big jumbo multiplex on Saturday. I guess we're just used to our small town theatre where one adult, two kids and popcorn and slushies would come to $25 total. When he came back to my parents' house where I was visiting my grandmother (who was also visiting), the first thing he said was, "I can't believe it cost me $50 to see such a mediocre movie."

The next day was better. We took his grandmother to her favourite place in the whole world: Centre Island in Toronto. This woman is 86 and she went on all the rides with the kids. She was just hilarious. And she kept up with us all. The kids were angels, which is also nice.

Saw lots of people there bringing their bikes on the ferry. Man, that would be so great. I'd love to cycle through, go see the hippie houses there (I'm sure they aren't tie-dyed or anything, but that's what my dad always called the island residents. Yet, I'd love to live there). Sure enough, as we were getting back in our car, some guys were lighting up a spliff. I should be scared because Middle Child exclaimed loudly, "What's that nice smell?"

Yellow stripes and idiotic moves

The older kids were awarded their first yellow stripe in karate today.

Why do I encourage them in karate? I owe it all to my love of Hong Kong Fooey, number one superguy.

As a congratulations gift, I got them these awesome 3D t-shirts of Sharkboy and Lavagirl, which they loved. But, get this. I left my car keys in the ignition and then locked the car. Thankfully, I called the Mazda Roadside Assistance number and some guy came within 10 minutes to jimmy the lock, free of charge for my bonehead move.

I've never done that before but when I was pregnant with Baby Boy, I once left the minivan's door wide open while I took the kids to the toy store for an hour. Nothing was amiss when I got back, except my self-esteem.

Will Frodo slay Vadar?

I tried to upload a photo I took of Middle Child's homework assignment but I just couldn't figure out how. I'll keep trying, then I'll bother a very computer-literate friend of mine.

Anyway, his assignment was to draw a picture of himself under an umbrella. He drew himself with...a light sabre. This Star Wars obsession is something else.

My sister was a little upset because she worked really hard to get him a Nightcrawler X-Men figure for his upcoming birthday. In her defence, she bought it at a time when he was koo-koo for X-Men. He'll still love it, though. The X-Men obsession is still there but it's waning a bit. That's the thing with Middle Child; he goes through fits and starts.

I can already see the end of Star Wars. Husband let him watch five minutes of The Lord of the Rings and now he has a million questions about it.

But in the meantime, I've gone price-checking on various Star Wars toys for Middle Child. Man, Toys R Us ain't cheap. Their big ticket items were a good $10 more than Zellers'. Mind you, the selection was vast.

While I was there, Baby Boy saw a toy garbage truck. I ended up buying it for him. He slept with it.

I actually spent a bit of cash yesterday: gifts, a Star Wars t-shirt for Middle Child, lunch, money for field trips, a cushion, postage, and then Husband suggested we all go to Dairy Queen after dinner. Poof! It's just about gone now.

See where your Wilfrid Laurier has been.

Jen's School of Faulty Parenting

"In my day, sonny, kid shows were just on Saturday mornings from 7 to 11. Unless you could stomach The Hilarious House of Frankenstein at 6:30 and whatever drivel came after Fat Albert at 11:30."

Usually, if my kids are watching TV, I prefer them watching one of the channels that don't air commercials during children's programming. But the gloves seem to come off on Saturdays.

Middle Child was watching cartoons this morning and finally saw a commercial advertising Star Wars toys at Burger King. Needless to say, he became a one-track minded child after that. We. Had. To. Go.

NOW!!!

We held him off for a little while but then decided to pile everyone in the car and drive 45 minutes away to freakin' Burger King. Man, our parents would NEVER have done that, which makes me fear for whatever kind of behemoth we're creating. Anyway, we had to go to Canadian Tire and Future Shop at some point so we made a family excursion out of it.

Wouldn't you know it, there were 31 different toys offered and they let the kids choose. Great. Because there's nowhere I'd rather be than spending an entire Saturday afternoon at a fast food joint.

They actually picked faster than I thought they would. Middle Child was determined to pick a bad guy (he ended up with Darth Maul) and was soooo happy. He was even the first to finish his veggie burger kid meal.

Momentum was good so we ran in to a CD shop. I left with Ben Folds's latest (see? I can be mellow, too) and Husband bought the best of Morrisey and some Antonio Carlos Jobim jazz stuff. Why Jobim? Because "Antonio Carlos Jobim" is the title of a Heatmiser (Elliott Smith's old band) song and Husband found that intriguing enough to investigate further. Couldn't he have downloaded some song to see what Jobim was all about? Isn't that the Canadian way? I swear, he is the straightest arrow there ever was.

Didn't see any of these at the CD shop. Wish I did though. You MUST give a listen to the Little Marcy songs!

Lloyd and Duckie told me years ago

I was listening to the radio in the kitchen while I folded laundry (ah, yes, my glamourous life!) and it was a repeat of a Valentine's Day interview with some anthropologist.

Now, I love anthropology. I could just eat Desmond Morris books with a spoon. So, I grabbed my tea, stopped playing sock lotto for a bit and sat down.

It was a neat interview. They were talking about the physicality of falling in love: what happens to your body. In short, you get elevated levels of dopamine, which is a neurological thingie that transmits messages and bombards your brain. It makes you feel giddy and, I guess, gives you that blind high you get when you first fall for someone.

The anthropologist, Helen Fisher is her name, went on from there, giving examples of how one would use this knowledge to win someone's heart. They were all a little out-of-the-ordinary; stuff like take him for a swim after dark or go explore an unfamiliar place. Different, unexpected, exciting and somewhat dangerous actions changes the baseline levels of dopamine.

So as they're talking about her book, I got to thinking about Pretty in Pink again. When did I think Andie was dumb not to have chosen Duckie? The dance at the record shop! And then I thought of Say Anything. Man, my heart still burns for John Cusack because of that movie. And what do I remember most? When he stood outside her house holding the boombox while Peter Gabriel sang In Your Eyes.

All these movies I've watched, all these books I've read, and not to mention experiences I've been fortunate enough to have (only one with Husband, but it was pretty good), it's all been there. I just wasn't really watching.

And then I went back to folding my true love's socks.

May two-four and no beer was ingested

My Charming Husband didn't leave me for his mistress Big Bertha Saturday after all. He spent the morning cleaning the kitchen and the attic while I worked a little on his loudmouth golf pants.

Then we took the kids to the beach.

We love Lake Huron; the vastness is astounding. I can't vouch for other parts of the lake but the beaches we go to have clear blue water. The only problem is that you never know what the shoreline is going to be like from year to year. Once the winter melts, is it a sandy beach or a rocky beach? This year, it looks pretty rocky, which made Baby Boy reeeallly happy. He spent about an hour throwing rocks in. The other kids went in and out of the water, collecting stones to paint and looking for fossils.

But then I was a golf widow on Sunday.

My baby sister came over for a visit, but mostly to see Revenge of the Sith. (My review? Great movie. Too bad we had to suffer through the first two to get to this one. Oh, and sooo not for little kids. There were children as young as 4 in the theatre but I wouldn't show anyone under 10 this movie). Baby Sister wanted to see the last Star Wars movie with someone she saw the first one with. And I was grateful because I still had a few questions after the movie, and she was a little more alert than I was.

If there's anything Star Warsian you've wondered about, it gets answered in Sith, but often in just one sentence, so you really need to be attentive. Why did Obi Wan practically allow Darth Vader to kill him in A New Hope? Answered. If C3PO was in all six movies, why does he have no memory of the beginnings of Anakin Skywalker? Answered. The only question I had left unanswered really was why did they bother putting in Chewbacca in Sith? Wookies, fine, but why Chewbacca specifically?

It probably has everything to do with merchandising. Even Baby Boy enjoys Chewbacca. He has this song he sings like a litany. It's the "I Love..." song where he just names all the people he loves. And he does sing "I love Chewbacca" somewhere after "I love Granny."

Star Wars toys that never were. But I think Bike Buddy Kenobi is a million dollar idea. Has sound.

A week of blog

Only now have I been able to muster up the energy to the attic to post something. I had been coming down with a cold all this week but it really hit me on Thursday. I was weak, couldn't eat a thing, couldn't even keep plain clear tea down. Baby Boy and I ended up spending the whole day napping, gathering just enough energy to pick the older kids up from school.

I get there and my friend's son has this thing where he likes to grab my keys and run to the other side of the school. Usually, I let him do what he feels he needs to do, but I just wanted to make a clean getaway, in case I spewed chunks right there in front of the principal. And what does this little guy do? He grabs the keys and puts them in his mouth. I think I may have caught this bug from him but if not, ewww, I guess I'll be hearing from his mother.

And then husband comes home after a day of golf with my uncle. I could barely keep upright, let alone try to be entertaining.

It's funny. I used to think I was a lousy housekeeper but it really has nothing to do with me, I've learned. I caught one of them (though no one confessed) pouring about half a box of Shreddies into a huge bowl with about three cups of organic 2% and then WALKED AWAY. Then Baby Boy grabbed it and dumped it on himself and the kitchen floor.

But that's not all. After my one day of convalescing, the Friday sunrise lit for me a house in utter disarray. Dirty dishes everywhere (what happened to Mummy's rule of no eating anywhere but the kitchen and dining room?), toys and clothes all over the place. Today, in the attic, I now see that they really saved the best for this room. Husband is golfing again today. I'm thinking of buggering off for four hours on my own when he gets back and telling them, "Here's some garbage bags. There's the washing machine and the dishwasher. This here is a vaccuum and this is a bottle of Fantastic. See you!"

Oh, look! I can see someone's karate gee under the sofa.

The older kids had a Kick-a-thon at their karate school Monday. I held the bags for them as they had to kick it higher than their waist and flat-footed. I sponsored them for a penny a kick, thinking there's no way they could do that much. Wrong! Daughter kicked 690 times. Even my uncoordinated anti-athelete Middle Child cleared 440 kicks in 20 minutes. Half way through, he stopped and wiped his face on my jeans (yeah, thanks) exclaiming in utter disbelief, "Mumma! I'm sweat! I'm sweat!" Seriously, it's probably the first time my little slowpoke has ever perspired.

And yesterday gave me a bit of an adventure, too. Daughter spent the night barfing and suffering with this wicked cold and a barky cough so I kept her home from school. She was totally fine by 10 am but I still thought she should stick around. I took them downtown to buy my mother-in-law a birthday present (I leave it to my husband to get her something - she's HIS mother, after all - but he always leaves it to the last minute and then asks me to do something about it in a panic), and then to Middle Child's favourite restaurant in town. It's a place where they serve all-day breakfast. Man, my kids can pack it away. Combined, they ate four pancakes, four sausages, four strips of bacon, two pieces of whole wheat toast, about two scrambled eggs (that was just Middle Child), and a handful of hash browns each. Oh, and downed with milk. I ate a slice of toast. I'm still a little queasy. Lost three pounds though.

We got home and I thought I'd do a little gardening. I bought some kong coleus, a raspberry bush, some ferns, a hydrangea bush and some boxwood hedging. The previous owners of this home really did nothing but mow the lawn so we had all kinds of five year old maple saplings that I've been removing. However, our next-door neighbours are very elderly. Lovely people but their garden is overgrown with weeds and saplings. Daughter "discovered" a path behind our shed between the chain-link fence that cordons off the two properties. Daughter and I have done our best to keep that back part there clear of weeds but the neighbours? I swear, I want to offer my services but they're very proud people. They get upset when we shovel the snow off their driveway for them.

So daughter is playing in this pathway when she walks into a twig. Poked her right in the eyeball. "Mumma, I'm seeing all blurry." Called this after-hours provincial government number our family physician wants us to call before going to emergency. Was on hold for 25 minutes. Meanwhile, I put some Polysporin eyedrops and that gave her some relief. And the government nurse recommended? Go to emergency. Duh. What a waste of time. Anyway, she was seen pretty much right away (I love living in a small city sometimes) where the doctor checked for a scratch. There was one. Her course of treatment? Polysporin eyedrops for two days.

Maybe it's the black hair but I'm feeling like Wonder Woman.

I'm still not cleaning this room, though.

Quick! Stash the WeedEx!

We went, en famille, to the Dandelion Festival yesterday. Husband's lab tech is involved in the organizing (or the guy she's currently "having relations" with is and she's there for the, er, ride). Husband felt that if we didn't show our faces, it would make for a rough week.

It was very, uh, West Coast. I didn't realize our little city had so many hippies.

The highlight was when Little Miss Drama (my Mini Me, as it were that day), graciously accepted a piece of dandelion pizza. It was just a crust with tomato sauce and some grilled dandelion leaves placed on top. She walked away, and, with a talent that would rival Olivier, faked this sneeze in order to tilt the pizza so all the dandelion leaves fell to the ground.

I'm teaching the kids to precede their requests to me by saying, "I beseech you, my queen!"

Even Paul Hunter looks fed up

I'm boycotting the news.

If I have to watch any more parliamentary bullcaca (is it me or does Stephen Harper look like he's wearing makeup?), I fear I will develop narcolepsy.

And don't even get me started on the Gomery Inquiry. Hasn't politics always been a who-you-know business? And Canadian History 101 taught me that appeasing Quebec has been a pasttime for all political parties for hundreds of years.

Isn't there something more important for us to know?

Yesterday, I was watching The National with the husband. Right at the beginning, I predicted what stories would be reported and at what time. I was uncannily accurate, which leads me to believe that I don't need to watch anymore.

Bugged

I am having a war on ants and, therefore, a war on lazy-ass family members who:
a) forget the rule of eating only in the kitchen and dining room
b) listen to other family members who say, "I'm sure the rule doesn't include snacks in the playroom"
c) leave beer bottles and coffee cups just about anywhere
d) think it's perfectly fine not to get rid of tree limbs on the lawn after pruning and take almost a year to call a mason to look at repointing

but I digress.

I'm the schmuck that has to stay in this house all day. I'm not into camping or roughing it one bit so bugs of any kind where I live is completely repulsive to me.

Looking online, I gather my problem isn't as bad as it could be but seeing even one ant in the kitchen is enough to consume me, obviously. I bought ant traps (four different kinds) but I'm finding the silicon dioxide to be better. They walk over the powder and track it back to the nest where it will dehydrate them. I've seen less since using the stuff, but my next step will be a homemade borax and icing sugar mix that they'd feed the queen. Only problem with that is it would be toxic to the kids, where as the silicon dioxide isn't.

If this isn't over by the end of the month, I'm calling an exterminator and crashing at a friend's house. Eww. Eww. Eww.

Husband thinks I'm going nuts (and he could be right). He even went to bed early and missed the finale of The Amazing Race which, I think, was the happiest ending possible. After years of watching reality TV, never had I been able to pick someone to cheer for at the beginning and see them win at the end. Hearing about Uchenna and Joyce's problems conceiving a child and how they'd use the million dollars to pay for invitro fertilization, how could your heart not bleed for these people? And then they're at the finish line but they didn't have enough for the cabbie so they continued to beg strangers for cash? Man, that's so upright, or maybe just forward-thinking so the cabbie wouldn't come back and watch the show then sue their asses off.

I was even thinking of them and other childless people on Mother's Day as I was weeding my parents' garden. Neighbour kids were being loud and generally obnoxious: "Not for one thousand million money." "Oh yeah? Well I'm not for FIVE million hundred money." I can kind of filter out kid screams by now, knowing when my attention is critical to the situation. But this time, I was listening to the kids and thought, "I can think of a bunch of people who would give their eyeteeth for the priviledge of children." Whennnnnn, a woman came out and gave them big time hell for being "little brats" and "ruining the day for others." The kids were then sent to their rooms and I was left with boring silence.

Five dollar ralph

I took Middle Child grocery shopping yesterday. It was really sweet because we seldom ever get to do anything just him and me, you know?

Of course, I'd be tempting fate bringing any kid grocery shopping, what with the "buy me this" and "buy me that."

However, Middle Child is, well, a unique piece of work. He nearly had a fit when he saw apricots, jumped up and down over applesauce and, amid all the chocolate covered whatever in the bulk section, he begged me for banana chips.

He also implored me to buy blackberries. I swear, there was only about 30 in the container and they wanted $4.99. Man, I remember living out west and filling up buckets and buckets from bushes off the side of the road - but only once a year. You could do it every day for months and months if you wanted, they're so abundant.

Anyway, bought the blackberries. Took them home and washed them because the kids wanted them as their "Survivor" treat (yes, it's the one day a week we let them stay up). Baby Boy started getting really territorial about them and just pounded them back two at a time.

While my husband was upstairs on toothbrush patrol, I had Baby Boy on my lap while I flicked the channels. "My tummy hurts. Put cream on it," the little guy cried. So I did. And then he barfed blackberries and organic homo milk all over me. Lovely.

And a happy mother's day to you all.

Check out this Swedish guy's magnificent collection of airline barf bags. A fine lesson in good graphic design AND geography!

It was either that or a telescope

After years of collecting Air Miles, the husband blew them all away on a trip to visit his family. Do I need to add that we're all going?

What we didn't know was that only a certain percentage of seats are reserved for Air Miles people so instead of going in July, we're going in August. Why July? Well, one of the women my husband works with wants a couple of weeks then so she can entertain friends coming in from Alberta somewhere. But, more pressing was because Husband wanted to alieviate his brother from having to entertain their father who has decided to take a "vacation" to his city, which is just a 90 minute drive (if I remember right).

Anyway, so August it is. I've taken a page from parents of autistic children and have begun preparing Baby Boy with stories about airplanes and long waits and being nice at other people's houses.

We'll be staying with the aforementioned brother and his family, which will be nice. I'm sure Baby Boy is going to get along great with my nephew, whom he only met once when they were really wee. And my husband absolutely loves his brothers. But I sense the golf clubs are coming on the plane. Gawd, I just hope we are all on our best behaviour.

It's the call no parent wants to get

My daughter forgot her lunchbox at school. Doesn’t sound like a calamity, right? Well, apparently it is when you hadn’t eaten anything but the three leftover chicken balls you mum packed.

“But I’m starrrrving,” she complained on the way to karate from violin lessons. She was expecting to save her food for this time. I sent her into the karate school with Miss Dramatic clutching her stomach.

So I wasn’t very surprised to get a call not 15 minutes later from the Sempei. What was surprising was that he was talking about Middle Child.

The guy sounded really upset, totally freaked out that Middle Child’s hands were purple and ice cold. Sure enough, when we got there, his hands were just as he described them.

So I called the government’s health help line and they said he was just cold. I took his temperature as the nurse requested and it read 33.3 C. She then told me to put his hands in a bucket of lukewarm water. They pinked up a bit. She suggested I throw him in warm clothes after a nice bath and see a doctor tomorrow.

We’ll see a doctor later today and his hands look totally normal now. But, ooh, a little freaky.

I just got some wicked plaid fabric to make the husband a pair of these.

Blane? That's not a name. That's a major appliance.

Remember how I couldn't get "The Rules of Attraction" out of my head?

I found a way. I saw...PRETTY IN PINK!!!

Admittedly, I saw the movie four times in the theatre at the time. I'm dating myself by admitting this, I know, and bringing to your attention that I was 16 when Sixteen Candles came out (do you wonder what ever happened to Michael Schoeffling?) and I was getting ready for my own prom when Pretty in Pink came out.

I had a mad crush on Duckie. I loved Andie's outfits - with the exception of that gawdawful prom dress. The one Iona gave her was perfect in every way. Mind you, this is the girl who wore a $12 vintage red/black taffeta Marilyn Monroe-esque 50's number. And I went to a high school where the clique rivalries made the Vietnam war seem congenial in comparison.

I watch the movie and I remember all those preppies, though I don't remember any dressed like Steff or Blane. Those Miami Vice linens slay me. Oh, Steff. I remember thinking he was such a stereotype but now, 20 years later, I can recognize the character as an upscale scuzzbucket in an embryonic stage.

Ah, high school romance. I never trusted the boys. I always felt their actions toward me were made of one part benevolent altruist and one part dog penis. But I digress.

And the soundtrack rocked! They needed The Rave-Ups' "You Lost It All When You Lost Me" but, hey, they had Echo and the Bunnymen. You gotta remember that those John Hughes films' soundtracks were all a cut above anything else offered in other movies.

But I always felt that the movie ended wrong. Blane's prom speech, "I believed in you but you didn't believe in me" had me wondering if he was hepped up. Yeah, he believed in her; that's why he ignored her upon his friends' requests. Maybe because I identified with Duckie, I thought that the devoted Duckman was robbed. Apparantly, the original ending was Duckie and Andie ending up together but test audiences were disappointed and John Hughes didn't want the idea of a cross-class relationship inevitably failing.

Now I hear that John Hughes is planning on a sequel. Molly Ringwald, Andrew McCarthy and Jon Cryer have all agreed to be in it. I'm hoping there would be the others: Annie Potts, Spader, Harry Dean Stanton of course. Gina Gershon, Dweezil Zappa, Kristy Swanson (the movie Buffy the Vampire Slayer), Andrew Dice Clay and Dean Wormer's real life daughter were in the original movie too. And the actress who played Andie's friend, Jenna, died. I read she was beaten to death by her boyfriend...or had an allergic reaction to something. FYI, Merrit Butrick, the guy who played Slash on "Square Pegs" (and Kirk's son in "Wrath of Khan") died of AIDS in the late 80s. Gotta love the internet!

I'd probably watch it, I must say. But you just know it's gonna suuuuck. I'm thinking it will go something like this: Andie and Blane break up that summer once they realize they have nothing in common and, frankly, he's going to the ivy leagues and she'll be going to some other university. Fast forward 20 years, she's some single mom (knocked up by some musician), still listening to music on her iPod. She bumps into Blane in a Starbucks. Finds out he's penniless after he and his parents took a dive with tech stocks. The next day she goes to Barnes and Noble to find Duckie signing his bestseller "Strong Lips".

See? I can write for Hallmark.

In honour of my 13th weddiing anniversary, here is a list of 13 things I have learned from Charming Husband.

1. Pringles tubes fit nicely in a car cupholder.
2. There are many ways to load a dishwasher.
3. You can get a bad sunburn whilst golfing, even in April.
4. There's a time and a place for everything.
5. Beer compliments any food.
6. Chips can be a meal.
7. It's perfectly acceptable to read over my shoulders.
8. There are no bad Beatles songs.
9. There are bad Rolling Stones songs.
10. I used to like Camper Van Beethoven, but not anymore.
11. You can fall in love with a friend.
12. I do not have strong genetics to pass down.
13. It doesn't matter if I live in a mouldy basement apartment or in another province or in a four bedroom house with a treefort. It doesn't matter what colour the walls are or how much furniture I have in it. The only thing that matters about my home is that he's in it.

I'm sappy today.

But tomorrow, he gets this.

Why I need a hobby

Have you ever watched a movie that was okay and all but one scene stuck with you?

I have been haunted by "The Rules of Attraction" which I saw on the weekend. Yeah, I found James Van Der Beek from "Dawson's Creek" as a drug-dealing man-slut to be an interesting casting choice. Ditto Fred Savage ("The Wonder Years" and the voice of my kid's favourite cartoon "Oswald"!!!) as the junkie college student who shoots heroin between his toes.

No, what is reverberating in my head is this scene where a young woman slits her wrists in a bathtub while Harry Nilsson's icky song "Without You" is playing in the background.

I don't know if it's the visual or if it's the song that won't go away. Neither are very nice.

Does this happen to anyone else? How do I get rid of it? I was thinking of subjecting myself to something more - or equally - worse, like, say, watching American Psycho again (that one was just stupid. Gross, but stupid. Two hours of my life I'll never get back again) or perhaps a Barbie movie retrospective. Or maybe I should do the opposite and watch something highbrow; something that will make me think. Or perhaps I should listen to more of that innane middle-of-the-road music; the stuff I had to listen to ages ago at the easy listening radio station I worked at for three years. I swear, I can sing waaay too many songs by The Carpenters and Terry Jacks for someone my age.

Or maybe I should just get a life.

The One-Eyed Babysitter

Baby Boy watches Elmo Visits the Firehouse about two times a day. Sometimes, he doesn't watch TV at all, but he doesn't go to sleep until he's seen "Eh-mo firefighter" at least once.

It is this child's vice.

If I'm not home at bedtime, Charming Husband, father of the year, plops it in when Baby Boy gets tired and will just play it over and over again until he konks out.

The problem is the only copy we have is a VHS tape that is on it's last legs.

If any of my friends or family come across the DVD of Elmo Visits the Firehouse, please pick it up for me and I will pay you back.

The only place where I've seen it is on the Chapters website. It looks like this but $23 seems too steep to me.

I know he'll grow out of it eventually but for now, it is a great source of joy to him and, frankly, sometimes the only way I can get him in the house. Darkness doesn't do it. Neither does being covered in mud.

In my culture, rabbits are a delicacy

Those of you reading this from afar may have heard we had snow these past few days. It actually stuck around for four days.

I worry for my Japanese maple, which is a bit of a finicky plant, particulary when it is budding. But my spring bulb flowers are doing alright.

Until I noticed some leaves that were broken off.

And then a whole side of a hyacinthe just about to fully bloom.

Damn, I thought. I have rabbits at the new house! We had an awful time at the last house with those pests. Once my daughter tended to this sweet pink tuberous begonia for a little less than a week when she went out one morning to find it nibbled all the way to the ground. A rabbit was nearby, licking its paws. I half expected that bugger to belch or fart his gratitude for the fine meal.

Then, the next day, I caught Baby Boy plucking a hyacinthe bud right off. And he had another bud in his other hand.

And he laughed at me.

No actual rabbits were harmed in this game. My high score was 330.

Kinda like flakes of dandruff

Musicians leave their mark everywhere.

I mean, around the world for thousands and thousands of years, people have been making music. Some stick around, permeating commercials, movie soundtracks, elevators. Others mark a generation, make you think back to the person you were when you first heard that song (or imagined your grandfather heard it). Others just collect dust in a forgotten corner. And others are like farts: obviously there, experienced by a few or at least just one, but then disappears.

This came to me when I stumbled across this.

How many of you can name this tune within the first 10 seconds?

Here is my challenge.

If you were born after 1977, forget it. If you were born before, say, 1960, you should probably give up, too.

But my sisters better get this one.

Goodbye Kitty

An addendum to yesterday's post. I got this from my middle sister.

A kindergarten pupil told his teacher he'd found a cat, but it
was dead.

"How do you know that the cat was dead?" she asked her pupil.

"Because I pissed in its ear and it didn't move," answered the
child innocently.

"You did WHAT?!!?" the teacher exclaimed in surprise.

"You know," explained the boy, "I leaned over and went 'Pssst!'
and it didn't move."

Ouch! My empty womb!

I saw my friend A.H. and her new baby girl yesterday. She's so sweet, she could kill a diabetic.

Of course, the baby was nursing and Baby Boy was upset. He has been weaned for about a month now but he still asks for it EVERY DAY. Am I setting this kid up for a life of therapy or what?

Enjoy this game another friend sent me. And she's even a cat owner! My high score was 726 ft.

Oh Rats!

"So, Pope Benedict," my friend told me over the phone yesterday.

"That's what he picked, eh?" I replied.

"What kind of devout Catholic are you? Weren't you watching on TV?"

"Nope. As soon as they said, 'Cardinal Ratz...' I turned it off."

Let's get things straight. Just because I go to church every Sunday doesn't make me devout. What part of, "Welcome to the Birth Control Clinic. My name is Jennifer. How can I help you?" tells you I'm a good Catholic? Especially under Pope Benedict XVI (or any others, really).

My sisters and I had a strange upbringing from the hands and mouth of our mum, the über-Catholic. She had us all wearing scapulars and Miraculous Medals. We went to Catholic school all the way through. We all learned to pray the rosary and the Chaplets of Mercy (though I think I'm the only one to remember how, but I digress). We were well taught in the ways of Roman Catholic dogma, and if you strip away at most of the rules that were placed on it over the last 2000 years, what you have is a lovely tenet, a real guidebook on how to be good and just a general feeling of being loved and wanted.

And yet my parents also raised us with strong feminist and liberal ideals. Never were we to feel that we were inferior to anyone with a penis. This comes partly from our culture of very strong women and partly from my mother's devotion to The Phil Donohue Show (and she even is the splitting image of Marlo Thomas).

And liberalism? Hey, my dad used to teach us union songs and picket line chants.

I would have liked to have seen a pope who could have embraced Vatican II, perhaps even draw from its spirit and move the Church a little further. Mind you, the guy has had the job for 24 hours. Who knows what will happen? But I'm not holding my breath.

Just sometimes I find it difficult to evangelize. My daughter has been questioning me endlessly lately about the lack of a visual presence of women in Roman Catholicism. Most of the time, I give her the answer, the one that has been passed down from the Vatican, but my delivery is weak. It's sad when the first thing my baby sister noticed at my parish was that we have a female usher. She thought that was so forward-thinking. Hey, we almost got a female deacon too! Woo-woo!

But if I could hope for anything, I'd wish that the new pope truly will listen. I hope he will be open not just to his advisors but to local bishops and lay workers, to regular joe Catholics, to the young, to the old. I believe that there are many roads that people can take to find God and Catholicism isn't the only one or the best one. So I hope he reaches out to other religious leaders and sane, altruistic world leaders...and Bono!

But am I surprised that he was picked? Not in the least.

Who needs memory of Grade 10 Theology class when you have the internet?

But she still has to clean her room

My daughter was in her first competition ever (I think). She was playing her violin (Beethoven's Ode to Joy) in the Kiwanis Music Festival.

A big group, eight kids, ranging in ages I figure about 5 to 10. They were all so cute and so nervous except for a boy who has lessons after my girl but I don't think anything riles that kid.

Anyway, SHE CAME IN THIRD!!! No "participant" ribbon for her! Oh, she was soooo happy. Best of all, the boy she knows leaned over and gave her a big "thumbs up" when she won, even though he didn't place. There's hope for future generations.

Now I need a drink.

Things no one old me about getting older

1. Pimples are not an affliction restricted only for teens.
2. Cholesterol and osteoporosis
3. Dying your hair becomes more a necessity rather than a fashion statement
4. And if you wanted to go grey, it won't come in in any attractive streaks
5. You think about a good night's sleep the way you used to think about getting wasted or some gorgeous but utterly unavailable guy
6. You won't use Grade 12 Algebra...ever
7. Cleaning up after a party is prep work for picking up your kids' toys every day
8. Chin hair
9. You won't flinch when having to clean vomit or other bodily fluids once you have kids
10. You'll need to find time to read
11. Bubble baths are a luxury
12. A moment on the lips is truly a lifetime on your hips

And I know there's still waaay more I have yet to learn.

I bet if this guy knew how his life would turn out...

Smoking blows

An uncle of mine will be going into the hospital early next week for an operation to help battle cancer. I'm told he will be having his jaw split so doctors can access the back of his tongue through the lower palatte. He will also be getting a tracheotomy, a swell little hole in his throat so he can breathe, though he'll have to cover it to utter any speech.

I got most of this information from another uncle who happens to live with him and my grandmother. "He'll be operated on Tuesday and dancing by Friday," he said. I began to hesitate in my speech when he said, in the sternest voice I ever heard from this otherwise very softspoken guy, "Ah, Jennifer, you don't have to spell it out. I'm just joking about the dancing, but that's what he thinks. You can't live your life the way he did and not expect to pay some kind of price."

This coming from an ex-smoker who quit the FIRST time his brother had a bout with smoking-related disease.

Yeah, the doctors will be operating on a 60+ year old man who has been smoking heavily for most of his life (I kinda recall him smoking unfiltered for years and years but I don't go around him when he sparks one up). He's also an alcoholic, albeit that term has never been used among each other, though no one would deny that he has a problem with the hooch. I've seen the guy drink a bottle of beer for breakfast. Seriously, his liver must look like a nubbly piece of leather.

I love the guy. Really, I do. And I respect him for all the things he has done, especially for my grandmother. But, as one of my sisters said, "His actions aren't of a man who wants to live."

And now I wonder what kind of life will he have left?

I'll tell you, I'm not going to bring my kids around to see him after the operation. Crap, one of my grandfathers had a tracheotomy, unbeknownst to me and my sisters. "Let's go visit Nannu," my parents said and, without any warning, we saw our grandpa with this gross hole in his throat and he talked like frickin' Darth Vader. Ewww.

Scarier was when he was sent back to the hospital, I saw another cancer patient with a trach smoking out of the hole in her throat. Nice.

And on a brighter note, my friend's husband has gone about a month without cigarettes. By forecasting the family's havoc that will ensue from this rather serious surgery next week, I can see that his decision to quit may save his kids from having to suffer, seeing daddy get sick and all. Quitting smoking? THAT is treading lightly through life.

A run-down on oral and throat cancers from a site my husband referred me to.

Life's an Itch

I was asleep for about 90 minutes when Baby Boy started wailing. Husband always gets up to get him and, when we were weaning him, he'd stay up and be the one to put him back to sleep.

Things have changed now.

So husband goes to crying child and brings him to our bed. Problem? Oh, only the same one he's been suffering with for almost three weeks now - eczema. His skin isn't red or oozing or chapped, just really rough and, apparantly, itchy as all get-out. The little guy would scratch himself raw (only at night) if we let him.

Because Baby Boy has been, for the most part, weaned (he still asks, though), the Husband pats the boy on the head and flips back to sleep. I guess I was tagged.

I took him downstairs, so as not to wake anyone, but that's a misnomer because he in fact DID wake someone...me! Baby Boy fell back asleep by around 2:30 or so and I didn't konk out again until about 5:30. What was the point of that? I was up making lunches, preparing breakfast and picking out clothes for the two noisy older ones by 6:45.

And there wasn't anything really interesting on TV either except for the West Coast feed of The Daily Show and even that was a little dry. The guest was Bob Dole, for Pete's sake.

500 channels and nothing good to watch but commercials.

Stinkerbelle

My daughter needs to bathe.

Is it her age? Is it an aversion to hair washing? Is she just too busy to get some soap on her skin? I dunno, but, in all honesty, I can't remember the last time that girl got in the tub.

Once she's in, either bathing or showering, she enjoys it well enough, and ends up playing for a long time. But getting her in is another story.

I had an old friend from university over with her posse yesterday (she'll be having a caesarean on Monday, for those of you who know A.H.). Topic of conversation went to the "bad water" emergency we had in this city.

"I realized I work on the other side of the tracks," she said, referring to her job as a Grade 1/2 teacher. "During the water crisis, I had a couple of kids really upset at the news, saying, 'But Monday is MY bath night!'"

Ewww, I initially thought, these kids only get clean once a week. But then I thought that my daughter isn't that far off.

I've bought her bubble bath, tablets that change the bath water's colour, bath beads, deluxe soap, toys, etc. but she still fusses.

My boys, however, are crazy about their bath. You can hug them; they smell great. They use this baby shampoo and body wash that smells like Thrills. Funny enough, it's called Li'l Goat Milk Shampoo.

"Take a bath already! There are poor children in Iraq who would love one, you know."

Getting your colour palatte from Maybelline

It takes a man strong enough in his masculinity to walk into a bathroom his wife just painted and say, “That’s a really beautiful pink! This room looks so much better.”

I spent the whole day painting our main floor two-piece in “Unspoken Love”. Actually, I went to the Benjamin Moore with my favourite eyeshadow and told the guy, “Can you match this?”

This is where watching too many of those home decorating shows gets you in trouble. Who's that southern chick on Trading Spaces? The one with the curly auburn hair? Anyway, that one once said that all powder rooms should be painted in a colour that most complements the skin tone of the woman of the house.

And yet, I’ve always loved the bathroom no one dared use at my Nanna’s house. It was all powder blue and white with gold accents (and a cherub theme). She did that up in the late 50s and, well, you could tell. (Just a sidebar here, I mean, NO ONE used that bathroom. She had baby blue toilet paper. Anyway, my cousin, who was about 5 at the time, decided she wanted to use it - we all secretly used it once in our lives. She made a plunker but forgot to flush. My grandmother was all in a kafuffle, searching for the stink days after).

So was it the gold accents? I thought I’d take a shot and I bought some gold Krylon; that’s the paint you can spray on anything, including glossy plastic. I did the switch plates. Oh man, they are a thing of beauty. Then I started spray painting fricking everything - the wire shelving, a plastic cup I use for storage, a wicker container that holds my tampons. I love this stuff! Pink and gold rock! Now I’m thinking I’ll do some sort of Parisian theme, get some fleur-de-lys, go through the husband’s backpacking photos and see if there’s any I can use. I’m getting silly.

And still, the husband asked when I’m going to do the other bathrooms. Did he think I did a nice job or is he just happy because he didn’t have to work?

The bathroom was originally a beigy white,

so not really "fugly" as much as boring.

K got a chub

While my daughter attends Sparks (like Junior Brownies), I cruise around the city with my friend K.N. whose daughter also Sparks it out.

Last week, we were at the grocery store (okay, we go out but we're pretty sedate). She was looking for a chub of summer sausage - that just had me laughing 'til I cried - and I checked out the extensive magazine rack for Budget Living.

Ever since I was introduced to this magazine last Christmas, I have been searching high and low for a copy. I once found one at this supermarket but hadn't since. K.N. suggested I try the smoke shop right downtown. "Great idea!" I thought, and then promptly forgot about it...

...until this morning. I also forgot that this smoke shop has, I swear, every magazine known to man, even more than Chapters, I swear. I looked and looked for Budget Living but couldn't find it. Then I noticed a sign reading "Can't find it? Ask us!" So I did and the city councillor/shopkeeper (can you tell I don't live in Toronto?) showed me straight away.

And now, don't bother me. I got my coffee, my magazine, a sunny day, and a sleeping baby.

I SO want to make this!

Ode to my clothesline

A friend of mine lives in an upscale part of town. Newly built, the telephone wires and such are buried underground. For this, I'm told, their taxes are huge. She pays something like $5000 a year for a house and lot about the size of mine. The sum is so much, they end up paying their property taxes on a weekly basis, just to keep up.

There's also a list of restrictions in her neighbourhood, stuff I find weird like no company vehicles are allowed to be visible. They also cannot have clotheslines.

Ack! I dunno. Another friend told me I have issues because of my love, at 10-years-old, for Rene Simard (JW, didn't you ever have celebrity crushes? I have a list a mile long). But here's another admission for you all to ponder my sanity: I can watch my kids' clothes rippling on my clothesline in the gentle breeze for eons. It is oddly serene.

See? I'm so retro!

If you don't already, try hanging your clothes out. Here's some things I've learned along the way:

1. When hanging dress shirts, put them on hangers. They dry faster and smoother and, well, you're going to have to hang them in the closet eventually.
2. Hang jeans on the line because they take bloody forever in the dryer.
3. Save a couple of loads of socks, underwear, and other small things. Run those in the dryer because they'll dry super quick.
4. Because sheets dry very quickly, hang them last on the line so you can take them down first. You'll then have more room for more clothes.
5. Turn your dark clothes inside out and then hang them. This way the sun won't bleach the colour.
6. Hang things upside down (from the hem). Then you won't get peg marks at the shoulder.

My electricity rate is increasing this month. Charming husband used to balk about his clothes hanging outside, but not anymore!

With our very special guest...Charro!

I was reading an article with Goldie Hawn yesterday which reminded me of Bill Hudson. No, really.

They were married once and from that union came Kate Hudson, in case you didn't know. Now, I believe the guy is married to Shirley Feeney. What was the actor's name? Y'know, from Laverne and Shirley? Oh, yeah, Cindy Williams.

Anyway, remembering Bill Hudson reminded me of the Hudson Brothers Razzle Dazzle Show (I think that was the name). I loved that show but, truly, I can't remember it. Perhaps it is because my mind is littered with all sorts of aimless, brainless variety shows I used to pollute my time with when I was a kid.

I remember Kermit the Frog went on the Sonny and Cher Show to talk with their daughter Chastity, and Cher sang while lying down on a piano.

Man, everyone had a variety show back then. The big one for me and my sisters would probably be The Donny and Marie Show. I could probably still sing most of their signature songs. Sad. Very sad.

When my parents weren't complaining, or when they let me linger past my bedtime, I admit I watched The Tony Orlando and Dawn Show, The Captain and Tennile (is it true she sang on a Pink Floyd song?), Sha Na Na, Flip Wilson, The Muppet Show, and Bobby Vinton. I think his was taped in Toronto. Remember he had this Monty Python-esque opening with his head falling off a statue? And am I the only person who thought Bobby Vinton looked like Chuck Barris? Oh, and I saw the Rene Simard Show. I loved Rene Simard. You could just weep for my generation.

And I still graduated with honours.

I think this is the most comprehensive list of 70s variety shows. But they're missing Rene Simard.

Winter the Pooh

After what felt like a long winter, all the snow has melted.

Since the weather is so much more cooperative, I've been walking the kids to school again. Okay, cooperating weather aside, walking is also dependant upon Middle Child cooperating as well.

Neat to see what was under all that snow: tons of leaves (am I the only loser who rakes?), chip bags and other variety store paraphernalia, and the ubiquitous doggie doo-doo.

We were out on our first walk to school, not even one block and I stepped in some. I thought it was just mud, then I thought one of the kids farted or that Baby Boy dumped a load, but no. It was me.

If a bird craps on you, that's considered good luck. Can accidently stepping in dog poo be considered good luck too? Or is it just unfortunate?

Here's a game to see what kind of dog you'd be. I'm a pug, apparantly.

The Hilary Duff poster is already hanging in her room

It's official. My daughter has become a pre-teen, or is showing signs leading to that.

She lost her two front teeth. Combine that with some birthday money and she bought a very cheap personal CD player. Cute, I thought, and I made her a mix so she could play it.

Well, she carries this thing around like some kind of colostomy bag, replaying The Counting Crows' "Accidentally in Love" over and over again.

But there are worse things.