I'm a Winner!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crackbook

I blame Baby Sister.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*********

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Ersatz Homemade BodyPump Tracklist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fight the Power!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ew. And oh!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good Morning!

This is what I woke up to.

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

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

What I'm Up To

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

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

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

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

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

No laughing!

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

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

Indeed!

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

What a Nightmare

Could it have been any worse?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actions Have Consequences

Daughter got detention and Middle Child got a girlfriend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, I gelled his hair spiky at the top.

"It's not crazy enough, Mom."

So I hairsprayed the sides too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Spring!

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

The Family That Drinks Together...

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

"It'll be ready on Wednesday."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I got the dress about 35 minutes later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why I'm Going To Hell: Reason #23

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

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

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

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

I might just sleep in again next Sunday.

The Photo Screams, "I Need a Vacation"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We're All Dying, Honey

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

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

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

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

And then he started to wail. Oh, jeez.

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

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

Last GTA Barbie, I promise

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

More GTA Barbies

MUSKOKA BARBIE: She's perfect in every way. Available only in the summer months and usually only on weekends. St. Joseph Dream Cottage available for a cool $10 million.












JANE AND FINCH BARBIE: This recently paroled Barbie comes with a 9 mm handgun, a Ray Lewis knife, a Chevy with dark tinted windows, and a meth lab kit. This model only available after dark and must be paid for in cash (preferably small, untraceable bills)...unless you are a cop, and then we don't know what you're talking about.










QUEEN'S QUAY BARBIE: This collagen-injected, rhinoplastic Barbie wears a leopard print outfit and drinks cosmopolitans while entertaining friends. Percocet prescription available as well as warehouse conversion condo.














OSHAWA BARBIE: This pale model comes dressed in her own Wrangler jeans two sizes too small, a NASCAR t-shirt and Tweety Bird tattoo on her shoulder. She has a six-pack of Bud Light and a Hank Williams Jr. CD. She can spit over five feet and can kick mullet-haired Ken's butt when she's drunk. Purchase her pickup separately and get a Confederate flag bumper sticker absolutely free.














OAKVILLE BARBIE: This yuppie Barbie comes with your choice of BMW convertible or Hummer H2. Included are her own Starbucks cup, credit card and country club membership. Also available for this set are Shallow Ken and Private School Skipper. You won't be able to afford any of them.

GTA Barbies

I was sent this from my friend Jules. Those of you who know me, you know I love Barbie and Toronto. I thought this was the best way to pass this awesome stuff on to you. Enjoy.
BAYVIEW BARBIE: This princess Barbie is sold only at Bayview Village Shopping Centre. She comes with an assortment of Kate Spade handbags, a Lexus SUV, a long-haired dog named Honey, and a designer kitchen. Available with or without tummy tuck and face-lift. Workaholic Ken sold only in conjunction with the augmented version.









BURLINGTON BARBIE: This modern-day homemaker is available with a Ford Windstar minivan and matching gym outfit. She gets lost easily and has no full-time occupation. Traffic-jamming cellphone sold separately.













CABBAGETOWN BARBIE: This doll is made of actual tofu. She has long, straight brown hair, archless feet, hairy armpits, no makeup and Birkenstocks with white socks. She prefers that you call her Willow. She does not want, or need, a Ken doll, but if you purchase two Cabbagetown Barbies and the optional Subaru Wagon, you'll get a rainbow flag bumper sticker for free.













CHURCH AND WELLESLEY BARBIE/KEN: This versatile doll can easily be converted from Barbie to Ken by simply adding or removing the multiple snap-on parts.

















HAMILTON BARBIE: This tobacco-chewing, brassy-haired Barbie has a pair of her own high-heeled sandals with one broken heel from the time she chased beer-gutted Ken out of Ancaster Barbie's house. Her ensemble includes low-rise acid-wash jeans, fake fingernails and a see-through halter top. Also available with a mobile home.












That's all I can upload for now. More to come! Anyone have any more?

Tagged

My friend Jules tagged me. I am to write six weird things about myself. But weird is relative, I'm sure. Anyway, here goes:

1. Since getting pregnant with my last child, I can't seem to sleep in. Stranger still, without fail, I will wake up around 5:20 (give or take 10 minutes). And, no, he wasn't born at 5:20.

2. I Google Earth friends' and relatives' houses. That's more creepy than weird, I know.

3. I was stalked for a few months, but in a heart-sick way. He didn't do anything mean, but he would leave things of his behind so I would know he was there. What is weird is that I kept the stuff because they were useful.

4. I don't think it's weird, but lots of people do: I go to the gym at the crack of dawn four days of the week to attend the 6:15 classes. Sometimes I'm there at 5:30 so I can get some extra cardio time. What I think is weird about this is that I still look pregnant.

5. I carry a pen or Sharpie with me at all times to correct public spelling and grammatical errors. I also carry a digital camera to photograph offenses to the English language. It's not Bridget Jone's Diary, people!

6. I shudder every single time I cross train tracks in the car. Some tracks are worse than others.

Now I have to tag six people: Baby Sister, Middle Sister, Purple Grape, the artist formerly known as Sunshine, my favourite sister-in-law and Slowplum. You can either post here in my comments section (sign in as "Anonymous") or just email me back, should you choose to admit to your inner weirdo. Slowplum, you can post on your own blog, chickie.

Surprise!

On Friday, I had 10 kids over for a birthday slumber party for Daughter. It went off without a hitch and ended in the requisite pillow fight. The last kid to fall asleep did so at about 2:30, which was kinda crazy because on the very next day, Baby Sister and The Boyfriend got married in Niagara Falls.

Let me backtrack. About a month ago, Baby Sister called The Boyfriend at work to complain about how tired she is and how demanding her job can be. She mentioned off-hand that it would be great to re-charge at a weekend getaway somewhere. She wasn't asking or anything.

The Boyfriend called back a little while later to tell her that he booked a weekend in Niagara Falls.

Fast-forward to Friday, February 9. They went to a pub. Boyfriend left first; Baby Sister dragged her ass home a bit later. How about when we go to Niagara Falls next week, we'll get married, Boyfriend asked. But let's keep it secret, he added.

Yeah, well, that lasted a nanosecond, I'm sure. But I have to tell my parents, Baby Sister said. Boyfriend agreed. And your parents? Okay. How about my sisters?

I was out having a few drinks with Jules when my house was called. When I came in, Husband said, "Call your sister."

"But it's after 10! It's too late."

"Call you sister."

"What's wrong?"

"Jeez, Jen, just call your sister!"

At the time, the plans were pretty sketchy. They didn't even know if they'd be able to get married, what with having to find someone to perform it as well as getting a license.

It was the day after, when Baby Sister was over at my house, when Boyfriend called to say it would be on Saturday February 17 at 4 p.m.

We went to my cousin's fiancee's shower, sworn to secrecy. Being a bridal shower, talk kept coming back to weddings and it pretty much burned our tongues not to say anything. Middle Sister didn't even tell her kids because she wasn't sure they'd be able to keep a secret (my mum told them later).

So the week went on. Everyone made their own preparations. Mum went blonde (!) and went to Michael's to make bouquets (including some flowers from her own headpiece into the new bouquet). I bought a dress for myself (think goth June Cleaver) and matching velour and rhinestone tops and taffeta skirts for Daughter and Niece who were flower girls. And, of course, also prepared for Daughter's birthday party. Baby Sister tried on about 50 dresses and settled on a purple chiffon Anne Klein from the Bay. Just so she could be like every bride-to-be, she had her obligatory meltdown when she found a stain on the inside of the dress when she took it home. Boyfriend got it dry cleaned and it looked great.

Saturday came. Mum and Dad picked up my grandmother and made their way to Niagara Falls, where Baby Sister and The Boyfriend were already staying since Friday with friends of theirs from the Ottawa Valley. My family met up with my parents and Baby Sister at the hotel, with Middle Child screeching in delight as we drove through Clifton Hill, noting all the places he wants to visit for his birthday. We overshot the drive time and got there about an hour early, but my friend came over to my house to do my hair and Daughter's, so that saved us some time.

We met again at the little chapel, not five minutes away (and really close to the Flying Saucer Restaurant which is shaped like, uh, a flying saucer. We really are going back to Niagara Falls for Middle Child's birthday and that will be my choice of attraction). The Boyfriend's parents were already there, as were Middle Sister's family. There was a wedding before ours so we stayed in the basement, where Baby Sister had her last freak out (a minor one) when she thought they needed to pay in cash.

Four o'clock came around and the pastor, or whomever he was, got us organized. Daughter and Niece were flower girls (and sooo thrilled to be) and were taught how to walk and reminded to smile. I think I remember a little giggling when the time came.

"Who's the maid of honour?"

"She is," Baby Sister and Mum pointed at me. I thought I was only going to sign a few documents after the ceremony. Nope. Up the aisle I went with a bouquet I borrowed from the chapel. It matched nicely with the ones Mum made, albeit the flowers were the ones with the fake dew on it.

The pastor dude had told Dad, who led Baby Sister up the aisle, that he'll be asking, "Who gives this woman to be wed?" Dad said, "And I'll say, 'I do.'" Baby Sister and I suggested, "How about saying, 'My wife and I do?'" And he replied with a curt, "No." Baby Sister sighed and we knew not to pursue it.

So with a click of the remote, the chapel filled with the sound of Pachelbel's Canon, creating the trifecta as now all my sisters and I walked up the aisle to that song. The pastor pulled out a brochure and read from it through the ceremony, with the exception of a little crib note he pulled out with the top ten bits of advice to a happy marriage (come together on financial matters, respect the past but look forward and plan for the future, resolve problems before bedtime, etc).

I noticed The Boyfriend's father weeping, but my grandmother, famous for her very loud crying at weddings, did not. I asked her later what she thought. "It was different, but it was still a wedding and that's the main thing. All weddings are nice and this one is nice most of all because your sister is so happy."

We signed the documents (wow, there was a lot) while some country song and then Ricky Martin's She's All I Ever Had came on, which was pointed out by Middle Sister in a stage whisper they must have heard in Norway. Niece was dying to toss her bouquet, but I advised both girls to stand as still as possible and not to say, as they planned, "Ewww gross" when the wedded couple kiss (and they didn't). In fact, all the kids were well behaved. Youngest Grandson was in the back playing with a potted plant. He was a little vocal, but not for long, and wasn't distracting. The others were quiet as anything, as I gave them all lollypops before the ceremony started. Gotta have something to occupy them!

And, as quick as that, the pastor said, "May I be the first to present to you the new Mr. and Mrs. Boyfriend's Full Name." Baby Sister giggled a bit, probably because she was deliriously happy and also because she's keeping her maiden name. We walked out to the back of the chapel (where there was another couple waiting to get married). The first thing the Boyfriend's mother asked was, "Are you really going to be Mrs. Boyfriend?" "No, you'll still be the only one," Baby Sister said, and then turning to Boyfriend's father, "I hope you don't mind." And, being reasonable and soooo nice, they said they weren't offended in the least and laughed it off.

(They did ask me later about my experiences having kept my name too, particularly when it concerns the children. I assured them that it isn't that rare any more and I haven't run into any problems at school or with other parents or children. "And as far as my own kids are concerned, they don't know me as Jennifer Last Name. I'm Mummy.")

From the chapel, we went to the Hilton where we had a private dining room reserved for us on the 33rd (top) floor. We were a little early, so most went to the lobby bar while Middle Sister, myself and our husbands watched over our kids who were longing to go for a dip into the hotel pool.

Before long, we made our way up to the restaurant, where the staff had the menu printed for us on the large banquet table where we all sat together. As I understand it, the selections were made by The Boyfriend, who has an exquisite palate. And the view! All I can say is that it was breathtaking! As tacky as Niagara Falls can be, you just can't deny the majesty of the falls themselves. Incredible.

So with Middle Sister bringing out the Playdough (God bless her) to occupy the kids, we started with some Niagara wine (of course) and all sorts of different breads. Then came a wedge of panko-crusted camembert with flat bread and red pepper jelly, which I had to share with Baby Boy. Then we had mixed greens with an herb vinigrette, which Boyfriend's mother gave to Daughter and Niece to share. We then had a choice between rack of lamb, two grilled chicken breasts or prime rib, followed by our choice of dessert (chocolate caramel cheesecake with dark chocolate holding it together in chocolate and caramel sauces, an ice cream truffle in a pastry cup with berries or a lemon curd tart with raspberry coulis. And coffee. The kids had a huge mound of chicken fingers and fries, with mint ice cream for dessert. The portions were HUGE for everyone. And the quality was excellent. Service was wonderful and they were very patient and accommodating with all of us.

I could also go on about how Daughter and Niece thought it was the world's most fanciest restaurant, mostly based on the waterfall faucets and fresh towels in the bathroom.

After prompting from Middle Sister ("Welcome to the family. Now, listen to what I have to tell you..."), Boyfriend added to the many lovely speeches (including Purehearted Nephew's, "You love my aunt because she's beautiful") where he thanked every single person at the table for getting him and Baby Sister to the altar. The only one that left me wondering was when he thanked Middle Child for the trip to the Science Centre because that day got him thinking about getting married.

Everyone had an incredible time. It was intimate. It was private. It really felt like we were permitted to witness the love Baby Sister and the Boyfriend have.

I guess I'm going to have to call Boyfriend something different now.

The Police and the Trots

I went to my cousin's fiancée's bridal shower on Sunday. It would have been really nice had Daughter not put on the drama quite so much. She's developed the ability to cry at the drop of a hat. I'm wondering if I should really, REALLY talk to her about menstruation. Ick.

It would also had been nice if I didn't get the trots afterward. Middle Sister was also ill.

She drove us there and back, which was nice. She was so excited because she was going to put the kids to bed early that night to catch the Grammys. "I gotta watch The Police, man!"

I told her I might or might just find the clip on YouTube after or something. I then reminded her what they were like in concert.

"Oh, yeah. They WERE kind of boring, weren't they?"

And then I told her I was hesitant because I really didn't care much for the musical wank Sting would put into the middle of songs (or at least that was what he used to do).

"But you'll watch it anyway, Jen, just like me. It'll be for old-time's sake."

And she was right.

And I was right, too. They were as dull as watching paint dry. Andy Summers looked fabulous for a senior citizen. I saw him recently on The Hour. I swear, he hasn't aged much. I was digging the glasses and grey hair on Stewart Copeland. He was always cool. And Sting. And musical wank.

Of course, news was released yesterday regarding - surprise! - a Police reunion tour. Tickets are $225. Yeah, right. I've seen them before when they were young and active. It cost me $30 and opening for them were The Talking Heads, The English Beat, Joan Jett and, er, I'm forgetting (Middle Sister: help me out).

Anyway, I turned off the Grammys earlier than Husband thought I would. I mean, it was like, "Welcome to the Grammys. I'm Jamie Foxx and, yet again, I'm going to spend the first few minutes here acknowledging all the African-Americans in the first couple of rows." Boring!

But, shhh, I was loving the Shakira/Wyclef show. Not very punk rock of me, is it?

Mommy, Wow. I'm a Big Kid Now.

Baby Boy turned 4 yesterday.

We bought him a bike with training wheels, which he needed and yet he probably wouldn't have ever asked for. He's been riding it around the house all day today. And he's good at it. He'll be doing wheelies by summer.

Someone must have told him that he'll be going to Junior Kindergarten when he's 4. Today, a nursery school day for him, we pulled up to the older kids' school, which is right next door. He was ready to get out. When I walked him across the parking lot to his nursery school, he flipped out. "But I'm 4! I go with them now! I'm big!"

Thankfully, it only took 10 minutes to calm him down and get him settled at nursery school.

I'm reading Bridge to Terabithia to the older kids. They really want to see the movie that's coming out in a week. I was read the book by my Grade 4 teacher. I know what's in it. I'd rather they find out before we see the movie so we can discuss the subject matter.

Elroy is my Homeboy

I knew the day would come that Middle Child would ask me a question I couldn't answer.

I thought it would be about chemistry or quantum physics or calculus. But no. He got me on vocabulary. Me! On vocabulary!

"Mum, how do you spell 'acolyte?'"

I had never heard this word before.

"Er, could you put it in a sentence?"

"Dr. Frankenstein's acolyte was meddling."

I confessed I had no clue. We were at Baby Boy's nursery school at the time and I didn't have access to a dictionary. Needless to say, Middle Child wasn't impressed.

I told this story to Baby Sister. "So, Jen, are you prepared to have a son who is smarter than you?"

"But he already IS!"

And on a different note, I have an excuse to watch the Grammys. The Police will be playing. If you knew me when I was a preteen, you would understand my excitement. I went to The Police Picnics. I still love Outlandos D'Amour, good stuff before Sting got all academic and boring. Andy Summers was recently interviewed on The Hour. He's still so damned cool. And he's as old as my mum.

Majhor Loss

Do you remember watching Toronto Rocks after school in the early 80s? Every kid my age from the Hogtown region did, just as we also watched The Flintstones on CFTO when we were home for lunch.

The host, John Majhor, went barefoot behind the desk. I didn't know this until he was interviewing Julian Cope of The Teardrop Explodes. Cope couldn't concentrate because he couldn't get over the fact that Majhor wasn't wearing shoes. "I'm a radio guy," he explained.

Anyway, Baby Sister told me that John Majhor died from cancer on Tuesday. He was 53.

The Best Slumber Party Invitation Ever

Come on! How cute is this?!?

I printed the invitation on coloured card stock (8.5 x 11" in three columns). Using scrapbooking paper, I made a sheet (with a coordinating strip of paper for the edge) and glued it to the bottom of the invite. The "sheet" is cut a third of the way down. With regular white paper, I cut a pillow shape and glued it on to the top. Using a regular black pen, I "embroidered" the invitee's name, using a mix of dots and dashes.

Husband watched me and Daughter make one. "What a waste of time," he said. "Why didn't you just go to the store where they have general invitations and fill in the blanks? That would be the easiest."

I'm sorry, but wouldn't you love to get an invitation like this? I think it's inventive, cute, makes a point, memorable and personal.

Or maybe it's just a girl thing.

Meat My Husband

Remember that foray into vegetarianism/veganism that Husband tried for, oh, two days?

He's put it in reverse.

Now, I don't cook meat every day. Coming from Maltese stock, where meat is at a premium, I didn't grow up eating meat- vegetable-potato meals. So, like my mother, I alternate meat and meatless meals through the week. I make a lovely grilled tilapia in lemon, garlic and olive oil.

Well, Husband's new year's resolution is to gain weight. He re-joined a gym near his work (I give it until golf season warms up) and has gone back to making these protein shakes. A bucket of the powder costs $80. Of course, to keep his title of World's Most Expensive Husband, he has to buy the premium stuff sold at the gym.

And, with that, came the request to cook red meat every fricking day.

I try to introduce the kids to new flavours all the time. I cook a new recipe every week - maybe even two. I want to cultivate in my children a varied palate so they don't end up being picky eaters or have eating disorders or whatnot. Enjoy food, babies mine. So to cook only beef, er, that's a little too limiting for my plan.

On Monday, I made a curried beef with lots of tomatoes. On Tuesday, I made penne with a "meat" sauce (it was actually soy). On Wednesday, we had hamburgers and sweet potato fries. Thursday's dinner was Yves veggie tacos.

He figured it out that day. The jig was up.

On Friday, I made beef stew.

And then my mother came over on Saturday with a hunk of slow-cooked roast.

And here's a clip of what dinner is NOT like at my house: A Date With Your Family. Why not? Because I can't break Husband of the habit of reading the newspaper at the table. He was raised by wolves, you see.

Middle Child's Big Day

It will probably be one of those days he'll remember his whole life.

Baby Sister and The Boyfriend took Middle Child to the Ontario Science Centre for the Marvel Comics exhibit on Saturday. I had to wake him up a little after 6 that morning in order to get to her place at Bathurst and St. Clair-ish. He just bounded out of his bed and quickly got dressed in the clothes he laid out the night before.

By all accounts, it was a great exhibit, which explained the science behind the superheroes' powers. Of course, Middle Child also had them walk through every square inch of the Science Centre itself; not just that exhibit.

The Boyfriend always thought that there was something in the boy that might find magic appealing. So they also took him to a magic shop and bought him a few easy tricks. He was going to bring them to school today to perform in front of his class, but the buses were cancelled due to icy roads. He'd rather have a full class.

Science and magic. That in itself should have made the day wonderful for Middle Child, but I think the fact that he was singled out (this was his Christmas gift from them) and got some "alone time" with his auntie and sorta-uncle made last Saturday just incredible.

He's Bringing Sexy Back

I know it's not very punk rock of me, but I enjoy Justin Timberlake a teeny tiny bit.

No, Up YOURS

So James Kopp is being retried, of sorts.

Kopp was already convicted of the murder of an ob/gyn who provided abortions. He's currently serving 25-years-to-life but American federal prosecutors want to make sure they guy stays in prison forever.

Good, I say. And I hope he gets raped and then pregnant and needs an abortion.

Oh wait! Men can't get pregnant! They don't need to make that abortion decision!

But this fucker wanted to make the decision for me and womenkind.

I still stand firm that it really is a woman's choice. It may or may not be something I'd do, but who am I to tell another woman what to do? And I know what it's like to be pregnant, to go through labour, to raise children. Outside of the last thing, how many men know? Not a one; not even the best male ob/gyn. And THAT was paraphrased from the great guy who delivered my boys.

I Still Sleep Well at Night

After years of complaining, Husband finally agreed with me that we needed a new mattress. We bought one last week and had arranged for it to be delivered yesterday.

They came, alright. The older guy came in first.

"We take another set out, yeah? Where it be?"

Geez, bozo. Look at my house. Where do you think the bedrooms would be in a two-storey home?

When I told him, he shook his head and went outside. He helped the younger guy, talking busily in an eastern European language. And as someone from an immigrant family, I'm very conscious of two people speaking in a language foreign to others nearby. It's a huge exclusion and, frankly, rude. My parents never do this (a concerted effort on their part) but other relatives were famous for it.

Anyway, they left the new mattress set in my front hallway for the time being and went upstairs to bring down the old box spring. For a couple of big guys who move furniture for a living, there sure were a lot of grunts and groans. And they were being really ginger about it.

"It no fit. We damage your home, we bring this down. We no want to do that. It not good for you or us."

"Well, it fit going up."

"You buy house with bed already?"

"No. How about putting it down over the bannister? We moved only three years ago. I'm pretty sure that's how it got up."

"No. Movers took out bannister."

"No. Nothing was removed or damaged in any way. They took the mattress up the stairs and the box spring went over the bannister. I could help you."

They laughed at that. "No, maybe you not see. They take out bannister." Completely dismissed like some cat purring for attention. I asked them to try again, but they continued to ignore me and talk to each other.

"You get husband and strong friends to get new set up and bring old set down. You call Sears and we pick up." Very professional. And they left. Yeah, I'll catch you later, bitches!

They weren't in the house for five minutes. They didn't even TRY to bring down the old mattress. So, to prove a point, if only to myself, 51 lb. Daughter and short little me brought it down and put it on the porch. Our home is now looking very Sanford and Son, by the way. Anyway, after that, there was no living with Daughter who was going around feeling very tough and wanting to high-five me all the time. "Girl power! Eh, Mum?"

Of course, she was a little freaked when the delivery guys were here, practically coddling me while steam was coming out of my ears. She called Husband for a play-by-play.

So against my mother's advice ("If you do it and you get hurt, Sears can't be held responsible"), Husband came home after his very busy day and we did the job. Husband, who is 140 lbs. soaking wet, and the little wife who has an opinion.

And then I called Sears.

And the new mattress is great. For the first time in three years, I slept undisturbed.

Pat and Chris

Bet you didn't know they made lesbian Cabbage Patch Dolls now.

Actually, they're boys; Christmas gifts to Daughter and Niece, and quite loved.

Egg Carton Creche

Egg Carton Creche
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

Of all the presents given and received, I think this one is my favourite. Middle Child made it for my mum. He told no one what it was and wrapped it himself.

I think I looked just like Mary after I gave birth as well.

Yes, it was even better than the gag gift Baby Sister gave to Middle Child and Eldest Nephew: canned snails and a styrofoam head.

Christmas was good. Hectic, but good. Daughter woke up on Christmas Day at about 5:55. And so our day began.

We got to my grandmother's a little after noon, where we had dinner for the whole extended family (save a few people). We played a little bingo, drank a little wine, had to listen to my Colombian aunt whip out her guitar and rip into Feliz Navidad again. Daughter got to be Santa this year (she called out the names of the gifts' recipients), which thrilled her. It was my grandfather's job. When he died, it went to my eldest uncle. And last year, the first Christmas after his death, probably the shyest uncle I have was told to take the chair. He was more than happy to relinquish the job, I think.

Slept over my parents' place. My mum had lots of work lined up for the kids to do in preparation for our celebration on Boxing Day. Daughter, Middle Child and I made Christmas crackers (I found the snaps at Michael's). I put a bit of thought into buying the prizes, ensuring they were going to be suitable for boys, girls and adults. But that was for nothing because my niece ended up opening them all. I didn't even know until I walked into the kitchen, garbage everywhere and I catch her tossing a pore strip, saying, "Garbage present!"

Needless to say, I was livid. Mostly, I was upset with Daughter who, for a time, helped her. Angered me on many levels.

But I digress...

Yesterday was spent again at my parents'. Mum actually cooked a big honking meal. Baby Sister and I brought some appetizers and dessert, but, really, it's the only day of the year that my mother doesn't mind being chained in the kitchen.

No one was sick, which was nice because Middle Sister's boys were quite miserable on Christmas. I guess they're carrying on her torch. She was always sick through Christmas when she was little.

We had a little party with friends on New Year's Eve. I fast forward the clocks three hours so the kids can count down to midnight, but it didn't matter this year. At about that time, my friends' youngest was puking. Party over.

Daughter and Middle Child were still raring to go. "Please let us stay up to midnight for real," they pleaded. Sly mumma that I am, I said they could and I turned it to Newfoundland TV. God, I love the satellite.

I was surprised to see them still awake. The night before, we had all attended Husband's lab tech's vegan wedding reception. Daughter, who remembers my cousin's wedding three years ago, was a little shocked to see a buffet, a cash bar, and that no one was dancing. We had a great time, though. Daughter and Baby Boy immediately made similarly-aged friends. Middle Child was happy to sit with me and drink forbidden pop for once.

And now, Husband has gone back to work and the kids still have one week before school starts. They had a playdate mid-last week and will have at least another one this week. But they aren't going nutty. And there's lots of left overs.

Tis the Season

Everyone has their own Christmas traditions. Some are your standard stockings at daybreak and a turkey dinner with plum pudding and hard sauce for dessert. Others spend the day at a soup kitchen, helping out those who have nothing.

I found out yesterday that someone I'm related to (not by blood, thank God) plans to start a new tradition for herself. I should first start by saying that she's not one to believe in Christmas as she isn't a Christian. She kind of has a self-styled religion that she takes from Wicca, Shamanism, and Isis worship, if you will. And it changes at her whim.

That being said, one person she told her plans to feels that she may have her nose out of joint for not being included in anyone's Christmas celebration. "Why the hell should she be invited? She couldn't care less about Christmas and she isn't rational to start with anyway."

Whatever.

Anyway, this relative had told two people, on separate occasions, that her Christmas Day plans are to go around breaking other people's Christmas decorations and then going out for Chinese.

Bah humbug.

For a while, a big chunk of her family didn't buy that she is mentally ill with bi-polar disorder. We had a big ol' family gathering yesterday. Yeah, uh, that opinion has changed.

Obviously, the woman needs help, but she doesn't think she does. And that is the catch-22 of the illness.

All the same, and call me a total callous bitch (it's okay, I've heard worse from the person in question), but I am absolutely going to be screening my calls for the next little while.

New and Improved

We got a new hamster last night. It's a sweet dwarf hamster, dark grey in colour. Daughter is so thrilled, but still holds hope that she'll find Peewee. She's no idiot, though. She has entertained the thought that it might be dead, but she is an optimist.

Husband likes the new one. It's way more docile than the last. And it didn't bite him.

Three Wise Women

I had a lovely conversation with my neighbours today. Okay, it bordered on the blasphemous, which is funny because we were standing in the church parking lot.

"If there were three wise WOMEN, they would have asked for directions and have arrived on time."

"And they would have helped deliver the baby," my neighbour added (she's a nurse). "And then they'd clean up the stable a little bit."

"And forget about frankincense. They would have brought practical gifts." This neighbour works in retail.

"And made some casseroles for Mary to store for later."

Peewee's Big Adventure

As hamsters are wont to do, Peewee escaped.

It probably happened on Thursday night. I went to feed it on Friday at dinnertime and saw that the cap on the end of the tube popped off and the hamster was gone.

Where ever she is, I'm sure she's regretting her decision. Clean cage, food and treats on a regular basis, love and play from Daughter.

Yes, Daughter was positively distraught. As soon as we found out, the whole family totally cleaned the ground floor where the cage is. I checked the stairs to see for "signs" that she may have climbed it. There wasn't any.

In fact, there was no sign (or "sign", if you like) of Peewee anywhere. We checked everywhere. We even pulled out the stove and fridge. Husband and I stayed up Friday night (we rented An Inconvenient Truth - everyone should see it and then do their part). We listened hard, in the dark, for scurrying sounds until I started doing the head whips and packed it in just after midnight. Devoted dad that he is, Husband even went around the house at 4 a.m. to listen and did so again last night.

My theory is this: Peewee made her way off the dining room sideboard where her cage is, scurried close to the walls and went down the floor grates (our home was built in 1905) through the duct work and met a fiery death in the furnace. Seriously, I hope this is what happened. I, for one, don't want to be playing the "Where's the smell coming from" game.

Husband disagrees with me. "I'd have heard her if she went into the ducts." Not if you were sleeping, Steve Austin!

We're giving it a week and then we'll welcome Peewee #2, with Daughter's blessing.

Meanwhile, her faith is being put to the test. "I prayed to God and asked all the saints to help me find her." I reached into the deep recesses to find the proper spiritual response "God's will, blah, blah, blah" but I don't think she's buying that. Nothing like having doubts so close to Christmas.

Nothin' says lovin' like...

If you know what Husband looks like, you'd be surprised to learn that cute-faced husky boys tickle my fancy.

Happy Monday, y'all.

Trick Monkey

Baby Boy is registered for kindergarten next September. It was an exercise in futility, frankly, as I had to make an appointment for some woman from the county health board to "interview" him so they can assess his abilities and readiness for school.

Uh, I'm his parent. I say he's ready for school (as am I). Are my taxes not good enough for you?

Anyway, the kid was not pleased to be pulled away from home to perform like some kind of trick monkey. I tried to diffuse the situation, telling the woman that the child goes to nursery school and if there's a problem, his teacher will contact her. "Oh, he goes to nursery school? We can go there to assess him!" And she started clearing things away.

"Uh, yeah, it's like this. If you think my son would prefer you pulling him away from his friends and a gym full of ride-on toys and all the Hot Wheels and blocks he could play crash-up with, you're sorely mistaken. Nu-uh. Gimme a minute."

So I turned our backs to her and whispered in Baby Boy's ear, "If you do what this woman asks of you, I'll give you some jellybeans at home." Of course, I didn't want this health board so-and-so to know that I bribe my kids. Next thing I'll hear is a knock on the door from Children's Aid.

Sure enough, Baby Boy saddled back to the table and said, smacking his hands down on the table, "Let's get to work, lady."

Needless to say, the little guy did swimmingly, easing through all her hoops with ease and his usual charm and precociousness that makes him so appealing, even to strangers at the grocery store.

And the older two kids got incredible report cards. Middle Child got straight As (many A+s) and one B-...in gym!

Dead Squirrel

Dead Squirrel
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

Squirrels go all, well, squirrelly in autumn in their preparations for winter.

I ran my car over one the other day.

I was taking the kids to school (yes, we were late again). I wasn't driving fast or anything. In fact, I knew I was going to hit it before it actually happened because the squirrel hesitated.

"What did you run over, Mummy?" Daughter asked.

Should I lie? Deciding against that, I said, "It was a squirrel."

"How late are we?" asked Middle Child, "because I'd like to go see the guts."

I thought the kids were going to freak. We felt the bump and everything. I promised them I'd show them after school if it was still there. Baby Boy and I checked it out when we got back home. It looked like I snapped its neck as I ran over its head. Only the eyeball popped out.

This happened right in front of the church I live near. At least it was on consecrated ground.

I'd make a horrible Buddhist.

Dr. Hook Was Just a Liiiiiiittle High

Your Tax Dollars In Action

My uncle presents not once, not twice, not thrice, but four times to a big city hospital emergency with severe abdominal pain, nausea and vomiting. They finally keep him overnight for tests and observation, but send him home without a concrete diagnosis. "Welcome to your forties," the physician says.

Shit, I better be bracing myself then. Forty is dangerously close for me.

My uncle just turned 40 and is the most muscular guy I'm related to. Big guns, I swear. He has a physical job, is very active recreationally, and, outside of smoking since he was a teenager, is a pretty healthy guy.

Where is Dr. House when you need him?

"...I'm not using drugs anymore. I am, however, still hooked on phonics." - House

He's Gifted But He Still Can't Tie Shoelaces

Middle Child was quite indignant at the concept of Yul from Survivor possibly being voted out.

"But he's the smartest one," he said. "Why would anyone want to vote out someone who can help them back at camp? It's so unfair! They're probably just jealous."

Recently, his school had assessed him for his academic standing. Turns out that he's at a Grade 3 level.

"In our day, we would have kids like him skip a grade," the principal explained but I said (without Husband's knowledge, but he thankfully agreed with me later) that I was not at all interested in that.

So now, his teacher and the school's resource teacher will be preparing special homework for him. That means I'll be teaching him. Oh.

Action Doesn't Only Take Place on the Field

I haven't looked, but I'm sure there are comments going around that the CFL is so "budget" that their prized trophy ends up snapping in half.

Is it any wonder? I mean, I'm sure that thing has seen some action over the years: people drinking out of it, getting manhandled in bars (let alone on the football field), etc.

Like most sports trophies, the Grey Cup is permitted to stay with team members for a day-ish. And not to implicate anyone, but, er, I know someone who was allowed to have the trophy for a little while. Out of that little stay came a roll of Polaroid film starring the Grey Cup.

...someone eating cereal out of it.
...someone in bed with it, smoking a cigarette.
...someone putting it over their head, pretending to get bangs cut.

The top of the Grey Cup snapped off? I'm not surprised.

As a Rule, I Don't Watch Daytime TV

Pickles! I swear to God!!!

If I wanted to ditch Husband, I wouldn't trade him in for an ex-con anyway

If this is someone's idea of a joke, I'm not laughing.

Yesterday, I got a call from a woman named Alison from an internet dating service.

"In your initial contact, you asked a representative to phone you with more information about what we can offer," Alison said.

"Buuuut, I never contacted you in the first place," I replied. "You have the right name and the right phone number, but I'm not interested, thanks."

"Are you sure? Do you, er, want me to call you later, if you're understanding me?"

"I get what you're trying to say, but there's no one here but me. Sorry you were led down the garden path, so to speak."

I hung up and thought, "Wow, that was odd." Then I thought, what if Husband picked up the phone? What if Alison or whomever left a message with him? I'd have some explaining to do, for certain.

If I find out who did this, I'm already thinking of ways to get him or her back. Sleep well, fucker.

Chicken and Wal-Mart

How does one spend nearly $400 on groceries?

Perhaps buying six trays of boneless, skinless chicken breasts will help. Oddly, what if the person buying it isn't really a fan of chicken? But this happened in real life, as my kids would say.

Buying all sorts of organic or otherwise purportedly-labelled healthy products will raise the total. And, even though it is a healthy choice, if you let it sit in the fridge to rot, it didn't do you any favours.

Anyway, I'm not sure how he did it, but Husband managed to rack up the biggest grocery bill ever in our history. This was a couple of weeks ago, and, believe me, it didn't last longer than most trips. In fact, I think it lasted less because he didn't buy all of the staples I use. How nice to buy curry paste and fish oil, but I'm not making Indian or pad thai every day, you know?

Man, we've come a long way when we were first living together. Salad days for certain, as we would only bring $50 and a calculator to the grocery store, making sure we didn't spend more than that for the week. And it was tough: remember this was before everything was made in China. Few things cost just a dollar.

Segue.

We have municipal elections tomorrow. One of the big topics is the possibility for a Wal-Mart to come to town. They already bought a chunk of land, but it is zoned industrial so they're taking the city to court. Nice.

I can't say that I've never shopped there, but I don't go out of my way to do so. For instance, the older kids needed skating helmets. We were late in the season to get them. We checked Canadian Tire, and the usual suspects in town, but we're not going to spend $80 each for two kids who couldn't care less about ice time. So, we drove 20 minutes out of town and hit Wal-Mart. It wasn't any cheaper than Canadian Tire, but they had them. Lots of them.

In fact, they had lots of everything. Husband hardly ever shops. He was a little overwhelmed by the sheer size of the store. Getting back in the car, he said, "If Wal-Mart comes to town, it will swallow it. I totally see what so many people are upset about."

I don't know if it would decimate the downtown core, what with all the boutiques and specialty shops. They're so tourist-driven. I can't see a tourist coming in and saying, "Let's go to the edge of town to see if their Wal-Mart looks just like ours." But the old pharmacy downtown? Gone. The little sporting goods store? Bye-bye. The pet shop? See ya. I'm sure the grocery stores and the Zellers, Sears, and especially the Giant Tiger will be very badly hit.

Middle Sister swears by Wal-Mart. But then she complains that the downtown where she lives is dead. "There's so few shops, really. There's only services like doctor's offices or financial planners and stuff." Guess why?

Love Will Keep Us Together

Last week, Husband and I went to Baby Sister and The Boyfriend's apartment in Toronto to go to a grown-ups-only Halloween party. It was our first is a looooong time.

I went as Marg Delahunty because, though I had a Xena costume (borrowed from my aunt), I couldn't find an appropriate wig. But I had Marg's glasses. Husband went as a pirate. Yeah, with headwear courtesy of a McDonald's Happy Meal. You can take the kids away from the parent, but you can't take the parent out of the man.

I wanted Husband to dress like a hippie and I'd wear a mime costume. Then we could have gone as "peace" and "quiet". My other idea was to go as Ricky and Julian, but Husband is more of a Bubbles kind of guy.

Anyway, I had such a good time. I've always like my sister's friends. She's very social, so she tends to attract very cool, very interesting people. And The Boyfriend is a natural foil for her. He's a born entertainer: he prepared a bajillion dips and stuff, and don't even get me started on the bar he built. She's a born hostess: easily flitting around, sparking up conversations, with her laugh punctuating the five-minute mark. He'd turn on the music; she'd lead the Bunny Hop. He's the Captain to her Tenille.

Kim Jung Il and friend: Scary Jack-o-lantern 2006

Kim Jung Il and friend: Scary Jack-o-lantern 2006
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

I can't say this was my best jack-o-lantern because most people didn't know who it was.

I thought, as I was carving, that people who don't keep up with current events wouldn't recognize the leader of North Korea. That's why I carved a missile and a nuclear explosion on either side of him.

Serves me right for being tongue-in-cheek.

Nitrous oxide is good stuff.

Baby Boy's first teeth erupted at a preposterously young age (almost three months). Probably because of this and genetics (thanks Husband!), the kid has soft teeth.

He had his first cavity at about 12 months, so at his age, he knows all about dental offices. In fact, recently, one of his early cavities popped out.

We went to the pediatric dentist this past week to get the tooth refilled. Earlier, the dentist noticed Baby Boy had loosened a tooth, possibly from his usual active antics. When the dentist got to looking in his mouth now, I mentioned that the tooth was dying and it was shifting.

"That's because it broke from the root and is only holding on by the nerve," the dentist said.

Baby Boy got his nitrous oxide. He had the hygienist in stitches when he was getting the freezing needle. "Dr. Bob, you should trim your nails. They're a little sharp."

The fillings were done quickly but the extraction took little slower than was expected. It turned out the root of the tooth went up really high in his gums.

And it hurt the little booger but I was totally digging the show. Sure, it pained me to see Baby Boy cry, but I was fascinated at the procedure. And I knew it would mean an end to my kid putting his fingers in his mouth. He may even regain his appetite.

So now, Baby Boy is missing a tooth. Thankfully, it isn't in the very front where it would be noticed. However, being off to the side like it is, it wouldn't look out of place if he started chewing a stalk of wheat and wore a floppy straw hat. Yee-haw.

Wee Peewee

Peewee the Hamster
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

"Can this day get any better?" Daughter asked as I tucked her in.

She had a fun day at school. She found out she'll be going to a sleepover with her Brownie pack. Oh yeah, and she finally got a pet.

Please welcome Peewee to our family. She's a cute little hamster, although her name is a little pedantic for my taste.

I have no idea how old she is, so I'm hoping she has at least a year in her.

Wipeout

I found myself with a bit of time so I started to surf the internet for points on hosting the perfect 1957-esque (or is it mid-century modern) Polynesian-themed party.

There were lots of sites that sold tiki-related barware and tips on mixing the most delectable mai tai.

Then I bumped into a boyfriend from my past.

What shocked me wasn't that the guy was still into the things I enjoyed, or that he's married and seems to have a great job, or even that he porked right out and has a comb-over for Pete's sake. What's so disquieting to me is how a whole chunk of my life is over. What was normal for me during this guy's era will probably never happen to me again, even if I wanted them to.

I didn't choose to stop living that life. I didn't even try to consciously continue to live like that. I just didn't notice when it ceased to be.

I'm not in the habit of reflecting on what my life was like 5, 10, 20 years ago – at least not in broad terms. Sure, I'll hear a song on the radio and I can picture what I looked like at the time. I may even get a general feeling of where my head was at. But when I saw this guy's picture on the website, I was disturbed as I realized how certain elements of the things I cherished and thought defined me are utterly dead.

Consider, if you will, all the things from your past that used to happen all the time but never happen anymore and never even cross your mind. For some, it would be keggers in the field or just getting blazingly cemented, or making out with people you just met for a lark. For others, it may be as innocuous as cramming for mid-terms or keeping awake to catch Christopher Ward's City Limits. Whatever. It's almost like those things never happened, or that they happened to someone else.

Maybe they did define me. Maybe I had to experience all that to get to where I am now.

Thanks, I guess, ex-boyfriend. You freaked me out, though.

Failed Experiment

I would say it all started when I decided to clean like a Maltese mother.

I live in a 101-year-old house, so I have to dust very often. I was doing ledges and window sills when I decided that the walls could use a good washing.

I started up in the corner when I noticed these things that looked like rice but had stripes of red through them. They kind of clung to the wall and ceiling. Just like weeds are plantlife growing in places I don't want them to grow, these rice thingies got sucked up by my vacuum cleaner.

An hour later, I noticed that the area where I previously removed these things had a few more.

They're alive, I thought. Shit. I don't know why I didn't think of that before.

I took one down from the wall and inspected it closer. Fuck me, they were some kind of moth larvae. Certainly, I was noticing more moths than usual in the house, but ewww.

So later, I asked Husband to help me move the chesterfield so I could vacuum under it. We had this red area rug in the living room. I say "had" because after we found a foot wide hole in it and noticed a hundred or so of these rice things near it, on it and in it, the rug made its way to the dumpster at Husband's office building. The red stripes? Carpet fibres.

The "old houses need a cat" discussion came up mere hours after. We've been fortunate not to find any signs of mice but we've certainly had our fair share of ants and, now, moths.

I developed a cat allergy in my late teens. It used to be quite awful but I notice that now I can go into a house with a cat and be just fine for hours. How bad are my allergies, I thought. Maybe I've grown out of them?

Discussing this with Daughter's violin teacher, who always seems to be foster caring for a stray, she offered a sweet black kitten that was rescued from a drug house. "Just see if you can handle it," she said. "My husband used to have a cat allergy and it wasn't until we got the first stray that he realized he grew out of it." And so begun the experiment.

Daughter was just thrilled with Houdini and the cat was very friendly. Middle Child was a little freaked out, but he's nervous around all animals. Baby Boy was indifferent but eventually really warmed up and spent the whole day playing with her. She even let him rub his face on her.

We had the kitten for a little over 24 hours. However, I knew we wouldn't be able to keep her after about 3 hours. My nose started dripping within 30 minutes. When I walked Daughter over to her Brownie pack, I cleared up within a few minutes. By bedtime, my eyes were red, swollen and so damned itchy. Husband walked past me as we were tucking in the boys and said, "Look at you! We can't have you like that." So, in hushed tones, we agreed to go downstairs together and break the news to Daughter, who has been begging for a pet for about two years now.

Needless to say, she was devastated. Her cry was soul-wrenching. I felt so incredibly awful to do this to her but, as if she read my mind, she stoically held back her tears to hold my hand and said, "It's not your fault, Mum. I don't want to make you sick but I'm just so disappointed."

We let her stay up as long as she wanted with the cat. I myself had one of the worst sleeps of my life. When I get upset or stressed, I end up either puking or sitting on the toilet. So I would sleep briefly (maybe an hour), and then wake up and greet the porcelain.

Anyway, Daughter was very cool about everything. I'm so amazed at how grown-up and clear-thinking she can be sometimes. It proved to be a hard lesson she learned about love. Sometimes love can hurt because you end up putting the other person's needs before your own.

Like any parent, you want to shield your kid's heart from ever breaking. Little did I know that I would cause the first offence.

I Miss the Nose Ring, Though

Have I mentioned how happy I am that The Hour is back on TV? I missed you, Yorgos.

It's such a great show. How Canadian is it that our public television network would have a news programme that allows for a different view of world events? Something like this would never be on CNN, I bet.

Anyway, they had Jian Ghomeshi on, showing pics of his trip to Los Angeles. There was a small area cordoned off in LAX, possibly for security reasons, that people were respectfully avoiding. It was just yellow tape tacked on to pylons.

"Thank God we weren't there," I said to Husband. "I mean, what would it take for (Baby Boy) to get the idea of knocking them all down?"

"And then airport security would detain him," he replied, "and extract his DNA and then all hell will break loose when they find he has Arabic blood."

Baby Boy's Day at the Dentist

Yesterday was a little slice of hell for me. Baby Boy and his weak tooth enamel went to the new pediodontist. Why did Husband have to pass down all the icky stuff like that? Wasn't the eczema enough?

I tried taking him to our local dentist but since he's had fillings before, he knew just what she was going to do and wasn't buying what she was selling, if you catch my drift.

The receptionist made an appointment with the dentist's friend, a paediatric dentist in London. Never mind the hour-long drive to get there—it's the nine month waiting that I don't agree with. So I asked for someone else who handled, er, special cases.

This guy is in Kitchener (Go, Penguins, go! Really!) and saw us the next day. This was about two weeks ago. He was awesome and really got Baby Boy calmed down. The hygienist was a right beyotch, though. When walking him down the hall to the opertory, the kid was crying. I said some calming words and let him tug my necklace, which is a soothing habit he picked up when I used to breastfeed him. The buzzard snapped, "You think I've never heard this before? Just be quiet and sit still. I know what I'm doing."

So I sat in a corner of the opertory with my arms crossed and a shit-eating grin on as Baby Boy was giving her his best maniacal screaming and squirming. If it wasn't for the dentist to come in and was way more parental and gentle than the hygienist, I was ready to gouge out her heart with a spoon.

Of course, after the dentist left, I told her, "I'll be asking for another hygienist the next time because, though I don't doubt you've seen this behaviour a million times, YOU are not the one who he'll call for at 2 in the morning with dental nightmares. And, frankly, it appears to me that I would probably know better how to calm my son's fears than you would. After all, I've known him his whole life and you just met him 15 minutes ago." She tried to rebuttal, but I did something I rarely do: I held out my hand, turned my face and then my heels and walked away. She doesn't know how lucky she was.

Anyway, yesterday, new hygienist. Strangely, she looked like me, which worked in our favour. Baby Boy liked her right away. Mind you, we also had some practice runs at Husband's clinic and even went to the dentist's with vinyl gloves, a mask and a Dixie Cup for laughing gas play. We practiced on teddy bears in the waiting room with Baby Boy improvising with Lego for dental tools.

His permanent teeth better come in gorgeous.

And What Happened to Freddy the Magic Flute?

See what posting a comment can do?

Jules mentioned HR Pufnstuf and, immediately, I had a flood of memories of me sitting in my grandmother's living room watching the show with my similarly aged aunt and uncle (did I mention I'm from a Catholic family?).

So, hey, I've got a few minutes before the Leafs game, I thought. Let's Google the show.

And then I learned that Jack Wild, the guy who played Jimmy, DIED! He died this year, March 1st, from oral cancer, of all things. Husband's grandmother has a copy of the 60s movie Oliver, where he played the Artful Dodger. The guy had pipes! And he had to get them removed, as well as part of his tongue.

The Hilarious House of Frightenstein

I remember waking up at the crack of dawn to catch The Hilarious House of Frightenstein when I was a kid.

My kids are astounded to hear that their dad and I didn't have round-the-clock children's programming on TV; that kid shows were only on Saturdays from 6 (this show) until 11, when Fat Albert ended. Of course, there were after school specials, but that was only for an hour, and there was morning cartoons on the Buffalo stations. My favourite was Rocketship 7. There was some morning shows on for the wee, like The Friendly Giant (my sister was afraid of Rusty the Rooster), and Mr. Dressup (God rest his soul). If you went home for lunch, you could catch the Flintstones at 12, just after The Uncle Bobby Show.

That last show actually really resonated with me. I went to Brownie camp with Traffic Officer John's daughter, but moreover, there's catch phrases that I use to this day that, after checking out this website, I realize originated from that show. And, if I'm remembering correctly, my mum once sent in my name and Bimbo the Birthday Clown read out my birthday greeting. Or was that by Dave on Rocketship 7???

What I would do for one of those Uncle Bobby or Rocketship 7 t-shirts. Of course, it would totally date me and place me. Husband didn't have these, being from another province, but he did have J.P. Patches, which I didn't.

And, you know, these shows weren't all that great; not when you compare what is being offered today. Case in point is the show made by Billy Van, Billy Van, Billy Van, etc. As entertaining as I found Frightenstein (and I did, in fact, love the show), it was kinda slap-dash and cheesy. I guess that was part of the charm.

Well, over the weekend, Middle Child stumbled upon it. He was riveted! We found out that it also airs on the Space Channel at 7 am. Guess what he did this morning? He even set an alarm for himself. I kissed him at the door of his school this morning and he replied, "Ooga booga!"