Another Reason Why Rudolph's Nose is Red

We went to my cousin's child's first birthday party yesterday. It's always great to hang out with my extended family. All the families there lived within a ten minute walk of each other for a good period of time and we used to get together a lot when my grandparents were still alive.

All the families were there except for one, who, ironically, didn't live near us, and are on the outs with the family these days, for reasons I'm not privy to. Not that I care or anything. I'm too old to worry about popularity.

We got stuck in traffic on the way home, so we got some good views of other people's vehicles.

Daughter shrieked, "I just saw a truckload of bleeding mooses." Meanwhile Husband and I questioned her while Baby Boy exclaimed, "Look! Santa's reindeer!" Frankly, it was a more accurate comparison.

There was a pickup filled with about six or more elk or caribou (we think - they were too big to be deer). Blood from their noses, they were piled atop each other, heads hanging off the back of the pickup.

Daughter started to cry. "Roll down the window, Daddy," she asked. "I want to call them 'Meanies.'"

Bonnofie Pie: So Good!

While I was putting away laundry on the second floor, the kids completely destroyed the living room. All the cushions were off the chesterfield. The stocking were down, with one stocking holder broken. Mandarin peels all over and spilled applesauce on the rug. And toys. And paper. And crayons. Ho-lee shit.

So I tidied up the living room and had asked the kids to tidy the playroom. I had just finished vacuuming when Middle Child came down and said, "Yeah, um, well, ah, you see, er, the Christmas tree is broken. (Daughter) tried fixing it but she made it worser."

Sure enough, the tree (fake) was on its side; the top part snapped off. Broken ornaments abound, I fixed the tree the best I could and then went to a friend's house before I did something I would regret.

Of course, the kids were still squirrelly there but a little better behaved. It just didn't seem like it to one of the boys who lived there. Tears abound.

I sat in the kitchen with my friend and her older son, who, with his whack load of play dough made this pie. What's in it? Orange, strawberry, banana, whipped cream and, after a while, he didn't care to name. He just wanted to use every colour he had. The masterpiece is called Bonnofie Pie and is a thing of beauty.

At 4:30, I had asked the kids to start tidying up. By 5:00, they were starting to put on their coats. By 5:30, we realized that Middle Child lost a boot.

I carried him to the car, came home to answer the phone. "Did you forget you had dinner plans with us tonight?" I didn't when I woke up, but by that time, the horribleness of the day kinda smudged my memory. Anyway, we made our way over to their house to be greeted by my university friend, "You look like hell." She knows me well.

I only asked for liquor after Middle Child busted up a guitar their son had made by himself. I asked for another when Middle Child knocked over a shelf of toys in the basement. And threw a pizza. My friends are very diplomatic women. "Oh, he's just acting silly because he worships our son." Probably very true. Their son got Middle Child into Star Wars. They're very, very similar, though their son is three years older than mine. But, further, I thought maybe Middle Child felt like he needed to be noticed because he knows that Daughter and this boy have been friends since they were very wee. Whatever, it all got worked out once the boy brought out his new obsession: dragonology. He indoctrinated Middle Child into that world and, this morning, my kid has a million questions about dragons.

And then I came home to watch INXS perform on Much More Music. I would have turned it off the minute I saw that twit Traci Melchor was the host. Man, that woman can't interview her way out of a paper bag. And why waste airtime complimenting audience members over their tops? Anyway, I watched it all the way through just in case I could spot my baby sister who was in the crowd. And I did.

Loser

I feel like:
a) the biggest doofus in town
b) the worst mother ever
c) the school board make yet another error

I went out this morning, as I always do, and surveyed the weather and roads. Seemed fine. Sure, there was snow but it was rather temperate.

So I bundled the kids up in their snowsuits and off we went the four blocks to school.

I knew something was amiss when I noticed the parking lot was empty of teachers' cars. The only one there was the custodian's. Sure enough, there was a note posted on the front door: No school today Friday the 25th.

Bless Me Father

Daughter had her first confession yesterday. She came home from school and was a bundle of nerves.

I made one of her favourite dinners and then she said she wanted to dress up for the occassion. She put on her emerald salwar kameez (and we aren't from India, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka or Pakistan) and her winter boots. Oh yes, quite the look.

There in the church were all her friends from school and she was actually surprised to see them there. One of her best friends made it a family affair. The little brothers wore suits. The aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandmother were there. Meanwhile, Daughter and I just closed the door to the house with me saying, "Back in about 30 minutes."

She lined up for the youngest priest of the three "because he's closer to being a kid than the others" but the line didn't move fast enough. So she and her three friends started line-hopping. She got out of the confessional beaming and loudly proclaimed, "I only have to say two Our Fathers!"

One of the priests was doing confessing face-to-face up on the altar. He had Parkinsons or something, as he was flailing big time. Needless to say, this was the talk in the schoolyard this morning.

It's Christmastime in the City

We spent Saturday visiting the great-grandmas. Mine already had a visitor, my mum's cousin, who has the amazing ability to mouth the words you are speaking as you are saying them. I don't know how she does it and I'm sure she isn't even aware that she is doing it. But it's cool to watch.

The grand dames are doing fine, despite all the doom and gloom that others say about them. Sure, mine is still very upset about the death of her son this past summer, but she was cracking jokes and was otherwise interested in what others were doing. But, when she was talking about posting some letters, she held up one addressed to my cousin but she was referring to my nephew (both with birthdays in December). She realized she was holding the wrong envelope and went back to the dining room to put it away. Meanwhile, my mum said in a hushed tone, "Oh, my poor mother! She's so disoriented and confused." Whatever.

And Husband's grandmother is getting a little hard of hearing, but is still more "with it" than many people my age.

The next day, Daughter got presented at church. It's not a big deal; the kids in her class were called up to the altar and the parish was told they're going to receive the sacrament of first reconciliation this week. Everyone clapped ("Way to go, little sinners!") and they went back to their seats.

Daughter thought she should milk this so she implored, "Since I didn't faint up there, can we set up the Christmas decorations?" So, tempting fate (the kids are bound to destroy something with this extra time), Daughter and I put them up. Of course, she left me to tidy up.

Meanwhile, Husband went grocery shopping for the first time in about six months. I'm not sure how he did it, but he managed to spend $300 and he didn't even buy half the things I needed (diapers, mozzarella, laundry detergent).

But the kids don't care if I "plate"

Last weekend, I had my baby sister and her boyfriend over. This was Boyfriend's first time up at the house. I walked them around town, came home and I made dinner.

I bought some organic sirloins which I marinaded in a red wine vinagrette with some portabello mushrooms. No big whup, but it ain't macaroni and cheese, either. I didn't want Husband to barbecue it because he likes his meat drier than English humour, so, for the first time ever, I grilled the steaks on my indoor grill. Everything came up nice enough.

My Intention Was Good

It almost always is.

I had volunteered to start Daughter's class on the Flat Stanley Project. This is an initiative to teach children a little geography, language arts and social studies by sending a paper doll somewhere far away. The person (often family or friend) who receives the Flat Stanley takes it around for a week and then write about the paper doll's adventures. When the week is over, the doll and the journal is sent back to the student who sent it.

The principal of the school caught wind and insisted that the children write their own letters, which, at their age, is very tough for most. So now all the kids are at different stages in the project, making it a little confusing for the teacher, it appears. She's going behind the boss' back and gave the kids a photocopied fill-in-the-blank journal to speed things up. A good idea; I hope it works.

Anyway, there was one boy who had no family to send his Flat Stanley to. So I emailed a bunch of schools on the Flat Stanley website and - finally - I heard back from one. And I'm stoked. He'll be sending one to Whitefish River First Nation.

I hope the kid he's partnered with really gets into what it's like up there. But with how the project is going so far, I'm betting the journal will be filled with "I watched CBC Kids and then played XBox. Mom made hot dogs for dinner."

The class project is out of my hands now, save for sending this one Flat Stanley to the reserve. And now I got a letter from the Resource Teacher at the school asking if I'd help with their literacy program every blinking Tuesday morning. This is in addition to being asked to help the kindergarten class for 90 minutes every Thursday. Doesn't the school board have employees for this?

Oh shitwa

DSCN0513
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

This is what I woke up to today.

By the way, "shitwa" means snow in Maltese.

An open letter to Katie Holmes

I glanced at Us Magazine in the line-up at the grocery store today. Katie Holmes was on the cover.

The soon-to-be Kate Cruise (which is funny considering Tom's real last name is something like Mapother) is laying low in seclusion, surely reading all sorts of great Scientology brochures on the joys of a silent birth and the fallacy of post-partum depression. She's also taken up knitting.

Okay, this is what I suggest to you, Katie or Kate or whatever. Knit. Keep knitting. Knit the longest effing scarf ever. Secure it and roll it down the high tower you've been banished to. Shimmy yourself down with your spawn (the father, whomever he is, will surely thank you) and run like the wind.

Not that I care or anything.

A Public Service Announcement from Jen

I was just making Five Alive from concentrate for Middle Child (he caught me at the grocery store at a moment of weakness. I'm a 100 per cent juice kind of mom).

As I was stirring, I read the nutritional information on the side of the can. Get this: there's 120 calories in a serving of 4 tbsp. FOUR TABLESPOONS!!! Who the hell drinks only 4 tablespoons?

So, there you go. My first and last time I will be bringing home Five Alive. Back to the Tropicana, kids.

Simple Pleasures

Yesterday was a good day.

I gassed up at 81 cents (and got $1.30 in Sobey's coupons).

I got some retail therapy done with a very good friend.

Had a rather good and seemingly bottomless cup of coffee at said friend's home.

I bought a pasta maker for $20.

Middle Child attended the first birthday party he has ever been invited to (not a patronage invite, but from an actual school friend). Okay, he accidently locked himself in the bathroom stall at McDonald's but other than those ten minutes, he said he had a great time.

Weighed myself and have lost 10 lbs. since I started at the gym two months ago.

And the temperature in town reached 17 degrees.

My cup runneth over. It doesn't take much, obviously.

Gourd God!

The kids' gourds
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

I would be remiss had I not blogged my older kids' entries into my friend's gourd decorating contest. Daughter won with her Medusa gourd. Middle Child's had gone through many transformations but his final entry was called "Clown Zombie Guy with a Bloody Nose."

Anyway, before I pick up Daughter from school, I just want to diarize my horrific experience today. Middle Child started off his day just rotten, as is the norm with him, unfortunately. Wednesdays are a day off of school for him so I promised him a fun day ahead. I took him to Husband's work, then to the most excellent Festival Loon dollar store where I bought him popsicle sticks for his craft-o-rama. We wrapped a parcel for my new nephew and walked to the post office (I let him pay). Then I took him to this science store called Quark Soup. My God, he could have spent three hours there. He's the only kid his age who knows about Leonardo da Vinci and Albert Einstein and there was a plethora of such paraphernalia there. And TONS of science toys, all out and ready to be played with.

Okay, now there is a children's bookstore in town that I don't like to shop at. It all stems from a visit I had made while it was raining. I was pushing 2-year-old Daughter in the stroller (and I was well-pregnant) and went in the store ready to drop $50 on books for my cousin's son. Well, this craggy old shopkeeper was following me and the wet-wheeled stroller with a mop and pail, stopping when I stopped, mopping as I walked. I turned and asked if I was wrecking their store or something like that. "Well, you are tracking a bit of dirt in here." So I left.

I swear, maybe I shop at Fundamentals once every 18 months. I only go there if I have to.

Well, after we went into Quark Soup, Middle Child had a million da Vinci questions, so I thought we'd go around the corner and see about getting a kid book on the science giant. Fundamentals would probably be the only place in town that would have something like that in stock.

As we were walking there, I told Middle Child and Baby Boy to be their bestest, goodest selves; to "look with their eyes and not with their hands" because the shopkeepers don't really like children.

We went in and I asked the woman at the register for da Vinci books right away and she found me two. I let Middle Child choose (thankfully, he picked the cheaper one) and paid for it. While waiting for my change, Baby Boy got out of the stroller and walked over to this display of plastic knights for sale. He took one that he already had (to show me?) when the woman left the register, grabbed the $5 knight out of Baby Boy's hand and gave the hand a tap. "Don't touch!" she said to him. I stood there, for once speechless. She gave me my change. Baby Boy started to cry and ran out the door of the store. I grabbed Middle Child's hand and ran after Baby Boy, but the shopkeeper was a step ahead of me. She caught him, picking him up. Baby Boy yelled at her, "You a stupid bad lady." I took my son from her and quietly promised myself and my family to never darken their door again.

That's when Middle Child said loudly, "You're right, Mumma. They don't like children."

Jack-o-lantern 2005

Jack-o-lantern 2005
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

Needless to say, Middle Child was in complete awe of me after I carved this baby.

The real Halloween festivities began, I suppose, after the school day and its "orange and black day." The JK/SK class had a party in the afternoon so the sugar buzz began early for them.

We stopped by a friend's house and for the two minutes I was at their front door, the seven-year-old son was doing this hop dance on alternating legs. Did he have to pee? No. That was just pent up energy and excitement.

My kids fared no better - or worse. They wolfed down the taco dinner (in keeping with the "Halloween is the true kid holiday" theme) and were dressed quicker than they ever dressed themselves in the morning.

Daughter went as a Bollywood starlet, complete with her gold-embroidered salwar kameez, flat-ironed hair, false eyelashes, lipstick and a bindi.

Middle Child went as The Human Torch from The Fantastic Four. Husband was walking with the kids this year. He said Middle Child would walk up to the bajillion SpiderMen and tell them they were on his Marvel hero team. I'm sure the other kids couldn't give a rat's ass who publishes their comic books.

Baby Boy was a dog. Yes, the same damned plush dog costume Middle Child had when he was two and had worn it for three years straight. This is Baby Boy's second Halloween as the puppy.

Of course, he didn't really care. He was warm. He was wearing a costume. And everytime he left a doorway from trick-or-treating, he'd exclaim loudly and proudly to his dad, "I got candy!"

I had about 35 kids at the door and not one teenager. Even the very tall kids couldn't have been more than 12. I mean, they all came with parents.

And nearly everyone complimented me on my jack-o-lantern. Thank goodness this one wasn't smashed.

Grab My Finger

Grab My Finger
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.

The two older kids were invited to a Halloween party yesterday. I made these almond cookies, which was a paltry contribution compared to what the host had done.

She must have spent a bit on decorations, and there must have been tons of pizza and snacks. The mom and the helper cousin wore costumes (Middle Child loved the mom's Lilly Munster hair) and there was even loot bags and prizes.

And there was scraps. Daughter was particularly upset that the host's youngest son (and one of her best friends) seemed to be having some times of utter sadness throughout the party. Get yourself a roomful of boys and there's bound to be tears.

Daughter couldn't have cared less that Middle Child got upset a few times (and I have since learned that he almost threw a punch at a boy three years older than him...we had a loooong talk). But to see her friend getting hurt and the injury hampered his ability to win the Pass the Beanbag game, well, she got a little miffed.

She told the boy who inevitably won that he should forfeit his prize to the host's son, especially since Prize Boy already won a game. He refused, so she gave him her prize - a pink flashlight.

She's still upset and is all worried that her friend didn't have a good time at his own party.

Or maybe she did some serious scrapping and is feeling guilty. Of course, Daughter would never tell, unlike Middle Child who gave me a blow-by-blow about each instance he lost his cool.

How to Impress a Maltese-Canadian

Kif inti sabieh!

Today is a banner day in the life of my baby sister's boyfriend. For the first time, he shall meet my parents. Surely, this is a sign of respect and commitment on both sister and boyfriend's part and, at the same time, my relatives everywhere are saying, "tenks be to gohd" because we have taken the first step in bringing one more into the fold that is the ever-burgeoning Maltese-Canadian extended family.

But what does this mean? The uninitiated may think, "Oh, they're just like my own parents." Not so! And don't EVER suggest they'd be just like Italian-Canadians.

So here, as a token of my good will toward Sister's Love Muffin "and, wit' Santa 'Lena's help, future ziu ta' bint" I write a handy list of things to know about the Maltese in order to impress.

- You should know that Popeye, Troy and parts of Gladiator were filmed in Malta.
- Maltesers were not invented in Malta.
- Maltese terriers actually were first bred in Malta.
- The eight-pointed cross you see hanging on walls or car grills, key chains, door knockers, crocheted doilies and necklaces is the Maltese cross.
- The Maltese Falcon has nothing to do with Malta.
- The goddess temples in Malta date back to an estimated 5000 BC, making them the oldest structures in the world. And Stonehenge looks like a jumble of big rocks in comparison.
- If you don't eat the fish or gbenit, hate sports and Elvis, and have no interest in talking politics, you will need to find another way to impress a Maltese dad.
- If you have lousy dinner table manners, a Maltese mum will be highly unamused - and above all, do not fart, spit, or burp anywhere around her.
- Maltese believe in the evil eye.
- There is no point in having a debate on the merits of turning Jehovah Witness, or being Muslim.
- "Deh Jahnkshin" is on "Dahndas."
- You won't need a translator. Most Maltese speak English well and you will never forget a Maltese accent. Moosh veru.
- If you are an accountant, or are otherwise good with money, you will greatly impress your Maltese mother-in-law.
- If you run your own business, or have built something on your own, your Maltese father-in-law will be very impressed.
- Remember the Maltese father's motto: "If it's free, it's good for me!"
- The Maltese grandmother is the queen.
- If you are invited to a Maltese gathering, get familiar with the likes of qassatat, pastizzi, rabbit stew, figolli, and qaq tal ahsel. And weight gain.
- If you are Catholic but you weren't confirmed and didn't do your communion, don't mention it!
- Most Maltese take exception if you say, "I've heard Malta is like Italy or Greece."
- If you are over 22 and not married, a Maltese grandmother will think you must have some sort of physical problem or disease.
- If you have been married for a year and are childless, the novenas have begun.
- It is always gold. Even better if you bought it from a Maltese jeweller.
- If you don't understand horseracing, or don't drink hard liquor, you won't get on a Maltese grandfather's good side.
- Never, ever refuse food.
- Always give a gift of money to a Maltese wedding. And it better cover the cost of the plate.
- If you have a Maltese wedding, it must have at least these three things: a sweets table, lots of dancing, and a host bar.
- If you don't know what Kinnie is, find out!
- If you hate to talk, you better be good at listening.
- If you have something to say at a Maltese gathering, say it loudly.
- Know your Maltese celebs: Edward De Bono, (lateral thinking), Jason and Justine Bateman (actors), Robert Palmer (born in Britain but was raised in Malta)
- Everyone has an Auntie Mary and a cousin Charlie ("Chahli"). Many are related to men named Carmen or Juzi and sometimes even Shmoon.
- You don't have to have a Maltese background to impress a Maltese family.

Jabon u laham!

My New Look

Grazie to my friend, Slowplum (the saddest girl to ever hold a martini), who offered to revamp my blog for me. Hey, I like change! And I have no clue as to how to do this kind of thing, so I'm not above accepting charity.

Because I've had questions, here's the answer. The character to the left here is Tank Girl. Middle Child, comic book geek that he is at such a tender age, likes the new look.

"What's her superpowers?"

"Um, she just fights well."

"Then she's not a superhero. She's more like Batman and Robin."

Middle Child picked out a new pumpkin yesterday. He and I decided to keep it in the trunk of the car until carving time Sunday.

Husband had some bank guy come over to the house at 7 last night to discuss the feasibility of the business buying a house to operate from. The house was a mess after dinner. I made lamb (had I known we were having people over, I wouldn't have made stinky meat, but I want to expand the kids' palates). Baby Boy wasn't a fan and had spat out some chewed bits on to the rug. I hadn't done the dishes and Daughter had to get dressed for Brownies so her clothes - and homework - were everywhere. So when 6:30 came around, I had to leave to take Daughter to Brownies, with Husband ensuring me he'd make the place presentable. "Go hang out with your Brownie Mommy Friends."

I did. I came home to a near-spotless house. "And what's that sound?" Husband asked, grinning. "It's silence! I got the boys sleeping!"

Show off.

Having a horrible, terrible, not very good day

Middle Child is a self-professed lover of all things creepy.

So you may very well imagine how excited he is about Halloween. For Daughter, it's all about the candy. For Middle Child, however, it runs much, much deeper.

Knowing this, you could imagine the horrifying shriek that woke up the neighbourhood this morning when he saw that someone took our pumpkin off the porch and smashed it on the road.

He's calmed down now. I consoled him with some salt and pepper chips and I put on Shrek 2. However, every once in a while, he sighs and says a singular comment like, "It was the perfect pumpkin! So big and round" and "They must have been out of their minds. Who would do that?" The saddest one was "They saw we had toys on the porch. They must have known there were little kids who live here. Why would someone wreck the life of a little kid?"

Sweetness, if the only wrong-doing done unto you as a child is someone destroying your pumpkin, then you are blessed and lucky.

Sucker for punishment, when Shrek 2 is over, we're going to buy another pumpkin. He wants me to carve a Frankenstein this year. But I like the idea of doing a George W. Bush. Now THAT'S scary!

I have a new nephew!

I'm an aunt again! My brother-in-law (more like my sister-in-law, really) had a baby boy last night. Quick labour, if labour can be called quick, and out came the 6 lb. 14 oz. bruiser.

We were sent a photo already. My sister-in-law looks so good. You'd never know she just gave birth.

I'm going to call the nephew's great-grandma now. This would make him her 18th great-grandchild. Some people collect stamps...

She can see them screw

My middle sister just moved in to her new home, right behind the Robertson Screw factory (the robbie is my second-favourite Canadian invention, followed by the zipper). Outside of the builder beige that was everywhere, the home is totally splendid. Airy. Bright. Everyone there seems very happy with the move and I'm sure it will be good for everyone involved.

Tomorrow, I will be teaching Daughter's class. I'm taking over the social studies part of the day and will get them into the Flat Stanley Project. The kids will make paper characters and a journal, which will then be sent to far-away family or friends to host for a week. The hosts will write a bit about what Stanley learned about how they live their daily lives and then send it back to the kids. I'm hoping to get photos of Flat Stanleys kissing the cod in St. John's, contimplating life near the Golden Gate Bridge, watching the fly plane come in to some remote reserve in northern Ontario, holding up the Tower of Pisa, whatever. Daughter will be sending hers off to the relatives out west, most probably, and, possibly, off to relatives in Malta because, hey, no one else in the class will.

Anyway, I'm a little nervous. I can control a roomful of kids. I'm definitely not afraid to talk in front of a crowd. I'm just hoping that this project works as well as I hope it will. And I hope the teacher will give me a hand, but, by the looks of it, I doubt that.

I lost two inches on my waist. Only a bajillion more to go. And I made a chocolate cheesecake yesterday.

My friend linked to me on her blog. Here's hers.

Man, I don't do enough here, in comparison. Don't get me started on the asthetic. The dots are, well, like builder beige to me. Fine for now, but remains mute. And the idea of using the blog as a way to write fiction, sheesh, why didn't I think of that? Mind you, I've never tried to write fiction. Gawd, and there's so much I edit from my real life here. Seriously, it can be like a soap opera (or spaghetti western, depending on the day).

When my children's mother makes them dinner...

Hot Dog Mummy
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena.