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.