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.