resolutions shmezolutions

I don't remember my new year resolutions from last year. Oh, I'm sure they had something to do with weight loss, and getting healthy, and doing more as a family....

but the specifics, they escape me.

And like the converse of the old adage 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it' if they didn't work for me last year, why would I trot those tired old things out again?


Wouldn't it be better to work more within myself? To try to be kinder, more compassionate, to work on understanding others?

Maybe this year working on the internal should merit more than the external.

I was sorta a busy woman

Today I must:

Clean up the kitchen (counterspace will be a lovely thing to have again)
Tidy the livingroom
Walk El Doggo (who is bursting out of his skin)
Start drawing up plans for Spring Improvements (B does much better with actual drawings in his hand versus me saying 'Oh, put it there,')
Make gingerbread men, which I've been promising the kiddles for weeks.


Besides, is there anything finer than getting flour and sugar all over a freshly cleaned kitchen? Apart from the giggles and squeals and stealing bits of dough from my helpers, I can't think of a thing.

Today I:
Cleaned up the kitchen (counterspace is a lovely thing to have again)
Tidied the livingroom - although now you can't tell now, a few hours later
Walk El Doggo (who is bursting out of his skin) um, whoops?
Start drawing up plans for Spring Improvements (B does much better with actual drawings in his hand versus me saying 'Oh, put it there,') - had a general conversation about which project we'd like to start first - the first of many, I'm sure!
Make gingerbread men, which I've been promising the kiddles for weeks.

Made the dough, while a kitty made mew-mew noises and sang songs and danced around the room and batted toys around, and the boy sat with his father and talked.

A nice day.

dirty snow

I cannot believe the season is over and now there's nothing but a long, hard slog until Spring.

This is probably my least favorite time of year, where mud and ice and snow do battle and debating between an umbrella and mittens takes a few minutes of thought.

This mood is brought to you courtesy of: a winter storm that just grazed us, bringing not the expected snow and ice but snow and rain, dampening everything and the mud making the bootscuff mats in the car stink like spoilt water.

I am unaccustomed to this weather shift happening until (much) closer to Spring, and it makes me grumpy and out-of-sorts. Not so the others in the house, though!

The kids see the patches of bare ground and pester to go to the playground. 'Can we take the bicycles out?'

They run, ruddy-cheeked, over hill and dale and stomp in puddles and search vainly for crocuses.

They almost make me believe that the smell in the car will go away and that Spring will come.

Soon.

bursting at the seams

So, how was your Christmas?

Ours was great. Family, friends, laughter, hugs, a great meal, wrapping paper everywhere.

And now the chaos of my house is not to be believed.

You see, I broke my own rule this year. I’ll get to it, I kept telling myself. I have plenty of time.
And so - I didn’t clean out the old toys. We didn’t make our seasonal run to Sally Ann’s, belaboured with small bags holding clean but used toys, all parts accounted for. We didn’t even get to the woman’s shelter, with baby gear and baby toys. Now, on top of all the things I had planned to give away, all the things I had grudging permission to give away…is the new layer of plastic and fabric joy.

It still sounds good, though, right? They’d be happy (and distracted) with the new things, and I could quietly clear out the old. I even rounded up boxes on the way home to start. Whistling, I came in, and stopped short at the sight.

The sight of the dinosaurs (new) happily co-habiting in Bob The Builder’s Workshop (old), and Barbie and the Princesses (new) whooping it up with One-Eyed Elephant (my God, the last time I saw that was when Cass was four!) and a couple of Weebles.

Yes, the new toys? Have now joyously met their neighbors.

And I need to build on to my house.

after supper

The scene now:

The fairy princess, bedecked in a fancy tiara, a pink t-shirt with a crown on the front, a long, filmy purplish skirt, and high-heeled shoes, is playing Candyland with the intrepid dinosaur wrangler, some of whose charges keep wandering onto the board and eating the cards.
In the background, Ms. Potato Head lies drunkenly askew, her nose buried in Snow White's skirt. She's apparently mourning the loss of her husband, who is exiting the room seated in a giant red truck. (Mid-Spud life crisis?)

The Ponies are restless, and looking for a Play-Doh snack.

Really, if they had more swag it wouldn't fit in the house.

Rudolph, we have liftoff

track Santa in real-time

speak to a Santa Tracker (no, I'm not kidding!) 1-877-Hi-NORAD

getting all the bad Christmas juju out

• Last night it rained. And rained. And rained some more. And now I have a lake of sucking mud (generally only seen in March) in front of the house.
• I almost hit my husband's great-aunt's garage today. Her driveway was pure ice-under-water. Merry Christmas! (whump!) Here's your Christmas package - can I call a tow truck?
  
• The dog, while not eating anything off or under the tree (I think he realizes that would be certain canine death) has made it his mission to eat every small plastic toy he finds. Cass's new obsession is Bionicles. This cannot end well.
• I made a batch of marshmallows. They didn't set 100%. They're lovely, but....chewy. The thought counts, right? Oh hell, they'll be great in cocoa.
• Does the little Baby Jesus really care if I sent out all those Christmas cards?And if he doesn't, should I?
  

Whew! I feel better getting those out. Now I can let go of all this and start relaxing and getting ready for tomorrow, right?

Right?

conducting the holidays

I am DONE.

Stick a fork in me, NEVAH going back to the mall again this year, good-bye supermarket, done.

(ah crap, the cookies. But that's one batch!)

So -technically- DONE.

Whee! Now to put my feet up and resist the urge to straighten the christmas tree....

all the pretty horses

I was always fascinated with my mom's dresser-top.

A multitude of sweet, slithery, grown-up things were there - lipsticks, silk scarves, earrings and necklaces, favorite jewelry, perfumes. All the things little fingers itch for and are summarily denied. She tucked old photographs and letters in the corners of the mirror, as well - I remember brushing my hair with her brush and reading a letter my grandmother wrote her about being homesick at college - things I really didn't understand yet, but that sounded worldly and mysterious.

Far back in the corner (or else hidden in her top drawer) was always a horse, scratched and beloved.
She had two, back from when she and her little sister used to play Derby in the back yard, currying and clicking their tongues to their plastic steeds. While she was never raised around horses, growing up in the Bluegrass State made every little girl a budding horsewoman.

The company that fueled many of these dreams and made the statues? Breyer.

This year, we've decided Rosey is old enough for her first horse-dreams and found her a Breyer of her own.


I think Mom will like that.

wiggling eyebrows

thanks, grace, too....

You Are Dancer

Carefree and fun, you always find reasons to do a happy dance. Why You're Naughty: That dark stint you had as Santa's private dancer. Why You're Nice: You're friendly. Very friendly.

Which of Santa's Reindeer Are You?

holeo-ho-ho

Last night was Cass's first grade school program. An entirely Christmas-centered program. Cass was, of course, a pumpkin.
(After being an S.*)


Actually, it was great. He was great. Rosey was a crankypants, but that was okay. Small ones usually are late at night.

I just can't wait to see the video of the concert at school at assembly.

The small voice saying 'I hafta go bathroom. I need to go PEE!' right into the microphone of the video recorder of the mom behind me?

Yeah. She would be mine.


*Cass had a phrase to remember: S is for Santa in his sleigh soaring. Every (single) time we practiced, he would say 'snoring.'
After he (whew!) said it flawlessly, he turned right around and flashed me a delighted thumbs-up. He brought down the house.

hee hee hee

this guy is a genius

can you imagine?

(plotting about who I know that would 'properly' admire this)

kermit rides again

I'm not sure who's going to find this as funny as I did, (SL? Jennefer?) but I HAD to post this.
Stolen from Schmutzie.

the best way to watch the holiday shows

has to be cuddled up with your big brother, who doesn't get scared when the Grinch comes on the screen....


(is okay, Rosey. I'll protect you.)

is that the date already?

Christmas gets more and more complicated each year.

This year, I'm knee deep in wrapping paper, stunned-scared I've forgotten someone, and absolutely (oh God, NO) sure (please don't make me) I'm going to have to make a trip (whimper) to the mall.

Next year, I've already told B (although that may have been the eggnog talking) each of the kid is getting two gifts. I will study them. I will make sure they're perfect. Those two gifts will be wowie-zowie-knock your socks off. But TWO.

(Oh, come ON! Between Santa and the multitude of relatives, these kids are NOT being neglected.)

And I'm leaning dangerously close to tossing my hat in the ring and saying 'Gift cards for everyone!'
(Which still feels like a cop-out to me. Blame my upbringing. My mom is a great gift-giver, always the perfect thing. It's hard to live up to.)

I wish I was crafty. But I'm just....not.

And Christmas looms bigger every day.

so, how's your day going?

i'm just sayin'

Power Rangers videos could drive me to drink.

also, What the elf?

santa never checks to see if it's home-made

It's December. December, arguably the most fragrant time of year - a time celebrated with good food and good cheer.

A time of year where nearly everyone you meet hands you a cookie.

Coooooooooookieeeeeeeeeeeeees.
(As Cookie monster would delightedly chortle.)

My mom always made Springerle. I never appreciated them as much as the Rum Balls - chocolaty-crumby goodness won out over stiff biscuits flavoured with anise and lemon every time. It was only when I started drinking coffee that I started to appreciate the cookies she made diligently every year, (And it's a long day process! The dough has to toughen and dry overnight, and then they had to age when done, which was hard to take when the house smelt wonderful and every particle of your body was screaming Cookie! Must have cookies!) using her grandmother's recipe.

After I left home I would make Reindeer Tongues and Nougats, Gingerbread Men and Gumdrop Wreaths. Chocolate-chip Walnut Biscotti and Fruitcake Drops.

(this was all before I hatched the monkeys, of course.)

This year? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

This year I know where I can get my cookie fix, where no one else has to be the wiser and I can luxuriate in all the goodness of Cookie Mecca....

Thank God for Church teas. And Food Tables.

not always so grouchy

B is, of course, going to the doctor this morning.
I forget what a shrew I sound like when I type in blog entries after midnight - I just get damned tired of being the caretaker sometimes.

And I'm so not happy when I get woken up. Really. I grow fangs and everything.

This morning, Miss R still has the (horrible) cough and I'm watching the boy (no school today, snow and rain) like a hawk. If he goes down, it'll be just me and the sick peoples. (Heeeelp!)

On a nicer note, R and C are dying to yank out the popsicle sticks and glue and glitter again.
It's a craft day, people! I've been making these for the last few days on and off - I may actually get one I like, someday!

and onto a more sickly note

Oh hell, they're all falling like dominos.

Bear has a bladder/kidney infection thing going on.

B:It hurts! It hurts when I pee! This is wrong!
Me: (thinking of the umpteen bladder infections I have suffered in silence) Yes, honey. I'm sorry. Did you try drinking cranberry juice? (subtext: Like I told you three days ago to do?)
B: No.
Me: Oh. Yeah. They burn like a bitch, don't they?

And upstairs, I hear the girl beginning that barky/croupy cough which seems to herald the arrival of strep throat (again, damnit).

I'm waiting now for the boy to fall out of bed and break his thumb. Or something of that sort. Because lord knows I wouldn't know what to do with a full night of sleep.

images of me

I don't remember who I took this from - it was last month in the height of NaBloMyMind and...well, it's gone. So feel free to claim it.

THE UNCREDITED GOOGLE IMAGE MEME

(type the answer to the following questions into Google Image, then pick from the first page.)

1. Age at my next birthday:


2.Place I'd like to travel:


3. Place I've been:



4.Favorite food:

5.Place I was born:


6. Place I live:



7. Name of past pet:


8.Best friends' nickname:


9. My first name:



10. First job:


There were a ton more, but my mind wanders and I'm beginning to resent the fact that memes can be so much work....

take, if you like.

(Answers are in the comments)

kids in motion

My kids look like dervishes.

There's this kids program called 4 Square that makes the kids twirl and dance.
It's actually a preschool program, but between the beat sticks being tapped out and his little sisters' badgering, Cass usually gets movin' too.

We've also started reading from a book called 'Juba This and Juba That', a cheerful book of poems, chants, and songs.

HANDS ON SHOULDERS

Hands on shoulders, hands on knees,
Hands behind you, if you please;
Touch your shoulders, now your nose,
Now your hair, and now your toes.
Hands up high in the air,
Down at your sides and touch your hair;
Hands up high as before,
Now clap your hands - one, two, three, four.

Say it out loud once and do the motions and see if it's not stuck in your head.


Today has been a lazy coloring/tent-making/carol singing kind of day, finished out with 'Nanny McPhee' and pizza for supper.

Then they saw 4Square, and the dancing started....

Now to wrestle them into their baths.



Saturdays used to be more exciting, y'know?

new kid on the block

Okay, make that FOUR things that make me happy....

The new guy moving in is a mover and a shaker....

Dance Party Santa.



Every time one of us walks by, he jiggles and changes position.

Who knew that it could get better than Man With Hands For Feet?




I know. Cutesy post. I'm fighting a stomach bug, and even being this far away from the porcelain is not really a.......good idea.........

obviously, we're all tense

We're on stress-level vanilla here today.

the sounds off the tundra

have been a mixture of screams, groans, whines, and general bitching. I need a drink.

Yep. It's a snow day.

Three minutes after I answered Canada's question about weather out my way (Tra-la-la! Nothing to see here! Maybe a little snow! A little rain! But nothing!) yesterday B came into the room a bit wild-eyed and started yammering some nonsense about snow and rain and black ice and impenetrable roads - what was this?

Surely he'd been sniffing the chain-saw oil again. I was just on the Environment Canada site, and there'd been nothing. I punched it in again and.....aw, crap.


Doooom! It shrieked. Dooooooommmmm! Lock up the children! Prepare to chop up your furniture for warmth! Do a quick check to see which pet is the plumpest! Tie a long line out to the barn so you don't get lost in the blinding whiteness of it all! Doooommmmmmm!
So it snowed. And it snowed. And then it rained - big fat gobbets that splat! in your face and stung like ice. The region dug out its' snow plows and salt trucks.

Around six pm Cass spoke up from where he was huddled in the corner in the buffalo robes we keep for really cold weather finishing the last of his supper and wondered aloud 'Will we have school tomorrow?'

'Of course!' I assured him. After all, I'd had school in the middle of blizzards, where walking down the road to the bus stop chapped your cheeks and made it impossible to talk, weather so cold you avoided the metal tang on your zipper when you tucked your head down in your jacket, scared it would cut your lips off.

Apparently we were sturdier back then. Or the school boards were less worried about lawsuits. Take your pick.

So today was cold. A bit slippery, but nothing that any reasonably good winter driver couldn't handle - and the rain had washed away most of the snow. Messy, though, and bitter cold. So the kids have been inside, alternately playing nicely (just until I relax, because they're sadistic like that) and screaming like banshees. Even the dog has been banished right now.

And it's quiet. My ears are ringing with the quietness of it all.

Right now I would love a cup of something hot - maybe vegetable soup? - in a big sky-blue mug, a big cuddly blanket, and one of my new books.

Short of tying them out in the woodshed (and B doesn't let me do that anymore) I'm thinking I might not get quiet until they go to bed.

It's kind of a damned good thing I love the little buggers.

And that there's school tomorrow.

every time a bell rings

The tree, she is up.

And nothing broken! (Although we're somehow missing the half-open box of ornament hangers now; I figure I'll find those sometime around March.)

I may have to do a slight bit of (cough) re-arranging after the chilluns head to bed - I like a helter-skelter, child-arranged tree, but I prefer to get all the (fake) branches unfurled out of their tight clumped state before hanging all the ornaments. But people don't always want to wait, you see...

Look! A vision of Christmas delight!


But...wait. What's that...big pink thing about half-way down? That doesn't look like any of my ornaments....



Oh.

Every year some beloved toy gets promoted to ornament status for a few days. This year must be Barbie's turn.

Tonight I have to sneak their trees into their rooms, get them plugged in, and then ring the sleigh bells to wake the kids. I love this part, watching them stumble out of their bedrooms all sleepy eyed and tousle-haired, all agog over the pretty lights.

It's starting to feel like Christmas now.

this post brought to you by the letter y

Right out of the blue Cass spoke up.

"Mom? So is this a real dead chicken I'm eating?"

Crap. So THIS was the next parenting hurdle I hadn't prepared for, huh?

"Yep."

I waited, mind suddenly racing. Why DID we eat chickens? Why was it okay to eat them and not, say, the cats? Why was it okay at all? Where did I stand on this?
Why hadn't I thought about this before?

He was quiet for a moment, moving his food around on his plate. I could almost see the questions forming.

"Can I have the other leg?"


I'm certain this isn't the last I'll hear about this.
But it gives me a small respite where I can work on a better answer than "Because they taste good."

'tis the season

IT'S THE LAST DAY OF NOVEMBER!

1) I made it through NaBloPoMo. Relatively unscathed this year, actually, and with fewer filler posts than last year. Go me!

and

2) Tomorrow the Christmas tree goes up!

don't panic. hmph.

At the manse today, I was working on the bulletin, happily picking along on my new computer, woo-hoo and learning the new programs...

and the bugger froze on me. Several times. Then it tried to convert all my saved WordPerfect stuff to Word.
(hint: BADBADBADBADBADBAD)

and after I worked my way through that while swearing a blue streak and gesturing wildly at the leering screen the printer stopped communicating with something and the whole thing...went to hell.

After abusing its' parentage, I cracked my knuckles, rebooted everything, and tried again.

Remember Hitchhikers' Guide To the Galaxy?

No, not the Don't Panic part,


the gesturing jello head part.

The computer? It's laughing at me. Loudly.

beginning to understand the draw of an air-raid siren

Remember that commercial (I can't, for the life of me, remember what they were selling) where the woman takes an air-horn out of her purse, and everytime the salesman she's talking to says something she doesn't like, she drowns him out?

I think I want one of those.

B: Honey, I think the washing machine BLLLAAAAT dead in the BLLLAAAAT We should think about getting a BLAAAAT BLLLAAAAAT BLLLLAAAATTT.


Cass: But, Mo-om, I don't wanna go to bed. How about I stay up and BLLLLAAAATTTT
(he stops talking)
Me: It's a school night.
Cass: But I want to BLLLAAAT BLLLAAAT BLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAT.
Me: No.
Cass: (opens his mouth)
Me: BLLLAAAAAATTTTT
Don't mess with Mom, mister.

Rosey: Dolly wants to go outside now. (She heads for door.)
(Rosey is wearing a hat, striped socks,a t-shirt, and panties. Dolly is bundled into a romper and R's treasured blankie. It's 50 degrees outside.)
Me: (mildly) Not until you've got some clothes on.
R: (heads starts revolving) Wha? Wha? You're NO FUN! You're MEAN! You -
Me: BLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAT!


C'mon, you have to admit it'd be handy. And (cough) fun.

and here I'd never been missing not having one

Today I:

-went to the local Job Shop, where I had to wait for fifteen minutes for the secretary to quit yapping about music and help me with the ten-second procedure I needed help with.* (I'm not sure if my irritation was evident, or it was simply that I didn't have a penis like the two guys that were leaning on the counter when I got there that was the problem...)

-went to the library and found oodles and oodles of Christmas books,

-made Turkey Chop Suey, and now the Reign Of Turkey is over.

-decided Christmas will NOT be turkey at our house, probably prime rib like last year. Or lamb! Huzzah!

-heard Rosey's (loud and proud) new phrase: What the hell is THAT?

-realized it's near impossible to correct your daughter when you're knocked to the floor, laughing fit to kill.

All in all, not a great people day. But tomorrow will be better. The Boy has a playdate after school and B will be gone much of the day, so it'll be just me and the pottymouth. Hmm. Need to think of fun things for her to do.




*She: raises her eyebrows at me.
I: (not liking this at all, muttering under my breath Yeah. I gotcha. You're grinchy.) Can you please see that this gets in the dispatch bag for tonight?
She: Oh. Is that all?
I: It is!

some things I am not meant to understand

B is watching tv. It's wrestling.

I'm over in the corner on the computer, trying not to listen and getting sucked in anyway.

B: (at the screen) What the...? Aww, really?
Me: Boy, the women sure screech a lot at each other.
B: It's supposed to be like that.
Me: Oh.

a few minutes later

Me: Isn't this like a giant pissing match?
B: (shoots look my way) It's wrestling.
Me: Oh.

a few minutes later

Me: So Chicken Feathered Man is buddies with Neanderthal Man? Aww...
B: Uh.
Me: Y'know, it's nice that he has friends. You'd think he'd be ostracized on the playground...

B: So, are you finishing something on the computer?

a slightly less gleeful post

Okay, usual post-holiday meal fridge stuffed to the gills with turkey and all the trimmings.

Cass: Hey, Mom, can I have a melted cheese sandwich for supper?

sigh.

Turkey soup, anyone?

the nine last books I read

Babel Babe asked. This isn't a meme:


The Bird Artist, Howard Norman. - Grim little novel set in Newfoundland.

All Mortal Flesh, Julia Spencer-Fleming - Surprisingly good about love between a policeman and a reverend. I gather it's a series.

Harry Potter, 6 and 7. Re-read 6, thought 7 was not as good as I'd hoped. Really thought the afterward scene (where they're all older, and married to each other) was very disappointing. I mean, EVERYTHING turned out happily ever after?

Death Du Jour, Kathy Reichs - Female forensic scientist. Slides nicely in between Quebec and the states.

The Usual Rules, Joyce Maynard - I think you'd like this one. 13 year old who loses her mom in September 11th, has to up-root and move out with her father (who she really never knew before) and re-invents herself. Nicely rounded out secondary characters.

The Loch, Steve Alten - Weird. Tried very hard to be as technical as a Creighton novel and wound up being prit'near incomprehensible.

House Gun, Nadine Gordimer - Didn't finish as it couldn't hold me - good premise, bad execution.

The Edge of the Crazies, Jamie Harrison - I really, really wanted to like this. It's oddball and sarcastic and crazy, but the author used the word 'stoic' one too many times, and that was that. (The thing is, whenever I read stories with Native Indians in them, it's only a matter of time before the phrase 'stoic face' comes up. It bothers me. Is there no.other.way to describe the characters visage?)


I'm also about half-way through The Kite Runner. New library jaunt on Tuesday. Waaa-hoo!

i want to make it feel like home for you, he said

Y'all, my house smells soooo good right now...

B brought home a turkey last night. (No, from the grocery store.)

He was a doll - went on Foodtv.com to learn about brining, stuck his hand under the skin to put butter in, sprinkled salt on top. It's roasting away, along with bread, onion and sage stuffing, mashed potatoes, corn and carrots. I made home beans* and have stirred up a pumpkin pie for later.

I know most of you folks just got done with your turkey (and are probably groaning thinking of the smell of it) but oh, yum. He's done this before and I love it. And, bonus, if he keeps doing it, someday I can sit back the whole day and let him go for it...

And I should get off the computer, so I can help carve. Must tell him to make gravy....









*This is a recipe I cheerfully mangle every year, because even though I have the recipe, they taste NOTHING like my grandmothers. But it's not a holiday dinner without some version of them.

things of which I am suspicious

via Schmutzie

#1*Hot tea sold without the bag in. Tim Horton's does this, and it always makes me wonder not only how long the tea has been sitting there, but what they're hiding. Inferior tea? Substandard cleaning practices? Really old grotty teamakers? Also, why?

#2*People who are always neat and pressed. These are the people whose lives are untouched by pets, celebrations, children, friends, hobbies, or events. Cardboard Barbie, anyone? Seriously, I like the flaws, the oddities. I like that we're not all the same. I like that we get messy with life and living it.

#3*Children with unwashed faces. Now, not them, specifically. Their parents. Why aren't you paying attention, and why do you feel it's okay for you to be cruising the grocery store with little Charlie smeared with what looks like a days worth of food all over his mouth? (and in my mind, this has NOTHING to do with #2.)

#4*Rap music. It just doesn't seem to do much but bitch and complain, and talk about being angry. There's not much joy in it, is there?

#5*Being outdoors after dark. I loved horror movies growing up. I watched the X-files religiously. Somehow, that has assimilated itself into my adult consciousness as something with red eyes is waiting in the woods. I don't know why. I (really) know there's nothing bigger than a deer in the woods. Maybe a bear, but they don't tend to come over this way - and bears don't scare me, because you can smell bears before you see them.

#6*Buying fish anywhere but off the dock. This includes supermarkets and the men who sell fish out of coolers in pickup trucks. (Is this just a Nova S thing? Everyone around here is shocked that I'm nonplussed by this.)

There's more, but I have to go corral C and his friend - I hear suspicious thumping noises and I think they're practicing throwing apples at the woodshed roof again....

Take. Steal. Make it your own.

passing on dubious pursuits

Bear's been making noises about buying a game system for Christmas. Supposedly for the children.

To be fair, Cassidy has been clamouring for one since the first day he walked into school. All that wholesome peer pressure, and that.

B researched them, and I put the kibosh on buying a new one ($400 dollars? Are you KIDDING?) and we'll see if we get a system at all, but in the meantime...

Cass was given some money from his grandfather for having a splendiforous report card*, and decided he wanted to pick out a toy. While he was deciding which model plane he wanted, I spied something.Something I remembered from way back.

Sonic the Hedgehog.




I ambled over and picked up the package.

Okay, plug-and-play. Okay, Sonic, Ecco the Dolphon, Columns, a few more I didn't really remember....ten bucks? Sold.

And now my six year old is beating my bum on Sonic.

Although I can still outjump him while playing Ecco.



*A) The kid is a genius. All his teachers agree. Well, they used words like 'really enjoys school' and 'clearly understands all the concepts we talk about', but I knew what they meant.

and

B)Bear and his siblings are still gape-mouthed in disbelief. Money? for grades? But we never.... Funny how the rules don't apply for grandkids.

turkey and trimmings

Happy Thanksgiving, Americans!

Happy...er... Thursday, everyone else!

where I'm from

Thank you, Spanglish.

An Exercise in Identity

I am from red wool mittens, from Sorel Boots and ponchos and wandering on the dunes.

I am from small houses with odd details, refinished furniture and good smells of roasting meat and old books. From comfortable laps and goodnight stories after getting lost on deserted beaches, the roar of Lake Michigan like a tempo in my blood.

I am from leaf-dappled, myrtle-strewn paths, the old apple trees down the meadow, the broad, flat, slow, easy river.

I am from Hoppin' John on New Year and banana pancakes and deep hazel eyes, from Rosemary and Laurinda and many Edwards, strong and true.

I am from smart, independent women and caring, compassionate men. From lightning bug night-lights and midnight cocoa when it stormed. From peanut butter and red onions, oysters swallowed raw and whole.

I am from the religion of my fore-fathers, hot Sunday mornings spent in dresses and scratchy tights singing, learning a God my grandparents considered a friend. I am from doubt and questions and using science to quantify. I am from faith.

I'm from the great North-East, daughter of Dutch shoes and German immigrants, of scrapple and home beans and fat, purple grapes. Of daisy-chains and algebraic equations and debate at the dinner table and always, always being encouraged to question.

I am from hand-lettered scrapbooks, rag dolls with button eyes, the hissing of summer lawns and bluegrass festivals, clog-dancing and candy-covered macadamias, celebrations and shared joys and tears and hoopin' and hollerin'.

I have been so loved.


(read this, and do if you wish.)

star light star bright

I bought my first Christmas ornaments of the season today.

My tree is covered in Christmas memories - worn ornaments from my childhood, a few scattered mementos from the years in my first apartment (there's also a small spray of silk flowers that I wore in my hair my first prom and a mirrored string of stars that was one of the decorations at a friends wedding) and a few funny painted and glued things that Cass has brought home.

It's a kaleidoscope of things I loved and things people I love gave me.

Every year I buy a star ornament. I'm not sure why I'm drawn to stars, but they look terrific among the toy trains and chipped unicorns, and glitter sweetly in the lights.

Today I bought a tub of fifteen opalescent snowflakes, each about the size of my palm. They'll blend nicely, I think.


This weekend I think I'll get the shaker bottles of glitter and the glue sticks out from where I hid them last year, and dig out the construction paper, popsicle sticks, and pipe cleaners. Introduce Rosey to the pleasures of covering yourself in shreds of sparklies and cut up bits.

There's always room on the tree for more memories.


(And in re-reading this I realized it sounds like I have my Christmas tree up already. To paraphrase the jolly elf.....NO,NO,NO - not until December, at least!)

all about Bear

Thanks, Danigirl!

1. Who is your man?
I call him Bear here. He has a perfectly good name, but when I first started blogging I thought he might not like people from around here knowing who he is, so I started the pseudonym. Turns out he doesn't really care, but it's a habit now.

2. How long have you been together?
We were married in September of 2000. About a year and half before that, I think.

3. How long did you date?
We didn’t. I met him on-line (yes, I'm one of those people) and we started emailing back and forth, and then moved on to visits. We didn't actually live together (or in the same country) until about a month before the wedding. Y'know, I think I'd probably kill R if she pulled a stunt like that - what were my parents thinking?

4. How old is your man?
(Laboriously doing calculations in my head) Born in '69, so... 38.


5. Who eats more?
Depends on what time of day. He eats more breakfast and late night snacks, but I probably eat more dinner than he does. (I taste while I cook, which is why noone else had any carrots* last night)

6. Who said “I love you” first?
I don't even remember where we were.

7. Who is taller?
I am, by an inch or so.

8. Who sings better?
This is hard to say, because while he hums or whistles, he usually doesn't sing.

9. Who is smarter?
I'm book-smarter. He's definately more real-life smart than I am. And mechanical!

10. Whose temper is worse?
Um. We were raised to disagree in totally different ways. I tend to blow up, shriek for a bit and then I'm done, (and the sun can come back out) and he internalizes everything and then finally growls about something three weeks after it happens. It's slightly disorientating. You're mad about what? When did that happen?

11. Who does the laundry?
Me, although to his credit, he will if I ask him to. If I don't ask, the laundry renders itself invisible and cannot be detected to the male eye.

12. Who takes out the garbage?
He does, mostly. He also does all the outside stuff and brings in the firewood.

13. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed?
He does, now. I started out on that side and I can't remember why, but we switched. Must remember to switch the lamps, though - I can't read at night with his!

14. Who pays the bills?
He does. I have attempted to take over my share several times and it works better for him to sit down and do them all at once.

15. Who is better with the computer?
I've never met Better With The Computer. Why? Do you know him?

16. Who mows the lawn?
He does. We've got a huge lawn and I am certain that if I ran the lawnmower, I would end up running over my foot. (This actually happened to a friend of mine in grade school.)

17. Who cooks dinner?
I'm about at 75% for that. He's better with meat than I am and is of course, King of the Grill.

18. Who drives when you are together?
Are you kidding? It's all him.

19. Who pays when you go out?
Whoever isn't wrangling the children at that time. (Get along, little dogies!)


20. Who is most stubborn?
Him. Like a rock, or something you have to drag through mud to get to water. I'm more opinionated. And I mutter a lot.

21. Who is the first to admit when they are wrong?
I don't know.

22. Whose parents do you see the most?
His. His Dad lives three minutes away, while my family is at least eight hours away. (sigh) Hopefully in the new year.

23. Who kissed who first?
I did. (Thus earning the title 'that Pushy American')

24. Who asked who out?
Hummm. He had reservations to fly to Michigan, but the airline sent me a ticket reward for being on standby, so I actually went there first. (Nothing like a three am phone call to announce your girlfriend's going to be there in three days, is there?)

25. Who proposed?
He did. I looked up from tying my shoes and there he was, down on one knee, his hands shaking.

26. Who is more sensitive?
About people's moods and things to say? Me, I think.

27. Who has more friends?
Here? Him, definately.

28. Who has more siblings?
I have a brother, and he has two sisters and a brother, so he wins that one.

29. Who wears the pants in the family?
(slyly) Since I very rarely wear skirts, I guess you could say we both do?


He is my Bear, and we do well together.


Want it? Take it! (the memo, not B) If you're doing NaBloPoMo and need content, or just like it, take it, please!


*Package of baby-cut carrots, steamed, then tossed with a sauce of roasted garlic, a little honey, a swipe of lemon juice, salt and black pepper - oh my god was it good!

i should have remembered this from last year

I bought clementines. A box of clementines. Friday night.

And now they're gone.

Not that I'm complaining (my kids like fruit! Why would I complain about that?)

But I would have liked one.



Or maybe a banana, which also disappeared...

may have to join a support group

And instead
of doing anything on that list, I'm pottering around.

I blame Bear. He didn't have to make pancakes for me. And the sun doesn't have to shine so beautifully. And I suppose the kids don't have to play quietly; I'm sure I'd get a lot more done if they'd just fight like cats and dogs.

Enablers, all of them.


All right, to work.
Because the only thing worse that lazing this bee-yootiful day away would be to have to face that entire list tomorrow.

hopping around like the easter bunny on speed

I have nine books to read and a rainy, wet weekend to enjoy them in.

Today I bought Chocolate Chai Tea - which, it must be said, tastes not really chocolaty or chai-ish, but is instead like drinking hot Yoohoo - and some cheese bread and I think I'm going to eat myself into a carbohydrate coma and float away, nose deep in a book.

Ha. A girl can dream.



Tomorrow, I must:

Get Rosey's hair cut before she runs into something and injures herself. Yes, her bangs are that long.
Make a hair appointment for myself next Tuesday so I don't have either of the beloveds rug rats with me when I go, so I can relax instead of startling the hairdresser with the hairy Mom eyeball when they inevitably misbehave.
Round up a scripture verse reader for one of the services this weekend and email the minister.
Find some paperwork which I know is here somewhere, but where in hell is it?
Get tennis shoes for both the kids and Rosey needs slippers too. (Damn, they grow fast!)
Make ham-and-bean soup and chili, possibly, dependent upon how cold it gets.
READ some blogs instead of frantically trying to post all the time. This is the big draw-back of NaBloPoMo, and as Sarah Louise says, December should be known as NaREADSBloMo. A good suggestion.
Oh, and I want to make phone calls to relatives and write letters.


That should leave me plenty of time to read, right?
(birds chirp) Right?

Well, maybe I'll have time on Sunday....

seven more things you wouldn't know about me

I did do this awhile ago, but why not? I can always think of a few new weird things at random...

Motherbumper made me do it.

Rules:


Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
Share 7 random and or weird things about yourself.
Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

1. I drink most of my daily water intake between the hours of, say, ten and midnight. See, after the kids go to bed is me time. I watch tv, hang out with B, play on the computer. Ten o'clockish, I head upstairs and grab my books and a BIG bottle filled with ice water. I tuck into bed and read. Ah, bliss!

2. I'd love to be one of those women who can wear makeup well. I don't understand makeup. I've bought books, watched videos, taken classes. I can't put eye makeup on to save my life. In most makeup I look like a hung-over raccoon. Adding to the kids' therapy bills, no doubt.

3. I thought Cass was a girl. Really thought he was a girl. B and I decided we wouldn't find out, but I was so sure it didn't matter. I was amazed and thrilled and excited (and zonked! Awesome drugs!) to find out he was a he. But once I got home and the grandparents and well-wishers had dispersed, and I was alone.....I (darting eyes around) put a dress on him. (sssh!) It was like putting nail polish and lipstick on the star quarterback. It was blatantly obvious he wasn't a girl. And once I pulled that outfit off him, all the cravings and low-level disappointment that he wasn't a girl...were gone. And now he's a big tall boy who has no recollection that his mother once stuffed him in something calico. Let's keep it that way.

4. I love the way the older people here talk. There are so many expressions that they use that are unique to this area - I've even caught myself saying Holy Jumpin' and using 'bath' as a adverb. (Are you going to bath the baby?) (Ah damnit, that may not be an adverb, but it's nearing ten pm and I just went to the library today, so my grammar may not be up to snuff) This is a fabulous post about the way they talk 'round here. (even if it's witchypoo's old blog)

5. I have a collection of cat mugs. I've always had cats, and when you have cats, people who love you and don't know what to get you, buy you something with a cat on it. At one point I had seventy-three. I still get a few every year or so.

6. I have beauty marks on my left arm in the shape of a star constellation. In another weird thing, Cass has a beauty mark directly above his left buttock, and Rosey has one the same size above her right.

7. I've never learned to play poker, and no one has ever offered to teach me. Not that I'm begging to learn or anything (I've never seen a Rocky or a Rambo movie either, and I'm not feeling the pain yet...) but it still seems odd, doesn't it?

Oh hell, do I really have to tag people?

Ummm...


The Bloggess
My Float
Evil Pink Cupcake
This Is Not Going To Help
My Crazy...er...Dysfunctional Life


It's too late. I can't count.

sometimes I wonder

I was at the manse today, struggling with the rasen-fracken* computer (which is HALLELUJAH! going in to the computer guy TO-DAY!) and took a break to make myself a cup of tea and have a stroll around.
Okay, I just wanted to remove my foot from the vicinity of the screen for awhile. Whatever.

I was standing at the window, watching the rain fall down, and noticed that the caretaker for the place had put white rocks all along the edge of the sidewalk. What a good idea! I thought to myself. Sometimes I work here late at night, and part of the sidewalk is in shadow, and I'm always doing the shuffle-forward-feel-with-foot dance so I don't walk off the last step down to the street.

He'd placed reflectors there earlier, but some kids had absconded with those on Halloween. (And what is the matter with these kids? Stealing from the church? Does no one believe in hell anymore?) At least now I'd be able to see....

It was about that point I realized the white rocks were actually lumps of melting snow.

Sometimes I'm amazed they let me parent.






*Bear likes old Looney Tunes re-runs

domesticity redux

The dog is being all sweet to me today.

Hmph. He'd better be. I almost had his furry pelt last night, after the faithless hound ate all my hanging-to-dry pasta. Shrimp in lemon garlic sauce is much less spectacular with regular spaghetti.

Lately I've been getting into a cooking and baking thing - this doesn't happen all the time, as my missing-sweets husband will sadly tell you - and dragging out old recipes and hunting for new ones to try.

(Oh, Joke, dude? Missing your recipes. Reminder to self: Must make Shredded Granny Pants soon.)

I have on the desk in front of me a lovely mimeographed map. It's actually a copy of the one that the school board gave out to their drivers, so I'm relatively easy about heading out into the wilderness this afternoon. And B was kind enough to highlight the way and go over each turn, so we'll find him.

And then when we get home maybe I'll try to make pasta again. Hmph.

And the dog will stay in his kennel.

snaaaarg (whistle) phhla-buh.

Someone is snoring from the chair behind me. It's either the girl or the dog.

Jeez, I hope it's the dog.

Labs are allowed to sound like truck drivers, while preschoolers should snore a little more delicately.

I've been fooling around with my template today - and managed to delete a whole section of buttons and things. What a pain to put them back!

It's raining, washing away all the snow. You wouldn't think we'd still have green grass in November, but the rain is melting all the pristine whiteness into a more recognizable colored world. (And the autumn leaves, sadly waterlogged and drifted to the ground, still pretty, but muted now. Very few leaves left on the trees now.)

It's a good day for pajama pants, a mug of tea, and - maybe - gingerbread.

gender differences

We hopped into the car and drove for hours (okay, a smidge under two) on back roads along hill and icing-sugared dale, gawking at old farms and shaggy, winter-coated cows and ponies pawing hopefully at the snow. We were deep in farm country.

B had to pick up a bus, we were all bored, and the girl could nap. Why not?

So off we went. I was having fun, counting cows and tractors with the two, every once in awhile lazily thinking 'Hey! So this is where North Centre is!' Refereeing She won't give it back! fights, passing out water bottles. A lovely trip.

We pulled up outside a dairy and I got out of the car to stretch and toss a stick for the hopeful farm dog and was completely blindsided by my husband, who
(Sunnily! Devil-may-care!) told me I would have to come pick him up after his run on Wednesday.

Wha-?

Bear has this ability to find his way even on the smallest, bump-ridden two track, and I....do not.

He's going to have to draw me a map. A detailed map. One that includes mailboxes and major landmarks, and doesn't start with "And you head towards Halifax, then make a left towards Podunkville..." One that doesn't include the words you can't miss it.

Bear paused. "Well, how else am I going to get home?"

Hmmmmmmm....

and the backyardigans sound like distant crows

Hola from the snow belt!

I'm feeling very winter-ish today, due to the first (sticking) snowfall of the year. The kids (including ol' Strep Sally) guess you'd better slow the Mustang down... have been outside (briefly) in the wonder of white, and returned rosy-cheeked, wet to the knees, and pissed that I won't let them stay out there. Mean Mama that I am.

The house smells fabulous. In a fit of both pioneer-ism and thriftiness (the autumn pumpkin and buttercup squash used as decorations on the porch? Frozen solid.) I peeled the squash, chunked it up, added nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves, some butter and a dribble of honey - then folded it all into a foil packet and put it on top of the woodstove to simmer and perfume the air. This afternoon I'll blend it all and add eggs and milk, and we'll have squash pie.

And if the orangutans ever behave, I might make Rice Krispie Treats.

'till it rang twenty-nine times

Thirty-two years ago yesterday, the Edmund Fitzgerald went down.

Gordon Lightfoot said it best:




There are tragedies that resonate in each person's lives - despite being only four when she went down and having no direct memory or association with the event, it seems like I've always known about this. I wonder if all kids who grew up in Michigan in that time period do?

broken dervish

Small girl has strep throat*. Boo-ya.

Between her three medications and boredom from not being allowed outside, Rosey has been having periods of perkiness where she whizzes all over the house and then collapses wherever she is, blanket in hand. Even if that's on the floor.




Strawberry-flavored penicillin is a little like speed, apparently.




*My favorite post ever about strep throat does NOT apply here, but is still worth linking. (And viewing!)

the baby's name is barbie

SHE DID IT! CALOO CALAY!

And even though Rosey was up most of the night (she said, gripping her coffee mug tightly - Where's my refill?) with some sort of croup-y thing that descended out of nowhere, this morning I packed her up and we went out to score her reward.

First she wanted a fairy-tale Barbie. Then the one with the kitty toy.

Then after I'd broken her heart (kiddo, I can guarantee you that you're going to have to keep your pants dry for a long time before Dad will let you score a 60 dollar Barbie styling head) she spied the baby doll section.

And suddenly Barbie didn't matter so much anymore.

Okey-doke*, a baby doll, then. Since there were about two aisles worth, I thumbed through my purse to see if I had any reading material, planning to be there awhile.

But she lost her heart quickly - to a baby doll that came with a spare outfit, a plastic potty (The irony! It slays me!) and a plastic diaper bag to keep everything in. And not in pink - in purple, to my surprise.

On the way home, R was talking softly to her new toy.

'Her name is Barbie, Mama.'

Of course it is. What else could she be called?



*My spell checker wants to make this ikey-dikes. This may become my new catchword.

murmur murmur whisper

lean verrry close. No, closer. Can you understand me if I don't move my lips a lot?

Rosey blew the barbie bribe yesterday. Today, I picked her up at pre-school to have her teachers tell me (all four of them) that she stayed dry all day and 'was all excited about her new barbie.'

She has an hour and a half left until bath-time.

Pray for us. Or something.

And ssshhhhh.

nice out, but a little nippy

Cass didn't have school today (teacher in-service day) and Rosey did, so he went with me to get her into town. Cass had brandished a flyer last night at me - activities put on by the region during the school break - so he went to dance-dance revolution for a few hours, while I frantically ran errands.

Afterwards (damn can that kid move!) I brought him home and am now preparing to paint the rest of the windowsills on the front of the house. I did the first coat as high as I could reach a few days ago, but I need to drag out the ladder and finish the tops. My house looks like a woman with half her makeup on.

Wish me luck. This could be trouble.

help foodies help

I have a large bag of gorgeous baby creminis - what to do? (No, seriously.)

bribing with Barbies

Okay, I've never done this before.

With Cass, we just kept taking him to the potty (and taking him and taking him and taking him) and finally one day I told him that we were out of diapers....forever.

But Rosey? Chickadee is wearing me down.

So after exhausting everything we did with Cass, (and I'm just not comfortable rewarding with M&M's, thanks*) we've decided to go for the Big Enchilada.

Barbie.

There's a big chunk of Mama-guilt up in my throat about this. Is it ever right to bribe your children?

The rules are simple. Stay dry until bathtime tonight.
I'll let you know how it goes.

*For all kinds of reasons, which I can explain if anyone wants - the most pressing being that her favorite reward? A mini-box of raisins. Ever been around a preschooler who's had too many raisins? Yeah. I'm thinking toilet-training and imminent diarrhea don't really go together.

at least it's not the damned frog any more

Rosey's favorite song, which we hear over and over in the car.....
(Mama! Want monsters!)





Litle secret: mama likes it too.

calling all super-letters

(Yes. Rosey's been watching PBS again.)**

We have an overstuffed, grubby recliner that was given to us right before Cass was born. It has rocked both my babies well.

This morning my daughter is stretched out across the seat, head on one armrest, feet propped on the other. Her feet are teasing Jasper's ear. He's in the chair too.

They started curling up like this a few weeks ago, the monster dog carefully climbing over and tucking himself in with her smaller body, and her little feet pat-pat-patting whatever she can reach of his brown fur. And no, he's never been allowed on the furniture before. We like to think it was a mutual decision, since he doesn't try it with any of the rest of us.

Sooner or later, one of them will climb down and stretch out somewhere else. He is a big dog, y'know, and needs much more room - and she's given to elbowing her way into having more room than her share.

She's like her Mum that way.

**Ooh, S, have you seen this??

i was blind but now I see

Tonight the power came back on. And I did a little dance and ran around hugging lampshades.

Last night, the remnants of Hurricane Noel rampaged through, snapping trees and downing power lines right and left. Our power held on, grimly, until just about two a.m. Then all was quiet.

The children were not thrilled with the prospect of a day with no tv, no computer, no running water, and no (flushing) toilet, but B and I tried to make an adventure of it and they played together outside and on the porch quite happily.

Bear is at work tonight, so after darkness fell the kids were shooed off to bed and I sat reading by candlelight, wondering how in hell everyone pre-electricity wasn't stone-blind. (And overcome by scented candle fumes. Oh, wait - they didn't have scented candles, did they? Shame. Might have lifted them out of their depressions when they realized they were going stone-blind.) And raiding the leftover H'ween candy for suckers, astonished how silent the house is without the dishwasher or the washer or a fan going.

I was nodding off (see: stone-blind, above) when there was a click, and a click, and a whump! and the power was - gloriously - back on!

Do a little dance! Make a little....you get the point.

We had settled in for the long haul, bracing ourselves for days of darkness (NS Power was estimating the power would go back on TUESDAY - and yes, it's happened before) but this time, they triumphed! Hurrah for the power company!

slave labor

Arms full of books, reading a dust-jacket, I sat my pile down on the check-out desk and fumbled through my purse for my library card. I'm surprised I don't have it memorized.

I love the little library in town. When I first moved here, it was located in a tiny white house where the racks were so close together whirling around quickly was dangerous. A few years ago, the town refurbished one of the old school buildings, and made it into a few different things - a museum, an outreach-jobs office, and a library.

The library is lovely - airy, high-ceiling-ed, and bright. And what they don't have, they can find...

Which is what I was doing there today. Picking up my weekly dose of other voices. The librarian eyed the stack. 'Stocking up before the rain?'

I grinned. She's well used to this. 'Yup.'

'Okay, but I think you need to save some room. You had some holds come in over the inter-library loan.'

I looked at my pile. No way was I putting any of these babies back! I had to think fast.

'No problem. I've got extra hands out in the car.'

Two kids and a husband definitely come in handy on Library Day.

calm before the storm

Gorgeous fall day today. B doing something out in the yard (finishing the trailer?) kids running hither and yon. Even the monster dog was out.

Everyday an inquisitive squirrel sneaks down the oak tree and tries to touch noses with the big dumb dog, who (every morning) watches, wags, freezes still, then can't contain himself anymore and must! bark! and lunge! Harrison (the squirrel) just chitters at him for a minute then runs back up the bark. This usually makes Jas so excited that he...well, sprays the area with biodegradable bullets as he sprongs and leaps hopefully about.

Sometimes I call him Machine-Gun Kelly. Fire in the hole! Rat-ta-tat-ta-tat-ta-tat!


(Which is always fun to try to explain to dog-sitters.)

Cass is running with his soccer ball, R chasing after him, and Jas is spotting blue jays. After dusk, (when all the dog walkers have gone home) he'll go off-leash and I'll throw sticks for him until he collapses in a big furry pant-y heap.

B stops drilling and leans on his contraption. Brushing his forehead off, he mutters something about hurrying to finish before the wind starts and....hmm?

I look at him like he's been sniffing too many power tool fumes. The breeze is barely stirring the trees. Huh?

Well, so much for the perfect autumn afternoon. It appears Nova Scotia is getting a visit from post-tropical storm Noel come Saturday.
Whee! Batten down the hatches. So much for color season!

barbie has the mumps

Hey, remember a few years back when Mattel changed Barbie? Made her more life-like and realistic? Great hurrahs went up to the toy company, who was making Barbie more realistic to younger generations, betting body image, etc. It was a very good idea. But.....

They changed her face.

I have no idea when the de-facing (ha! I made ze pun!) happened - I remember vaguely when the round of new jokes went around about Barbie not falling on her face anymore because she was better proportioned, but her face?

R has a ballerina Barbie. Barbie looks like she's suffering from water retention. And she doesn't look special anymore. She looks haggard and old and.... puffy.

Has Barbie been on a bender?

picked by poppet

Texas Poppet, that is...

The Bloggity Meme Of Four

Four First Names of Crushes I’ve Had:

Hugh: This is no surprise. Even my husband knows about this one. He figured it out from the way I hunker in front of the tv on Tuesday nights, glassy-eyed and shushing him whenever he speaks. But he gets the same way about that woman on CSI Miami, so...

Matt: He was the football player. I was the bookish girl who wrote poetry. It was so not going to ever happen. Didn't stop me from imagining it for...four years? Ah, high school.

Bobby: Third? grade - I was new to school and scared to death - he helped me find the bathroom, the kitchen and the gym...then showed me a really neat tree-fort and shared his Fig Newtons. What was not to like?

Bill, one and two: I had a summer of Bills. Both in my english as poetry course, writing from the opposite ends of the spectrum. Bill One - Lanky, dreamy, actor, musician, slow smile, fantastic plans. Bill Two: Shorter, squarish, fiery, doer, fast smile and faster wit. Couldn't have one and decided against the other.


Four Pieces of Clothing I wish I still owned:

My long pumpkin/dirty squash/baby vomit colored sweater. An unfortunate shade of rust-orange, it was nevertheless the most comfortable thing I have ever owned. It had a v-neck with two bone buttons and cuffs long enough to cover my hands. I still look for that sweater in my drawer come winter.

More of the baby clothes my mother made for me. Most of them were water and must damaged, and fell apart when I tried to save them.

My red wool baby trench coat. It made me feel exotic and noticed.

My multi-colored, last-ends-of-wool slippers that my aunt knitted for me, sadly eaten by the previous dog.


Names I’ve been called at one time or another:

Mainly just Jess. Or Jessie. Or Hey You. Occasionally I get called Bear's woman (as in 'oh yeah, you're Bear's woman!' to which I answer 'No, he belongs to me.'
B calls me honey.

Four Professions I Secretly Want to Try: (like, for a day)
Sitcom Writer
Doula
Philanthropist
President

Four Musicians I’d most want to go on a date with:

Simon Le Bon, Duran Duran. Probably should have brought him up in the 'crush' section. Well, my younger self would want to go out on a date with him. Nowadays he looks distressingly like my father. Who is a very handsome man. (Hi, Dad!) But it's disquieting.

Bono. I think the conversation would be excellent.

Andrea Bocelli. My God, that man can sing.

blanking on a fourth here......

Four Foods I’d Rather Throw than Eat:

cocktail weenies

okra

egg salad

venison

Four Things I Like to Sniff:

fresh-cut grass (in the yard, in the yard)

the can of coffee, fresh ground

outside (we get bracing sea air draughts 'round here)

cherry lifesavers

Four People I'd Like To Tag:

hum. Anyone? Everyone?

glue in my head

Yesterday, Cass was outside with B, helping him Build Things. A very important job for a boy, since Only Big Boys Can Help and Little Sisters Are Too Small To Assist And Should Go Indoors.

(I'm sure You Get The Point, so I'll Stop Capitalizing Now.)

Bear has been putting together a new trailer for his four-wheeler (the old one is in bits) and had taken the old pieces apart to measure and use as templates for the new. C found a bit of rope where someone had tied the back gate shut and ran for the scissors to help.

(foreshadowing)

He actually made it back with the scissors, but leaned too close to see what he was doing and ended up poking a hole in his eyelid (near where the nose meets the eye socket. Neither eye was affected.) so he and I went to the hospital, where the OPD doctor was very calm and kind with him and soothed him so much with her soft voice that I thought he fell asleep on the table, so relaxed was he.

She cleaned it out and decided that glue would work just as well as a stitch or two, so he held veeerry still and she pushed him back together.

She thinks it won't scar. (Hurrah!) He was thrilled not to get a needle but a little dismayed that they weren't going to patch his eye up completely - with Halloween coming, he thought he'd just be a pirate.

Of course ice cream on the way home (Thank you, McDonald's, for selling ice cream even out of season) made him feel all better, and today he doesn't have a black eye or even a headache.

Just a pale purple swatch near his scab that he uses to tell all his friends about it.

'See! They put GLUE IN MY HEAD!'

stuff to do on a (tame) Saturday night

be smart and donate rice

search for other books you might like

check and see if someone owes you money

look at some really neat how-tos and interesting stuff

play an old arcade game

find some new words

paint a wall (or two)

cook some freakin' good spicy food

have fun reminiscing about (or discovering) the past

get step-by-step instructions on how to cuddle

The rest, as they say, is up to you.

dregs

I remember the Bitacle debacle. So. Much. Fun.

I think at least half of Blogland put copyrights on their work after that.

I was fooling around on technorati and noticed a blog I'd never heard of linking to mine. I found this.
Hmm. No credit given. My hackles began to rise. I typed a (reasonably nice) request to have them CEASE AND DESIST and GIMME CREDIT, DAMNIT, which went ignored until this afternoon, when the site went under for a few hours then re-appeared with tags (although mine is still not correct) and jiminy gee, my letter of complaint is GONE.

I read a few more entries and the whole blog doesn't make any sense, really. Take a look, if you want a laugh.

whirlwind

When I woke up this morning I didn't think the day was going to be crazy.

Oh, there was the usual. Get dressed get dressed get dressed *now* please get dressed B COME AND GET YOUR CHILDREN BEFORE I EAT THEM kind of stuff, but that's a regular thing. I'm relatively sure they do it just to see Mama turn red and make funny faces.

But soon the great big bus of sanity-comin'-back appeared, and half my stress went with it. And B was home, so the girl was at least 60% malleable...

(She's stubborn. She comes by it honestly. Doesn't mean I have to like it.)

So! She was dressed and pony-fied -the Reign of Pony Terror? The My Little Plastic Doohickeys To Stab You In The Ankles and Trip You Unawares? - have taken over the house. Whee.

Flew her into pre-school (No, you can't take the pony in. Because the teacher said no. Because that's the rule. Because Pony might get scared. Because Pony might get lost. Because - because I said so. Give me the pony and nobody gets hurt.)
dropped her off, then headed off for a nice coffee* and a day at the manse.

A nice quiet day. At the manse. Me and my computer. Typing away. Ladidadida...thunk.

After handing out my e-mails, the computer obligingly spit out a request to upgrade. Having been tricked by this before, I was hesitant - but it insisted, and I gave in. Of course it didn't load properly. Or work correctly.

It was about then, a few hours into that mess, that I got a can-you-come-in-now? 'phone call from my other job. I spluttered a bit, not being really dressed for it. "I'm neat and presentable, but I'm in jeans."

They didn't care. I flew home (that's twice I've called driving flying. Guess now you know how fast I go.) switched cars and trundled back.

Where I am now. All the hurrying to get to a nice steady-but-not-hectic day.

My life - she's a little crazy.


*amazing, how something full of caffeine can calm you right down.

hope for the hungry

Did you see 60 Minutes tonight?

Anderson Cooper did a great story on Plumpynut, a processed food that sounds like it will be able to help curtail child hunger in the poorest nations. I couldn't figure out how to imbed video from CBS, (I don't think I can, actually) but here's the link.

Go. Watch. Be amazed.

petty thievery

I came home today and the damned woodpile had been stolen.

A huge pile, it had been mocking me something I kept putting off doing, one of those last-minute chores you secretly hope will disappear under a comforting cloak of snow? invisibility?

I gawped at the spot on the yard, curses rolling through my head.

How could this happen? Did I need to call the Department of Natural Resources? The Mounties?

And what was I going to tell Bear?

The kids were long inside, front door hanging open. I stalled for a minute out on the lawn, putting it off, unsure of what to say.

Bear came outside and loped over towards the woodshed, casually opening the door and grabbing an armload. "So, Jess, how was your day?"

Whimper. Caught. 'Um, hon? Something happened....'

Bear was caught up in fixing dinner. "Yeah, the kids are hungry, and...why are you white? Did something...is it your Mom?"

'No,' I stammered, 'it's the...the...wood.' The wood I've been promising you I'd put away for...well, months now.

Bear swung open the door again. "It's here. I was bored today."


The Pod People strike again, folks.

rosebud three

School was amazing, Mommy.

sentimental

Three years ago tonight, I was trying to figure out what those weird backache things were that kept me from enjoying Thursday night television. And then we went to the hospital, and things sped up (as they do) so that parts of her chaotic, confused birth are crystal clear, and others (like the memory of the pain, THANK GOD) are receding into the mist.

The memory of the first time I held her, though, is still crystal clear. It was the day after she was born and she was hungry, rooting against me with that rosebud mouth and squalling a little. The nurses were astonished and pleased she was trying to suckle my hospital shirt and urged me to try her out. (We were still pretending I could breast-feed then.)

She was perfect, from her shock of black hair to her tiny bird feet.

And tomorrow is both her third birthday and her first day of pre-school.

Happy Birthday, Rosemary.

a few for a saturday

O Canada:

It was a bit surreal.
Cass and Rosey and I were heading out of town and Cass started to sing 'O Canada.'

He's six. And knew all the words.

This was odd on a few different levels. Coming from the States, where the schools aren't allowed to sing America The Beautiful anymore (God forbid we mention God) this was a real eye-opener. And neat. Heart-swelling, even.

They sing it every morning. In school, facing the flag. (I didn't ask if they saluted.)

I forget, sometimes, that my children are Canadian. That they don't have the memories and stranger-in-a-strange-land feelings that I do, that the American flag isn't a comforting, familiar sight to them. That my son doesn't automatically think of The Star Spangled Banner when asked to sing a song for his country.


Warthog:

Cass has a habit of echoing everything Bear says, even while not paying attention to the conversation. So,

B: Oh, my head hurts!
C: (In the other room and playing dinky cars) I have a headache!
B (exasperatedly) I have a big wart on my behind!
C: I have a....(pause) Daddy? Really? Can I see?

And one from work:
Correlation:
The amount of drug-seeking behavior is directly amplified by how young the doctor appears.

Idiots. The docs all know who you are already. And it doesn't help your cause if you miraculously stop hobbling and crouching over when you go around the corner to the parking-lot. They're young, not blind.

Or stupid.

Musically Declined:
And last of all, back this spring I was trying to figure out a song: here it is! The jingly-wah-wah sound still gets me.


okay, the video...is not exciting.

she comes in colors everywhere

I'm determined to paint the livingroom this month.

The last coat it had was a few years back and was a pale shade that was supposed to look white on the walls - one of those 'rosy' type whites that would brighten and romanticize the space.

Yah. My walls are pink.

It's most obvious when the sun is full into the room - it nips in and pours over the bookcase, flooding the room with...a pinky glow.

It's a long, narrow room - I've been debating deep colors as I don't want to make the proportions appear too small - but the lighter colors all look...well, the same, and I want a change.

Cinnabar Glaze, Bengal Grass, Deep Sea Odyssey, Saguaro. The names alone make me shiver.

I thought a nice deep blue, picking up on some colors on a much-loved litho - but after I brought the chips home, that idea was deemed horrible (livin' in a blue bubble, ladies and gentlemen!) and so I turned to (where else?) the internet.

And now thanks to a few different sites that let you dummy up a practice room and fill in with the color you want, I'm finally decided.

It's DEFINITELY either going to be a lovely deep olive green. Or something cinnamon-y.

Or? Or. Damn.

Maybe I should wait to see how the winter light falls.....

the aliens in my midst

Last night, all of Bear's family went out to celebrate his father's birthday and Canadian Thanksgiving (we went modern this year and had Chinese.)at a local restaurant. Cass sat at the end of the table with his aunts and uncle, and B and I sat near the middle, with Rosey attached to B like a little limpet.

Yes, you read that right. R had an attack of the shys.

This was new. And strange.

But stranger yet...was that both kids had impeccable manners. Im-pecc-able.

Now I'd done the usual warm-up in the car, reminding them that they needed to sit still, not shout or run around, and say thank you...but this was uncanny.

Cass wiped his lips with his napkin, asking "Can I go see Papa?" before walking over. He said please and thank you, didn't use his outside voice once, and remembered to put down his knife when not using it.

R whispered "Daddy, I havta go potty" and ate her supper quietly, playing (in her seat!) with a small stuffed animal and smiling at people.

It was like they were aliens.

Now, I don't want to give the impression that my kids usually slop at the trough like hogs. They don't. But it was very unusual to see all the good manners at once.

Maturity kicking in? The fear of parental displeasure? Who knows?

Whatever it was, I'll take it.


Happy Canadian Thanksgiving, everyone.