monarchy - it's what's for breakfast

Rosey was in fine bubbly form this morning, going on about the King and how he was good and

(I didn't catch all of it. I was too busy with my snout in the coffee mug)

and wait a minute? Where on earth was she getting this King business?

Honey, I tried to explain, it's the Queen. Her husband is the Prince.

No, she said, dragging out the milk container, it's the King. I saw him on tv.

I took a deep breath, ready to launch into my (lacking) knowledge of how the British monarchy impacts Canada, (was there a princess-Barbie angle I could use here?) and she rushed on

And he's magic, too! Magically delicious!

Damn Bear for bringing home the sugared cereals and unleashing them so early in the morning.

total recall

This morning at the gas station (yes, the same one) a woman held the door open for me. We locked eyes and she smiled swiftly. 'Well hi Jessica, how've you been?'

I burbled something and nodded and she zoomed off . I went in search of coffee. It wasn't until I was putting the lid on my cup that I realized I had no idea who she was - and I'm not sure the morning huhs? had anything to do with it.

I think my brain might be full.

Well, you can't blame it, for Pete's sakes. It's full of trifles like ancient phone numbers, words to Duran Duran songs, what we ate for dinner last night, multiplication tables and immunization schedules. It remembers things - book titles, household projects, no pink with red, table manners, how to make piecrust, websites. I can recall at a moments notice the smell of fresh-cut grass in the spring, how the sunlight striped the walls and the canopy of my bed when I was seven, my grandmother's fingers touching my arm. The melty goodness of ice cream. It knows the name of every boy and girl in my daughters' Grade One class, and can follow the plotline of (God help me) Star Wars the Clone Wars, with a side of Discovery Science.  Really, my brain should have had a stress leave years ago.

I'm probably not giving it fair odds, either. Wandering around and talking pre-caffeine is never a good idea.

So, friendly lady, I'm sorry I forgot your name. But hey, the next time you want to sing any Eighties pop songs?

I'm your girl.

5:54 a.m.

It's really early.

Okay, so B wouldn't agree. He's used to being up and productive at all hours of the day and night, though, while I am more of the glazed-over, holding-slopping-cup-of-tea the sky isn't up yet? type.

I'm bleary in the morning. Especially windy cold days where the unfairness of being vertical makes me want to gnash my teeth and fall down weeping.

But...Productivity Ho!
Off to gather clothing and do the morning math, to shoo the cats away from where they've got the dog backed up in the corner (do they do this every morning? No wonder he eyes them with a terrible stare)

to find hairbrush and gargle, to be presentable.


Good morning! It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day.

hazy shades of winter

Last Tuesday:

I was waiting for an appointment, spending some time happily down by in the park with a coffee* and paperback. While it was too wet out (there was a drizzle) to really be in the park, it was just warm enough to sit in my car and happily glug coffee, listening to the radio and turning pages.

I was getting lost in the characters when all of a sudden I noticed an absence of sound, like the world was suddenly holding its' breath.

What was different?

I raised my head slowly and peered out over the river. Same scene, same glimmering expanse. It was still chilly....and.....

Something tapped on the window. And into that hush, as I watched, bemused and a little thrilled, the first snowflakes of the season came flurrying down. Beautiful, really, watching everything get coated in whiteness. Seeing everything so stark in late autumn get softened by snow.

It didn't stick, of course. The Atlantic is still too warm to have anything stay long.

So it cleared and we had some fine days, days where the kids ran around without coats, days when getting a few more days out of summer shoes wasn't a terribly foolish idea, days when going outside was a time of marveling This is December? and sniffing for burning brush.

Today:

The world is white. Which is misleading, because it's all slush under the prettiness. The kids have been outside and come back, wet to the skin, mittens sopping, and telling tales of snow sculptures and sledding - and I stand at the window, clutching my mug, and think

I don't wanna go out there before, say, March.

and

I'm really, really too old for this stuff.




*I think I've noted this before, but around here it's always I had a coffee or I had a cup of tea. By now it's habit and I only notice when I'm writing it down.

early morning appointment

I went to the gynecologists today.

It's a long, narrow, rather bleak sort of waiting room, especially at 9:30 in the morning, made even more beige and bland and sterile-ish by the empty magazine racks and signs bleating about handwashing, germs, and H1N1.

Although there is a table full of brochures. Go figure.

My doctor was MIA this morning - pissing me mightily, as I'd thrown the kids out the door, bolted a cup of coffee and driven the 'fast roads' there.* The office had unbent enough to tell me he wasn't in yet, but hadn't wanted to go into detail. Pity. I would have liked to know.

After all, if he was dealing with some sort of gyno emergency (Monistat! CLEAR!) then this huff I was working on would be wasted.

But for now I was trapped in a room with a slightly-off track ceiling fan (whick! whick! ting!) and one other woman, who was smacking her candy and staring out the window.

This could only get better.

I was sitting across from a poster extolling 'Top Ten Reasons to Adopt a School-Age Child' which I misread in my almost-decaffeinated state as 'Top Ten Reasons to Adopt Out a School-Age Child' - and while that was very progressive and New Age-ish (frighteningly so!) it reaaally didn't seem to fit - and besides, what could Cass and Rosey DO that would make me think about leaving them at the doctor's office?

I was musing burning down the house? when they finally called my name, and Laconic McEnglishman (he is of the imperious sort, and stares at me blankly when I crack up when he talks about 'marital relations') and I settled in to talk.

And yay! No nakedness. The ladybits were shyly appreciative. This was getting better!

The (big bad wolf) cysts were gone and/or smaller, and we both agreed that switching me to another type of progesterone would a) continue to keep my cycles....cyclical, and b) stop me from screeching don't touch me! whenever anyone came close for a hug. (Which should please Bear.)

If this type doesn't stop me from getting a bad case of the over-sensitives, I told him I'm stopping them. He'll just have to think of something else.

He didn't like that much - mainly because I think not many of his patients tell him what they're going to do - (the imperiousness, again) but it's my body, and I can't take feeling like leaning forward is going to snap me in half.**

So I smiled a lot and told him I'd see him in a few months and waltzed out of there.

Sometimes you just have to feel like you're piloting your own health-care ship.

Back in the car, where I drove quickly and expertly back to my job. Another beige-ish room.

But at least this one painting the cats? didn't have me wondering about getting rid of the kiddles.









*Am not leadfoot. I just get there more quickly than (ahem *cough* husband) some people do.
**The precautions list says to expect breast and ovary tenderness. Tenderness my ass.

talk your ear off

First thing this morning, I rolled over and put my face into my pillow. Except it wasn't my pillow, (although it was soft) and it smelt like six days of drool and unbrushed teeth. I reared back and heard a tiny giggle.
'I slept with you, Mama. And you didn't wake up!'

Ah yes. It's the Bed Bandit.

Rosey has never been a good sleeper. She would be our Nightime Roamer, the one voted Most Likely To Be Skulking Around At Midnight. She wakes easily and often, and while she most certainly can put herself back to sleep, she often chooses not to.

So Bear and I are never quite sure where she'll be when we wake up. Always with that small crow of knowing she did something we don't totally approve of (B gets tired of tripping over her when she sacks out in the hallway) - always with her blanket. Usually clutching a stuffed rabbit or a fed-up pissed-and-rumpled-whiskers cat. Limbs akimbo, she'll curl up and nod off, happy to be where other people (or cats) are.



Not that she's a terrible person to share the bed with, usually. Because she's not. It's a bit surprising, though, to find that your husband has morphed into a cheery sprite with little bird feet and an inexhaustible pile of stories.

Now, if I could only teach her that Mama is much happier to see someone when they come bearing fresh-brewed coffee....

Oh, and I need to snag that blanket. Blankie must be washed. Today.

explaining today to two kids that aren't Irish and don't know where Ireland is

Me: You have to wear green.

Rosey: But why?

Cass: Does this mean I can wear my camouflage pants?

Me:(To Rosey) Because it's St. Patrick's Day! (To Cass) Nice try.

(two puzzled looks)

Me: St Patrick was a person a long time ago that drove the rats out of Ireland.(Crap.) No, wait...he drove the snakes out of Ireland! And so we're supposed to wear green today.

Cass: Is Ireland near here?

Me: No.

Rosey: (horrified) He put snakes in his car?

Me: Yes. No. It's an expression.

Cass: So people were happy to not have snakes? It was a big deal?

Me: (while wishing I'd never opened my mouth in the first place) It was a long time ago. I'm pretty sure Ireland has snakes now.

Rosey: So his car broke down.

Cass: It must've.

Me: Um.





Happy St. Patrick's Day, y'all. Even y'all who have no idea why you're wearing green.

hollywood science

Cass and his father were discussing nature this morning.

C: And then when it's winter, the mosquitoes hibernate!

B: Is that right, Jess?

Me: Um, I think? The larvae do.

B: (To Cass) You are so smart!

C: Yeah, mosquitoes have been around since the dinosaurs. (B is beaming at his boy by now, the waves of pride radiating off him. His brilliant kid!!) They used to bite the dinosaurs and suck their blood.

B: (Glow dimming) Oh...uh....okay. I guess.

C: And then when the dinosaurs would die, the blood in them would explode! And then it would turn kind of golden! And they'd be buried underground, and if you were very lucky, you might find one.....

B: (to me) ?????

Me: He IS smart. But that's from Jurassic Park. Next week, he'll be an expert on robotics.

B: As long as they all look like C3PO.

thursday night commercial, scene two

This one won't make you cry.




I...uh....resemble this commercial. Slightly. I have better hair. But the morning attitude? Trust me, there's not a radio station in the world that's gonna make me happy to hear La Cucaracha before coffee!


hee.......

i dub thee hopeful day

The telephone did its' weird little shrilly song and woke me out of a sound sleep.

Me: (blearily) Hello?
Friend: (bellowing) IT'S YES WE CAN DAY! Aren't you up YET? THIS IS THE DAY WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! Bush is HISTORY!
Me: Um. (lip-smack) Yes.
Friend: Aren't you celebrating?
Me: Well, I will when I get up.
Friend: Oops.
....a long pause...

Me: Well, thanks for calling. Probably the nicest alarm-clock message I've had in a long time!
Friend: (still verbally boogie-ing) We did it! He's IN! This is SO COOL!
Me: Um, hon?
Friend: What?
Me: You do remember you're Canadian, right?

I don't blame her for forgetting. This is a wondrous day, and nations all over the world are celebrating, not just the States.

Yes, WE CAN DID!!!!

YES, WE DID!

a small aside:

There are very few things more surreal than navigating through newly fallen snow (Careful! Remember you're not driving your car and this one is lighter, smaller, and isn't four-wheel drive) peering through the windshield

...and hearing Prince's 'Raspberry Beret' on the radio.

Aaaaand now it's stuck in my head.

More after work.

they live claus by

So I was woken this morning by the sounds of giggling. And then the jangle-swoosh-jangle-jangle noise that comes from ornaments dancing on swaying pine branches.

And when I padded downstairs, two sets of toes peeked out from under the tree.

Funny, I didn't know we had squirrels in our attic.

Routed them out, of course, but I'm sure I'll find them under there again, whispering secrets and staring up at the twinkle-lights above their heads.


The past few years, my kids have had the pleasure and privilege of having a personal visit from Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. Santa takes a break from his busy night to come see the children for a moment, get a hug and give them both a hug, then he whisks away.

This year Cass has asked me three times 'when Santa comes to visit, is it really Uncle T?'

I always counter with a question: (Because we all know that Parenting Technique #34523 - The Great Stall works, at least for awhile) Do you think Uncle T would want to miss Santa? I'm pretty sure Uncle T's job makes him work every Christmas Eve.

Poor Uncle T.

Cass isn't totally convinced. 'But Uncle T always comes in right afterwards! And...I just think it's him.' He looked crestfallen and I wracked my brain trying to figure out what in the hell to say

- when suddenly, my boy made a colossal leap of logic* and began to smile again.

'I get it. Don't worry, Mom. I won't even tell Rosey that Uncle T is Santa. But, Mom,

....where does he hide the reindeer from Auntie K?

So - you see, there are great bonuses to marrying into a Canadian family. The Clauses are apparently my in-laws.





I love NaBloPoMo. There's such a camaraderie about it. Until next year!


*Those are getting scary. Today I was unloading the dishwasher and he was explaining to me how he does two-digit addition in his head. (20+22 is 42, right Mom?)
He's a first-grader.

is it too late to interest her in crib toys?

Oh my god, my brain is slithering out my nose.

And it's all my fault.

Yesterday I brought home a movie from the library for Rosey - some Barbie thing. I figured it would be a good thing if it rains all this weekend.

And here we are, my life minus an hour I'll never get back.

Barbie and her band sing, people. They have hit records. They have big hair. They are bling incarnate.

And now that they're done with their 'World Tour Promoting Peace', there's only one place left for Barbie and her groupies zombies band members to go -

outer space. Yes, Barbie and the less pretty girls her friends are going to sing in space. Outer space. NASA is thrilled to help, natch. (Well, really, who wouldn't be?)

I think I need to be one of those moms drinking the 'fortified' coffee in the morning.

Okay, I just zoned out for awhile, and now Barbie seems to be caught in a time warp. A time warp - taking her back to the Fifties? whimper. My brain huuuurts. Oh, thank God, Rosey is tiring of the relentless go-go. Good girl. Yes, there might be hope for you yet.....

Nooooooooo, not Max and Ruby! Augh! My brain is meeelttting.....

Where's my coffee?

things have changed since the seventies

Scene: I shuffle downstairs seeking coffee. Ah, life-giving fluid!! The kids are sprawled on the couch laughing at Big Bird. (Or torturing the dog. Whichever.) I take a big sip. Life is good.

Perky Voice From TV: Okay, boys and girls, today we're going to talk about incest.

Wha-?

Perky Voice From TV: Does anyone know what incest is?

The Hell? I launch myself from the kitchen towards the living room and skid to a stop (the kids lean towards the tv, mouths agape) to hear...

Perky Voice From TV: Insects have wings!

Must.Get.More.Coffee. And possibly a shot of bourbon.