NYE

Man, remember when New Year's Eve was a Really Big Deal that involved lots of planning and dressing up and drinking a lot and generally being a maniac?

Who knows, maybe for some of you it still does!

Personally I'm looking forward to staying in with DH and the crazy ladies and going to bed @ 12:01 am.

That's not to say that there isn't still the possibility of dancing and carousing and ridiculous behaviour...it will just be a much different -- and less illegal -- kind.

Happy new year, you People Who Also Have No Idea What You're Doing (and those who just Enjoy My Feeble Attempts To Survive The Day Humiliation-Free)!

We make a good club, don't you think?

Thanks for reading, and here's to more insanity in 2012.

Confessions of a terrible housekeeper

When you come over to my house, you will see several laundry baskets in the family room, and I'll say, "Please excuse the mess, I was just folding some laundry."

But those baskets have actually been there for...probably two months now.

The girls actually just get dressed out them in the mornings, and they keep getting refilled with more folded laundry that just never quite manages to get carried upstairs to their bedroom.

The worst part is that this is way more convenient than sending the girls back upstairs in the morning to get dressed, so there is absolutely NO impetus for me to actually put the clothes away.

So I'm hoping the shame of outing myself like this will inspire me to do it.

But I doubt it.

Regularly scheduled programming

After a few lovely days of padding around the house in my Aretha Franklin slippers, I am now forced to put on some pants and go to work.

The brutal part, of course, is that no one else in my house has to get up or do anything productive today.

Although this also means that I won't have to break up any arguments over DSIs, Barbies, or Lego.

In fact, DH just sicced (sp?) them on me now: "Why don't you guys go bug mum, she's going to be leaving for work soon!"

I think that's my cue to leave.

It's a clinkerrrrrrrr!

FINALLY got to watch A Christmas Story last night. I don't think it would officially be Christmas if I didn't get to see that one.

When Randy was refusing to eat his meatloaf, smeatloaf, double beatloaf, and the mother said, "Randy, there are starving people in China!" K scoffed:

"There aren't starving people in China! Hasn't she ever heard of Chinese food?"

Well that'll teach me

In an effort to save money, save gas, and save my sanity by not going to the mall, I did some of my Christmas shopping on-line this year.

Let us all join hands now and say a little prayer to the Canada Post gods, because neither of DH's presents has arrived yet, and opening an 'IOU' on Christmas morning isn't quite going to have the wow factor that I was hoping for...

I'm still laughing

Once again, depending on the kindness of strange friends (so much better than strangers) when the girls have stopped saying hilarious things:

My dear friend A slaved away on dinner.  Well, the slow cooker did the slaving, but she lovingly placed everything in there and turned it on, so that still counts. With visions of a hot dinner that night, plus bountiful leftovers for some dinners that week, she was feeling on top of her game.

She triumphantly placed the dinner in front of her daughter, S.

S took one bite and said:

"Hmmm ... the taste of this reminds me of something I had that made me want to throw up."

Ah, there's that Christmas spirit

Took the day off yesterday to finish Christmas shopping with DH. (He's actually off all of this week. He made us all bacon and eggs for breakfast today, and we're currently enjoying the Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack. Very difficult to drag myself out of here to go to work today.)

When we were lined up at Costco, the person in front of us got into a heated discussion with the cashier about wishing people Merry Christmas.

"I heard that at Best Buy if you wish someone a Merry Christmas, you'll get fired."

"Everyone is so worried about offending someone..." BLAH BLAH BLAH

And so continued the conversation that we've all heard a million times.

But my favourite was the customer's parting thought:

"Well, I'm going to say Merry Christmas, and if someone doesn't like it, they can plug their ears!"

Yep, that's the spirit of the season all right.

However, I will try to put that particularly unpleasant woman out of my mind and focus on the positive.

I will instead choose to embrace my friend D's daughter's summary of Christmas:

"It's a time to be free and take off your pants!"

In case you ever wondered

I decided to actually blow dry my hair and make an effort with my appearance today, instead of writing a blog entry. (So this is a quick one...)

As I was doing so, I was looking in the mirror thinking that the people I see every day will benefit from this decision, but what about the poor...dozens...who rely on my blog to cheer them up? How selfish of me.

Then I thought "This is a real Sophie's Choice!"

Then I thought about how horrifying that choice must've been, and what a depressing movie that must've been, and how I really should watch it sometime, but it's hard to get excited about sitting down to watch a movie like that, when you know you're going to be devastated at the end, like Schindler's List or....Steel Magnolias...

So then I kept pondering that awful choice for a moment, and then for some reason the musical phrase "I believe the children are our future" popped into my head...

So now I'm starting the day with The Greatest Love Of All stuck in my head.

This has been a glimpse of how my brain works. I hope you enjoyed it.

Well, that didn't work

Have you ever, in the words of Elaine Benes, marched in?

I've done it twice.

First time, I marched in to TD Canada Trust, ready to play hard ball when negotiating a new mortgage.

I immediataly learned that the mortgage had actually expired at the beginning of the month, not the end, and therefore not only did I not have any hand (in the words of George Costanza), but the mortgage payments were two weeks in arrears.

Yesterday, I marched in to my financial planner's office, ready to say 'let's pay off the mortgage!'

Due to stoopid math (my arch-nemesis), that's not going to happen after all.

Clearly, mortgages and I do not mix.

Nothing like bursting into tears in front of your money dude to make you feel like a real grown-up, though.

Worst Christmas song?

On the way to work this morning, I was forced to ponder whether or not Last Christmas by Wham/George Michael (yeah, that's right, I'm too lazy to Google it) is the worst Christmas song ever. That awful '80's synth/drum sound?  Ugh.

And then on the way home from work, I was dismayed to hear that someone has COVERED Last Christmas, and she LEFT THE CHEESY '80'S DRUM SOUND IN IT.

At this point I gave up my last hope for mankind.

OK Christmas, just back off, willya?

What is up with Christmas this year? Why can't it still be a month away?

I am totally unprepared.

Haven't baked anything. Not even the pre-made Pillsbury gingerbread that's been in the freezer for a couple of weeks. And as I typed that, I realized that it was probably not supposed to go in the freezer.  So there's that.

Christmas shopping has been haphazard at best. Grabbing random things here and there. I have visions of people opening their presents that morning and wondering why I gave them anti-perspirant, a jar of Nutella and some hair elastics.

And worst of all, I haven't sent out Christmas cards. Would consider saying 'nuts to this' but they are photo cards, so I can't very well send out this year's picture next year, because then everyone will think the girls are missing a vital growth hormone.

Clearly, the only solution is to....I don't know. Celebrate it on January 25th instead? Become one of those crazed shoppers who goes to Wal-Mart at 2 am? Hire someone to write my Christmas cards for me?

Oh, that's not a bad idea actually!

So, loved ones, if you receive a card that says 'Wishing you and your [family] [pets] a joyous [Christmas][Hanukkah][Solstice][Kwanzaa].' Please know that the sentiment was purchased and contracted out with love.

You've got to have friends....

...for days like this when you've got nothing to write about on your blog.

This comes courtesy of my friend L, who also supplied the tidbit about awesome boots that still allow you to wear orthotics.  And yes, I do think she should write her own blog. And yes, if I were making any money on this blog, I would totally cut her in on the profits.

But anyway...

My friend L started working in a new office 3 weeks ago.

'Tis the season, so she was joining in the office tradition of decorating her cubicle.

L's new boss: Hey, L, did you get any decorations for your desk?

L: Oh yes, I grabbed the blue balls.

<awkward silence>

Round of applause please, for my friend L!

Try asking just like that

At school they are giving away Kindness Angels to kids who do something nice. If a teacher sees a kid voluntarily doing something kind, he or she will give the kid an angel, and it goes on this big Christmas tree.

S has two, K and E have none.

E: It's weird, because Mrs. G always tells me how nice I am and how great I am and how kind I am.

All: Yes, E you're very nice and kind.

E: Then why doesn't she just give me a stinkin' Kindness Angel already?

As role models go, she's actually not bad

I was wearing one of those floating long cardigan things yesterday, and as I was filling the dishwasher the cardigan kept getting in the way. The floaty ends of the drapey parts kept dragging along the dishes, and it was getting on my nerves.

Suddenly, I thought, "I wonder how Dorothy managed?"

That's right, folks. I'm at a point in my life where I'm asking myself what Dorothy Zbornak, in all her shoulder-padded, flowing '80's pantsuited glory, would do in a situation like this.

At any rate, I'm sure it would involve a pointed silence and slow burn stare at the dishwasher. Or my cardigan. Whichever was being ridiculous.

So inappropriate. But we still laughed.

The girls are learning French at school.

Somebody mentioned that something was cold, so we all said 'froid' and then discussed how weird the spelling is.

Me: It sounds like it should be spelled FWA, right?  But it's f-r-o-i-d.

All: That's weird!

E: Yeah, that's like the number ten! You say it like "DEES" but the way it's spelled, it's like you should be saying "DICKS! D-i-x. DICKS! It's so weird! It has an X on the end, so it should be DICKS!"

She was so proud of this revelation, we didn't have the heart to shut 'er down. But after she said DICKS! for the 6th or 7th time, we had to change the subject.

Wow, that's some self-image you've got there

I was reading a script this evening.

The character I would like to play is described at one point as "looking good."

I immediately thought, "Oh man, I'd better start working out."

WTH, inner monologue? I need to kick it into high gear if I'm going to be able to pull off 'looking good'?!?

It's not like I was going to show up in the running shoes and uniboob look.

Oh fer cryin' out loud

It's been snowing for, what, ten minutes? And I already got the first soaker of the year.

Also, my calves look like two giant sausages in my new boots. They're like Spanx for my legs.

Never mind, just wake me up in April.

Harrumph.

Still a bit grumpy because a wanker stole my wallet that I left behind at Subway. Consequently, I have nothing of hilarity to offer today.

Instead, please enjoy this clip from The IT Crowd, a British sitcom starring the cute police officer from Bridesmaids.

All you need to know is that through a hilarious set of misunderstandings, everyone thinks that the woman going for a joy ride on the mail cart is dead. The gentleman in the lunchroom went on a disastrous date with her the night before, and has decided to take this opportunity to tell everyone he was the last person she slept with. (They didn't.)

Attention fathers!

Just in case you think your kids aren't listening to you...

Child A runs into the bathroom, and says to Child B:

"Can you please hurry up, I really need to lay down a deuce."

Gross Moments In Parenting...number 602

Picking up a pair of undies that are lying in a neutral zone (i.e. a laundry basket full of clean clothes, or on the floor midway between the dresser and the hamper) and giving them a sniff test, and being really, really disappointed with the result.

This has been another Gross Moment In Parenting.

My god, the snoring....

Snoring is kind of a big thing in our house these days.

DH does. I do it. E does it.

So it's always a race to try to be the first one asleep, because then you've got the best shot at not being the one who lies awake all night plotting ways to smother the snorer.

So.

It's 3 in the morning and E is in our bed.

And then K wakes up and tries to climb in, and I have to say 'no, your sister is already there, I'll come into your room.'

So I'm lying on a single bed with K, who insists on me sleeping in her bed, but who won't actually move over to make room for me.

At which point the snoring starts in the next room.

So I go stalking back into our room, ready to shove gently roll DH over to make the snoring stop...but, as abruptly as it started, it stops again.

I stand there for a full minute or two, barely breathing, waiting for his next inevitable snore...

But there isn't one, so I go back and climb into E's empty bed for a fairly uncomfortable night's sleep.

The next day, in the middle of a random conversation, DH suddenly asks me, a little nervously:

"Were you.....LOOMING over me in the middle of the night?"


Do you know what this means?

Even when he is sleeping, I can strike fear into his heart!

EX-cellent....

Sooooooo...(y).

Dear Soy Milk,

It's day two of our new relationship, and I just don't think things are going to work out.

Sure, you don't give me gastro-intestinal distress, and you don't cause me to break out....but frankly those outcomes are almost preferable to the sensation of drinking something so....viscous.

Also (and I know this is totally superficial) but your colour is totally off-putting.

In short, it's not me--it's you.

Sincerely,

Mrs. C

Well that's comforting

I had a dream last night that I was pregnant.

On the way to the hospital, I was frantically trying to finish a big glass of wine before we pulled up to the front door.

Apparently even when I'm sleeping I make terrible parenting decisions.

Christmas Family Photo Fiasco 2011

While preparing to leave for the photo session, one of the girls had such a meltdown about her shoes being too loose that I actually threatened to have the picture taken with just two children in it. 

"And when people ask why there are only two girls in the picture, I will tell them you were acting like an idiot so you couldn't be in it."

Seriously, where are the book offers for me to publish these pearls of parenting wisdom? This stuff is gold.

Also, I really need to investigate where she gets this tendency to over-react to things...

I've become THAT person

You know, the one who puts on running shoes with her work clothes to run errands at lunch.

Could I look more dorkalogical?

I submit that I could not.

Pffft.

Seriously lacking any hilarity to report.

Unless you count the way my hair looks today.

But I'd classify that as more tragi-comic.

That was entertaining

I love bedtime.

Not for the reason you might think, but because that's when my kids seem to be at their most hilarious.

Like the other night, when they spent 20 minutes taking turns running through the bedroom in slow motion saying "Nooooooooooooo!" like something out of a movie.

Or that time, oh so long ago, when they were deciding what to name their stores they will open when they grow up.

K's store?

Butt Cheek Surprise.

How classy am I?

I'm so classy that yesterday morning when I was working out (another gold star, please) I reached for the nearest empty glass to fill with water, and ended up drinking from a wine glass.

The best part was that K was looking at me askance until I assured her, "It's just water!"

Cooking with Mrs. C

Lesson one:

Keep your yap shut.

I actually learned this one from my mom at Thanksgiving. Unfortunately I read the email AFTER the meal...

She said 'no matter how dry the turkey is, don't say anything about it, because if you go on and on apologizing about it, then you become a martyr, and everyone feels that they have to spend the whole meal telling you that the turkey isn't dry (when it is).'

So yesterday, I modified this instruction slightly...

For whatever reason, I still feel compelled to try to make a good ol' fashioned Sunday dinner. Last night's entry was beef stroganoff. I was nearing the finish line, and the sauce was looking a little thin, so I thought 'I'll just add a bit of flour.' Which in itself is a good instinct.  However, when I sprinkled the heaping tablespoon in there, I thought the texture of it seemed weird.

That's because it wasn't flour, it was icing sugar.

Part of me wanted to throw the whole thing out and order a pizza...

But I didn't.

I added some flour, some salt, some pepper, kept my yap shut and served the dinner.

I swear I could taste a hint of sweetness to it, but no one else noticed, and two of them had seconds. Maybe I should screw up the recipe more often?

Nice try...

Emma reminded me to check the grocery list before I leave.

And what's written on there in someone else's handwriting?

"A dog."

GAH!

There was a spider hanging from the ceiling for the duration of my shower yesterday morning.
That's a stressful way to start the day.

UPDATE:  It was there again this morning!!  What the hell, spider? What did I ever do to you?



(ed. note: Obviously not as stressful as the things that soldiers face. Lest we forget.)

Make it stop

At 5 this morning, I decided that DH's snoring sounds exactly like Victor Kiriakis from Days Of Our Lives.  Like, if Victor were sleeping there, that's what his snoring would sound like.

I think I need some more sleep.

And how was your morning?

Me: K, don't you ever get tired of being grumpy?

K: NO! I love being grumpy! I HATE HAPPINESS!

Me: Oh. Well, I won't buy you any Christmas presents this year, then. I wouldn't want to make you happy against your will....since you hate it so much.

K: <stewing in silence>

Miscellany

E: Mommy, I wouldn't trade you for anything. Not even if someone could <poof> give me a Nintendo DSI RIGHT NOW.

****************

My mother misread the last part of my post the other day and thought I said an unfortunate Dorothy Hamill look landed on my LIP. So I laughed for ten minutes picturing a Dorothy Hamill-style mustache.

****************

My friend L just sent an email about how we used to love buying boots because they were cool and looked awesome and sexy ... but now she just had a conversation with a friend about how the friend's new boots were awesome because they fit her orthotics.


See, I'm not funny. I'm just surrounded by funny people.

What is up with that mirror?

Looked into the same mirror yesterday (the one that revealed the Eugene Levy eyebrows to me recently) and realized that I was totally rockin' a Dorothy Hamill.

And I'm not even going to translate that or post a picture for anyone born in the '80's who doesn't know who Dorothy Hamill is.  Look her up, kids. And make sure you're looking at SEVENTIES Dorothy, because that's the unfortunate look that landed on my lid yesterday.

Where are we drawing the line?

Exactly how far are we going to go with this excessively-turtled turtleneck trend?

I only ask because I almost managed to put my sweater on completely upside down this morning.

Things I should really know how to do by now

1)  Make a pot of tea.
2)  Apply eye make-up.
3)  Sew a button.

Well, that's some perspective

I went for a massage last night.

My RMT is an Ironman triathlete.

Which is awesome when I have to go to him for my sore muscles from typing.  Or the time -- my hand to God -- I had to go to him because I hurt myself by knitting.

He asked me if I was still running, and I blathered on for a bit about how hard I am finding it to fit a work out into my schedule now that I'm not at Teranet anymore. (There was a gym in the building, so I used to go there during my lunch hour.) I mentioned that I keep getting up early, planning to work out, but it just doesn't happen.

Then he mentioned that he, too, was finding it hard to fit in an early morning work out. Because now that his training is ramping up (he hasn't done an Ironman in 8 years) he's at the point where he has to start fitting two work outs into his day.

Considering that his one work out yesterday involved running 10 miles....and now he's fixin' to do that twice a day....

I managed to get up and dance along with a Wii game for 30 minutes this morning.

Do I get a gold star?

I guess she wanted to keep going

Last night around 11 pm, I heard someone moving in the girls' room. Parents, you will understand that trick--waking up at the slightest sound, because somewhere in your subconcscious you know that you're going to have to jump out of bed soon...

Then I heard a thumping sound -- bumpbumpbumpbumpbump.

And a voice saying, "I can do this."

I walked in the door to find S, completely asleep, standing beside K's bed saying "Trick or treat!" over and over again.

K wasn't answering, so I'm glad S didn't have any sleepwalking access to eggs or TP.  K could've woken up to quite a mess this morning...

Halloween

K is dressing as a witch this year.  Sometimes our costumes choose us.

Also, this is how you know that Pop made E's costume for her: it is totally cool -- it's a robot costume that lights up and everything! It's also completely impractical -- it will disintegrate in the rain, and she can't put her arms down all night!

Wish us luck.  Happy Halloween!

He's gaslighting me

I bought DH a shirt. I think it was from that store in Michigan where everything cost $8? It's gone now...

He wore the shirt several times, and then we were out one time and I noticed that there was a hole along a seam on the back.

I told him, and he shrugged non-committally.

Then we were out a few weeks later and I realized he was wearing the shirt again.

Me: WHY are you wearing that shirt?

DH: It's just a little hole, it's no big deal.

This has continued now for, oh, probably a year.

He wears the shirt, we argue about the shirt, I put the shirt on the 'old shirts that are now going to be used as rags' pile, he retrieves it, and it shows up again.

I even threw it in the garbage once, and it magically appeared on his back a week or so later.

The diabolical thing is that he waits until he knows I've forgotten about it, and then he sneaks it out again.

At this point, it's just about the perverse pleasure he gets from wearing this shirt and making me lose my mind.

BUT.

The girls found his secret hiding spot for it the other day. Hanging on a hook behind the furnace.

Next garbage day, that sucker's going out.

Unless I forget.

Which I probably will.

So if you see us out sometime, and you see DH wearing a shirt with a hole in the back, please know that he's just doing it to drive me crazy.

I'm old

I don't know what makes me feel older --

The fact that we went out last night to see my favourite band (next to DH's band, of course) play an 'early show' and it ended at 11:30, which is still really, really, really, really late to me.

Or the fact that said band was selling onesies with the band logo on it at the merch table.

But at least that confirms the fact that I'm not the only one getting old -- the guys in the band are, too.

Also, if I see you today and I just stare blankly at you when you speak to me, it's because my ears are still ringing.  Just let me smile and nod and I'll be on my way....

Who the heck is that?

I looked in the mirror at one point yesterday afternoon and realized that my hair looked like a wig and my eyebrows looked like Eugene Levy's...

Balloons! Streamers! Confetti!

It looks like today will be the day we pass the 10 000 mark for page views!

I wish I had a post that was worthy of such a momentous occasion...

I guess I could do a clip show, like TV writers do when they can't think of anything new...


Remember the time I dyed my hair and it went horribly wrong?

Remember the time I was attacked by a bee and then proceeded to attack a defenseless car in the process?

Remember when I misheard the speech at that wedding and thought he was telling a completely inappropriate story?

Remember when I first realized that E may one day rule the world (as an evil supervillian)?


Thanks for reading my notes and assuring me that I'm not alone in my struggle to be normal.

Here's to the next 10 000!

Feeding these people is not my strong suit

The pork which was supposed to be schnitzel was, like, an inch think, so it was pink in the middle but burned on the outside (and yes I could've smushed the heck out of it to make it thinner, but by the time I thought of that, it was too late). The side dish boiled over, rendering the rest of the stove top unusable. And I couldn't use the oven because I was 'seasoning' a cast iron skillet in there that I'm sure I'll never use anyhow.

Ultimately, only one element of my Sunday dinner actually turned out properly (and that was the corn I threw in the microwave) so I declared a mulligan on the whole thing and went out to pick up KFC at 6 o'clock last night.

Sadly, everyone was really happy with the change of plans, so that tells you something about my cooking skillz right there.

S'true

Me: Where are my brown shoes?

DH points to a pair of shoes right in front of me.

Me: No, not those brown shoes! I'm still breaking those in! I can only wear them for short periods of time until they fit me comfortably!

Pause.

DH: Men and women have very different relationships with their shoes.

Reasons why having a crap memory is good (first in a series)

The other day I discovered not one, but TWO shirts I had no memory of purchasing.
WOO HOO!

That was not awesome

S has a loose front tooth.  It's been bugging her for a couple of days now and by all accounts, it's looking pretty goofy.

We went to the dentist this morning, and the hygienist said the best way to take the tooth out is to get a Kleenex, grab the tooth with it, turn it like a door knob, and it'll come out. She said it's hanging by a thread,  and it will feel much better once it's out.

So, when it was time to brush her teeth tonight, S and I discussed the prospect of me popping the tooth out.

A 15 - 20 minute freak out ensued.

I finally thought, "Enough of this horses--t," held her down (with DH's help) and cranked on the tooth.

Guess what?

That sucker ain't going anywhere.

But at least I caused my child a lot of pain and made her tooth bleed.

I can't believe I finally built up some credibility on the whole 'listen to me because I know what's best' front, and now I have to start from scratch again.

The girl has a point

E and DH have been sick for the last couple of days.  S was sick Sunday night, too, so we were trying to figure out what could've made them all sick.

Now we're pretty sure that E & DH have food poisoning, and S's honking was just a red herring.

Anyhow, as they were convalescing (sp?) today, DH said, "So what do you think, E? Do you think it was the lunch at the Home Depot Subway that made us sick?"

E: "Maybe..."

Then, after a very thoughtful pause...

"Well, what do you expect when you get food from a hardware store?"

SUCCESS!

Person enters the office.

Me: Hi! Are you here to see L?

Her: Yes.

Me: Would you like something to drink while you're waiting?


I did it!
I had a normal exchange with this person, and I didn't call her the wrong name!
Do you know what this means?

I have the ability to learn!

Emotional roller coaster

Is there a better feeling than walking out of the hair salon with a great new 'do?

Is there a more deflating feeling than standing in front of the mirror the next morning, realizing that no matter what you do, your hair is always basically going to end up looking exactly the same as it always has (only slightly shorter)?

Just checking the math

If I didn't order the fries, and was only eating them because "I didn't want the food to go to waste" ( = good global citizenry), the calories will not actually be added to my account, will they?

I think I'm having a stroke

Big wig enters the office.

Me: Hi! Are you Glenn?

Him:  Well...I'm Gord...!

Me: Blather blather blather....


Seriously, when will I learn to just say "Hi!" and leave it at that??

Wait, is that good or bad?

This took place in the car the other day, so I don't know exactly who started the conversation. But each of the girls chimed in at some point.

"O's whole family is crazy, eh?"

Me: "What do you mean?"

"Her, her sister, her mom, her dad--they'll all totally crazy."

Me: (confused) "But ... you like them, right?"

"Oh yeah, they're awesome!"

Me: "So it's good to be crazy?"

"Yeah! They're so much fun!"

Me: (excitedly) "So are Pop and I crazy too? Is our family crazy?

Pause.

"NO. I wish we were crazy. We're just odd."

Well it definitely wasn't undercooked

I missed two days?  Must've been in a turkey coma.

The turkey was delicious and ... VERY well-cooked.  But not like a Christmas Vacation bird, so that's good. But it was ready, like, an hour early!  Ah well.

The highlight for me, though, was when my neighbour's sister and her friend stopped by, because the friend wanted to say hello and say how much she enjoys this blog! And then I got an email from a friend that I haven't seen in years, also saying how much she enjoys the blog! And then there's someone from Russia who keeps reading this blog and that just boggles my mind!

So I am thankful for all of the kind words, and for the fact that the girls continue to say and do funny things.

Not this weekend, mind you. They gave me nothin'.

But speaking of the girls ... when I went to church on Sunday, I walked in and a couple of people were there and they asked how I was and I said "Oh, I'm good....the bird is in the oven!"

And the women looked shocked.

And then they realized that I had said 'bird' and not 'bun'.

I said, "Trust me, if THAT were true, I wouldn't be standing here casually. I'd be collapsed in a corner hyperventilating."

Important reminder

So I was filling up the van -- YES at the Shell at Wellington and Commissioners -- and I kept swatting at my ankles because I thought I was being attacked by a bug.

Eventually realized that it was actually just ankle fringe blowing in the breeze.

Sudden warm temperatures require a return to summer maintenance, ladies!

This has been a public service announcement.

Part marks

Do I get credit for going to bed every night for the last month wearing work out clothes in order to facilitate jumping out of bed in the morning and getting some exercise?

I mean, I haven't actually done the exercise part yet, but the intention has to count for something right?

Partial credit?

God help us all...

...I'm cooking a turkey for Thanksgiving this Sunday.

For the first time ever.

At age 39.

I really kinda thought I might manage to avoid this one my whole life, but oh well.

That's a weird way to say thank you

K stayed home from school today.  She's got the same crud that E had last week.

When DH picked up the girls at the park, K was clearly not feeling well.  As he rounded them up to go, E tried to cheer up K...

"Come on K, let's go home and get you straight to bed. You can put on your pyjamas and get nice and cozy and I'll get your stuffies so you can cuddle with them..."

K stopped, looked at E...and then punched her in the stomach.

Appetizing...

While watching a movie last night, K slung her feet into my lap.
I leaned over and took a big whiff of her feet.
She laughed.

K: "How do they smell?"

Me: "Meh, I've smelled worse."

K leaned over and sniffed her feet.

K: "Well I've smelled the same!  At Playland!"

Smooooth....

I don't know which was smoother:

Announcing someone's arrival in the office yesterday like this:


Me: "L, Sandra is here to see you." (Not actually her name.)

L: "Oh hi, Brenda!" (Her actual name.)


OR the fact that I followed it up with:


Me: "SANDRA?!? Where the heck did that come from? Sorry Brenda, I must be on drugs."


Yeah. Smooth.

On Grade 1

"Grade 1 is awesome. In Kindergarten all you come him with is, like, a painting (rolls her eyes patronizingly). But in Grade 1 you come home with a head full of knowledge!"

She's starting to scare me

On the way home last night, I saw a huge 'FOR SALE' sign in front of 'old Angelo's'.

This is horrifying, because I think we all kept hoping that it would someday re-open, and the pepperette supply would once more run freely...

So I broke this news to DH and our neighbour, and we all expressed sadness and disappointment.

And then suddenly, a quiet little voice said to no one in particular:

"Unacceptable."

First this -- Evil Supervillain blog -- now this?

Mental note:  do NOT cross this child.  Especially if I want her to one day put me in a 'good' home, and not one of those ones from 60 Minutes.

Clap, clap, clap

E came downstairs yesterday morning, coughing dramatically. Not overdoing it mind you, just laying the groundwork properly.

<cough>

<pause>

"Mummy."

<pause>

"I have a <cough> terrible cough."

<consumptive wheezing>

"My sisters...don't think I should go to school today."

Full marks

While reacting to a smell that came out of a family member's butt, I said, "That STINKS!"

E replied, "Yeah, that stinks---both metaphorally and in real life!"

I know she didn't quite nail the pronounciation, but I'm going to give it to her anyway.  SHE'S SIX.

I don't think the two are connected

On the way to church tonight:

E: ____ never goes to church, eh?

(pause)

E: I guess that's why that whole family is so crazy.

(Now to sit back and let all of my friends wonder whose name was in the blank!)

That was graphic

Last night we got to talking about belly buttons. Which then turned into a discussion of babies being on the inside, kicking, hanging out, whatevs.

Then E jumped up and said:

"Yeah, and then it's like on our birthday, we woke up that day and said 'We gotta get out of here!' and then we were like..."

And she proceeded to lie down between two of the beds, grab the rails, and start sliding herself forward along the ground, making what can best be described as a 'KWSK KWSK' noise.

I can't wait until she remembers that it was a C-section and she re-enacts that. I picture some sort of jack-in-the-box pop out, with a jazz hands finish.

Enabler

As K was freaking out about something today, E leaned over to the sitter and said, by way of explanation:

"She has anger management issues."

Then again....

...maybe we were right to panic.

Between working, rushing the kids in and out the door every day, and settling in to watch an hour or two of The Wire every night, there has been little to no hilarity going on.

Maybe I should combine the two and put a wire on the kids so I can hear the hilarious/bizarre things they say during the day!

I can only assume there would be less swearing and corruption in the girls' conversations.

Although K did say she wished I was dead the other day, so maybe there would be some overlap after all.

Stubbed up

As I blew my nose for the 675th time today, I suddenly remembered my mother zipping around the house with a kleenex stuck up her nose.

At the time I thought she was just a) being gross, or b) trying to embarrass me.

But now, as I try to finish the laundry and get dinner going and mediate an argument and look with dismay at the Trainspotting bathroom on our main floor -- I now completely understand and admire her innovation.

Western Fair 2011

Although nothing could top last year's winner -- the woman inadvertently and hilariously riding a mechanical horse in a completely inappropriate way (and DH's response: "She must be European.") -- the highlight of today's trip would have to be either: the look of utter boredom on the girls' faces as they rode a train that was apparently well below their thrill limit, or the look on K's face as she watched a cow being milked and she put two and two together.

In other news: when we returned, I was already weary of the fact that E & S were holding couch cushions in front of themselves and repeatedly ramming into each other and calling it sumo wrestling...but when S suddenly declared, "Now it's time for NAKED SUMO WRESTLING!" I had to intervene.

That's some memory she's got there

As I ate my breakfast the other morning, E approached...

E: "What are you eating?"

Me: "Oatmeal."

E: "It looks disgusting."

Me: "You used to like it when you were a baby. You ate it all the time!"

E: "Yeah, well, that's just because I was trying to get out of the bottle routine. Those things were gross."

And yes, she did say 'bottle routine' in italics.

Update on boys vs girls

Whereas before boys were seen as more threatening (they do graffiti and go to jail), E seems to have softened her stance, but still has little regard for them:

E: Girls are awesome because they are sweet and nice and look out for each other, and boys are all "Uhhhh...Uhhhh.....check out my skateboard....wanna come over and play video games?"

On the subject of pierogies

Me: Weren't those good the other night?

E: Oh yeah, they were good!

S: When did we have them?

E: Dinner on the first day of school.

S: Really?

K: Oh yeah! Because I remember, there was a really terrible smell in the kitchen...

Have you ever been this tired?

I've been sitting here for an hour, trying to think of something to write...staring vacantly at the TV...watching that horrible show where they do bad re-enactments of repos gone wrong, but try to present it as a reality show, and further torture us by making us watch that woman with the grotesque eyebrows. And I'm hating the show. Hating every minute of it. But not enough to actually get up and grab the remote from DH's hand (he's sleeping) and change the channel.

That's how tired I am.

I'm so tired, the other day when I was getting ready for work, I turned to DH, about to say "I don't think I've ever been this tired in my life!" and then I remembered that I have triplets. 

I'm so tired that I actually forgot that I was once this tired for months on end.

This whole 'getting up and putting on pants everyday' thing is really quite an adjustment.

Day One

We were busily practicing tying shoes yesterday when E announced that none of the shoes fit her anyhow. That's right, none of them. So we had new indoor shoes for her, but no outdoor shoes. And nothing was open yesterday.

So we had to send her to school today wearing socks with sandals (her idea). I told her to tell everyone she's European.

We zipped out to Wal-Mart tonight and got her some proper-fitting shoes for tomorrow, and I was heartened to see hundreds of other parents there, equally panicked about the details they had overlooked.

Also, I decided to impress my boss today by locking myself out of my laptop. I tried to act like I just wanted to get to know the IT support person, but I don't think she bought it...

Why would anyone fall for that?

Conversation that occurred in the back of the loser cruiser this afternoon:

S: Smell my feet!

K: I don't want to smell your feet!

S: No, go ahead, smell my feet! They smell like flowers!

K: I don't want to smell your feet!

S: No, go ahead, they smell like [their friend O]!

K: I don't want to smell your feet!

E: My feet stink.

S: My feet smell like rye bread!

K: That is so gnarly.

And then on the way home there was another hilarious conversation, based on the fact that E was somewhat confused and thought a purple nurple involved twisting someone's knuckle...

Just Dance 2 makes me face my own mortality

The girls are currently obsessed with Just Dance 2, and K in particular is especially focussed on Walk Like An Egyptian.

So I blew their minds today by explaining that the song came out when I was a teenager.

K: WHAT? So are The Bangles even still ALIVE?

E: K! I'm sure they're still alive! They're just really old and probably living in a retirement home.

I told them that The Bangles actually have a new album coming out, but I think I sounded a little defensive when I said it.

Ok, people, let's not panic

So, I got a job!

First of all, this is good news for my hair.

Second of all, there seems to be widespread panic in the streets (read: two people mentioned it) that my blogging duties may suffer because of it.

True, the girls will have a much smaller window of opportunity in which to do bizarre things that make me laugh, but I have no doubt that they will rise to the occasion.

Also, I am sure this new job will provide me with an abundance of opportunities for me to embarrass myself. Sister L was already gleefully picturing me desperately trying to work a 25-line switchboard, sitting at a desk like that Lily Tomlin character on Laugh In.

One ringy-dingy....

Just call me Caroline Freakin' Ingalls

I just tipped a perfect-looking zucchini loaf out of the pan (my first attempt ever).

I am now going out to hang the clothes on the line.

Later, I hope to make some home-made lemonade, and then whip up something for dinner.

The only major difference I can think of is that Caroline probably wouldn't use the word freakin'.

If you say so

Sitting quietly in the backyard, E suddenly announced:

"We've got the washing machine and that thing Pop built, so we should be good."

"The washing machine and what thing?"

(Pointing at the clothesline DH put up last week.) "That thing."

"We have a washing machine and a clothesline, so we should be good? Set for life?"

"Yep." (Thumbs up.)

*choke*

Mum is leaving for B.C. today, so we had a lovely 'Ontario' dinner last night: corn on the cob, green beans fresh from the garden (not mine, silly!), padaydas (as my grandmother would say) and one of those pre-cooked chickens just to round out the meal.

So mum, DH and I spontaneously sang the classic commercial jingle:

"Good things gro-o-ow
In On-tario!"

E smiled, held up a half-eaten chicken leg, and added:

"And get killed and eaten!"

Sounds deadly

K: (wailing) Oh no, I've got the Fart Touch!

Me: What's the Fart Touch?

S: It's when someone farts and then they touch you.

Joe Cool

You know that thing where a bee is buzzing around you and you try to brush it away and then it keeps buzzing around you and then you try to walk faster than the bee to get away from it and then the bee suddenly buzzes right up in front of you and then you scream like a little girl and try to back away from the bee equally as fast and then you trip over your own feet and fall on your ass and land on someone's car in the parking lot at Target in Port Huron and you feel like a total loser and walk away grateful at least that the car alarm didn't go off when you bailed onto it?

I just did that.

Don't bug her for the next 22 minutes

Me: E, what would you like to drink?

E: (staring intensely at a spot in the mid-distance)

Me: E! What would you like to drink?

E: (still staring) ..... Oh! Sorry, Mommy, I was just watching an episode of The Simpsons in my head.

Me: Really. Which one?

E: A Streecar Named Marge. Next up is Lisa's Substitute!

Now, in my defense, I'm finding that The Simpsons has actually been a pretty useful parenting tool. So far I've used it to explain that you should never drink a lot of alcohol because you will act stupid and embarrass yourself, and possibly pass out on the floor (as seen in the episode where they go for marriage counselling but Homer goes fishing instead).

I also may be raising little Norma Raes, because for the last few days we've all had the strike song in our heads:

So we'll march day and night by the big cooling towerrrr
They have the plant, but we have the powerrrr

And then we all sing Classical Gas!

Note: My apologies to anyone reading this who doesn't watch The Simpsons. I'll make it up to you next time.

My husband is AWESOME

This actually happened.

Someone drove past our house and threw a Tim Horton's coffee cup out onto the road.

DH saw the car go up the street and pull in at the daycare on the corner.

Without missing a beat, he picked up the cup, walked up to the daycare parking lot, and approached the car.

"Excuse me?"

He handed her the cup.

"You dropped this."

Can you believe that? I'm totally in love.

Reality check

I just laughed when I saw a really old dude riding his skateboard down the street.

And then I realized that he is actually probably my age.

Stoopid passage of time.

True, I think people have gone on leave for that

Overheard while the girls were playing in the next room (keeping in mind, all voices were 'in character' for whatever they were playing)...

K: I can't believe you're being so selfish.

S: I'm sorry that I sound selfish. It's a medical condition. It's just the way my voice goes.

She'll be the death of us...

...but not in the way I'd expected.

In traffic just now, next to a dude who had his crappy tunes blaring, S yelled:

"SERIOUSLY man, turn the music down!"

I love that 6-year-olds have no filter. If you're doing something wangtastic, they'll let you know.

What the heck?

Overheard this morning:

S: K, have you farted in your new pyjamas yet?

K: (pause) No.

S: Okay, well, after we've all farted in our new pyjamas, then we can trade them.

I just...

I don't even know what to say to that.

Gross

There are many disgusting aspects of parenting.

The brown thumb when you pull out a diaper to check if it's full...

The drool, the snot...

And the vomit! Let's not forget the vomit!

But I'd have to say my *favourite* is when I'm flossing the girls' teeth and their tooth boogers fling out on my face.  Or, if I'm really lucky -- like I was this morning -- in my eye.

GAH!

Away for three days, and nothing hilarious happened! We had a lovely time at our friend L's cottage near Collingwood...but the children were all relatively normal. Well, one girl decided that she wanted to go home at 10 o'clock on the first night, and then managed to fall out of bed -- from the TOP BUNK -- on the second night, but other than that...

The only thing that comes to mind right now is a conversation the girls were having earlier today, discussing a routine they had seen on Just Dance 2 during a playdate on Monday...

"Remember when that guy was freestyling at the end?"

"What guy?"

"You know, the one doing the crazy dancing at the end of Rah Rah Recipe..."

Dammit...

The rear right tire on the van had been looking pretty low, so I stopped by the gas station on Friday and pulled up to the air pump.

I put in the loonie, attached the hose, couldn't believe it was only registering 10 psi (it should be 36), and patiently waited for the tire to inflate.

But it didn't.

I thought this was odd--frustrating even--but I went on with the day and mentioned it to DH that night. On Saturday we had to run some errands, so our first stop was the gas station again.

DH paid another loonie, and we crouched down beside the tire.

DH: Okay, so you put the hose on...

ME: Yes! I did that!

DH: Make sure it's all the way on...

ME: Yes! Look, it's all the way on!

DH: Ok. And now you squeeze this handle...

(pause)

It did occur to me that I could continue on my previous tack, working with the 'something is fundamentally wrong with the tire, or the hose, or something, but clearly not with me.' But I opted for the truth instead.

ME: I didn't know I was supposed to do that.

DH proceeded to inflate the tire to its factory-specified level, and all was right with the world.

To DH's credit, he did not laugh. He did not mock me. He did not make me feel stupid.

But as we both climbed back into the van, he silently pointed to the machine--to the instructions posted there. The ILLUSTRATED instructions. So, even if I didn't speak English, I should've been able to do this one...

FUN FACT! The whole time I was sticking the damn hose on there the first time, I was probably letting more air out of the tire.

You win again, Shell at the corner of Commissioners and Wellington! But I'll be back...

Today, I am a grown-up

Today, I told my mother I have a tattoo.

Aim low, kids

My good friend A was in town last weekend, and she invited us over to her parents' place for a swim.

E and I were in the washroom at one point, and E was marvelling at the toilet paper holder/towel rack stand. She was amazed at how easily you could slide the toilet paper roll on and off--with a choice of which way you want the toilet paper to come off the roll!

"A's parents must have a LOT of money!"

Again, lowered expectations are the key.

I think that's on Fox

So very tired from the attempted sleepover last night. This body is well past its best-before date for sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor.

But I will report that part of the evening's entertainment included me watching a performance of a show called "Revenge of the Sports Bra." (My sports bra had a supporting role. HA! See what I did there?)

During another bit of role playing the other day, K was portraying the daughter who did not want to be dragged away from the TV. She explained that she couldn't go because her favourite show was on -- "Fiddlesticks, My Butt Is Broken."

Personally, I'd watch it. Can't be worse than 'Are You Being Served?'.

Those are odd criteria

E: Is that show a comedy?

Me: No, it's a drama.

E: So....is it like 'tie people to the railroad tracks' or 'yell NO DON'T DO IT at the screen' kinda stuff?


What is this, 1921?


Also, she asked to watch more episodes of The Simpsons last night.

Me: Why?

E: Because I just can't stand a day without laughter.

On romance

As I kissed DH good-bye this morning, E said:

"Mommy, I know you guys are married, so you're allowed to do that, but it's still disgusting on so many levels."

Shared memories

You know how when your children do something embarrassing, the memory is burned on your brain forever, but you choose to believe that no one else noticed/remembers?

We were at a great birthday party on Saturday. The girls were all having fun, swimming, frolicking, what have you...

When suddenly, for some reason E decided that the water in the pool was too cold, so she declared to the parents of the birthday girl: "I'm never going in that pool again!"

Which twigged a memory in the Dad's head.

"Wasn't it last year that E said..."

[Now do the Wayne's World hand gesture/sound effect to indicate travelling back in time...]

Picture it: Same backyard, one year earlier.

Lunch was ready, so the kids were getting cleared off of the trampoline. E was next in line to go on it, so she chose to flip out about having to leave, declaring:

"THIS IS THE SECOND-WORST BIRTHDAY PARTY EVER!"

What was the first?

[Wayne's World flashback again, please.]

Picture it: The same summer, a few weeks earlier.

I chose the 'stop, drop and roll' method at another birthday party, and that turned out to be a bad idea. E was a terrible guest, refusing what was for lunch (and then when the parents offered to make something else she TOOK THEM UP ON IT!) and burst into tears during the games and was generally a weirdo.  Of course, when I picked the girls up and asked how the party was, she said, "It was great!" So I had no idea how it really went until the details started trickling out over the course of the evening...

Flash forward to the 'second-worst party' (there's no hand gesture for that--I'm sure there's a sound effect from Lost, but I don't have the energy to look it up right now) -- the parents from the first party are there too!

So she managed to mortify me in front of two sets of parents at once.  Both of whom I will see socially for at least the next 8 years as the girls go through school together.

But I was especially thrilled to find out that THEY REMEMBER IT TOO. In fact, other party guests said, "Oh yeah, I remember that!"

Good times....good times.

If you need me, I'll just be hiding under that picnic table over there.


p.s. I realize I mixed my references with the Wayne's World/Golden Girls combo, but whattaya gonna do?

Some thoughts on Return of the Jedi

First of all, E asked, "Is this the one where Darth Vader becomes good and Luke finds out Leia is his sister?"

I stared at her blankly, not wanting to give anything away.

"Is it? IS IT? Oh man, if Darth doesn't become good then these movies are stupid and I'm never watching them again."

On the 'Slave Leia' outfit:

E: Is she even wearing anything?

S: She must feel pretty weird walking around like that.

Indeed.

No future in advertising, that's for sure

Two observations from E:

"I'm so sick of these ads -- they're always just telling us to buy stuff! And they tell you it's good for you, when it's really not!"

(This is in addition to her yelling at the TV whenever there is a contest for a 'family of 4' -- "WHAT ABOUT THE TRIPLETS?!?")

And this morning, when I told her we would have to pay to join a club in order to swim there:

"THAT STINKS. When *I* start a club, I'm not going to make people pay to join it."

Maybe we should encourage her to become a mime after all -- the whole 'throw whatever money you can spare into my hat' will appeal to her.  And it will pain her too much to charge people for looking after their pets if she becomes a vet.

:-/

(While watching TV, the girls note that the woman in a couple is much smaller than the man.)

E: Well, that's 'cause sometimes when people get old, they shrink! No offense, mommy...

Ear worm

Just wanted to share the pain, because this song has now been ruined for me.  Well, maybe not 'ruined.' It's up there with my sister's ex-boyfriend who invented background 'doo wop'-y vocals for Ramones songs, so now I can't hear those songs without adding in the extra parts...

Thanks to the children (and perhaps DH was involved) the lyrics to Knowing Me, Knowing You by ABBA will now forever be in my head as 'Going pee, going poo.'

I know I shouldn't find it amusing, but it is pretty funny when you consider the grateful/relaxed sounding 'ahaaaaaa' that comes next.

The child speaks her mind

The other day we had a great evening at our friends' big, beautiful new house. Did I mention it was big?

On the way home, DH was lamenting the size of our house (the last time we went to their house, on the way home he declared that we are 'living in squalor'), and these comforting voices piped up from the back of the van:

E: Pop, our house is big!

S: Yeah, Pop!

K: Eeeeenh...(and then she did the 'comme-ci comme-ca' hand move).


The next day we were going to church, and I had to read, and the girls were asking why I did that.

DH: Because your mother is a much better person than I am girls.

(simultaneously)
E: Pop, that's not true!

K: Yes, that is true, Pop.


Yesterday K and I were shopping in Wal-Mart (yes, yes, booo, I know), and I pointed out all of the back-to-school merchandise on display. She immediately began yelling, to no one in particular:

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, WAL-MART? IT'S ONLY JULY!!!

My only comfort is that it appears unlikely that she will ever be coerced into doing stupid teenagery things along with her stupid teenagery friends when the time comes, because clearly she has a mind--and a voice--of her own.

Better?

We were at a beautiful cottage on Lake Huron yesterday, and I didn't want a repeat of the mosquito feeding frenzy that I'd experienced recently. I got this 'patch' thing that keeps the critters away, which worked really well...but...I don't know what the main ingredient is, but I walked around the whole day smelling like a bag of BBQ chips. Or, more specifically, thinking that I smelled like a bag of BBQ chips, but actually just walking around with a couple of Hostess Hickory Sticks shoved up my nostrils.

I guess that's better.

Seriously?

We took the girls away to Toronto for a mini-adventure. A hot, humid adventure.

Highlights included taking the subway, and seeing a mummy at the ROM. We also had dinner at The Old Spaghetti Factory and I took the girls on a little tour, showing them the exact spot where the customer was sitting when I dumped a steak and spag in his lap.

We then had a leisurely trip home, stopping at IKEA in Burlington, and then going to this REALLY cool toy store in Stratford called Family & Friends? Friends & Family? Something like that.  So, we left at 10 am yesterday, and walked in the door @ 5 pm today.

First of all, as soon as we opened the door to the house, a fly flew in. Then I went to the front door to bring in the mail, and ANOTHER fly flew in. Were they anxiously waiting there the whole time for our return?

Then we finished hauling everything in and collapsed on the couch. Literally within 10 seconds K said, "I'm bored."

Seriously??

DH

For those of you who have been wondering, DH stands for 'dear husband.' It's something I picked up on a triplet group site -- DH, DD (dear daughter), DS (dear son). So, no, it doesn't stand for Designated Hitter, or (a popular guess) Dick Head.

Although perhaps after last night...

I was colouring my hair (YAY, no mishaps to report!) and I had taken off my shirt to avoid staining it.

So he and I were sitting in front of the TV, folding laundry, watching the show where people bid on the contents of abandoned storage containers.

I suddenly realized:

"Can you believe there was once a time where just the sight of me in my bra would've driven you wild?"

<pause>
<chuckle>
"That was a looooooong time ago."

Speaking of the bloom being off the rose (or whatever that expression is) the girls watched a show the other day where a girl cut some heat when she was on a date.

The girls didn't see what was wrong with that.

I explained:

"Well, yes, it's true that everybody does it, but people don't usually do it on the first date. Can you believe that when Pop and I started going out, we didn't fart in front of each other for a long time! I call that 'false advertising.'"

The girls then decided that you should be able to fart in front of each other on the 8th date. I think that would be good, take all the guesswork out of the equation.

But where on earth would you go for that 8th date?

Out of the mouths of babes

I have a ripping headache today. Perhaps I should sneak in and raid the stores leftover from Chocolate Camp yesterday!

Or perhaps not, since when I streaked upstairs after my shower this morning, I heard K say, "Ugh. Nobody needs to see THAT."

I just kept my mouth shut

E: "It's funny how girls aren't allowed to see boys' privates and boys aren't allowed to see girls' privates...except if it's their mummy and daddy, because they changed your diapers, so they've seen it all before. (pause) Boys' privates sure are weird-looking though."

Now that's old

We're reading Anne Of Green Gables to the girls. (It was only when we were getting it out of the library that I realized this meant I was going to have to get through reading Matthew's death out loud...)

The girls are trying to get their heads around how long ago the story took place. Like, we have to explain that no, there were no TVs, and no, there were no cars.

But then it becomes: "Mom, did you use horses and buggies when you were little?" "Did you use quills?"

So I'm trying to explain that yes, I'm old, but I'm not L.M. Montgomery old.

K attempted to put the relative age of the story into perspective:

"It's so old, cool wasn't even invented yet!"

Pardon me?

We went to a lovely wedding at a golf club in Dorchester yesterday. Through a happy coincidence, two of the people at our table are former co-workers from my Cineplex Odeon days! I love it when the universe does stuff like that.

After a really good dinner, we got into the speech portion of the evening.

The best man got up and started to tell some entertaining stories about growing up with the groom.

"And then there was this one time, when I was driving to school, and I got into an accident (which was caused by black guys)..."

I'm sorry, what?

I look around, no one seems to be reacting...

"And then the school bus went by, and Scott leaned out the window and yelled -- "

At this point I'm having a heart attack, wondering what the 'punch line' to this story is going to be.

" -- Ha ha, look at Steve's car!"

And then the evening went on as usual. No reactions, no one seemed shocked by this speech.

It wasn't until an hour or so later that I finally got a chance to lean over to my sister and say, "What was up with that story?"

"What story?"

"The one about the car accident....and the 'black guys'!"

(pause)

"Black ICE. The accident was caused by black ICE."

I'm such a goober.

40+

That's how many mosquito bites I have, after an eventful week that involved lots of sitting outside in the evening, enjoying tasty beverages with good friends.

The result, however, is that I am quite definitely losing my mind from the itching. Also, we are going to a wedding today, so I am wearing a dress with this sexy mosquito-bitten leg look. Awesome.

K says: "Don't forget to say: 'And I've got two mosquito bites on my butt.' Now THAT'S funny."

(I should live in fear of the day that she starts her own blog, shouldn't I...)

Great news, though. We were at Superstore on Thursday, and we saw the list of all the different cooking day camps that they are offering.  There was one called Chocolate World, or something, and we were reading the list of all the chocolaty things that are made at this session. All of a sudden K gasped and said, "Oh my gosh! There IS a chocolate camp!"

So now I'm a hero, because I get to make one of her 'K's Blog' wishes come true.

Maybe she has special powers like the kids in Bedtime Stories, and whatever she thinks of will magically become reality.

Now, to get her to wish for 'millionaire day camp.'

Vengeance is theirs

So, the day I was away, apparently some kid at the splash pad was bugging S.  Just wouldn't leave her alone.

And K wasn't have any of that. So she organized, and she mobilized. She and E went after the kid with all the power they could muster from their Ziploc bags full of water.

The funny part, though, is that when E was telling the story to Pop that night--at much greater length than I just did, I'm sure--K kept punctuating the story by yelling, "PAYBACK!!" every few seconds. He said she was doing a gangsta kind of fist pump move at the same time. Maybe she has an over-developed sense of vengeance, like Inigo Montoya.

Note: As a 39-year-old white woman from London, ON, I do feel silly using the word 'gangsta' in this story, but there's really no other way to describe it. And it's got a meaning all its own, doesn't it? Like, if I said she was doing a 'gangster' move, you would've pictured her in a zoot suit saying 'Yeah, see, we gave 'em some PAYBACK, see?' and it wouldn't be the same at all.

Another haiku

Hangover. Greyhound.
Public transit. Gross pigeons.
Totally worth it!

I had a fabulous evening with old friends, and now I'm having some much needed 'quiet time.'

Of course, I have no new anecdotes, so I'll pull another one from the archives for posterity:

After a particularly heated game of Candyland, S claimed victory. At which point tender, innocent, 5-year-old K sat straight up, looked her sister in the eye...and gave her the finger.

Reunion

Very excited about seeing some friends from university tonight. The gathering was organized at the last minute, and we all very spontaneously managed to work our schedules around getting to Toronto for the evening.

The only problem? I haven't had time to dye my hair (although faithful readers will know why I'm gun-shy on that one) or go on a crazy fad diet to try to lose 20 pounds.

Head-to-toe Spanx isn't really an option in this weather, and until they invent 'Ahh Underwear' and an 'Ahh Girdle' to go with the 'Ahh Bra', I think I'm SOL.

I guess I will just have to hope that the statute of limitations on "you look really good [for having had triplets]" hasn't run out.

Looking ahead

The other night S was singing a Selena Gomez song, and they started talking about how ridiculous it is that teenage girls only think about boys.

They then started making up their own songs about school, their friends, and skipping. We agreed these were much better than songs about boys.

Then K said, "When I'm a teenager, I'm not going to have a boyfriend, I'm just going to be smart." This was later amended to, "Well, I'll have a boyfriend, but I'm not going to text him all the time, and just think about him all the time, and when we go out we'll go on smart dates and talk about smart stuff."

S wasn't so sure about committing to dating smart boys, because "they all have glasses." But she did say that she wouldn't think about boys all the time, and when she does go out with a boy he will be nice and kind and funny.

E also committed to having a boyfriend who is nice and friendly and fun.

And they all decided that they won't have boyfriends until they are 18, and won't get married until they are at least 25.

I am recording this information in the hopes that this document will somehow be legally binding when they enter high school. I consider you all to be witnesses.

K's blog

K and I are sitting here, trying to think of something to write about.

K is thinking of going to day camp. She wants to go to chocolate camp, or board game camp.

Also on the list: candy camp, TV camp, video game camp, waffle camp, colouring camp, fun camp, Spongebob Squarepants camp, art camp.

Personally, I think napping camp would be fun.

K informs me that there's no such thing as that. I guess I'm just being silly.

Thanks for your help writing this blog, K. Anything you want to add?

She would also like to go to pizza camp.

The end.

And now a word from our sponsor

I knew the girls were suggestible the first time we watched 'regular' TV.

We had been sticking with PBS, TVO and Treehouse, and then when they were almost 2, we watched the Toronto Santa Claus parade on Global. No word of a lie, when the first ad for a toy came on, E turned to me and breathlessly said, "We should get that!"

And then there was the time I was in the store with K, and I reached for some detergent. She gasped and said, "You mean you don't get TIDE WITH STAIN RELEASE?!?"

But this morning's was good, because K just tried to work it into casual conversation:

"Hey mommy, did you know that this summer Best Western is really shaking things up? If you go to their website, bestwestern.com -- or something (she pulled back here, perhaps feeling that she was overplaying her hand) -- you can enter to win a trip to Hollywood to meet the cast of Shake It Up!"

And then she just strolled away, leaving that little seed to germinate in my brain.

Summertime re-run

This is an oldie but a goodie--I just need to write it down so I don't forget it.

E suddenly started rattling off these words of wisdom:

Toddlers are just half baby and half kid.
Kids are just half toddler and half teenager.
Teenagers are just half kid and half grown-up.
Grown-ups are just half teenager and half old people.

(pause)

K: And old people are half dead.


Seriously, you can't teach that kind of timing.

Evil supervillain

This morning I placed E's breakfast in front of her.

"Oh, I didn't actually want milk to drink."

"Sorry, sweetie, I already poured it..."

"Oh, I wanted the yellow bowl with the straw attached to it, remember?"

"I'm so sorry, I totally forgot!"

She didn't freak out (a la K) or burst into tears (a la S), she just started eating her breakfast.

But then she quietly muttered, in a very Darth Vader-esque way:

"You fail me again."

Soccer mom

So apparently I am much more competitive than I ever would've imagined.

Anyone who has known me since grade school or high school would probably also be shocked to learn this, because sports...how do you say? They're not my thang.

But watching S play soccer? I am completely turning into the crazy mom yelling from the sidelines. But it's all 'just for fun, let's get out there and have a good time' and I am thisclose to being all 'Don't just stand there, KICK THE @#$&*% BALL!'

Which is especially bad because a) I'm sitting next to my in-laws, and b) we're talking about 6-year-olds here.

So I may have to take myself out of the game.

Also, this issue may be genetic, because this is what K was yelling within the first 30 seconds of the game:

"Come on you can do it! I know you can do it come on! Come on kick the ball kick the ball KICK THE BALL -- OH MY GOD I'M FREAKING OUT!!!!!!"

Teach your children well

Sure it was amazing seeing their faces the first time they walked or recognized letters or went on the potty...

But nothing will compare with the looks on their faces when we said--

"So, did you catch that part when he said 'Luuuke. I am your faaather'?"

It was all just gasps and dropped jaws.

Then we mentioned that we find out in the next movie that Luke has a twin sister...

When they put two and two together, E immediately said:

"So Luke is in love with his sister?!?"

I know, right? What was George thinking with that kiss? It's still creepy, 30+ years later.

Slack. Er.

Even though the days of the week have lost all meaning to me, I chose to fully embrace the long weekend work ethic and skipped writing for a couple of days.

It's not like I was doing anything else, though. In fact, I was doing a whole lotta nothing. The girls went on an epic play date yesterday, which started at 11:30 and ended when they returned home at 7:30.

At first we were as giddy as school children--I got to go grocery shopping by myself, DH finished cleaning the garage...then we sat out in the lovely afternoon sun and drank beer and listened to music, hanging out, chatting, just like the olden days...then we listened to some more music...had another beer...

Eventually DH got up and wandered aimlessly for a minute, then returned to the patio and said "I don't know what to do with myself."

Truly, without anyone to chase around, arguments to break up, death-defying feats to abort, or general nagging to be done...we were pretty bored.

+++++++++++++++++++

In other news, DH just came in and announced that he tried to do a 'bounce the basketball between his legs' move, and...it didn't go well.

K came in, and I said "Pop just had an AFV moment, huh?"

DH walked by her and she looked at him semi-sympathetically.

Me: "It's not as funny when it happens in real life, is it..."

DH passed K then, at which point K looked at me and smiled, as if to say 'No, it was TOTALLY just as funny...'

Eternal optimist?

Is it wrong that I'm just killing time, waiting for 10 am to roll around, because that's when I'm fully expecting the Dream Lottery people to call me and tell me I've won a million dollars?

Yes? No?

Nonetheless, that's what I'm doing.

Ok. One minute left....

...

...

SONOFA....

Ok kids, get in the car, guess we're still shopping at No Frills.

House arrest

The honking continues, so we are trapped inside for another day.
It's the first official day of summer vacation, and I'm already climbing the walls.
Not to mention the fact that I'll be serving peanut butter on playing cards for dinner if I can't get to a grocery store soon...

~two hours later~

Oh jeez, and now I just made chocolate chip cookies with baking soda that's on it's last legs, so they're pretty....flat. The chocolate chips are sticking out of each cookie, like so many nerts in the refrigerated section at Freshco.

[Seriously, have you been to the one on Commissioners? The first 1/3 of the store is kept in sub-zero temperatures.]

[And yes I realize I sound like I'm 120 years old, but seriously, go there and I defy you to think otherwise. "Low, low prices and an even lower body temperature!")

The only high spot of the day is that right now E & S are watching The Simpsons movie, at their request.

<sniff> I've never been so proud.

And yes, I am including first steps, first words, soccer goals and bike riding in that.

A haiku

K, honking all night
Kindergarten grad today
Tired, weepy mommy.

If I don't start sobbing uncontrollably during the 'ceremony' and I don't drift off to sleep halfway through, I will consider this day a success.

Perhaps I should start measuring all my days by such small victories.

Like the time 3-year-old E announced she couldn't wait to be a grown-up because then she'd be able to chew gum and wear flip-flops. I think lowered expectations are the key!

Paging David Ogilvy...

E was having a very involved conversation with me about food, and specifically what food they usually get when they go to Grandma and Papa's. This suddenly reminded me of K's slogan that she spontaneously came up with a few years ago--randomly exclaimed to us from the back of the car:

Grandma & Papa's: Where vegetables happen.

Between that and E's previous campaign for girls platform ("Girls are better because they're into recycling, they hardly ever go to jail, and they hardly ever do graffiti") we may have some marketing geniuses on our hands!


But only if E can fit it in between her mime and veterinarian gigs.

Can't wait! (rubbing hands together)

Ok, that Sunday Jumble is calling my name, but before I head outside to do that...

We all just sat in the gazebo and had a really nice lunch. For dessert, the girls dug into the leftover candy from the birthday boodle bags they got yesterday, and E generously gave Pop a Tootsie Roll.

Then the conversation turned to Pop and S's trip to Canadian Tire yesterday...

Apparently Pop suggested that S pick up a small plunger and stick it on her stomach. Guess what? It stuck. She got it off, but she was definitely panicked for a moment.

At the end of this story, E narrowed her eyes and looked at Pop accusingly:

"You didn't deserve that Tootsie Roll."

Jung was right!

Last night I tried to express an idea to E and it came out like this:

Me: It's like the..thing...they did that time...at...thingmee.

E: Thingmee?!? Whatchutalkinbout?

So here's the thing--she said it in a perfect imitation of Gary Coleman.

Yet I can guarantee that Diff'rent Strokes is not a show that's on our entertainment roster, nor is 'whatchutalkinbout' a go-to response for any of us in this house. So where did that come from?

The only logical thing is for me to reach back to my Grade 12 English class (Mr. Underhill, studying Robertson Davies' Deptford Trilogy) and most likely completely misuse a term--but I must assume that 'whatchutalkinbout' has entered the collective unconscious.

Now let's start overusing 'attention all units, CHiPs will return after these messages' and see if we can get it in there too!

Mouths of babes, indeed

For Father's Day, the girls' teacher did an 'interview' with the kids, asking them questions about their Dads.

I will admit that I got a little pale when the girls handed them over to DH, and I don't think it would be outrageous to suggest that there may have been a look of panic in his eyes.

But, all things considered, I think he got off VERY easy. So we can at least be reassured that we are raising our children to know the difference between what is acceptable at home and what is acceptable in public.

Ultimately they were all cute answers, but my favourites were:

What does he say to you?
E: Well, he whistles to us at dinnertime, but we're not dogs!


When is your daddy funny?
K: When he calls me my nickname, Beanhole.


Now, in his defence, her nickname started out as Kathleenie Bobeenie, which then got shortened to Beenie, then Beener, and then, for some reason, Beenpole (Beanpole).  But a friend overheard us say that once, and they thought we were saying Beanhole.

Which is vaguely gross-sounding.

So let me assure you, that is not what we actually call her. But for some reason, this is the nickname she shared with the teacher.

But as I mentioned, under the category of 'When is your daddy funny?' there could have been MUCH worse answers than that...

That *would* be relaxing...

I had a headache yesterday, so E volunteered to give me a massage.

She started speaking in a very soft, 'you are getting sleeeepy' kind of voice:

You are feeling relaxed...

Your head will stop hurting...

You are going to live in a huge mansion...

With 17 party rooms...

And when you go to sleep, your bed will just be a bunch of soft, warm feathers.

[Sounds good, eh? She went on like this for five minutes! And then she got to the good stuff...]

Your children are nowhere around...

And your husband is less annoying...

[Ahhhhhh....THAT'S the spot.]

Need a job, pt 137.

I have noticed that I am now really excited to get the weekend Star papers, but only because I am then supplied with 3 good crosswords and a gigantic sudoku.

But the most alarming part is that on Sunday morning I was genuinely impressed by my mad Jumble skillz.

I even got that final pun in, like, record time.

Turns out the bird that works in a bar is a "S T O O L  P I G E O N."

Ha ha ha...ha...ha...(gentle weeping)...

I believe it.

E excused herself from the table last night to get something from downstairs.

She came back 10 minutes later.

"Sorry that took so long, but the TV hypnotized me."

And then she made swirly finger circles around her eyes.

No mystery where she gets her dramatic tendencies, of course, so I'm powerless against such displays.

"Little help?"

I heard a little voice calling this out to me this morning as I sat upstairs eating breakfast.

And I knew by the volume (quiet) and tone (trying to remain calm) that I should check it out.

Because it was the exact same volume and tone I used the time I was sitting in a rocking chair in the back room and rocked too vigorously and managed to rock myself right back so the chair was flipped back and balanced against the wall.

I remember that feeling of perhaps being stuck there forever. Even though my parents were just in the kitchen.

And not wanting to yell for help too loudly, in case it caused further catastrrophe.

It was a terrible, panicky feeling that only lasted for a minute or two, until my parents finally heard me and came in to save me.

Anyhow, this must be exactly the same way K was feeling today, when I came downstairs and saw her two little feet sticking out of the dryer.

Trick question.

Pop: K, if I ask you to do something, will you do it?

K: (pause) O--kay.

Pop: Because it's Father's Day, K, so if you did what I ask you, it would make me really happy.

K: Okay.

Pop: So if I ask you to do something--anything--will you do it?

K: Yes.

Pop: So anything I ask you to do right now, you'll say yes?

K: Yes.

Pop: You'll do it?

K: Yes.

Pop: Okay. Come to church with us this morning.

K: NO!!!!!!

Pop: But K, you said you'd do anything I asked you to do, because it's Father's Day!

K: I didn't know you were going to say THAT.

Huh. Whaddya know.

I would've sworn the gas cap was attached to the van by a little string.

But when I jauntily tossed the cap aside this morning, and heard it hit the ground and roll under the van, I realized that the idiot string is only on the other car.

So I had to get down on all fours and retrieve the damn thing. (Luckily I could reach it.)

I then realized I'd closed the cover, so I had to go back in and flip the switch to open it, and then I continued with the swiping of cards and protecting of sacred code numbers, all part of the 5 minute pre-show associated with filling the loser cruiser. Only THEN did I see the sign that said 'pump out of order.'

So I take comfort in the knowledge that I gave the attendant at the Shell on Commissioners and Wellington a good laugh.

Maybe it's the same one who witnessed me try to make a left onto Wellington from there one Saturday morning at 7 am. The hitch, of course, is that there is a large median there which makes such left turns impossible. So I found myself having to drive a considerable distance down Wellington on the wrong side of the street before I could make things right. Which is especially nerve-wracking when someone in the car is yelling "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!" (That someone was me.)

Maybe I should stop going to that Shell station.

That wasn't pretty.

I just did a Wii Zumba work out.

I'll just pause for a minute to let that visual sink in.

Again, the workout was attended by all three children.  I only had to break up one fight though, and the energy associated with Zumba was more conducive to yelling at them than the yoga energy was. Not a lot of heckling this time, though. I think it was more like stunned silence.

I don't know if doing this in my basement by myself (theoretically) is more or less bizarre than how I was first introduced to Zumba: during my two month trial membership at Curves.  Shaking my thang to sultry Latin rhythms with the well-past-retirement-age set was, to put it mildly, odd.

You may wonder why I would buy the Wii Zumba game while I'm unemployed.  To which I would say "aren't we feeling judgy today?" But actually it was thanks to a Costco gift card from my mum, given with the express instruction that I only spend it on something for me. So this seemed suitably frivolous.

When I got to the checkout, there were huge line-ups, so I went to the self-scanning one. But at no point did it say 'if you have a gift card, swipe it now' so before I knew it, I was paying for the purchase. Completely defeated the purpose of my visit!

No surprise, of course, because, as I've mentioned...I have no idea what I'm doing.

SELL OUT!

Yeah, I caved in and 'monetised' the blog.

Luckily I had no integrity to begin with, so none has been compromised.

Frankly, I was just so shocked that the book/film offers hadn't come rolling in yet, I felt I had to take matters into my own hands. Now to sit back with my feet on the desk, hands clasped behind my head, smoking a cigar, and wait for the cheques to roll in.

An equally sure-fire prospect would be to invest in my kids' prospects as budding poets.

There was one last night called "A Great Mom" which I was really excited to hear, but unfortunately it went off on a tangent and never actually mentioned anything about me being great.

A couple of odes to dogs, flowers and the park. Many, many poems involving scatalogical humour.

My favourite, though, was this sort of mini Haiku (2-3-2), by K:

Sunshine.
No sunshine.
Butt cheeks.

I think we should start a line of greeting cards by children, for children. Because what kid wouldn't think that was the BEST CARD EVER--regardless of the occasion?

Also, before I forget, and since this whole thing exists because I'm trying to remember all of the bizarre things my kids say...

E: I'm as hungry as Santa in a house with no milk and cookies.

S: I'm so excited I'm going to explode and then they'll have to hose me down off the school walls!

So vivid. So gross.

The opposite of relaxing

Well that was fun.

Just did a Wii Fit yoga workout with all three girls 'adding to the experience.'

Started with E explaining the finer points of a recent Suite Life episode. (For those of you unfamiliar with the show, let me assure you--there are no finer points of that show.)

Then I had to yell at her to finish her breakfast.

It's counter-productive to yell at your children while doing yoga, isn't it?

S then built a fort on the couch behind me. (Followed by an argument between her and K about whether or not K was allowed inside.)

And then K watched and compared my performance to the trainer's.

"She's bending more."

"She's doing it way better than you."

And, my favourite:

"Her capris are even shorter than yours!"

Like I was somehow failing because I wasn't EXACTLY mirroring the cartoon image on the screen.

I think I'm the first person to ever be more stressed out at the end of a yoga session than I was at the beginning. And trust me, I was pretty stressed out to begin with...

Dinnah Theatah

Through a long and inexplicable set of circumstances, dinner last night took place at a very fancy resort in Hawaii.  In attendance were a Queen and a Princess ("because we're so dirty, filthy, stinkin' rich"),  and a rabbit.  I played the maitre d', waitress, chef and social director. DH played the role of Wilbur, a simpleton who works at the resort, but was given the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to dine with royalty.

After a series of incidents during which Wilbur proved himself unworthy of such an honour, we all agreed that he should not be invited to such a special dinner again.

K: Next time, just make something terrible that he won't want to eat.

S: And just throw his food at him instead of having him sit at the table.

E: And if we ever have monkeys here, we should have them fling their poop at him.

Poor Wilbur! He really did bring it upon himself, though.

Good night, Chicken Slacks!

It's those kind of non-sequiturs that make this blog worthwhile.

Why 'chicken slacks'?

"I meant to say 'bird pants' but I accidentally said 'chicken slacks'."

Oh! Okay then.

This was followed by a discussion of how Chicken Slacks would be a good band name.  Also on the list: Snake Shoes & Fush.

Today is day one of me staying home with the girlies.  They let me sleep in until 8! SWEET.

E asked Pop to build a lemonade stand for them so they can make enough extra money to continue going to the babysitter's.

I don't know whether to be proud of her ingenuity, or alarmed at the lengths she'll go to in order to avoid staying home with me...

I come by it honestly...

My mom read my blog the other day and told me that the one about dying my hair reminded her of the time she gave herself a perm right before her university graduation...

"The mortarboard wouldn't fit on my head! And then I had to walk down the aisle the next week with this giant head of hair!"

Which then reminded me of the time I gave myself a perm....but JUST MY BANGS.  Why would I not do the rest of the poker-straight hair on my head?  What was I thinking? I have no idea.  All I know is that I spent the rest of the school year with my hair slicked back in a bowling ball ponytail with this patch of curls sproinging out of my forehead.

Oh! And then there was the time I got my first perm ever--on the same day as my mom & stepfather's wedding.  I remember trying to ferret out a space in my hair where I could fit my giant disc-shaped earrings.

Anyhow, I don't know why I'm sharing all of these horrendous hair experiences. I guess I'm just trying to suss out why I, an intelligent, reasonable person, am prone to such disastrous lapses in judgement when it comes to my hair.  Based on the information from my mother, I could say I'm genetically predisposed to it, but from all accounts I think that 'home perm immediately before two of life's most important occasions' was a one-off for her....whereas I am clearly a repeat offender.

I think I'll just call myself an eternal optimist. It sounds so much better than 'bear of little brain with a fundamental inability to learn.'

Potty mouth

Last night, one of the girls told me that her friend at school says "Oh crud" when he's frustrated/upset/whatever.

I suggested that I should start saying "Oh crud" too...

"Yeah, instead of swear words.  The next time you do that thing...you know, that thing where you give something up?"

"Lent?"

"Yeah, the next time you do that, you should give up swearing. I don't think you could do it, though..."

SO, I'm going to try Lent, pt 2, and I am giving up swearing.  I've actually tried this before...one year I decided to give up swearing, and when I was walking over to Ash Wednesday mass on my lunch hour, I did that move where you kind of fall off your shoe, and I let fly with the Big One. That was not a good start.

So far so good this time.

Couple of questions--does typing a swear word count?  And does swearing when I'm by myself count?  That is--if a parent swears in the laundry room, and no one hears, does the F-bomb actually go off?

Now I just have to practice my substitutions:

Son of a....soda cracker!
Jesus...Mary and Joseph!
Fuuuu....dge bucket!

And my favourite, for which I give full credit to the Coen Brothers:

Mother...scratcher!

[Note to self: Do not attempt to dye hair again in the next 40 days.]

Owwies

First of all, thank you for the help with the rain. The 'butt cheek' drawings are gone, AND the hula hoop that was stuck in the tree came down, so it was a big win all around.

So, S got kicked in the head at soccer last night. She's fine.

It just makes me think of other injuries we've sustained over the past 6 years...

Like the time my sister and I were rocket scientists and started dismantling the triplet stroller while one of the girls was still in one of the seats...so of course it went off balance and tipped backwards and the baby (I think it was E) bonked her head on the cement.  The kicker was when I took her to the hospital, just to make sure she was okay, the attending physician was a high school class mate.  Which was awesome, because that's just the way you want to re-introduce yourself..."Oh hi, good to see you! Yes, yes, I'm good...may have given my child a concussion, though..."

And the time S fell down the stairs.  They were carpeted, it was just the last few stairs, she was fine. But the best was when we came running saying "What happened?" and she climbed back up to the middle of the stairs and said "Well, I started leaning over like this ... "

But the classic line, of course, is from the time when DH picked up one of the girls when he got home from work. He carries a PDA and a cell phone on his belt, so it's quite a production trying to lift them up safely. When he picked her up, she started crying that she was hurt...

"I stubbed my vagina!"

Aaaand WHAMMO. I'm old.

I volunteered to appear in a Fanshawe student's film project.

I met the nice young man and we chatted for a bit about the movie and the role I'd be playing.  He mentioned that it is set in the '50's, so we discussed what I could wear that would be period-appropriate.

Me: I also have a pair of sort of retro-looking sunglasses...(rummaging)...I thought they were here in my purse, but...

Him: Um...are they the ones....(awkwardly points to where the sunglasses are sitting on top of my head)...?

So, yeah it's official. I'm old now.

Excuse me while I go sit on the porch and yell at children who walk on my lawn.

Seriously, she'll be SUCH a good mom...

E, manoeuvring her pony around piles of manure on our trail ride, looks earnestly at the instructor and says:

"If Skittles steps in any horse poop...I blame myself."

In other news, please be kind enough to pray for rain.  My chidren did a series of questionable chalk drawings on the driveway yesterday on the theme of 'butt cheeks.'

Not a morning person.

I called my Wii Fit trainer a very, very bad word.

Thank goodness for technology...

It's the only thing that prevented me from doing a 'Dad.'

Many many moons ago, my dad came out of the Canada Trust on Wortley, got into the car, glanced in the back seat, and realized that he was actually in SOMEONE ELSE'S car.

Yesterday, I was striding confidently towards the loser cruiser, pushing the 'unlock' button on the key chain thingy...and pushing it, and pushing it, until I was standing directly beside the van, furiously pushing the button, wondering why it wasn't working. At which point I looked up and saw MY loser cruiser, parked one aisle over.

For those of you who know my history with vehicles, this will come as no suprise. In fact, you will all just be thankful that I remembered to get into my vehicle, instead of taking the bus home.

(Note: I have done this, on 4--if not 5--non-consecutive occasions.)
(Note: I recognize the irony in the fact that I can't actually remember how many times I've forgotten to drive my car home.)
(Note: I may or may not be using the word irony correctly.)

Shortly after this, I was walking through the mall and spotted my good friend M.  I stopped in my tracks, gave her the big grin/eyebrows raised/"hey what a nice surprise!" face...and then realized it was actually a total stranger.

I am beginning to suspect that I really shouldn't be allowed out in public.