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.

I'm such a wang.

While I'm looking for work, I decided that one way to save some money would be for me to colour my hair at home. No problem, did it for years, back in the days when I did it because it looked cool, not because I actually NEEDED to do it. So a month ago I bought a box, did it myself, and went for a hair cut shortly thereafter. We both agreed that it looked good, and there was no need for me to wear a bag of shame over my head.

So the arctic blond highlights started peeking out again, as they are wont to do, and I bought another box.

First problem--couldn't exactly remember what colour I bought the first time.
"I'm sure it will be fine."

Yesterday I set up a meeting with a recruiter (for today).
"I'd better take care of those roots."

Second problem--as I was rinsing out the colour, I realized that there was still a tube lying unopened on the counter. That's kind of like having a bunch of parts left over after you put your IKEA furniture together.
"I'm sure it will be fine."

Then...I dried it.
"OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD...(continue for 10-15 minutes)..."

It was old Italian lady red in some sections, and exactly the same colour that I started with in other sections.

(Question: Why is it that European ladies go with the 'shade of red that does not exist in nature' option, while their Mangia Cake counterparts go with the completely unnatural blue/purple rinse? I'm sure there's a really good anthropology thesis in there somewhere...)

So I had to go schlepping in to Shopper's Drug Mart, admit defeat to the perfectly put-together model working the beauty counter, and ask her to help me pick out a darker colour for a follicular do-over.

(Many thanks to L for talking me off the ledge with that tip. The voice of experience is always the best one to heed.)

Fun fact: the leftover tube from round one was the protective pre-colour serum that "helps prepare your hair to accept colour evenly." So if any of you have ever questioned whether or not this is an important step in the hair colouring process, let me assure you: It. Is.

I would argue that what is now on my lid would never be considered "medium brown" as the box promised, but at least it's all one colour now. One very dark colour.

And what does the family think?

When I re-emerged from the bathroom, I was greeted with:

K - shocked gasp as she covered her mouth and keeled over in a pretend faint.
S - nothing, she was too busy crying because K landed on her.
E - laughter. The same kind you do when your friend wipes out and you can't help laughing, but you're also trying to say 'are you okay?' in between the hooting...
DH - patient, resigned silence.

So now I have to weigh money saved vs. sanity lost and see which side wins.
AND I have to go see my hair dresser so we can figure out an exit strategy.  Wish me luck!

Damn, she's tough.

A while back, we were going through a thumb wrestling phase.  At that time, E named her thumbs: Thunderbolt and Tough Guy.

Today we were praising how strong she was becoming (before our eyes) because she finished her milk at breakfast.  She held up both of her arms, flexed, and said:

"This is Strong Man and this is Lightning Strike!  Together [she kissed each of her biceps] we're unstoppable!"

I don't know who she was trying to intimidate, or who she felt was trying to stop her...but I'm sure she OWNED McDonald's Playland after that.