Another boring week at the Dabels'. Today is the last day of September though which means we have a new month coming and a new goal. Read on.
Let's see, this week we discussed my daughter and her birthday.
We talked about the man and me potentially mistaking him for an axe wielding murderer which turned into a shot at the size of his.......propane tank.
We discussed my disdain, I mean love, for cub scouts. And we also discussed poop. Important things.
As it turns out, more people have trouble pooping than I was aware of. I am glad I didn't just post the recipe because I received many emails from people in need of a good poop. I'm here to help, people. Excavation is an imperative aspect to true happiness.
Don't email me back and tell me it doesn't work. Or that may drive me to do things like take pictures to prove it does. And no one wants that.
Unless you do want that? No...... no one wants that. This isn't "Rate My Poop . com". It does work. Eat it everyday and euphoria will be yours. I promise.
Anyway, it's almost a new month. It's almost my birthday.
Last month I picked time management as my goal. With all 4 kids in school all day I had lots of time to get stuff done. My goal was to manage it.
Turns out I suck at time management. Okay, it doesn't turn out. I already knew that which is why I picked the goal. But with all the time I had every day, I figured I could spend lots of time thinking, pondering and doing good time management. All that does is create guilt, so it seems, in someone like me. I felt like a failure almost every minute of every day. I had a list of things I wanted done everyday. I got lots on the list done, just not in the order in which I wanted it done.
The thing I didn't get done hardly ever was cleaning. I thought my house would be a lot cleaner than this if the kids were gone all day.
It seems to me, that houses only get clean if someone cleans them. Having kids gone does not clean a house. Why didn't anyone ever tell me this?
What do you mean the kids don't take their mess with them when they go to school? What do you mean the mess stays behind and mocks me while I read?
These questions are out in the universe right now. Thrown there by me. Being ignored, no less. The universe is rude-like.
So I need to clean. You know how I know? When the 12 year old boy walks through the kitchen and says "Ewwwww, I can't even stand in here the floor is so dirty," I know it's time to find the steam mop.
Where is my steam mop? And since when did the biggest slob on the planet look down at a floor and decide it's gross?
Bloody kid.
October's goal:
Try something new, physically.
I need to get out of the house. I am not getting bored. Just lonely. The man says these are two different things when I was explaining to him how I am adjusting to my new life of sahm with no kids.
Bored vs. lonely. Regardless, I need to get out and see some people.
What are these people I speak of? I have almost forgotten. If I don't socialize soon I will turn weird. Weirder than I already am.
Scary.
Sooooooooooo, I signed up for a one month challenge to do hot yoga. 30 classes in 30 days. Of hot yoga.
Yep, I did. Call me crazy.
But........ wish me luck. Because that would be the polite thing to do after you call someone crazy.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
my name is sona
My cub leader name is Sona. No one ever calls me that because no one ever speaks to me when I'm at cubs. The little cubs are scared of me and the other leaders just don't talk that much.
I do not enjoy my time at cubs, I'm not going to lie. I do my time. I get in and I get out. We have 23 cubs in our pack and most of them have the attention span of a gnat. It is frustrating, annoying and a real test of my patience.
Last night we went on a hike. At the beginning of this hike I felt that some parts of it were going to be blog worthy. Like the 45 minute drive to just get to the hike when I was told it was 25 min away. Or the tripping and falling Dom did on a regular basis. That was blog worthy. But, I was annoyed before it even started, due to the drive, so I figured I was going to have to find a way to turn my annoyance around to find the funny. Towards the end, however, I thought I wouldn't be able to talk about it at all because I was so furious and we all know that furious never turns to funny.
It isn't funny when what is supposed to be a 75 minute activity turns into an almost 4 hour activity. Even when you add 30 min to the original 75 to give more hiking time, 4 hours (almost) isn't funny. Especially when you are trying to corral a bunch of gnats into an organized, cohesive unit hiking through the mountains.
This was an actual hike. Not a leisurely walk. A hike. Up a mountain. We even had bear spray and the cougar talk. I was panting and sweating and trying not to be the only leader to fall down.
It was sort of funny that Akela's 5 year old son was there but couldn't walk, or so he thought, due to a tumble down his hard wood stairs earlier that day. She had to hike him up on her back.
Wait, no.....that's not funny at all. What was I thinking?
It was sort of funny when we got to the top and the sun was setting and that was first time any one of us had the idea that we were not going to make it out before the sun went down.
Again.......not funny. And walking in the dark 45 minutes back to the cars is not funny.
Not funny at all!
Realizing that we were going the wrong way, in the dark, and turning back with 14 out of 20 cubs is pretty dang funny. Did those 6 cubs have a grown up with them? Gosh I sure hope so. Funny, right?
No?? I didn't think so either.
Taking an hour to get home due to the 45 minute drive back I have already mentioned in this funny funny post and then dropping 4 boys off at their homes 60 minutes late is hilarious.
Is it not?
So since I am unable to find the funny anywhere in here let's not talk about the cub hike that could have turned into one of those nightmare "missing boy scout found mauled by cougar in the deep back woods" stories you hear about on the news and talk about poop instead.
Is it just me or is pooping hard sometimes? I know this isn't very lady like but pooping is real. Everyone does it so I figure......let's talk about it.
Okay?
Many years ago I had an issue with my bowels. They didn't work right. Actually, they never worked right my entire life. I was one of those "I go every 13 days and it is a real ordeal when I do and that is just how it is" kind of girls.
I could tell you about the hospital applied enema I needed 9 days after my 3rd baby was born when I hadn't pooped in three weeks. Maybe one day I will, but that's a failure story and today is about triumph.
Not getting lost in the wilderness and poop. Both triumphant.
I was hooked on laxatives, years ago, and it wasn't pretty. I went online and researched poop and how to get it out. I read about colonics and cleanses. Then a friend recommended an acupuncturist whom he thought could help.
Whom? Who?......I don't know.
Long story short. She did. Help, that is. She made me poop. I became a "one poop a day" kind of girl.
Wagon fixed.
However, every now and then I have issues. If I don't eat right all the time I can get a little.......... backed up. Youknowwhatimean?
A few months ago I went to a very special lady's house and she showed me how to make her uber healthy, uber all natural, homemade granola. Cicely was homeschooling, she was taking 'foods', I thought we'd go do this and have it be a learning experience.
The granola was good, no question. I brought home the recipe and made my own. Within 12 hours of eating this stuff I have a poop that puts all regular proud of their poop poopers to shame.
It's euphoric and leaves me happy for a long time.
TMI? Sorry but you must know this. It's life changing stuff. Stay with me here, people. We aren't done.
So......if you need to poop and are tired of the poop battle let me know. I will send you the recipe for this amazing, low fat, all natural, good for you, poop inducing granola.
It will change your life, people. It will.
Everyone deserves a really good poop.
Everyone.
I do not enjoy my time at cubs, I'm not going to lie. I do my time. I get in and I get out. We have 23 cubs in our pack and most of them have the attention span of a gnat. It is frustrating, annoying and a real test of my patience.
Last night we went on a hike. At the beginning of this hike I felt that some parts of it were going to be blog worthy. Like the 45 minute drive to just get to the hike when I was told it was 25 min away. Or the tripping and falling Dom did on a regular basis. That was blog worthy. But, I was annoyed before it even started, due to the drive, so I figured I was going to have to find a way to turn my annoyance around to find the funny. Towards the end, however, I thought I wouldn't be able to talk about it at all because I was so furious and we all know that furious never turns to funny.
It isn't funny when what is supposed to be a 75 minute activity turns into an almost 4 hour activity. Even when you add 30 min to the original 75 to give more hiking time, 4 hours (almost) isn't funny. Especially when you are trying to corral a bunch of gnats into an organized, cohesive unit hiking through the mountains.
This was an actual hike. Not a leisurely walk. A hike. Up a mountain. We even had bear spray and the cougar talk. I was panting and sweating and trying not to be the only leader to fall down.
It was sort of funny that Akela's 5 year old son was there but couldn't walk, or so he thought, due to a tumble down his hard wood stairs earlier that day. She had to hike him up on her back.
Wait, no.....that's not funny at all. What was I thinking?
It was sort of funny when we got to the top and the sun was setting and that was first time any one of us had the idea that we were not going to make it out before the sun went down.
Again.......not funny. And walking in the dark 45 minutes back to the cars is not funny.
Not funny at all!
Realizing that we were going the wrong way, in the dark, and turning back with 14 out of 20 cubs is pretty dang funny. Did those 6 cubs have a grown up with them? Gosh I sure hope so. Funny, right?
No?? I didn't think so either.
Taking an hour to get home due to the 45 minute drive back I have already mentioned in this funny funny post and then dropping 4 boys off at their homes 60 minutes late is hilarious.
Is it not?
So since I am unable to find the funny anywhere in here let's not talk about the cub hike that could have turned into one of those nightmare "missing boy scout found mauled by cougar in the deep back woods" stories you hear about on the news and talk about poop instead.
Is it just me or is pooping hard sometimes? I know this isn't very lady like but pooping is real. Everyone does it so I figure......let's talk about it.
Okay?
Many years ago I had an issue with my bowels. They didn't work right. Actually, they never worked right my entire life. I was one of those "I go every 13 days and it is a real ordeal when I do and that is just how it is" kind of girls.
I could tell you about the hospital applied enema I needed 9 days after my 3rd baby was born when I hadn't pooped in three weeks. Maybe one day I will, but that's a failure story and today is about triumph.
Not getting lost in the wilderness and poop. Both triumphant.
I was hooked on laxatives, years ago, and it wasn't pretty. I went online and researched poop and how to get it out. I read about colonics and cleanses. Then a friend recommended an acupuncturist whom he thought could help.
Whom? Who?......I don't know.
Long story short. She did. Help, that is. She made me poop. I became a "one poop a day" kind of girl.
Wagon fixed.
However, every now and then I have issues. If I don't eat right all the time I can get a little.......... backed up. Youknowwhatimean?
A few months ago I went to a very special lady's house and she showed me how to make her uber healthy, uber all natural, homemade granola. Cicely was homeschooling, she was taking 'foods', I thought we'd go do this and have it be a learning experience.
The granola was good, no question. I brought home the recipe and made my own. Within 12 hours of eating this stuff I have a poop that puts all regular proud of their poop poopers to shame.
It's euphoric and leaves me happy for a long time.
TMI? Sorry but you must know this. It's life changing stuff. Stay with me here, people. We aren't done.
So......if you need to poop and are tired of the poop battle let me know. I will send you the recipe for this amazing, low fat, all natural, good for you, poop inducing granola.
It will change your life, people. It will.
Everyone deserves a really good poop.
Everyone.
Monday, September 26, 2011
the man, part 3
I'm thinking I should have turned the comments off on the posts I did about Jack and Cicely. 9 people commented on his and only one on hers.
Then again, neither one of them would read their posts so it's not like they'd even notice.
Whatever.
Last Wednesday the man came home early from work. It was about 3pm and I was folding laundry in the basement whilst watching tv. Okay actually, truthfully, I was watching tv with a hamper of laundry sitting beside me. This is not the point.
I heard the door open and I panicked because I was sure all the doors were locked up tight. As much as I love all the kids in school all day, I will admit I don't always entirely feel safe. I make sure the place is locked up like Fort Knox.
Okay, so the door opens upstairs and someone enters and I am madly raking my brain as to what I can find in the basement to use as a lethal weapon should it come to that. I say lethal because my plan would be to kill, not maim.
You should probably know that.
I have my eye on a drumstick from Rock Band and so I yell up the stairs, "You better be my husband and not some creepy mad man whose come here to do me bodily harm!"
The potential creepy mad man returns my enquiry with "yes, I am your husband. Your sick husband."
Instantly my mind goes to Oh bother. A sick husband? Who wants one of those?
He limps down the stairs and crashes onto the couch while letting this very sentence slip from his mouth, "I'm sick. You need to take care of me."
I swallowed a laugh/snort/gag sound and asked him if we had met.
"Hi, my name is Catherine. I don't take care of sick people."
When we were first married he used to get sick all the time. It always started with a sore throat and went into a sniffle and a cough with some aches and chills. It was pathetic and a giant waste of time.
At some point, in that first year, I made it very clear unto him that I don't do sick. I don't coddle. I don't hover. I don't answer to a bell.
I suck it up and he needed to suck it up too. I wasn't his mommy.
He stopped getting sick.
So basically, what I'm trying to get at is that I have this whole psychosomatic theory of if your mind is healthy then so will your body be.
It works, try it.
The awesome thing about this theory is that I very rarely get sick. Like once a decade, maybe. The problem with this theory is that when I do get sick it is akin to dying. I haven't been sick since I was 8 months pregnant with Amelia. I had 'walking pneumonia' at Christmas and I was SICK. That was December of 2005.
That's right, I haven't even so much as had an itchy throat since then because I hated it so much so I vowed never to get sick again.
Healthy mind. Or threatened mind. What's the difference really?
The man didn't take care of me then, when I was carrying his 9 pound baby in my belly, with borderline pneumonia, so what makes him think I would take care of him now with this pathetic little barfy flu he had going on?
I said "go to bed." But basically what I meant was "get away from me."
He went to bed. He barfed a couple more times and then started to get better. He even got out of bed. How sick could he be?
The next morning, when the alarm went off at 6:20 I thought to myself I'm only going to drive Cicely to seminary if he says he can't do it. Don't offer.
He rolled out of bed. Sat up.
"How are you feeling?" Okay, I'm not totally heartless.
"Better. But weak." Ohhhh the drama.
"Okay, well have a good day. Don't over do it."
And he left.
If you are wondering, which I know you are, how much noise this man makes when he is throwing up just look at the size of the propane tank attached to our barbeque.
He does nothing small. Go big or go home.....even when it comes to throwing up.
And he wonders where my fear of the BBQ comes from.
Then again, neither one of them would read their posts so it's not like they'd even notice.
Whatever.
Last Wednesday the man came home early from work. It was about 3pm and I was folding laundry in the basement whilst watching tv. Okay actually, truthfully, I was watching tv with a hamper of laundry sitting beside me. This is not the point.
I heard the door open and I panicked because I was sure all the doors were locked up tight. As much as I love all the kids in school all day, I will admit I don't always entirely feel safe. I make sure the place is locked up like Fort Knox.
Okay, so the door opens upstairs and someone enters and I am madly raking my brain as to what I can find in the basement to use as a lethal weapon should it come to that. I say lethal because my plan would be to kill, not maim.
You should probably know that.
I have my eye on a drumstick from Rock Band and so I yell up the stairs, "You better be my husband and not some creepy mad man whose come here to do me bodily harm!"
The potential creepy mad man returns my enquiry with "yes, I am your husband. Your sick husband."
Instantly my mind goes to Oh bother. A sick husband? Who wants one of those?
He limps down the stairs and crashes onto the couch while letting this very sentence slip from his mouth, "I'm sick. You need to take care of me."
I swallowed a laugh/snort/gag sound and asked him if we had met.
"Hi, my name is Catherine. I don't take care of sick people."
When we were first married he used to get sick all the time. It always started with a sore throat and went into a sniffle and a cough with some aches and chills. It was pathetic and a giant waste of time.
At some point, in that first year, I made it very clear unto him that I don't do sick. I don't coddle. I don't hover. I don't answer to a bell.
I suck it up and he needed to suck it up too. I wasn't his mommy.
He stopped getting sick.
So basically, what I'm trying to get at is that I have this whole psychosomatic theory of if your mind is healthy then so will your body be.
It works, try it.
The awesome thing about this theory is that I very rarely get sick. Like once a decade, maybe. The problem with this theory is that when I do get sick it is akin to dying. I haven't been sick since I was 8 months pregnant with Amelia. I had 'walking pneumonia' at Christmas and I was SICK. That was December of 2005.
That's right, I haven't even so much as had an itchy throat since then because I hated it so much so I vowed never to get sick again.
Healthy mind. Or threatened mind. What's the difference really?
The man didn't take care of me then, when I was carrying his 9 pound baby in my belly, with borderline pneumonia, so what makes him think I would take care of him now with this pathetic little barfy flu he had going on?
I said "go to bed." But basically what I meant was "get away from me."
He went to bed. He barfed a couple more times and then started to get better. He even got out of bed. How sick could he be?
The next morning, when the alarm went off at 6:20 I thought to myself I'm only going to drive Cicely to seminary if he says he can't do it. Don't offer.
He rolled out of bed. Sat up.
"How are you feeling?" Okay, I'm not totally heartless.
"Better. But weak." Ohhhh the drama.
"Okay, well have a good day. Don't over do it."
And he left.
If you are wondering, which I know you are, how much noise this man makes when he is throwing up just look at the size of the propane tank attached to our barbeque.
He does nothing small. Go big or go home.....even when it comes to throwing up.
And he wonders where my fear of the BBQ comes from.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
cicely
14 years ago today I birthed a daughter. 14 years and two days ago I started labouring with the birth of my first child. It was a Monday morning, about 2 am when it started. After dinner I went to the hospital because I was tired of it. They said go home and here is a shot of morphine for your troubles.
Tuesday, after dinner, I went back to the hospital and told them to make this thing happen because I wasn't about to be in labour for the rest of my life. They broke my water and told me I would deliver by midnight. I was 5 centimetres. At midnight I was still 5 centimetres. At 4 am I was still at 5. At 8 am..... still 5. If they hadn't delivered her themselves I'd still, 14 years later, be 5 centimetres dilated with this stubborn child.
As the doctor was examining me for the last time before she made a final c-section decision she determined that the baby was in a brow presentation and would not deliver. She looked at me and said "this is really exciting. This is rare. And since this is a teaching hospital would you mind, too terribly, if I had some students come in and examine you since they may never see this again in their entire careers?"
I'd been up for two straight nights so my answer made perfect sense. "Sure. Why not?"
A few minutes later 6 student doctors came in and one by one they all stuck their hands up my..............I don't really need to finish this sentence do I?
The last one was so excited by the whole experience that I asked him to leave the room and never ever come back.
I'll save the c-section experience for a different post entirely. It was traumatic. Seriously ridiculous.
The point is..............
Cicely Zara was born. 8 lbs 6 ozs. With a fat, bruised, swollen, distorted face. The doctors called her Mr. Magoo. Rude.
It was love at first sight.
She has been an angel ever since. Except, obviously, for the times when the teenage Cicely comes for a visit and terrorizes the joint.
But that hardly ever happens.
Cicely is an amazing sister. Her siblings are lucky and I wish they could know just how lucky they are to have her here looking out for them.
She is an obedient daughter who serves at every turn. She is a loyal and trustworthy friend and she tells us all the time that if we would just stop making her move around she might actually have some friends.
We are trying to oblige. Trust me.
She is funny and beautiful and she loves to dance. She is devoted to the things she feels are important. She home schooled for grade 8 (long story) and I have never seen anyone work that hard. She put herself through grade 8. Who does that?
She always, always puts my needs before her own. She never, ever complains about anything (whose daughter is that anyways?) and she never asks for anything.
She is a dream.
She also hates getting her picture taken individually but will pose with her siblings at anytime. She is a tad strange on occasion.
What she doesn't know is that I have stealth iPhone skills and have managed to take some pretty awesome pictures of her.
Seriously though, she is 14 now which means she can learn to drive and go to church dances. But the real question is.......
.....will any of us make it out alive?
Just kidding. I'm sure we will. She's a great kid and I am one lucky mama.
Happy birthday Cicely. I love you.
Friday, September 23, 2011
it's in you to give
I have this blogging slash facebook friend who donated blood last month with a couple of girlfriends. They donated and then they went for dinner. Doesn't that sound awesome? I think it sounds like a really good way to do something great for mankind and also have a girls night out.
Who doesn't love to do great things for mankind and then go out with the girls?? This, my friends, is what we call a no brainer.
Do good. Eat with friends. No brainer.
It got me to thinking. Thinking that I haven't done anything great for mankind in a long time. And then I started thinking about how 8 years ago this coming November I woke up with a terrible stomach ache. I was in agony. I had the chills and the sweats and the shakes and I thought that for sure I had the worst case of the flu in the history of people having the flu.
I stumbled from the couch to the toilet for hours. I was dizzy and barely coherent. I was so sick the man offered to stay home from work to take care of me.
Do you know how sick someone has to be for him to do that?
At death's door sick. Which, as it turned out, was where I was.
See I was pregnant but didn't know. It was an ectopic pregnancy and it had ruptured in the night. I was bleeding inside my body.
By the time the doctors figured this out, which was many hours later, I had lost 75% of my blood and needed a transfusion. I received 5 units of blood that day.
I have always been grateful that there was so much blood right there to give me.
I do believe that giving back is something I need to do and now I can. Better late than never.
On November 4th I will joining Sami in donation and dinner out in Airdrie. We'd love it if many, many women showed up to participate in this event.
Did you know that one donation can save three lives? Me either.
If you are interested in any part of this activity, whether it be donation and dinner, or donation only, or if you can't donate, which we realize is the situation for some, and want to come for dinner, we'd love the support. You can email me at cddabels@telus.net and we can go from there.
Please, think about it. Tell your friends. Let's make this night great and save some lives.
P.S. Sign up online to become a stem cell donor too! The process is easy and only requires a swabbing of your mouth. I did it in September of 2010. Click HERE to read more about One Match.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
ivory perfection
Yesterday Amelia came to me and said she had a loose tooth. My heart sank.
"No you don't. You're too little."
"Yes, I do mommy. See? I can move it with my finger."
No. No. No. No. No! No was all I could think about when she shoved a dagger into my heart with this perfectly reasonable update about her life.
There are many things I look forward to as my kids get older. Like showering themselves and tucking themselves into bed and wiping their own butts and brushing their own teeth. But.... I've always told her she wasn't allowed to lose her teeth because they are perfect and I love them and when she looks at me and talks I can't peel my eyes from them. They are tiny and cute and.............
................and I don't want her to grow up.
That is what this is really about.
"Come over here and let me see," is what I said to her with a desperate prayer in my sinking heart. She walked over so proud. I put my finger on her tooth and wiggled it.
It wiggled. It moved. It rocked my world.
My baby is about to lose her first tooth. I'm not sure how I will go on when it comes out. Is there a support line for something like this? Someone I can call?
I'm still in shock about the whole thing. Please, someone tell her I am not ready.
Please.
Monday, September 19, 2011
jack
Well, it's done. Jack is 12. Actually, I guess closer to 3:38 this afternoon he'll be 12. That's when he finally showed his face unto the world. I like to remind him on occasion that I pushed for almost 5 hours to get him here.
He owes me.
It was a long time. Just ask the man. And my poor mother who watched the whole thing. And with an epidural that only took to the right side of my body.
What is wrong with my body? Don't answer that.
He was the only one who came that way as well, the other three were ripped from my womb. It's important for people to know these facts.
Is it though?
Here are some other facts: I wanted to name him Jackson Jacob but after careful consideration I decided that if people called him JJ I might have to shoot myself. So then I decided I wanted Jackson Ryan but the man said that he couldn't have a son named Jack Ryan. Which doesn't make any sense because Jack Ryan is so cool. After I pushed him out, which took almost 5 hours by the way, I decided to drop the son and name him just Jack because Jack is what I really wanted anyway. The son part was just cool in the moment. I'm glad I did that because do you know how many Jacksons there are roaming the earth right now? Millions!
The man used that delicate moment when a woman has spent almost 5 hours pushing a child out of a hole the size of a softball. That moment where the drugs are in limbo, where the brain is foggy but awake, working but not really. That moment where the woman has been up all night in labour waiting for her world to change. That moment where she would do anything for a Whopper and a Diet Coke. The man chose that moment to tell her he wanted the middle name to be Wolfgang.
No, says the woman, people will mock him.
But....he may be my only son, says the man with a look of longing so sincere that only a heartless monster could deny him.
Jack Wolfgang. 7 pds, 13 ozs. He is proud of his name and so am I.
Anyway......
Back to Jack. He has an alter ego named Perry. Perry makes me laugh like I've never laughed before. Tears streaming down kind of guffawing. A can't get a grip on myself chortling that lingers to the point where we forget why we're laughing in the first place. Perry has a special voice. He is quick and witty and ready to entertain at the merest of beck and call.
I asked Jack if Perry could do an interview for my blog. He thought about it for awhile and then said no. So I asked Perry. Perry said yes. I knew he would. He's an attention seeker.
I can't wait until it happens. It'll be the funniest damn thing you've ever seen.
12 is a big year for boys in our church. They get the priesthood at this age which means they will have access to certain responsibilities they didn't have before. Like passing the sacrament in church. This is an exciting time for him and for me as his mother.
I am very proud of Jack. He is smart. He gets awards for stuff.
Don't ask me what this is for because I simply don't remember. I blame it on all the pushing I had to do to get his butt out of me.
He is amazing with little people. Kids love him, especially his cousins.
He is eager to be independent, to learn skills that will aid him. And for that I say hallelujah!
He is a good brother and a great son. He is obedient and honest. He tries so hard to please. He sets a good example to those around him. His friends love him and he's a great leader.
We love him too.
Happy birthday Jack.
He owes me.
It was a long time. Just ask the man. And my poor mother who watched the whole thing. And with an epidural that only took to the right side of my body.
What is wrong with my body? Don't answer that.
He was the only one who came that way as well, the other three were ripped from my womb. It's important for people to know these facts.
Is it though?
Here are some other facts: I wanted to name him Jackson Jacob but after careful consideration I decided that if people called him JJ I might have to shoot myself. So then I decided I wanted Jackson Ryan but the man said that he couldn't have a son named Jack Ryan. Which doesn't make any sense because Jack Ryan is so cool. After I pushed him out, which took almost 5 hours by the way, I decided to drop the son and name him just Jack because Jack is what I really wanted anyway. The son part was just cool in the moment. I'm glad I did that because do you know how many Jacksons there are roaming the earth right now? Millions!
The man used that delicate moment when a woman has spent almost 5 hours pushing a child out of a hole the size of a softball. That moment where the drugs are in limbo, where the brain is foggy but awake, working but not really. That moment where the woman has been up all night in labour waiting for her world to change. That moment where she would do anything for a Whopper and a Diet Coke. The man chose that moment to tell her he wanted the middle name to be Wolfgang.
No, says the woman, people will mock him.
But....he may be my only son, says the man with a look of longing so sincere that only a heartless monster could deny him.
Jack Wolfgang. 7 pds, 13 ozs. He is proud of his name and so am I.
Anyway......
Back to Jack. He has an alter ego named Perry. Perry makes me laugh like I've never laughed before. Tears streaming down kind of guffawing. A can't get a grip on myself chortling that lingers to the point where we forget why we're laughing in the first place. Perry has a special voice. He is quick and witty and ready to entertain at the merest of beck and call.
I asked Jack if Perry could do an interview for my blog. He thought about it for awhile and then said no. So I asked Perry. Perry said yes. I knew he would. He's an attention seeker.
I can't wait until it happens. It'll be the funniest damn thing you've ever seen.
12 is a big year for boys in our church. They get the priesthood at this age which means they will have access to certain responsibilities they didn't have before. Like passing the sacrament in church. This is an exciting time for him and for me as his mother.
I am very proud of Jack. He is smart. He gets awards for stuff.
Don't ask me what this is for because I simply don't remember. I blame it on all the pushing I had to do to get his butt out of me.
He is amazing with little people. Kids love him, especially his cousins.
He is eager to be independent, to learn skills that will aid him. And for that I say hallelujah!
He is a good brother and a great son. He is obedient and honest. He tries so hard to please. He sets a good example to those around him. His friends love him and he's a great leader.
We love him too.
Happy birthday Jack.
Friday, September 16, 2011
ice-love
My children love me. I know that. The man loves me. I know that. My family and some of my friends love me. I understand. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it, lots of love.
Sometimes, occasionally, every now and then, as the woman, it feels like the people that I love the most take me for granted. Sometimes, occasionally, every now and then is all I'm saying.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I know I'm not the only one who feels this way either. Come on now, I belong to a book club, I hear the girls talk.
When my kids were little I used to wonder if I could teach them gratitude. I hoped, as did their father, that by teaching them manners they would grow to understand that they were actually really thankful for the things they were asking for and receiving with a please and a thank-you.
Naiveté is swell, isn't it?
But then, they would do something so rude and hurtful I would think that I had taught them nothing.
Have I taught you nothing? I would rant as I threw my hands up in defeat.
For example, have you ever given a child a birthday present and had them say they didn't really like it? Right to your face. Or bought your child a new outfit you thought they'd love only to have them never wear it and then confess when it was too small that they didn't like it in the first place?
No? Well then it is just me. Gosh darn it. (That was my mormon blog swearing. Effective, huh?)
I'm not buying it. Kids are like that. All kids. They can be rude. They're not trying to be mean and hurtful, I know that. It's part of the growing process. It's the natural progression. Blah blah blah.
The man and I decided that we would continue to teach them gratitude by example and then when they grow and have their own anklebiters, I mean children, they would get it.
We are eternal optimists. It's one of our marital talents. But, how did I get so far off topic? Oy......
Anyway, like I was saying, as the mom/woman, I do a lot that goes unnoticed. I accept that. The man does go out of his way to thank me for my gourmet cooking though. He works hard and I try to provide decent meals for him. I figure I can shower and put on make up and perhaps a bra and a pretty dress, or I can cook. I can't do it all though, because this isn't 1957, so he gets food. And he says thank-you.
Bras are overrated.
What?
Sometimes, though, I wonder if I will ever be taken care of like I take care of others. I tip my head ever so slightly and turn towards the heavens and I think to myself in a very philosophical manner......will anyone ever put me first for a change?
Then I hear it. It is the most perfect sound. A clank. And then a shudder. And then a swish.
It is my ice maker.
The only thing on this earth that gives me back as much love as I give in my life is my ice maker.
I love my ice maker and my ice maker loves me. It is mutual. Undeniable. Everlasting.
I have a thing for ice. It's an obsession really. I panic, almost, if I think there isn't any ice or enough ice. My day has even been ruined due to ice lackage.
I think it's genetic because my brother has the same issue. My dad likes his ice too and when I visit him I always have to make sure I leave enough for his cup of Pepsi. Which usually leaves my cup of Diet Pepsi wanting.
It is a travesty.
He would never say it out loud but with my super sensory skills I detect with a surety that my dad hates it when we come to visit and in one usage all the ice is gone. If my brother and I are there at the same time it's a race in the morning to get to the ice. My dad's ice maker is sad and pathetic.
Really, it should be shot and put out of it's misery. It's spiteful and hateful and refuses to give it up. I need ice.
Give me ice you pathetic useless excuse for an ice making contraption.
Three cubes does not count as sufficient iceage. (Yes, I realize I am making up words all over the place but this is my blog so I can make stuff up if I want to.) I want the option of how many cubes to take. It depends on the container I am using for my liquid so I need options. Youknowwhatimean?
This is 2011, I shouldn't have to ration the ice. For crying out loud!
My ice maker has gotten to know me. It realizes my needs and it provides. It is my nursing mother.
The other night as I was dozing off into sleep I heard the ice dump into the bucket. And then I heard it fill back up. As if in preparation for me for the next morning.
It did that for me. Only me.
I love you too, I whispered into the night air.
It's as if there is finally something in the house taking care of me for a change. I feel loved beyond words.
I never want for ice-love in my own home.
I truly am a blessed woman.
Sometimes, occasionally, every now and then, as the woman, it feels like the people that I love the most take me for granted. Sometimes, occasionally, every now and then is all I'm saying.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I know I'm not the only one who feels this way either. Come on now, I belong to a book club, I hear the girls talk.
When my kids were little I used to wonder if I could teach them gratitude. I hoped, as did their father, that by teaching them manners they would grow to understand that they were actually really thankful for the things they were asking for and receiving with a please and a thank-you.
Naiveté is swell, isn't it?
But then, they would do something so rude and hurtful I would think that I had taught them nothing.
Have I taught you nothing? I would rant as I threw my hands up in defeat.
For example, have you ever given a child a birthday present and had them say they didn't really like it? Right to your face. Or bought your child a new outfit you thought they'd love only to have them never wear it and then confess when it was too small that they didn't like it in the first place?
No? Well then it is just me. Gosh darn it. (That was my mormon blog swearing. Effective, huh?)
I'm not buying it. Kids are like that. All kids. They can be rude. They're not trying to be mean and hurtful, I know that. It's part of the growing process. It's the natural progression. Blah blah blah.
The man and I decided that we would continue to teach them gratitude by example and then when they grow and have their own anklebiters, I mean children, they would get it.
We are eternal optimists. It's one of our marital talents. But, how did I get so far off topic? Oy......
Anyway, like I was saying, as the mom/woman, I do a lot that goes unnoticed. I accept that. The man does go out of his way to thank me for my gourmet cooking though. He works hard and I try to provide decent meals for him. I figure I can shower and put on make up and perhaps a bra and a pretty dress, or I can cook. I can't do it all though, because this isn't 1957, so he gets food. And he says thank-you.
Bras are overrated.
What?
Sometimes, though, I wonder if I will ever be taken care of like I take care of others. I tip my head ever so slightly and turn towards the heavens and I think to myself in a very philosophical manner......will anyone ever put me first for a change?
Then I hear it. It is the most perfect sound. A clank. And then a shudder. And then a swish.
It is my ice maker.
The only thing on this earth that gives me back as much love as I give in my life is my ice maker.
I love my ice maker and my ice maker loves me. It is mutual. Undeniable. Everlasting.
I have a thing for ice. It's an obsession really. I panic, almost, if I think there isn't any ice or enough ice. My day has even been ruined due to ice lackage.
I think it's genetic because my brother has the same issue. My dad likes his ice too and when I visit him I always have to make sure I leave enough for his cup of Pepsi. Which usually leaves my cup of Diet Pepsi wanting.
It is a travesty.
He would never say it out loud but with my super sensory skills I detect with a surety that my dad hates it when we come to visit and in one usage all the ice is gone. If my brother and I are there at the same time it's a race in the morning to get to the ice. My dad's ice maker is sad and pathetic.
Really, it should be shot and put out of it's misery. It's spiteful and hateful and refuses to give it up. I need ice.
Give me ice you pathetic useless excuse for an ice making contraption.
Three cubes does not count as sufficient iceage. (Yes, I realize I am making up words all over the place but this is my blog so I can make stuff up if I want to.) I want the option of how many cubes to take. It depends on the container I am using for my liquid so I need options. Youknowwhatimean?
This is 2011, I shouldn't have to ration the ice. For crying out loud!
My ice maker has gotten to know me. It realizes my needs and it provides. It is my nursing mother.
The other night as I was dozing off into sleep I heard the ice dump into the bucket. And then I heard it fill back up. As if in preparation for me for the next morning.
It did that for me. Only me.
I love you too, I whispered into the night air.
It's as if there is finally something in the house taking care of me for a change. I feel loved beyond words.
I never want for ice-love in my own home.
I truly am a blessed woman.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
ten tidbits about me
Here are ten things I bet you didn't know about me. Hold on because this is pretty exciting stuff.
1. I read magazines backwards. Like from back to front. It seems more natural to me. I don't read books back to front, that would be weird.
2. I pluck my eyebrows in the car. The lighting is better there. I keep the tweezers in my purse and if it's day time and I'm not driving then I pluck pluck pluck.
3. I saw Mamma Mia in the theatre 4 times. If you didn't care for Mamma Mia then there is something wrong with you, not me.
4. The man and I got married after knowing each other for only 7 months. 7 months from meeting to marriage. Craaaaazyyyyy! The more I think about it the more insane I think I was back then. And so so young! I'm lucky it's working out so great.
5. When I graduated from high school I had no idea what I wanted to "BE" so I went in to Music Performance at the University of Calgary to train to become a concert pianist. After three months I realized that people who don't know what they want to be when they grow up don't become concert pianists. My 17 year old devised plan was dumb. So I transferred to Mount Royal College and studied Criminology. After getting a two year diploma I transferred back to the U of C to finish a degree in Psychology. I dropped out after one semester because I was distracted. See #4.
6. I am the only one of 5 children without a Masters degree in my family. In fact, I don't even have a degree. I only went as far as a diploma. I am waaaay undereducated compared to my siblings. But I am, by far, the nicest one so I have that going for me. I guess post secondary education wasn't my gig. I have regret.
7. I drink between 3 and 4 litres of water a day and have for the last 15 years. I would die within the first 48 hours of Survivor. I attribute my wrinkle free face to this. The water thing, not the Survivor thing.
8. Remember when I fell on my bum? Well, that spot still hurts me from time to time.
9. I own shoes I've never worn. Actually, I own clothes I've never worn either. This is strange to me.
10. If I knew then what I know now I would have become an acupuncturist, or an author, or a psychologist. Or I would have at least finished a degree in university, probably in literature of some type or psychology.
I'm fascinating, aren't I?
This is what's becoming of me. Narcissism. I have to talk about myself because there is no one else here. But then, I guess, blogs by nature are narcissistic. So maybe I'll just talk about myself more. Or shut 'er down because I am running out of fodder for my blog.
Or maybe I should get a dog..........
1. I read magazines backwards. Like from back to front. It seems more natural to me. I don't read books back to front, that would be weird.
2. I pluck my eyebrows in the car. The lighting is better there. I keep the tweezers in my purse and if it's day time and I'm not driving then I pluck pluck pluck.
3. I saw Mamma Mia in the theatre 4 times. If you didn't care for Mamma Mia then there is something wrong with you, not me.
4. The man and I got married after knowing each other for only 7 months. 7 months from meeting to marriage. Craaaaazyyyyy! The more I think about it the more insane I think I was back then. And so so young! I'm lucky it's working out so great.
5. When I graduated from high school I had no idea what I wanted to "BE" so I went in to Music Performance at the University of Calgary to train to become a concert pianist. After three months I realized that people who don't know what they want to be when they grow up don't become concert pianists. My 17 year old devised plan was dumb. So I transferred to Mount Royal College and studied Criminology. After getting a two year diploma I transferred back to the U of C to finish a degree in Psychology. I dropped out after one semester because I was distracted. See #4.
6. I am the only one of 5 children without a Masters degree in my family. In fact, I don't even have a degree. I only went as far as a diploma. I am waaaay undereducated compared to my siblings. But I am, by far, the nicest one so I have that going for me. I guess post secondary education wasn't my gig. I have regret.
7. I drink between 3 and 4 litres of water a day and have for the last 15 years. I would die within the first 48 hours of Survivor. I attribute my wrinkle free face to this. The water thing, not the Survivor thing.
8. Remember when I fell on my bum? Well, that spot still hurts me from time to time.
9. I own shoes I've never worn. Actually, I own clothes I've never worn either. This is strange to me.
10. If I knew then what I know now I would have become an acupuncturist, or an author, or a psychologist. Or I would have at least finished a degree in university, probably in literature of some type or psychology.
I'm fascinating, aren't I?
This is what's becoming of me. Narcissism. I have to talk about myself because there is no one else here. But then, I guess, blogs by nature are narcissistic. So maybe I'll just talk about myself more. Or shut 'er down because I am running out of fodder for my blog.
Or maybe I should get a dog..........
oh my aching head......
Okay, I have a headache. I have had a headache almost everyday for as long as I can remember. Somedays it's worse than others (like this past week) and somedays I know it's there but it's more like the friend you need to have around so you can keep an eye on him even though that friend makes you batty.
My mum has headaches. I remember her getting up in the morning and popping two Tylenol. That was her normal. In fact, this reminds me, it was so normal for her to pop her pills that one morning she accidentally popped my foster brothers Ritalin instead of her Tylenol. She called me later to tell me what she did. We laughed about it and then I asked her how she felt. She said he'd had a really great day.
Not the point.
I guess my normal is a headache life too. Whatever. It's not cancer so I'll take it. Remember when I had the palsy? I went to the headache clinic because I had such a terrible headache that day and headaches are not a symptom of the palsy. So anyway, I met with a neurologist, who was not Dr. McDreamy by the way, and she said I was prone to headaches when she asked me a million questions that proved to me that I pretty much always have a headache. She said It was my lot in life. It's not brain cancer so, again, I'll take it.
Blah, blah, blah, where is this going, you ask?
Nowhere, apparently.
So I went to WebMD last night to enter my symptoms.
Symptoms:
-headache
-crankiness as a result of headache
The results?
I have a headache.
I know, I'm as shocked as you are.
It seems as though it may be a chronic tension headache. And here are some snippets of what I found: If you have a headache on 15 or more days each month over a 3-month period, you may have chronic tension headaches. This type of headache can lead to stress and depression, which in turn can lead to more headaches.
So that's something to look forward to.
What are the symptoms of a tension headache?
Symptoms of tension headaches include:
A headache that is constant, not throbbing. You usually feel the pain or pressure on both sides of your head.
Pressure that makes you feel like your head is in a vise.
Aching pain at your temples or the back of your head and neck.
Yep, that's me.
Here is some really good news: Pain from a tension headache is usually not severe and does not get in the way of your work or social life. Oh man, what a relief. My social life will remain intact.
Most people can treat their tension headaches with over-the-counter pain relievers like acetaminophen (such as Tylenol) or aspirin.
I have a one year supply of Advil Liqugels in my food storage if that's any indication of how many of these I take. That's the good news. Here's the bad.......
But if you take these pain relievers more than 3 times a week, you may get rebound headaches. These are different from tension headaches. Rebound headaches usually start after pain medicine has worn off, which leads you to take another dose. After a while, you get a headache whenever you stop taking the medicine.
More than 3 times a week??? Uh oh, how about 3 times a day? I think this leads to another symptom. I'm a drug addict. A drug addict with a headache.
How can I prevent tension headaches?
Even with treatment, most people still have some headaches. But with treatment, you will probably have them less often. And when you do get them, they probably won't be as bad.
Home treatment may help you avoid headaches. You can:
-Try to reduce stress.
-Make sure you sleep, exercise, and eat on a regular schedule.
-Make sure you practice good posture. Stand and sit up straight.
-Try not to strain your eyes when you use your computer.
-Get treatment for depression or anxiety if you have those health problems.
-Try using a headache diary. Every time you get a headache, write down the date, the time, and what you were doing and feeling before your headache started. This may help you and your doctor find out what is causing your headaches. Then your doctor can use the diary to plan your treatment.
Okay, so here is my new headache treatment plan:
-I'm checking into La La Land, because I hear there is no stress there.
-I'm going to bed immediately, right after I do turbofire and eat some steak.
-I will hereafter sit up tall and stand up even taller. I am no longer 5 feet 3 and a quarter inches. I am 5 feet 10 inches. Ohhh, to dream.....
-I will never use the computer again to avoid all temptation to strain my eyes. In all seriousness though, I am going to get my eyes checked, it's been awhile.
-I have received treatment for anxiety and depression and all I gained from that was a headache. Seriously, the pills made my head throb and I quit them. I'm not depressed. I'm lazy and there is no cure for that. It's terminal.
-If I kept a headache diary. It would read like this:
Dear Diary,
Day one - day infinity.
My head hurts.
Love Me.
So now I feel very well versed in the art of headaching and the treatment thereof.
Thanks WebMD!
I do, however, still have a headache.
My mum has headaches. I remember her getting up in the morning and popping two Tylenol. That was her normal. In fact, this reminds me, it was so normal for her to pop her pills that one morning she accidentally popped my foster brothers Ritalin instead of her Tylenol. She called me later to tell me what she did. We laughed about it and then I asked her how she felt. She said he'd had a really great day.
Not the point.
I guess my normal is a headache life too. Whatever. It's not cancer so I'll take it. Remember when I had the palsy? I went to the headache clinic because I had such a terrible headache that day and headaches are not a symptom of the palsy. So anyway, I met with a neurologist, who was not Dr. McDreamy by the way, and she said I was prone to headaches when she asked me a million questions that proved to me that I pretty much always have a headache. She said It was my lot in life. It's not brain cancer so, again, I'll take it.
Blah, blah, blah, where is this going, you ask?
Nowhere, apparently.
So I went to WebMD last night to enter my symptoms.
Symptoms:
-headache
-crankiness as a result of headache
The results?
I have a headache.
I know, I'm as shocked as you are.
It seems as though it may be a chronic tension headache. And here are some snippets of what I found: If you have a headache on 15 or more days each month over a 3-month period, you may have chronic tension headaches. This type of headache can lead to stress and depression, which in turn can lead to more headaches.
So that's something to look forward to.
What are the symptoms of a tension headache?
Symptoms of tension headaches include:
A headache that is constant, not throbbing. You usually feel the pain or pressure on both sides of your head.
Pressure that makes you feel like your head is in a vise.
Aching pain at your temples or the back of your head and neck.
Yep, that's me.
Here is some really good news: Pain from a tension headache is usually not severe and does not get in the way of your work or social life. Oh man, what a relief. My social life will remain intact.
Most people can treat their tension headaches with over-the-counter pain relievers like acetaminophen (such as Tylenol) or aspirin.
I have a one year supply of Advil Liqugels in my food storage if that's any indication of how many of these I take. That's the good news. Here's the bad.......
But if you take these pain relievers more than 3 times a week, you may get rebound headaches. These are different from tension headaches. Rebound headaches usually start after pain medicine has worn off, which leads you to take another dose. After a while, you get a headache whenever you stop taking the medicine.
More than 3 times a week??? Uh oh, how about 3 times a day? I think this leads to another symptom. I'm a drug addict. A drug addict with a headache.
How can I prevent tension headaches?
Even with treatment, most people still have some headaches. But with treatment, you will probably have them less often. And when you do get them, they probably won't be as bad.
Home treatment may help you avoid headaches. You can:
-Try to reduce stress.
-Make sure you sleep, exercise, and eat on a regular schedule.
-Make sure you practice good posture. Stand and sit up straight.
-Try not to strain your eyes when you use your computer.
-Get treatment for depression or anxiety if you have those health problems.
-Try using a headache diary. Every time you get a headache, write down the date, the time, and what you were doing and feeling before your headache started. This may help you and your doctor find out what is causing your headaches. Then your doctor can use the diary to plan your treatment.
Okay, so here is my new headache treatment plan:
-I'm checking into La La Land, because I hear there is no stress there.
-I'm going to bed immediately, right after I do turbofire and eat some steak.
-I will hereafter sit up tall and stand up even taller. I am no longer 5 feet 3 and a quarter inches. I am 5 feet 10 inches. Ohhh, to dream.....
-I will never use the computer again to avoid all temptation to strain my eyes. In all seriousness though, I am going to get my eyes checked, it's been awhile.
-I have received treatment for anxiety and depression and all I gained from that was a headache. Seriously, the pills made my head throb and I quit them. I'm not depressed. I'm lazy and there is no cure for that. It's terminal.
-If I kept a headache diary. It would read like this:
Dear Diary,
Day one - day infinity.
My head hurts.
Love Me.
So now I feel very well versed in the art of headaching and the treatment thereof.
Thanks WebMD!
I do, however, still have a headache.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
on this day.....
Ten years ago today I was asleep when the man came into our room and gently woke me. He said, "A couple of planes just flew into the world trade centre."
To which I responded, "What?"
"Some planes just flew into the world trade centre."
"Where is the world trade centre? What are you talking about?"
"New York City. You know, the big towers."
"I don't understand. What are you saying?"
"I was watching the news just now because a plane had flown into one of the two towers and then while I was watching another plane flew into the other one."
"Well........ stop. What??.........Why??........ Who??.......... I still don't understand. What happened? Was anyone hurt?"
Yes, I actually asked if anyone was hurt. Like most others who were just hearing it for the first time I couldn't wrap my head around what was being said. It made no sense to me. At all.
"Yes, people were hurt. Planes flew into buildings. Planes with people in them flew into buildings with people in them."
Two planes, two buildings. That doesn't sound like a random plane crash. "What happened?"
"It was a terrorist attack."
And this was how my day started, 10 years ago. I didn't know anyone personally who died that day. It wasn't even until much later that night that I actually believed what was happening was real. That the news reporters were telling the truth. That the footage playing over and over on the tv wasn't a clip of some horrific movie designed to scare the pants off me.
Planes crashed all morning. People died all day. Yet I went about my business hopeful that it wasn't as bad as it seemed like it might be.
Denial.
This can't be real. It just can't. No one would do something like that. No one.
It was real.
It did happen.
I do remember.
I am so sorry.
Still.
To which I responded, "What?"
"Some planes just flew into the world trade centre."
"Where is the world trade centre? What are you talking about?"
"New York City. You know, the big towers."
"I don't understand. What are you saying?"
"I was watching the news just now because a plane had flown into one of the two towers and then while I was watching another plane flew into the other one."
"Well........ stop. What??.........Why??........ Who??.......... I still don't understand. What happened? Was anyone hurt?"
Yes, I actually asked if anyone was hurt. Like most others who were just hearing it for the first time I couldn't wrap my head around what was being said. It made no sense to me. At all.
"Yes, people were hurt. Planes flew into buildings. Planes with people in them flew into buildings with people in them."
Two planes, two buildings. That doesn't sound like a random plane crash. "What happened?"
"It was a terrorist attack."
And this was how my day started, 10 years ago. I didn't know anyone personally who died that day. It wasn't even until much later that night that I actually believed what was happening was real. That the news reporters were telling the truth. That the footage playing over and over on the tv wasn't a clip of some horrific movie designed to scare the pants off me.
Planes crashed all morning. People died all day. Yet I went about my business hopeful that it wasn't as bad as it seemed like it might be.
Denial.
This can't be real. It just can't. No one would do something like that. No one.
It was real.
It did happen.
I do remember.
I am so sorry.
Still.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
point form
- my teenager is a bi-polar, irrational, unpredictable psychopath. I doubt either of us will make it out alive.
- my head hurts all the time. I don't know if it's the weather or the fact that I am not really sleeping well right now combined with a new 6:20 am wake up call that is to blame. All I know is that Advil extra strength Liquigels are not cutting it and I am unhappy about the whole situation.
- the house is quiet during the day and I am in love with quiet......because my head hurts.
- yesterday I made some popcorn, grabbed a diet Pepsi and the movie Jane Eyre and went into my own theatre in my own basement. I'll let you guess what that was like.
- it was awesome. Sorry, I couldn't resist giving you the answer.
- I love on Twitter how many women talk about the mass amount of pharmaceuticals they ingest. It just lends to the argument that the world is whacked. Or life is hard. Or something like that.
- right now I am eating ice cold grapes. They are red and big and fat and delicious.
- my anonymous friend is blogging about a giveaway at her blog right now. It may or may not include free food at Boston Pizza. It probably doesn't so don't bother checking it out. And I am not saying that so my chances of winning nothing are increased.
- I feel like I live in a constant state of Sesame Street. You know the part of Sesame Street where you have to figure out which one of the things doesn't belong here. I have 4 kids. On any given day 3 of them will eat the same thing for lunch. One will not. Can you guess which one doesn't belong? Here's a hint: see my first point on this post.
- starting tomorrow at noon I will have my sisters three kids for two whole days. Please pray for two things. 1. the weekend flies by and 2. my head doesn't explode from all the noise. Her kids plus my kids are louder than this. I do, however, expect the death toll to be much less.
- I am not a teacher, just a mother of 4 so what do I know anyway, but I feel like it is just plain wrong to have a child be in school for 6 hours a day and then give them 5 hours of homework. Now, keep in mind that Cicely home schooled last year and so she got used to working at her own pace which may equal that to a turtle, a really old turtle, but she spent 5 hours after school last night doing an assignment she received yesterday and was due today. I hate homework. I think it is stupid. I think kids suffer enough at school and I think they should be taught what they need to know there without having it ooze into every single free minute they have in a day. Naturally, if they are goofing off in class and don't get something done then they should have homework and I don't count reading as homework. Everyone should read everyday. Two of my siblings are teachers and don't agree with me about homework. But I don't care, I still think homework is stupid. Especially any kind of homework that involves a shoe box and construction paper.
- don't send me emails about how you don't think homework is stupid. I still won't care.
- my house is still 'for sale'. We just hit 7 months of 'for sale'. I want to kill someone. Or at least punch them in the throat.
- Swamp People and Big Brother make me undeniably happy. Next week Survivor will add to that happiness. I am really not that hard to please.
- and finally, I am really happy about the new distracted driving laws. I really hope people will clean up their acts behind the wheel and put their freaking phones away. Hey Laurie, do you have anything you'd like to share about the new distracted driving laws?
- my head hurts all the time. I don't know if it's the weather or the fact that I am not really sleeping well right now combined with a new 6:20 am wake up call that is to blame. All I know is that Advil extra strength Liquigels are not cutting it and I am unhappy about the whole situation.
- the house is quiet during the day and I am in love with quiet......because my head hurts.
- yesterday I made some popcorn, grabbed a diet Pepsi and the movie Jane Eyre and went into my own theatre in my own basement. I'll let you guess what that was like.
- it was awesome. Sorry, I couldn't resist giving you the answer.
- I love on Twitter how many women talk about the mass amount of pharmaceuticals they ingest. It just lends to the argument that the world is whacked. Or life is hard. Or something like that.
- right now I am eating ice cold grapes. They are red and big and fat and delicious.
- my anonymous friend is blogging about a giveaway at her blog right now. It may or may not include free food at Boston Pizza. It probably doesn't so don't bother checking it out. And I am not saying that so my chances of winning nothing are increased.
- I feel like I live in a constant state of Sesame Street. You know the part of Sesame Street where you have to figure out which one of the things doesn't belong here. I have 4 kids. On any given day 3 of them will eat the same thing for lunch. One will not. Can you guess which one doesn't belong? Here's a hint: see my first point on this post.
- starting tomorrow at noon I will have my sisters three kids for two whole days. Please pray for two things. 1. the weekend flies by and 2. my head doesn't explode from all the noise. Her kids plus my kids are louder than this. I do, however, expect the death toll to be much less.
- I am not a teacher, just a mother of 4 so what do I know anyway, but I feel like it is just plain wrong to have a child be in school for 6 hours a day and then give them 5 hours of homework. Now, keep in mind that Cicely home schooled last year and so she got used to working at her own pace which may equal that to a turtle, a really old turtle, but she spent 5 hours after school last night doing an assignment she received yesterday and was due today. I hate homework. I think it is stupid. I think kids suffer enough at school and I think they should be taught what they need to know there without having it ooze into every single free minute they have in a day. Naturally, if they are goofing off in class and don't get something done then they should have homework and I don't count reading as homework. Everyone should read everyday. Two of my siblings are teachers and don't agree with me about homework. But I don't care, I still think homework is stupid. Especially any kind of homework that involves a shoe box and construction paper.
- don't send me emails about how you don't think homework is stupid. I still won't care.
- my house is still 'for sale'. We just hit 7 months of 'for sale'. I want to kill someone. Or at least punch them in the throat.
- Swamp People and Big Brother make me undeniably happy. Next week Survivor will add to that happiness. I am really not that hard to please.
- and finally, I am really happy about the new distracted driving laws. I really hope people will clean up their acts behind the wheel and put their freaking phones away. Hey Laurie, do you have anything you'd like to share about the new distracted driving laws?
Monday, September 5, 2011
the paperwork
My most favourite part of back to school is...........
.....the paperwork.
True or false?
.....the paperwork.
True or false?
Sunday, September 4, 2011
the return of the skinny
The skinny is back people. Sorry, if this offends your sensibilities but it was my resolution and I refuse to leave it for dead.
It is looking rather peaked, though. We will resuscitate, fear not.
September has a new goal. It is terrifying. It defies all that I am both inside and out. It will test me to my very limits. It will determine whether I can be a productive member of society or if I am to become the woman who never again puts a bra on. Or makeup. Or real life clothes. It will make me or break me during this new, exciting and momentous time in my life.
It is......
time management
Mwahahahahahahaha.
Catherine manage all of this new free time she has inherited from having all the kids go to school full time???
What was that? You call bull-crap?
How dare you!
This is the plan. Make a schedule that involves all of the things I deem important in my life like: prayers, scripture reading, exercise, showering, cleaning, reading, tv watching, movie going, lunch eating, blog writing/reading, twittering, facebooking, etc........ and make them fit in a daily, consistent, non smashed together, time managed routine. I wrote it down. It involves waking at 7 which I believed was manageable. I was going to start on September 1.
On September 1 my alarm went off and I rolled over. I blamed it on a bad night but we are all perfectly aware that it is my inability to follow any self imposed rules that is to blame.
So Tuesday, when Cicely starts early morning seminary (6:45 start time, ahem!) I will be forced to get up even earlier than 7, which is not self imposed so I will do it, and begin this new month of managing my oh so precious and valuable time.
Every weekend, as per usual, I will check in and relive my success, which might be code for dismal failure, with all of you. I will also include my exercise. It will be awesome. You will not want to miss it.
I swear it.
It is looking rather peaked, though. We will resuscitate, fear not.
September has a new goal. It is terrifying. It defies all that I am both inside and out. It will test me to my very limits. It will determine whether I can be a productive member of society or if I am to become the woman who never again puts a bra on. Or makeup. Or real life clothes. It will make me or break me during this new, exciting and momentous time in my life.
It is......
time management
Mwahahahahahahaha.
Catherine manage all of this new free time she has inherited from having all the kids go to school full time???
What was that? You call bull-crap?
How dare you!
This is the plan. Make a schedule that involves all of the things I deem important in my life like: prayers, scripture reading, exercise, showering, cleaning, reading, tv watching, movie going, lunch eating, blog writing/reading, twittering, facebooking, etc........ and make them fit in a daily, consistent, non smashed together, time managed routine. I wrote it down. It involves waking at 7 which I believed was manageable. I was going to start on September 1.
On September 1 my alarm went off and I rolled over. I blamed it on a bad night but we are all perfectly aware that it is my inability to follow any self imposed rules that is to blame.
So Tuesday, when Cicely starts early morning seminary (6:45 start time, ahem!) I will be forced to get up even earlier than 7, which is not self imposed so I will do it, and begin this new month of managing my oh so precious and valuable time.
Every weekend, as per usual, I will check in and relive my success, which might be code for dismal failure, with all of you. I will also include my exercise. It will be awesome. You will not want to miss it.
I swear it.
Friday, September 2, 2011
letters to my children
Dear Cicely,
You are almost 14. Heaven help us all. Day 2 of school and already you are getting hollered at to get your butt out the door for 8:45. This morning your father took your breakfast with him to work which did nothing for your sparkly personality. Yes, it was the breakfast you took time last night to make for yourself so you could have as much time as possible this morning to do your hair. This was very rude and inconsiderate of him, I agree. Since when do we make his breakfast anyway? Never. That's right. Why he thought it was for him today is beyond me. I will yell at him later. And then you can. It'll be fun. Mommy/daughter bonding time.
Seminary starts on Tuesday. You'll need to either be up at 6 am or give in to a life of messy buns atop your head. I don't see it being a problem since that's been your standard hairdo for the last year. You'll be very tired. Especially since you insisted on so much dance this year you had to take on a 2nd flyer route to pay for half of it. You are the master of learning things the hard way. It's just one more treasured gift you inherited from your father.
What are the odds being that tired and busy will enhance your sparkly personality?
I wish you luck. I mean me. I wish me luck.
Love Mom
Dear Jack,
You are almost 12 and I am okay with this because the older you get the funnier you get and the better you and I get along. I have one rule for you for this most special grade 7 year:
You are allowed to make the girls laugh but you are not allowed to kiss them or hold their hands in the hallway. I don't care how good looking you are. Capiche?
You are a good son. Honor your mother....or else.
Love Mom
Dear Holden,
Holden Holden Holden. I have two pieces of advice for you and if you want to make it to the ripe ol' age of 9, you'll heed them.
1. STOP hanging from the stairwell trim as you descend the stairs. I don't care if you are an ork fighting warrior. Or Luke Skywalker evading Darth Vader. Or whatever the heck you might be at that moment. If you rip the trim from the wall I will remove your head and stick it on a post in our front yard as a warning to all 8 year old boys who suffer from the same imaginative ailment of slaying mystical creatures in their free time, as you do. Your burden is heavy, young one. Bear it wisely.
2. Do not get out of bed and watch tv in the morning before school. And especially don't hide from your father when he comes downstairs to invade his pepsi stash before work. I will hide the remote every night when I go to bed in an effort to teach you that I am the queen of this castle and my rules will be obeyed.
You are a good boy, with a big imagination. That is good. Destroying newly renovated property is bad. Very very bad. This must always be remembered.
Live by the law, my fair son, and all will be well in the kingdom.
Love Mom
Dear Amelia,
You big grade one-er you. How will your teacher survive the year? We pray for her soul daily. And yours, of course. I will miss you terribly while you are away from me and then when you return I will kiss and hug you and remind you that sass must be left at home, regardless of who needs to be taught what. You are not the boss.
No sass at school. That is the rule.
Also, don't tell people you are more beautiful than them. It hurts their feelings. Even though you and I both know it's true, it has to be our little secret.
To fill my empty days I will find as many things to do as possible that have nothing to do with you so I am not sad and lonely for your loud and wonderful ways. It's a sacrifice I must make for my own survival.
I am sorry you can't take Big Puppy to school with you. I am sorry there are rules against man-sized stuffy dogs sitting next to you while you learn. I promise I will take good care of him and hug him when he whines for you. I put a big brown bow on him so he will look dashing for you when you return.
I am also sorry you can't have pop in your lunch.
School rule makers are mean? I agree.
Love Mom
You are almost 14. Heaven help us all. Day 2 of school and already you are getting hollered at to get your butt out the door for 8:45. This morning your father took your breakfast with him to work which did nothing for your sparkly personality. Yes, it was the breakfast you took time last night to make for yourself so you could have as much time as possible this morning to do your hair. This was very rude and inconsiderate of him, I agree. Since when do we make his breakfast anyway? Never. That's right. Why he thought it was for him today is beyond me. I will yell at him later. And then you can. It'll be fun. Mommy/daughter bonding time.
Seminary starts on Tuesday. You'll need to either be up at 6 am or give in to a life of messy buns atop your head. I don't see it being a problem since that's been your standard hairdo for the last year. You'll be very tired. Especially since you insisted on so much dance this year you had to take on a 2nd flyer route to pay for half of it. You are the master of learning things the hard way. It's just one more treasured gift you inherited from your father.
What are the odds being that tired and busy will enhance your sparkly personality?
I wish you luck. I mean me. I wish me luck.
Love Mom
Dear Jack,
You are almost 12 and I am okay with this because the older you get the funnier you get and the better you and I get along. I have one rule for you for this most special grade 7 year:
You are allowed to make the girls laugh but you are not allowed to kiss them or hold their hands in the hallway. I don't care how good looking you are. Capiche?
You are a good son. Honor your mother....or else.
Love Mom
Dear Holden,
Holden Holden Holden. I have two pieces of advice for you and if you want to make it to the ripe ol' age of 9, you'll heed them.
1. STOP hanging from the stairwell trim as you descend the stairs. I don't care if you are an ork fighting warrior. Or Luke Skywalker evading Darth Vader. Or whatever the heck you might be at that moment. If you rip the trim from the wall I will remove your head and stick it on a post in our front yard as a warning to all 8 year old boys who suffer from the same imaginative ailment of slaying mystical creatures in their free time, as you do. Your burden is heavy, young one. Bear it wisely.
2. Do not get out of bed and watch tv in the morning before school. And especially don't hide from your father when he comes downstairs to invade his pepsi stash before work. I will hide the remote every night when I go to bed in an effort to teach you that I am the queen of this castle and my rules will be obeyed.
You are a good boy, with a big imagination. That is good. Destroying newly renovated property is bad. Very very bad. This must always be remembered.
Live by the law, my fair son, and all will be well in the kingdom.
Love Mom
Dear Amelia,
You big grade one-er you. How will your teacher survive the year? We pray for her soul daily. And yours, of course. I will miss you terribly while you are away from me and then when you return I will kiss and hug you and remind you that sass must be left at home, regardless of who needs to be taught what. You are not the boss.
No sass at school. That is the rule.
Also, don't tell people you are more beautiful than them. It hurts their feelings. Even though you and I both know it's true, it has to be our little secret.
To fill my empty days I will find as many things to do as possible that have nothing to do with you so I am not sad and lonely for your loud and wonderful ways. It's a sacrifice I must make for my own survival.
I am sorry you can't take Big Puppy to school with you. I am sorry there are rules against man-sized stuffy dogs sitting next to you while you learn. I promise I will take good care of him and hug him when he whines for you. I put a big brown bow on him so he will look dashing for you when you return.
I am also sorry you can't have pop in your lunch.
School rule makers are mean? I agree.
Love Mom
Thursday, September 1, 2011
happy september one
The children went to school today. Oh, I've already mentioned that? Am I boring you yet?
I'm boring me.
In all honesty I do not know what to do with myself. Nothing I had planned is happening. The movie will happen but it's not time yet. Actually the only thing I had planned was to be alone and I am so......
Let's see. What have I done today?
-screamed loud because I could? Check
-peed with the door open? Check.
-dance around until my saddle bags begged for mercy? Check
-shed many a tear and made sounds no one should ever make? Check
-chugged a diet Pepsi? Check. Check.
-turnd off the ice maker because there is more ice in that thing than seems normal? Check
-folded 3 loads of laundry whilst watching House Hunters? Check
-put said laundry away? Nuh uh. What am I? The maid?
-workout? Nope. I'm still new a this. Give me time.
-played on facebook and twitter? Duh.
Maybe I should take up a new hobby. Like hot yoga, I've always wanted to try that. Or knitting. I could knit the kids some super cute winter sweaters. Or baking. No, that one is just plain stupid. I'm not doing that.
Oh, I know!! I am going to master the fine art of talking to myself. I think I would be awesome at that. It would be like being alone only....not. And when I get sick of my company I can tell her to leave without hurting anyones feelings.
The next ten months are going to be nuts. It still hasn't sunk in what is going on around here. I can't wrap my head around it. I feel like I've reached a very significant milestone in my life. I have successfully, and I use that term loosely, raised 4 kids until school aged. I'm not done yet, I realize, but at least I can now blame their failures on school instead of myself.
Right?
I am in a state of shock really. Yes, shock. It doesn't seem real. They are in school and I am home. Alone. I don't know what to do. I am confused. Excited but confused. I know I am not the first person who has had all their children go to school all day but I feel like I might be. I feel like I won some sort of cheesy stay at home mommy/housewife sweepstakes. The prize is some serious alone time.
I'll take it.
Please don't email me and tell me I'll find things to fill my time and that all of a sudden my world will be filled with things to do that will suck my days and kill my spirit. No I won't. I won't allow it. What I see happening for the next 10 months is:
-wandering aimlessly for more hours than is considered reasonable.
-read more. And do it through lunch.
-yoga actually sounds like a really great idea. I'm going to look into that.
-exercise more consistently. Summer is over.
-accept that ice cream is not a breakfast food.
-or a lunch food.
-or dinner. Oh man.
-write a book. Now doesn't THAT sound interesting? And ohhhhhhh so cliche. What kind of SAHM who writes a blog would I be if I didn't at least pretend there was a book idea in there somewhere?
Chapter one. Hmmmm, I got nothin'.
This is my year, it's all about me. Unless we get any poorer and I have to get a job but that's not going to happen, right? Knock on wood. The man said I could come and work for him. I said we have already mastered the art of time suckage. We can go our separate career ways. He doesn't agree.......
Anyway, I prefer to live in this lala land-like fantasy world I have envisioned. Whatever my reality will be this is how I choose to fool myself right now.
Me me me. Alone alone alone.
I may or may not be dancing around naked right now.
Most likely not, but I am alone so how would you know?
Naturally, the older two took off and refused to pose for pictures. Killjoys.
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