miss lizzie

"Dude, there's a dog in here."

"Is it real?"

"Is it ours?"

"Forever?"

"I love her."

"I love you for buying her."

These are all the things I heard within the first 2 minutes of the kids finding our new dog in our house after school.

She was a surprise.

Sort of.

You see, about 3 years ago I made my boys an impossible promise. I promised them that if they got along for 100 days I would buy them a dog.

They really wanted a dog. Real bad-like.

I thought this was a sure thing. They fight. I'm off the hook. It'll never happen. I sat comfortably in my smug. Worry free.

I'm not a dog lover.

They tried to get along. And they failed over and over. In fact, one time, they made it to day 43, they even had the fancy chart and everything. Then they had an epic (that was for you Lilah) blowout. Jack ripped the sheet into a bazillion little pieces and then he packed a bag and left home for good. He did leave a parting note that said:

"If you find my dead body in a ditch don't bother having a funeral for me." Oh the drama.

He then proceeded to hide in the back yard in freezing temperatures for a couple of hours until he decided to return. Defeated.

They didn't try again for a long time. This past summer the man and I had noticed that they had been getting along frighteningly well. We suggested, to each other, that we not mention anything to them.

Then one day, last October, they approached us, "Have you noticed that we don't fight anymore?"

"Yes, I may have noticed something like that going on around here," I responded.

"We are trying for our dog again."

It was at that moment I started to feel the defeat.

100 days.

It came and went and we had to concede that these boys of mine earned that dog. No one could begrudge them that.

The hunt began. And then it ended here. With Miss Lizzie. She's a 5 month old, 30 pound Black Lab. So far she hasn't made a peep. She slept through the night without making a sound. Which is more than I can say I did.

The children are enamoured. Even the big one who begged me to renege on my promise. "Please don't get them a dog, there are enough animals in this house."

She's just as smitten as the rest.

Lizzie does not like the hardwood and yesterday refused to get up and walk. We dragged her outside and she walked a bit but would not pee.

This morning she peed, pooped and walked around after she found her footing. Maybe she is a real dog after all.

allow me to introduce you

Introducing......


MISS ELIZABETH BENNET





Or Lizzie......

.........as she'll be known around these parts.

I wanted her to have a grown up name because I fully expect that in 7 months time she'll be a contributing member of society.

Or at least this household.

I will put her in charge of the grocery shopping and at least half the laundry.

Bless her heart.

that's my boy

Last week the man and I were watching Dexter in the theatre with the remote in hand. In case any of the kids walked in.

We needed to be quick on the pause. Youknowwhatimean?

Anyway, Jack came in late in a sleepy stupor acting all strange-like and said he wasn't feeling very well. He wanted a hug. He's 12.

Huh....what??

I know.

So we hugged him and sent him back to bed. Well first we sent him to take an Advil and get a puke bucket. He was exhibiting some strong pre-puke behaviours.

A little while later he came back. He was clearly out of it. He forgot to get an Advil whilst searching for the puke bucket. The man left to get the pill and a gravol. In the mean time Jack said some very strange things. While I laughed. Quietly.

And took a picture.



Me: What's the matter big guy? Are you gonna barf?

Him: I feel bad.

Me: Yeah, like you're gonna barf?

Him: No. I feel bad. Like, I feel like doing something bad.

Me: Huh?

Him: I feel like kicking and screaming and being naughty.

Me: Huh?

Him: I feel like killing satan.

Okay, clearly this child is sleep walking. And talking. Either that or we need to perform some sort of exorcism.

ASAP.

Or the opposite of an exorcism?

I don't know what that is.

The man came back with pills. We medicated and escorted back to bed.

The next morning he remembered none of it and seemed in a mood more conducive to going to church and a lot less conducive to the annihilation of beelzebub.

I'm going to chalk this one up to a mixture of restless leg syndrome, a bad dream, and the altruistic desire to save the world by single handedly eliminating evil.

That's my boy.

sorry for you

This is Fat Chicken. He is my favourite Christmas decoration. It is just not right when we pack him up every January.

It makes me feel sorry.

Until next year, Fat Chicken...........

As of right now there are 3 cartons of eggs in my fridge and none of them are full.

Who is doing that?

This morning I said, no less than 5 times, to Amelia: "Where are your socks?" To which she would respond: "In my room." To which I would respond: "Can you put them on please?"

5 times in 15 minutes.

Where is my brick wall?

You know how sometimes you are out and about and you see things that aren't right? And it makes you feel sorry. Legit sorry. Like 'I'm sorry that just happened. It stinks' kind of sorry. Like when someone has their indicator on to enter a parking space only to have someone steal it right before their eyes? I saw that on Monday. I felt sorry for the little lady in her car, waiting so patiently for the old man to back out, only to have the young guy snag it from her.

Rude.

Or when you see a woman with two toddlers and a baby in a carseat at the Walmart and she looks like she is on the verge of homicide. And you wonder what the heck she is doing there, in her state. You might wonder why she can't do this when her man is home and able to help her. And then you think maybe her man is useless and refuses to help with the children so she can go shopping for the family leaving her with no other options but to do it during the day. All by herself. Or maybe she wants to, as hard as it is, because otherwise being home with them all day makes her crazy.

I have no idea what that feels like.

I am lying.

Whatever the reason, and there has to be a reason, right? I still feel sorry for her.

Or when you run into your dinky Sobey's to grab one bunch of cilantro only to find that they don't have any and you end up cursing that dinky little Sobey's and vowing never to go back only to find yourself back there 3 days later because you need an onion.

One bloody onion. And it's still a risk.

That's just not right. I feel sorry for me when that happens.

But you know who I do NOT feel sorry for?

The people who drive right in front of the front doors at Costco and then find themselves waiting for the throngs of people who have just exited the store to cross the pavement. These throngs that never stop thronging. The drivers sit in their cars waiting for a gap.

Inching. Stopping. Inching. Stopping. Inching. Stopping.

Then I happen upon them and find myself with urges and needs. It's the urge to knock on their windows and ask some questions: "Out of all the places to drive in this Costco sized parking lot, why do you have to drive through here? Where the throngs are thronging. Why do you do that?"

I need to know.

I really feel as though I need to know. It's a compulsion. Please, someone educate me.

I'm serious.

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

I have to go to Superstore now and the eye twitching has already begun. I have to get Jello brand lemon pie filling. I am making a pie. Even the crust will be made by me.

This is big news.

Huge.

And tonight I have book club. We will be discussing The Sister Brothers, which I very much enjoyed.

What are you reading right now?

If it is Wolf Hall then I feel sorry for you.

wordless wednesday (sort of)

My daughter, who loves ballet more than anything, invited me to her parent viewing night. First time in 5 years I've been allowed in.........

the grody yogi

There is this guy at hot yoga who is really truly disgusting. He is gross, or grody, if you will. But not only that but he's irritating as well.

He harshes on my zen.

I've tried to move my mat but there is simply nowhere to go. His grody oozes everywhere and is capable of reaching all four corners of that tiny little hot universe.

He is inescapable, is what I'm trying to say.

Before class begins, everyone, and I mean everyone, lies perfectly still on their mat. I call it the "melting phase". It's the part of class where you take your last bit of rest, or melt into your mat because it's really hot in there, and wait for the real test of patience to come. You pretend to be dead as a last ditch effort to escape what's about to happen.

A contemplation of sorts. Like, why am I here? In this room, I mean, not on the earth. That's a whole different post.

Once the class starts your contemplation changes from defining your purpose in that moment to trying to figure out "if I were a real stuck pig, how would I get out of here?"

Anyway, this guy, this grody yogi, he doesn't lie still. He moves incessantly BEFORE the class has even begun.

He does yoga.

Hard core yoga. The stuff one strives for when one is me. Grunting, gasping, convoluting yoga. He is in a constant state of moving, flowing yoga.

He is distracting. And annoying.

He does it at the end as well. When everyone else, and I mean everyone, is lying still in corpse pose, the man is moving and writhing and grunting and groaning.

I want to yell "ENOUGH!" but that is so the opposite of zen quietness.

The real icing, proverbial of course, is his constant snorting and blowing of his nose through the class. Every 3 minutes or so he makes a sound as though he is preparing his passage ways to hock a loogie......pardon my French.

When he actually blows his nose he brings forth a towel to his entire face and blows. Like a mighty wind. He then rubs the towel all over his face and throws it to the floor only to repeat every so often.

The snorting, though. The snorting is what really wreaks havoc with my balance and my sense of calm and lack of desire to run someone over in my truck.

Really it does.

It's so gross.

This is the conversation I imagine having with this ultra bendy but freakishly gross man:

Me: Dude, sit still. Why do you have to be so hyperactive? Just relax. Look around you. Can you see we are all relaxing?

Him: Oh, I'm sorry. So sorry. Is my constant motion irritating unto you?

Me: Why, yes it is. Thank you so much for noticing that you are not the only person in this scorching hot room. Do you see how I am lying here? All dead-like? Do you see that everyone else is doing it too? It's called corpse pose and it really is the bomb. Here, why don't you try it. Lie still. Find peace and contentment in this moment. I think in this case conformity would be your best option for survival.

Him: Well.......I prefer to move about. Grunting and groaning and snorting my boogers from one spot in my head to another. However, I see now your wisdom in lying perfectly still when everyone else is so as to not drive everyone mental. I will adhere from this moment on. I see now that I am obnoxious and I do so sincerely apologize.

Me: That's awesome, man. I knew you'd see the light, if you were only still long enough to look for it.

Him: Is there anything else I can do to make your hot yoga experience more pleasant for you?

Me: Well, since you asked and all. You can go to the bathroom before class begins and clear your head of all that pesky mucus you seem to be in eternal supply of. Just go get it all out right now so your poor wife, if you have a wife, doesn't have to wash that disgusting crunchy towel you're sporting there.

Him: That is a most excellent idea. Thank you for your amazing patience and knowledge. I'm off to the washroom right now.

At this point, I will close my eyes, lie perfectly still and resume contemplation.

Namaste.

bygones

Honestly, I don't even know where to start. The world is my oyster, so they say.

Okay, I confess, I don't even know what that really means.

What should I write about today?

I guess I could tell you all about my last 2.4 weeks dealing with Apple and their incredible ineptness that ultimately landed me a brand-spanking new iMac.

Which is wicked.

I feel as though I may have tweeted and facebooked that to death though so I hesitate. I do have the nutshell version. Anyone interested?

Oh all right, I'm here to please.

In a nutshell. Computer broke on a Tuesday. The next Thursday we took it for surgery. DAY surgery. Two weeks, 37 phone calls, and one angry Catherine who took her teeth off her tongue later, the man picked up my new baby. Who also happened to have all the material on it the last computer had.

See this was the problem. The actual problem. I can deal with a busted computer. But all the stuff on it? All the stuff that we were told was most likely going to cost a fortune to retrieve, if it was even possible.

And this is also where the nutshell cracks and is thrown out.

I learned a valuable lesson over the last couple of weeks.

Back up your stuff. Back it up.

Every now and then I get the feeling as though something 'tragic' is going to happen. I believe that particular feeling comes from 'tragic' things happening to me on occasion.

And by 'tragic' I mean mildly annoying and hugely inconvenient.

For example: leaky roofs. Tight fitting jeans. A truck with no brakes. Losing 8000 songs on iTunes. A broken computer.

So....when I feel like it might be time to back up a 5 year old computer and I ignore that feeling then I am not surprised when I lose it all because, like I said before, that's how I roll. How else would I be able to entertain the masses? It's all about the tragedy.

Losing all the stuff that was on that broken computer really would have been a tragedy though. And I doubt very much I would have been able to write about that with any sense of humour, as remote as it may be. So, let's be grateful that didn't happen, shall we?

Remember when my baby was born and I took a million pictures and put them on my computer and then didn't back them up? Remember her teeth and her tangly hair? Remember when I took the kids camping and took a million pictures so the man could see how sweet his kids were and then I put them on the computer and didn't back them up? Remember when I wrote a book? And then didn't back it up?

No?

Well I do. And I almost lost it all because I'm lazy.

Excuse me while a take a moment to count my lucky stars it was all salvaged from a dead, unsalvageable computer.

5374, 5375, 5376......this could take all day. I have a lot of lucky stars. Who knew?

So, in another nutshell, when all was said and done, and as irritating as it was to deal with people who know nothing about everything at the Apple store, I am sitting here in the same life I had before, only better because my computer is way upgraded (all for free to boot) and nothing was lost and I can totally let bygones be bygones. I mean, really, who has the time to be upset about every little thing? Well, I had the time because my kids are in school all day and I didn't have a computer for two weeks and I even had to write my thoughts on paper. With a pen. Like a caveman. But, I'm letting it go. All done. Hands washed of all frustration and upset and worry about lost computer contents.

Oh mercy, let's move on.

Anyway, over the last two weeks I have taken many notes on all the funny and otherwise noteworthy things that have happened in my life. I could write about one of those.

And I will. But not now.

Today I hug and kiss my book and look at pictures of my babies......



....because I can.

Here is a little snippet of our lovely, quiet Christmas.







Ain't life grand?

i'm back

The man asked me a valid and important question this morning.

Him: Why don't you call me Mr. Darcy on your blog?

Me, pondering his concern whilst staring at the crumbs he left all over the counter earlier this morning: Because you haven't earned the title.

I'm back people.

Back.

the apple saga continues

After 14 days I decided it was time I give Apple a little gift. The gift is Me. When I'm mad. After awhile, 2 weeks to be exact, I started feeling messed with. Youknowwhatimean?

A violation of sorts.

I called the Apple store, the very same store that is holding my computer hostage. The same store I think may have either broken (for good) or lost my computer, and asked for the manager. The guy told me no. I was not allowed to speak to a manager.

Oh really?

I let him know that I had a message for this person he was not allowing me to converse with. You let her know, I said, that I am unhappy.

Or something like that.

Yes ma'am.

A couple of hours later she called me and told me we would be getting a brand new computer. And they would be retrieving my stuff from the old one.

Give me a day, she said.

Today, after our movie date that may or may not have included Tom Cruise, we popped into the Apple store to see how our friendly manager was doing. She said nothing had been done yet. She said she was working on it.

Give me a day, she said.

You tell me. Does this story have a happy ending?

tomorrow

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

This is what I hear everyday when I call Apple and ask when my commuter will be fixed.

"Hello, this is Catherine Dabels. Again. I was hoping you could tell me when my computer will be fixed.".

"Tomorrow."

"Oh, that's what you said yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that."

"Oh. Sorry. For sure tomorrow."

I do not think that word means what they think it means.

So....maybe tomorrow?

are you serious?

2012 isn't off to the bestest of starts. My computer is still broken and blogging from my iPhone is NOT one of my resolutions. Couple more days and I'll have it back and then I'll sit and write a 50,000 word post.

Just kidding.

Am I though?

So, right this second I feel like I'm in a calgon commercial. One kid is practicing the piano in my cavernous house. Ohhhh, the echoes. One is playing with action figures next to me. A war is brewing. One is singing some incomprehendable song on the other side of me in an attempt to drown out the piano playing, which he loathes. The fourth one is walking from one person to the next with mistletoe trying to kiss everyone. She is irritating, youknowhatimean?

It is so loud in here.

I may be in need of some alone time. Not sure, but I suspect.

The kids still have 5 days before they go back to school. I'm not sure how the math is done on this one since it feels like they've been home for 3 months already.

The Bachelor started. It was so awkward, I spent most of the 2 hours with my head turned to the side fighting the urge to apologize for my blatant intrusion on their private, personal psychosis. These people are bananas.

My kids asked me why I watch that garbage.

I told them I didn't know. Because I don't.

Why do I watch that garbage?

Anyway, this is an actual conversation my husband and I had last week whilst driving around.

Me: oh look, the van next to us says they run a dating/introduction agency. That's kind of different, no?

The man: (silence)

Me: I wonder how much business she gets. I suppose there's a need but......

The man: (silence)

Me: ages 35-75. So I guess if you are over 75 you're on your own in finding love?

The man: (after a long silence) You know, if I was a 35 year old man I'm not sure how thrilled I'd be if I was paired up with a 75 year old woman.

Me: are you serious?

The man: (silence)

The End.