irresistible

Yesterday the man had to take his truck back into the shop. A different shop because the shop that may or may not have been Candian Tire have proven themselves inept and therefore been fired from fixing the man's truck.

Anyway, he drove the truck to the new shop and asked that he be picked up. By me. At, of course, the most convenient hour of the day. (He did know that I needed to get the kids to school and so he was willing to wait. Patiently.) At some point he texted me to tell me he was there and available for pick up.



When I got there he was holding a Big Gulp and a box of nails. And he looked like this:



Who needs to be brave now?

And then he went to work like that. Plaid flannel jammies and a purple hoodie.

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

times and pi

Sometimes, as I sit and ponder life or drive around pondering life or try to sleep and ponder life I am a little surprised but the weirdness of it all. Everything feels weird to me most of the time. I don't understand it. Why do I think it's weird that at any given moment of the day I can hear someone mowing their lawn? I have never noticed incessant lawn mowing before I moved here and I wonder why I notice it now.

Amelia calls it "mow lawing" and honestly, I could die from the cute.

I think my kids are weird and I think my husband is weird and I think my siblings are weird and my parents get weirder by the day.

I know I am weird, but I always knew that.

This morning Holden was outside with the dog and when he came inside the door, 2 feet from me, the dog tripped him and he fell. I laughed real hard-like. He just cried. I asked him why he couldn't laugh at funny things and he asked me why I had to laugh at him?

I know the answer to that. Two things make me laugh uncontrollably. When others have the hiccups and people falling. I apologized but asked him to keep in mind that I will laugh if people fall. That's just the way I am.

He can be mad at God for that but he can't be mad at me.

Side note: Once my mum fell off the couch and mercy, the laughing was inexplicable.

I wanted to show Holden that it's funny when people fall and it's okay to laugh at yourself. I tried to find the clip on You Tube of Chandler Bing falling behind the couch at Central Perk. The same clip that made me laugh till I cried many moons ago. I think about it on occasion. It used to be really easy to find on YouTube. Now, not so much. And I couldn't be bothered searching for it.

So, he never did come to appreciate the funny-ness of falling. Poor kid is so weird.

Anyway, I have a 12 year old son whom I simply do not understand at all. He is going to make some very lucky woman consistently frustrated one day. He is the one child I exhaust myself trying to get along with. He has terrible problem solving skills and will ask me the most inane questions, which frustrate me. The other day we had a chat about him trying to solve his problems before he asks me things like "Have you seen that thing?" or "Where is the linen closet?"

Are you serious? Like the closet moves on occasion and maybe is hard to locate today? What the????

Last night, I was hiding in my room and he came in and said this: "I need a calculator for my math final tomorrow."

Me: "Okay." I'm refusing to ask the questions I want to ask which I know will annoy him and most likely cause a fight. So I sit quietly in the hopes he'll throw me a bone.

He stares at the floor for what seems like enough time to solve global warming issues or the war on terrorism. Finally he looks at me and says, "I don't know what to do."

"Neither do I, son. Neither do I."

So let's get this straight, shall we, it's June, which means he's been in school for ten months already in this current year. It's the night (a Sunday which equals no shopping in our house) before the final and he declares that now, finally, after ten months, he needs a calculator?

I don't understand. I can't help it, I need to ask the questions.

"What happened to the calculator I bought you in September?"

"You never bought me one." This is a lie but I don't say anything because I am certain it will ignite WW3 and plus it's obviously lost.

"What have you been using up until this point?"

"My teachers calculator."

I want to ask "Why are you waiting until now to tell me this?" But I know better.

So instead I say, "Hmmmmmm, it's a conundrum."

To which he responds with further staring at the floor. He knows I want him to work this out but I can see he doesn't have a clue. I'm going to have to throw him a bone. But I sit for a few more minutes.

"Can I take your phone?" He says in the hopes that this idea might be deemed genius. It is not genius and I merely raise my eyebrows. "Never mind, we're not allowed to do that."

I see panic set in and I see that clearly he needs his mama so I told him to go google Walmart store hours and if they open early enough he'll have to ask his dad to take him there, buy him a calculator and then drive him to school.

Relief floods over him and he sets off for a visit with the Google. Which I end up having to do myself because clearly they don't teach them how to google stuff at school. The kid couldn't get it to save his life.

Open at 7. School starts at 7:45. It will work. He finds his father and presents his plan, which only leads to more questions asked by dad to which I clarified things because without the mama to translate things get real crazy up in here.

Dad says yes and also, "what kind of calculator do you need, son?"

Jack says, "Oh, just an easy one. One with times and Pi."

Times and Pi? It's no wonder the kid can't find the linen closet.

so, it's friday..........

Busy week around here. Okay, not really. I did, however, get some interesting mail. I finally received my official acceptance in the University of Calgary. On Monday I meet with someone to help me pick my courses because, let's face it, I haven't acted smart in like 14 years and I have no idea what I'm doing. I need me some help.

I also received the course I'm doing through correspondence over the summer.



I'm nervous as all get out about the whole thing. When I think about it I pretty much want to lose my lunch. What have I done what have I done whathaveIdone?

I met with a clinician at a sleep clinic yesterday. I took a test to get things started. She added up the score and told me I got 16. Then she looked me dead in the eye, and without flinching she said, "Anything over ten means your pathologically sleepy."

I couldn't help it. I laughed out loud. Actually it was more like a guffaw because I couldn't contain it.

She smiled and replied, "yeah, most people get a kick out of that diagnosis. Aren't you glad you came in today?"

Then she fitted me for this sexy beast...........



....which I would have taken a picture of on my head last night but I was already in bed with it on before I had the idea and being that it was so late and I was pooped I opted to forgo.

I was told that to calibrate it I had to lie flat on my back, no pillow, press the button and then not move a muscle until "the lady spoke and told me what to do." I was also told to let the man know that this would be happening and that if it fell off in the night the woman would speak and let him know to wake me up (like I wouldn't be awake) and to not freak out that there was a loud woman, who wasn't me for once, yelling at him in the night.

I got home late from book club, where we discussed True Confections and if you love your life you won't waste your time reading this atrocity, and the man was already in bed asleep. I put the head gear on and laid down in my flat, not moving position. I pressed the button. This booming voice yelled into the night to not move and lay still staring at the ceiling and the man just about came out of his skin. He started reaching and grabbing for me in a panic. I had to shush him away so as to not ruin my delicate calibrating.

It was hilarious. And then the loud woman told me to go to sleep. So I did.

Anyway, the gear was obnoxious to wear and gave me a terrible headache in the night. I hate wearing things on my head, always have. Plus, there was the nose thing that tickled me all night long. And despite the sleeping pill I took, at their request, I slept like garbage. I was told they need 5 hours of sleep or I'd have to wear it again. I put it on at midnight and ripped it off at 5:55. It better be enough. I also know I woke up twice in that time. We'll see what the results are. I don't know what the next step is but I truly hope it isn't sleep apnea because I am not wearing one of those darth vader masks.

That would be awful.

You know what's awful? Me. And Jack. Laughing at the dog every time she bumps into something.






She got her lady bits fixed up. Amelia simply can't believe that we would keep Lizzie from having little itty bitty Lizzie babies. Nothing screams perfection, in her little mind, like the idea of millions of Lizzies roaming the earth. It's hard to explain that to a 6 year old but tried I did. And now every time she sees Lizzie she says something like this, "I'm sorry mommy said you aren't allowed to have babies. And I'm sorry you have to wear this funny cone. But it's okay Lizzie because it's funny and it makes us laugh and that is a good thing, right lizzie? Right Lizzie? Right Lizzie?"

Right, Lizzie? Is a phrase I hear in my sleep at this point.

I am haunted by the child asking Lizzie her opinion on every single thing.

It's a beautiful day, right Lizzie?

You're a good girl, right Lizzie?

No jumping, no barking, no teeth, right Lizzie?

You like the red treat, right Lizzie?

Right, Lizzie?

Oh would you look at that, Lizzie just walked into the couch....again.

The entertainment is endless.

Poor poor Lizzie..........

facebook is fun

There are many reasons I love Facebook. And there are many reasons why sometimes I need to just turn the other cheek. As of late, facebook has become a sanctuary of inspirational quotes. A place where people can go to either feel very very good or perhaps a little cheesed off.

Get it? The cheesy quotes cheese you off?

No?

All right then. It is just me.

Mostly I just skip them. Unless they have a funny picture. Then I read and I laugh and I laugh and I laugh.

For example.................






Yes, I realize that these are not inspirational by most people's standards but they make me cry from laughing, and from where I sit, if you can do that, then you are, indeed, truly inspirational.

They are hilarious.

I also like the super, over-dramatic pictures that pretty much say what I've been thinking for a very long time. Like these........






Come on now. You're thinking this right now. Aren't you?

This is all fine and good. A new form of entertainment via the internets. I say go for it. Be all inspirational and funny and whatnot. I'll just move on if I'm not interested.

Or hide you.

But then there is the emotional manipulation. The attempts at reverse psychology that almost catch me. But not quite because I am a super stealthy emotional manipulation woman tracker and I am totally on to you.

I see your wicked trickery.

I'm talking about the statistics that pull at your heart strings. The causes that make you wonder if you actually are doing enough in this world to make it a better place. People put them in their status' in the hopes that if enough people do the same then cancer, or something as equally horrific, will admit defeat and slink away into the night.

You know what I'm talking about, don't you?

The ones that all end with.............."I bet you won't" or "Only 3% of you will repost this" or "if you cared about anything at all in this world, besides yourself, then you'll make this your status for one hour." Or something equally as profound.

Here is where I will mention that as soon as you bet me I won't do it you have pretty much automatically just won yourself a bet.

I'll fold on that bet and then I'll bet you that you're right. I probably won't post that status for one hour. But only because you bet me I wouldn't.

Wait.....I am so confused now. Who's betting who? What are we betting?

Did you just tell me to do something by backhandedly telling me I probably wouldn't do it? I think you did. And now I can tell you that you're right.

And I'm sorry to let you down over and over again. I am a bad Facebook friend and most likely a total failure in the inspirational department.

But sadly, I'm okay with that.

But thank-you, for the oh-so-subtle mind games. Facebook games are fun.

Or, are they?

But hey, this is funny. No?



How about this one?



Okay, I'll stop now. But only after you admit you just laughed a little.

You laughed, I know you did.......

17 years

This weekend was our annual stay-cation. The man and I spent this weekend together, just the two of us. No kids. No dog.

It also happens to be our anniversary.

We had a few firsts as a couple.

Our first deep fried pickle.



Our first shooting.





My first gun shot wound.



Okay, that was over dramatic. I didn't get shot. The gun bit me when I was loading it. Gun shot sounds tougher though, so.......


My first bull's eye.



I blinked and all of a sudden......17 years.





I am very certain it is, in fact, 17 years because the man has insisted all week that is isn't. We have done the math numerous times.

Even on a calculator.

June 17, 1995.

That's 17, right?

the graduate

Like the awesome mom I am I completely failed to remember that a child leaving grade 9 is a bigger deal than a child leaving, say, grade 3.

Last week Cicely came home from school and said "I need $10 for tickets to grade 9 grad."

Me, once again demonstrating how much I pay attention, "okay, here you go."

Fast forward a couple of days. Cicely comes home from school and says, "I have the tickets."

Me, "great."

That night, last Thursday, after the man was done not working all day, we went out for dinner. While were were driving to the restaurant I had a flash of my grade 9 grad. The same grad my mom slaved over sewing a mint green satin dress for me. The one where she bought me new shoes and I did my hair all fancy. The one where a group of us grads made big plans to go to a fancy restaurant.

Boys and girls together.

Big deal. For a 14 year old.

HOLY CRAP!!!!!! Holy crap holy crap holyholyholycrapcrapcrap. When is grad??

I called home and Cicely answered the phone. "You said you bought the grad tickets today?" I asked, slightly panicked.

"Yes," she responded.

"Well, when the heck is it??"

"I don't know. Let me get the tickets and check." Long pause.

How does she not know this stuff? And why hasn't she said anything about it? And how is it that I'm allowed to parent FOUR of them???

She came back and said, "next Thursday."

"Next Thursday? That's one week. We have one week to get you ready for grad. Are you going to want a new dress? How fancy is it? What are we supposed to do? Is there a dinner? A dance?"

"Mom, settle. There's a dance but I am not going and you can't make me. I don't want a new dress and I don't think there's a dinner."

"Oh, all right then. I guess we'll talk about it later?"

"Yep, see ya."

So I facebooked a status, a feeler status, to see what was happening with this new era of grade 9 grads. Turns out it is all over the board. Fancy, not fancy, dinner, no dinner, dances, no dances, parents invited, parents not invited.

Monday we went shopping. I told her I would buy her shoes and maybe a top when she agreed to wear one of her new flowy skirts.

My prayer for this night included two things:

1. We make it out alive and, God willing, still talking to each other, and

2. She didn't decide she wanted some hoochie mama, short skirted, sequin ensconced, ill-fitting grade 9 grad gown.

We shopped and shopped and shopped until her eye spotted the purple shift dress. It was simple, to the knee and exactly her. It was $45. It was sleeveless and before I said anything she said she wanted a little sweater to wear over it. I agreed to it all.

But..........

Being the the amazing, non complaining, non asking for anything kid she is, when we got to the till she pulled out her wallet. I asked her what she was doing and she said, "checking to see if I brought enough cash."

My kid thought she was buying her own grad dress. Be still my heart. I love that kid.

When I told her I was buying it and the shoes to go with it and the sweater her face lit up. Total disbelief.

"Thank-you, mom."

I love her.

And then? The icing on the cake? She asked me to do her hair. She found a picture of what she wanted on the internet and I did it for her.

I love her.















I told her I wanted to take her out to dinner but I couldn't that night. I offered to buy her dinner if she wanted something to grab quick on the way home. Her response was classic, and proved beyond even her looks could, that she is, in fact, my daughter.

"Please, oh please can I have a Baconator?"

I love her.





I wanted to get pictures of her with the man and then with me but when we got home she ran downstairs while the man and I sat around in our fancy clothes waiting for her to primp herself so we could get some pictures. She came up with sweats on.

"Hey!! I wanted to take some pictures!"

"Ohhh, mom, do we have to? I already let you take pictures of me eating."

And that, my friends, is grade 9 grad............

the universe is a liar

So, I decided to read my horoscope today. I thought it was about time I understood what the Universe has in store for me. And wow. I don't even know where to begin.

Turns out my "restless need to accomplish more and break free of present limitations may inspire me to seek a new relationship."

There is one thing I know for certain today and that is that I'm too damn tired to seek out the relationships I already have. Never mind a new one.

But then it went on to say, "This doesn't mean getting rid of the old ones, it may mean a new friend or just adding to your current circle."

Ugh........that sounds tiresome.

And then there's this, "Work and other responsibilities are particularly irksome to you at this time. You feel like it is "play time" and you want to get out, laugh, play, and sing."

Housekeeping is definitely irksome. But it always has been so today maybe I'll steer clear of it entirely. But I want to sing? Okay, this may be true but every time I do sing the people beg me to stop. It's so very hurtful. Maybe it's because I am not laughing and playing as well. Maybe if I laughed and played at the same time I sang the people might be more welcoming of my 'fun' side.

And I am fun......see?

"Parties and social gatherings also appeal to you now, and you enjoy meeting new people."

My horoscope says so, but I do have just one teensy question: Hey Universe, Have we met?

"You are in a festive mood, and your happy mood is contagious; others join in the fun with you."

Ohhhhhh Universe, Now I am certain we have not met. I think I'm on to your lying ways.

"This is a wonderful time to have a party, engage in team sports, or vacation. Hard work and concentrated effort are difficult for you now, and productivity at work is likely to decrease, particularly if your line of work requires concentrated effort."

Hmmmm? What was that? Oh am I supposed to be concentrating?

All right, focus, let me get this straight. I should have a party and then join the local all female basketball team and then hit the beach? Hmmmmmm, 2 out of 3 ain't bad, Universe. I might be coming around to your wild and crazy ideas.

"You are still intently focused on other people, though you may broaden your scope somewhat today. You can get people to see things your way using your famous friendly persuasion."

Famous.

Friendly.

Persuasion.



All right. That's it. We're done here. Now I am not only certain that the Universe and I have never been formally introduced, like in person, but I am full blown convinced that it is mocking me.

Rude, rude Universe.

we're rich!

This morning it came to my attention that Holden, who is 9, was under the impression that when we told him what our last house sold for that it meant we now had that much money in the bank. This is how it came to my attention:

Him: Mom, why don't we ever have all the food I want in the fridge?

Me: Huh? I dont understand the question.

(I often do not understand his questions.)

Him: Well I thought we had $X00,000 dollars so I thought our fridge would be full. All the time.

Me: Why would you think we had $X00,000 sitting in our bank account?

Him: Isn't that what we sold the house for?

Oh mercy, I had some explaining to do. Poor kid. Thought we were X-millionaires.

After I explained to him the sad truth about mortgages and selling houses I opened up my email and found this:

From: Mary Kivisto
Sent: Tuesday, June 12, 2012 8:02 AM
To: info@domain.com
Subject: Hello,

Hello,
I just want to let you know that I have
deposited your ATM MASTER CARD of USD
$800,000,00 United state dollars to the
Fedex office contact Mr.Gerrald Oliver
with the below email,for the Shipment of
your funds,Shipment Code: CPEL/OWN/9876
Parcel Number: EG2272-NIG.
(fedexcourierservice13@live.com)Tel: +234-807-0555851,
Send them your delivery address to this email: fedexcourierservice13@live.com
Mr.John Walter

The timing was most fortuitous. So I told Holden to scratch everything I just said. That we were, in fact, richer than he originally thought we were.

All I have to do is return this email and find my way to a Mr. Oliver.

Well, I'm off..............

that's it! i'm making a list!

When we were kids my parents had this giant Indian Red 15 seater van. We had lots of kids in our family and that van served us well in transporting our butts to and fro. Sometimes we'd be driving along, getting silly, getting loud, getting annoying and my dad would yell,

"That's it! I'm making a list!"

At this point we knew some rule was about to be made that would never be followed and soon forgotten. But what he was trying to say was "please, for the love of everything calm and quiet, SHUT UP!"

That's really what he was saying.

One time I heard him threaten us with the list three times before we finally begged him to make the list already so we could get on with our lives.

I think my temperament is very much like my father's. I let it go until I can't take it anymore. I pray for quiet, order, peace, and an environment filled with happy people and rid of contention. When my silent prays are not answered I crack.

I snap.

The other day I was out and about. It came to a point where I felt like I had been annoyed for the very last time by some person or another.

I felt the crack. I heard the snap.

And then I heard myself scream out into the universe. "That's it! I'm making a list!"

Soooooo many things I want to put on this list.

So very. many. things.

For example........

When I get a book from the library and the bar code is placed right over top of part of the title I want to ask someone: why do you do that? Why can't you put it above? Or even underneath? I don't mind scanning my book underneath the title. Or even on top of the title. I don't mind that and I wasn't picky until you covered the title. But I do sort of mind when you cover the title. It seems unnecessary and sort of disrespectful to the author. When I am an author I am going to ask that you not cover my awesome title with your flippant bar codes.

Please and thank you.

Line ups. This is another thing that baffles my mind and confounds my soul. When you walk into a restaurant or the food fair or the Little Caesars or the bank or the 7-11 or the Costco, when it's packed and all the people are funnelling down the aisles and there seems to be only one line but really it's 10 lines combined, or anywhere on this earth where a line up might be occurring, please take a moment and figure out how the lines are working.

Is it one line serving multiple tills? Is it one line PER till? Ask yourself questions like "what's going on here?" and "where am I going to fit in in this situation?" and "how can I NOT annoy all the very many people?" Figure it out and then find your place.

Do not. And I repeat DO NOT walk into a scenario where line ups may be and change the rules just because you don't like how things are set up.

Don't be that guy. Don't be him because no one likes that guy.

I can understand and appreciate why when you walk up to the A&W in the mall and there are three ladies working the till and there is only one line why you might feel frustrated with that situation. I can understand why you, in all your brilliant wisdom, might think that it is running inefficiently and therefore may feel the urge to take action into your own capable hands. You might just want to take your place in a new line of your own creation, ignoring all the people who have all been standing there waiting in one line, patiently, like nice normal people do. You would notice, if you bothered to take the time, that the line is actually not moving that slowly because, after all, there are three ladies working the tills.

Go with the flow. Don't change the flow. No one likes the flow changer. It's not rocket science. Figure it out and go with it.

I am definitely putting this on the list: Sometimes, most of the time, when I turn the vehicle on to prepare it for a journey, great or small, one of the children will inevitably say something like this, or something exactly like this, "Can you turn it up?" They are referring to the volume of the music, of course.

Let me clarify. All of this happens within 3 nanoseconds of the vehicle being ignited for take off.

Three nanoseconds and already they have decided that the music is not loud enough?

Oh mercy, I hate that. Give me a second, you guys. Please, I am begging you. Just one second to get my seatbelt on and maybe, at the very least, to come to terms with the fact that I have to drive somewhere with you.

Then maybe you can demand that the music be louder.

Okay? Okay??

Also, on the list? Change giving. Why is this such a hard thing for folks? When you give me my change do not put the bill in my hand and then place the coinage on top of that bill. This makes me bananas.

Seriously bananas.

Give me my change. And then hand me my bills. And then you can deal with the receipt.

I mean, you are talking to someone who did Safeway school twice. TWICE, people. Don't ask. But I do know what I'm talking about.

I object to this form of backwards and highly obnoxious change giving. I strenuously object.

Knock it off.

And finally, to round things out today. This officially went on the list last night but really, it has always been on the list so.........

Do not put something on the stove or into the oven and then walk away and expect it to magically stop cooking itself when it's done and then put itself on a plate and then find it's own way to your mouth.

If you are cooking yourself something then you are cooking yourself something.

I am not doing it for you.

And that, my friends, is my list. Or at least, part of my list. Because like I said, there are many many things that need to be on the list. But I know it's hard to absorb too much info at once. So read this over and over and make sure you are not an offender of any good and decent behaviour.

After you have memorized the list you may carry on.

golf trip rules

There are a few rules concerning the mens only golf trip that must be abided by. Not many, just a couple. And........I made them up. In case you were wondering.

You were wondering, right?

Rule numero uno: What happens on the golf trip stays on the golf trip.

I do not want to know that you haven't showered or brushed your teeth the entire time you were gone. And I know this happens because once the man broke rule number one, before it was invented, and told me.......stuff.

Plus, I saw his toothbrush sitting next to mine this morning when I woke up.

I do not want to know that you ate a steak the size of Montana, in Montana, and with it you ordered a side of ......steak.

I do not want to know this.

And I especially do not want to know that you chased all that good Montana beef with cheese cake and then rolled yourself back over the border into Canada.

Gluttons.

Rule, the second: If you take your guns with you then I don't care who gets shot as long as it isn't you.

Or my sister's husband because that would make things awkward for me knowing that your gun killed her husband. And I like her husband. Who knows if I would even like the next one.

Or my brother. He can't die either because well, he's my brother and your guns aren't allowed to shoot my brothers.

That's pretty much it. I'm not particular. And if the man follows all the rules then all will be well in my kingdom.

I mean.......our kingdom.

a conversation. with a moral.

It's that time again for the annual boys only golf trip. They leave tomorrow morning, at 5 am, and I do declare, I think the man might be getting excited about it. It's hard for him to get excited about things that take him away from work and the pressure of being the provider. He is self employed, his benefits aren't the same as others. He takes a day off? He doesn't get paid. It's as easy as that. And he has a hard time with it.

So I asked him to dinner tonight for date night seeing as he'll be gone all weekend. He said yes to this request, sort of, not entirely but sort of, hesitantly.

Anyway, he's a funny cat. That man of mine. This is a conversation we had last night. Or maybe he had. With himself, out loud, for which I was present.

Man: I am taking tomorrow off work because my truck is dying and I need to get it fixed. Maybe I can find some place to fix it while I'm away golfing.

Me: That would be swell. Plus, you'll get a day off. With me. We can........hang out. Maybe have our date during the day.

Man: (silence)

Long pause. Carry on.

Man: So this is what I was thinking I'd do and let me know if you can help me out. Can you follow me to wherever I end up taking my truck to get fixed and then drive me to Airdrie so I can pick up the POS van? (I will explain the POS van later. For now all you need to know is it's his work van. Like a giant tool shed)

Me: Sure. I have nothing to do tomorrow. Free as a birdie. (Hint hint)

Man: Then I'll go to Panorama to build some decks and then I'll come home and build stairs off our deck. And then, if we have time, we can go for dinner.

Me, in my head: Hmmmm, sounds like an awesome and productive plan and not at all like you are taking the day off work.

Interesting fellow, he is. So now I sit here doing my writing things that will one day make me millions and he is at work......not working.

I know I speak the code but that doesn't mean the code always makes sense.

Make sense?

So yesterday, as Holden was climbing into the truck after school he said: Tomorrow night (tonight) is the Celebration of Learning at the school.

Me: Oh yeah? What does that mean? (I ask not only to give him the opportunity to talk to me after a long day at school but also because I have no idea what the Celebration of Learning is. Yet, somehow, I feel as though I should know this)

Holden: We just walk around and show you our stuff. Do you wanna go?

Me, all sweet and stuff: Do you want me to go?

Holden: Mmmmm, I don't care.

Me: Do you like chocolate bars Holden?

Holden: YES!

Me: Would you rather have a chocolate bar or go to the celebration of learning?

Holden: A chocolate bar!!!!!

Me: Done.

It was quiet for a minute and then Amelia piped in and said: Maybe he can get his chocolate bar at the same time you buy me mine for not doing soccer this year.

And therein lies all the proof one needs to prove that I am a terrible parent.

And that also, my kids have very low standards.

The moral of this story is that I do not have to go to the Celebration of Learning and all it cost me was a chocolate bar and that because of that I can go out for dinner with the man but only if he has time after not working all day.


I don't think I understand the definition of 'moral'.

pole dancer

Yesterday I thought I would get all productive in a chaos preemption sort of way. September is not that far away, when you think about it. With four kids sometimes I think it's better to be overly organized than to have August hit alongside the realization that I have yet to register anyone in anything which will, undoubtedly, set into motion a snowballing plethora of emotions that will leave me insomniac-ed and stressed. Registering for funtivities, is what I refer to.

Funtivities is not a word. Nor should it be, since there is nothing fun about what I was organizing and paying for last night.

It pretty much goes like this. Cicely wants to dance. Of course she does. But she has to dance twice a week at the level she's at. Which means I pay for two class, not just one. But then she said she wanted to do three classes, to which I said no thank-you to which she said she would pay for the third herself and arrange it so there wasn't extra driving to which I responded with a bull-crap to which she then found exactly what she said she would find. Then she asked the man for job.

Hahahaha.

Fine. Whatever. As soon as I nailed down her schedule, which is not optional, I found the classes for the boys martial arts that will work, driving wise.

Then there is Amelia.

She also wants to dance. Of course she does. She is a prima ballerina in her heart and soul and therefore she must dance.

"I need to be a ballerina, mama," she said to me.

"Of course you do, lovey," I reply. And she does. I mean, have you met Amelia? It's either ballet class or Princess school. Last I heard Princess school fills up quick and it's kind of pricey.

So her ballet will be the same day as Cicely's ballet but much earlier and will mean that driving to ballet school will be my new lover.

Oh, wait, speaking of lovers.......did I mention yet that the man bid on a job in Edmonton? A big giant job that will take months and months to finish? The boss guy told him he had to do it in 2 months and the man said, "Pashaw. Not a problem." And since I am fluent in trade code language I understood that to mean "if you start it now then it should be done sometime in 2012, right?" To which the response is still the same. "Pashaw, not a problem."

See how that goes? It's like Latin.....only harder.

Anyway, so it looks like he's leaving me to work. Three hours away. I'm trying not to think about it too much. Especially when I am staring at the September schedule.

The one with all the driving.

So I was starting to do my anxious, how am I going to do this, why did I have so many kids, brain ramble last night whilst writing and re-writing the schedule out. I decided to go for a walk. Before I left though I asked some of my sweetest internet/real-life friends to help me come up with something to blog about today. When I got home I reviewed their suggestions. And I concluded there was much to work with.

For example, a suggestion was made about the Zombie Apocalypse. Since I have seen I Am Legend 7 times and I saw The Chernobyl Diaries last week I was confident I had done enough research to go with it. I mean, radiated zombie people living in Chernobyl could totally happen and trust me when I tell you that going to bed that night and seeing them when I closed my eyes instantly made me an expert in their evil workings.

Then someone suggested that they didn't really care about the apocalypse. They wanted to know my contingency plan.

Well, that's easy. Since my cardio isn't awesome right now I figure I'd have to invite them for dinner and let them eat my brains. A whole 'if you can't beat them, join them' sort of thing. I don't know why people are so down on Zombies anyway, they seem to know what they want in life and they're very persistent.

Ambition and persistence are key factors in success. You can't argue that.

Plus, I think where zombies are concerned, it might be the only way.

Decent plan? I think so.

Then Sarah suggested I go for a run and hurt myself. She's mean like that. And then the thread got derailed by a plus sized, bikini clad, pole dancer.

And that's when the wheels seriously started to turn....................