is bates a bad guy?

Someone found my blog by googling 'gypsy polygamy'. I don't know why, but this gives me a profound amount of satisfaction in life.

I had nothing to do today. Almost literally. I did need to do a title and reference page for my latest heavy-on-the-feminst paper and I also had to get my haircut. I asked her to go shorter and she did just that. I should have clarified that I didn't mean that short but I didn't and now it is that short.

Oh well, hair grows.

I find that the days where I really legit have nothing to do really drag. I am bored. And I want to eat endlessly. What I should have done today was clean my house but you know what I have discovered when I set to cleaning my house? Someone sets to making it messy again and there is a level of irritation associated with that concept that I would much rather have lived without today.

I watched the Biggest Loser last night and I don't know why I watch that show because I think about ice cream for two straight hours. What kind of sick twisted reaction is that? It isn't right. And Downton Abbey? No no no no no. What happened this week was just plain wrong.

Wrong, I say.

Does anyone else predict Bates to be a true bad guy? Part of me hopes he is because that would be the kind of drama suited well to the show. But part of me says he better not be a bad guy because his wife is the best. What's her name?

Anyway, Vine. Let's talk about Vine. The new app. Man, do I love that app. I Vine my kids every chance I get and yesterday Cicely flew from her chair when she noticed me Vining her and came at me like a rabid rhino removing my phone from my hand yelling "Delete it! Delete it!" and making it very clear I was not to Vine her.

Ever.

Then the man explained to her that it's in my blood to torture the kids. She gets it from her dad, so he said. She can't help it, so he said. And as I took my phone back I shook my head.

In agreeance.

It's true. I can't help but torture the children. And now I have Vine to help me.

Thank you Vine. We are good buds already.

P.S. Agreeance is a word, right? No? Huh?

pity party. attendance: one

I was going to vlog today, I really really was. I took a shower, did my hair and makeup. Then I got dealt a blow that left me unable to look myself in the eye.

I can't look myself in the eye.

I'm not ready to talk about it yet. One day I will look back and shake my head in dismay but until then I can't look myself in the eye.

I messed up big time and it cost me. I have no one to blame but myself. I am ashamed and upset and feeling like a plain old dummy. It's not life shattering, it's not even that interesting but it's why I can't vlog today.

It did fuel my fire though and I wrote an impassioned paper on why woman are awesome. Actually, I wanted to but I was only allowed 1500 words and at 1200 I started to feel the fire within me burn. And then I had to wrap it up.

Some days are good and some days are not so good. I am wearing a frown that is pulling me down to the ground. And a belly ache. I want to drown my sorrows in whip cream and chocolate cake and a really big Blizzard from the Dairy Queen. The Dairy Queen is sporting the Chocolate Candy Shop Blizzard this month and if that isn't screaming wallow I don't know what it is.

This is some serious pity party, isn't it?

For the record, I have no intention of eating all that crap, I just want to. Get it?

Yeah, you get it...

I may have to forgo the meeting I am supposed to be at tonight as I do not see it making things better. I should go to a movie. That would make things better, it always does.

Let's just ignore how cryptic this is and move on to tomorrow as quickly as possible.

What do you do when the pity party gets raucous?

we dance

Blogging on a Thursday? What is this?? I hate Thursdays, but you knew that.

Hmmm, I really have nothing to say. Well, actually, I may have many many ADD type things to say. And instead of waiting for them to come out coherently maybe I'll just throw them up here and call it a day.

Because it really has been quite a day, hasn't it? Well, it is Thursday so that goes without saying.

So, I dropped Italian. 10 classes in and my frustration level was through the roof.

Right through it, I say.

I had about 5 hours left until the deadline and I mulled it over and then mulled it over again. Do I drop it and pick up something else two weeks in? Or do I stick with it and study my brains out and ignore the children and the house again like I did for the ENTIRE previous semester. So in a flash of whimsy (for I prefer to believe it was a whimsical moment and not a hormone driven one but deep down we all know what was driving it) I dropped it and picked up an English class. I have decided that everything is much easier in English.

I think I might be too brain dead to pick up a new language. I mean I want to learn Italian, I really really do. But I also don't want to be that kind of frustrated.

You know what I'm taking about right? The kind of frustrated that if I was a drinker would drive me to drink earlier than the 4 pm I would normally drink at.

If I was a smoker I'd have to smoke like 20 cigarettes instead of my regular 10. What is the average number of cigarettes a stressed out old person at the university would smoke anyway? Because I have no idea. 20 seems like an awful lot.

And if I was a shoplifter I'd probably have to steal something crazy like snowsuits and skis and stuff because those things are risky to steal and the thrill of getting away with stealing skis might help me deal with the stress of slow Italian recall.

Anyway, my teenager, the oldest one, has been off school for two weeks and has another week to go. What in the...? Since when does high school give kids three whole weeks to write two exams? She wrote two exams in the first three days and now she sits around being all lazy-like in her weird low crotch lululemon pants and I think it is wrong wrong wrong.

Is that what it was like when I went to high school? Because I don't remember it being that awesome.

Tomorrow is the man's birthday and I bought him nothing. I am a terrible wife.

My other teenager irons a shirt for school every night. He is 13 and he irons his own shirts and he does it every single night and I think it is terribly strange, indeed.

Let me rundown last weekend for you. Friday night we had 17 7 year old girls here squealing and running and dancing. It was both loud and cute. I didn't even take a single Advil.

Saturday I took 10 10 year olds to the pool for three hours. Because I am an awesome mom and not at all making up for being emotionally absent for the last two birthdays this particular child has had.

I am totally making up for it.

Sunday I had something like 17 people here for dinner and we ate an entire slab ice cream cake. Yes, we did. Which reminds me, the night before, as the man and I were buying said slab cake he locked his keys in the rental minivan and we had to wait forever for the Triple A guy to come and Dairy Queen kept their store open for us because it was flipping cold outside. And the man really sucked at date night that night.

So now I go to get the child from dance because it's Thursday and that's what we do on Thursdays.

We dance.

And good night.

little miss mia turns 7. a vlog

Geez, sometimes I have to wonder....is it worth it? Getting this video up has seriously challenged my sanity.

But anyway, today Amelia turned 7. We probably skipped school to party. And she sings.

Enjoy!

my own mother

If I was my own mother (not my actual mother, but me as my own mother. Get it?) I would nag myself to death with some very true and much needed blasts of wisdom and all-knowingness. I imagine today's conversation going something like this:

My own mother: Catherine, why do you stay up so late watching netflix in your bed? You know that creates bad habits and makes you tired in the day. I realize you just had a month off school and you got spoiled with late nights and sleep ins but I'm putting my foot down. GO TO SLEEP.

Me: I know that, mom. Gosh. I never get a free minute to myself you know. And there is always someone around irritating the youknowwhat out of me. So sadly, when I do get a free moment it just so happens to be real late-like.

My own mother: There is no excuse, and if there is I don't want to hear it. Another thing, you eat too much sugar. Sugar does weird things to you. Surely you know that.

Me: Geez, yes, I know that. It was just Christmas time. Cut me some slack. And don't call me Shirley.

Hahahahahahaha

My own mother (eyes rolling): There is no slack to be cut. God gave you a brain. USE IT. You know how to eat healthy, so DO IT.

Also, you need to be more organized. The laundry got way out of hand last week. Since you are back to school now it might behoove you to make a schedule and stick to it.

Me: Since when did you get all fancy with your words. Behoove you?

My own mother: Don't sass me.

Me: You know I don't do well with self imposed schedules. I disregard them the first chance I get. Then I feel like a failure. Do you want me to feel like a failure?

My own mother (eyes rolling. Again): I'm done talking to you. You heard me. Get your crap together, it's time you started acting like a responsible adult.

Youknowwhatimean?

Me: Yes, bossy pants. Geez. Gosh. Man. Errrrrrr. Iknowwhatyoumean.

Mutual eye roll.

one line a day

Before Christmas I went to a party. And at that party we exchanged gifts. A good ol' fashioned white elephant. Some of the gifts were gags, like the Alpha Uterus t-shirt that was meant for me but since I gave up those rights when I let them blast my uterus I did not get the t-shirt. I instead opted for this quaint little blue book that I stole from someone and then someone else stole it from me and then I stole it again rendering all further attempts at stealing useless.

Whoa. Breathe.

The word stole has lost all meaning for me.

So now I have this little blue book that I love so much and I think if you want to keep a journal but, like me, don't want to get sucked into the copious amounts of journal writing you'll end up doing with all those blank pages staring at you then you should also have a copy of this book. Go to Chapters and get it. You won't regret it.

This I promise you.

happy new year?

As I sit here listening to three little girls giggle their heads off whilst having a tea party upon towels on my kitchen floor I ponder how I got so lucky in life.

I really do.

What did I do in my past life to deserve these precious little beings I call my children and my brothers and sister's children?

Heavens, I simply do not know.

Well, it's the new year. It's the time where I see everyone making resolutions and recapping past resolutions. I suppose I could go back to last year at this time and see what I said but I'm lazy soooo...

What was I saying?

I know I did say I wanted to lose 30 pounds by my birthday. I didn't quite reach it but I did lose the 30 pounds by the beginning of December.

That counts for something. Has to.

Remember that year when I did a goal a month? Man, I must have been bored that year.

This year I have but one goal and the perhaps the continuation of another. Okay, we'll call a spade a spade, it's two goals.

One, to lose another 30 pounds by my 40th birthday in October.

DID I JUST SAY 40TH BIRTHDAY?!?!?!?!?!?!

I just threw up in my mouth a little. How is that even possible that I will be 40 this year? Man, my parents are OLD.

I digress. Another 30 by 40. My nutritionist is all over this and so am I. Why not spend my 40's feeling fabulous?

I mean, really, why the heck not?

And the other goal is to continue on this new found happiness path. I will give credit to a little white pill and perhaps a little credit goes to being back at university and doing something with my mind that makes me feel alive. I would probably feel more alive if my freaking communications professor would post our marks already. Yesterday I did receive the relieving news that I got 92% on my comm final which is awesome but I still don't have all my marks for that class and therefore I don't have my final mark and school starts again on Tuesday!

Good grief, is my response to that.

Anyway, this Christmas break we did something new as a family. Something we have never done before in the 17 and a half years of this family's existence.

We all got sick.

Every last one of us got hit with something. And it's been super fun-like. Youknowwhatimean?

The poor man spent almost 5 hours at the walk-in clinic in Edmonton last night waiting to see a doctor. You know the man is sick when he's willing to do that. We won't discuss his mood when he finally left. I'd show you the text but, well....

Inappropriate. You know?

So let's recap: Amelia, ruptured eardrum and flu, one missed week of school and 10 days of antibiotics. Continuing sniffles and she's good. Holden, flu. Poor dude, he never complains. Jack, strep throat and 10 days of antibiotics. Cicely, cold and cough and since she's an ox and never gets sick she wasn't quite sure what was happening to her. Me, bladder infection, one week antibiotics. Strep throat, one week antibiotics. Then the man came home and graciously gave me his head cold. The man, head cold, the one-plugged-nostril-crappy-sleep kind of cold and then his head cold turned into ear infections and now he feels like a 2 year old.

And that, my friends, is how the Dabels welcomed 2013!

Happy New Year!