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....................

probably

As I sit here my dog is chewing a plate. It's one of those plastic Ikea plates. I bought them 10 years ago. I discovered that she had somehow found herself one and destroyed it enough to make me never want to put food on it again so I gave it to her. She is in heaven.

It will probably be the cause of her death 14 years from now.

As I stare at the computer I am contemplating what form of exercise I will do this morning. It will probably end up being the shower I take soon and the walking up the stairs to take it.

I am thinking that might not be enough.

I woke up last night every hour on the half hour starting at 2:30. If that wasn't so aggravating I would be thoroughly impressed with my super powers in the night. To wake up at 2:30 and then 3:30 and then 4:30 and then 5:30? I mean.....that is some serious talent.

I dare you to try it. I'll bet you can't do it.

I probably never reached REM and I probably should see a sleep doctor. I am procrastinating on that phone call.

Tomorrow I am going to Banff with most of my book club for a sleep over. It's going to be an awesome break from life and sassy kids and a grumpy husband who's grumpiness will probably be worse by the time I get back due to being with the kids for 30 hours.

Although, I probably won't sleep a wink for fear of waking up my poor sister who has to share my bed. I have already come to terms with this fact and I am taking a book with me. And some Advil. And some Diet Pepsi. I hope the room we are staying in has a fridge.

It probably does......right?

I probably should have refilled my sleeping pills prescription. That would have provided much entertainment for the ladies in my book club.

I will probably have to delete this post if the man finds out I put this picture of him on my blog. After work last night he took a shower and put his jammies on to relax for the first time in probably 3 months. It was miracle he was even home and even more of a miracle that he had time to sit and watch a show. I asked him if I could take his picture when he came down the stairs in this.........



He said no. I took it anyway and now it's here. On my blog.

I am probably, most likely, a very terrible wife. I will most likely, probably, have to beg for forgiveness. But like they say, that's easier than asking for permission.

Right?

Right??

I have a secret that is making me happier in my life that I will probably share with you at some point. Until then, just know, that I am happier with my life.

I am finding that working on my book is an overwhelming, unorganized, mess of ideas and thoughts that is one of the most exhilarating experiences I've ever had. I said my goal was to be done by June 15th, or something insane like that, but I have given myself until the end of the year since I moved and I can change the rules.

I probably need more time.

I am probably not working out today. I will definitely take a shower though. I have lunch date and I think she would appreciate that.

I will probably be back next week with more amazing things to tell you.

You are probably really excited about that.

Right?

Right??

catty cravings

Do you ever crave being catty? Like a cupcake. You just gotta have it. Do you ever just want to say something mean? Out loud? Some of you probably don't. Some of you are probably really nice-like all the time and never have a nasty thing to say.

Some of you should probably not be here.

I'm not going to say anything nasty out loud. Intentionally, anyway. Or am I? I think I probably might. Now would be a good time to look away.

I want to preface what is about to happen here by saying I went to see a scary movie last night and was up until 1 am. Which is a sure fire way to guarantee that I will maybe squeak out 2 or 3 hours of sleep.

And that is what happened. Which might explain my mood. Actually, I feel like I'm in a good mood so I'm not entirely sure where this is coming from. Maybe it's coming from the fact that I have not vented in, like, hours and it's building up and it's about to come pouring out.

All over your eyes.

I have not been in love with my blog lately and I can't seem to shake the lack-of-love-for-the-blog funk. I don't really care, which isn't good for it's survival. I have lots to say but when I work it out in my head it all sounds nasty so I keep it to myself, which is what my mother taught me to do.

But....I just have to say.......there are things I do not understand about people. And it seems like A LOT of people do things that I don't understand which makes me wonder if there is something very wrong with me. I'm not that old, I didn't think I would turn into my father at such a young age.

An old fuddy duddy.

How come we don't get a choice as to who we turn into? We should be allowed to pick. My mother or my father? I seem to have the worst of both of them. I'd like to think I have the best of both of them as well but I'm so busy trying not to be catty I can't always see the good.

Sometimes I say something out loud to my kids, I guess because I feel safest around them, and then I instantly regret it. It's so judgy and mean and I wonder how many nice random things I have to say to undo the damage.

"Great, now I have to say 4,672,981 put-ups to make that right," is what I think to myself.

For example, I went to Cicely's dance recital the other day, and without getting into how positively atrocious the majority of it was, I was baffled at the choice of costumes the teachers picked for some of these kids. I happened to express my bafflement to my family upon arrival at home. I simply do not understand the process for choosing costumes. I assume, and I may be wrong, that there is a catalogue or something where the teachers go and pick something they think fits their dance.

Is that how it works?

So my concerns are that there are either a) not enough choices or b) not enough decent choices or c) blind dance instructors who could not see skank or immodest or downright ugly if it jumped up and bit them on the nose.

Now, kids come in all shapes and sizes, I get that. I am the first to admit that some kids lose their chunk, if they have any, in the later years, not just the early years. And that's okay. As a child who was plump and juicy I don't judge plump, juicy kids. I do not understand, however, as a dance teacher why you would choose the one costume that accentuates a fluffy child's cavernous belly button or her just barely blooming bosom. I mean, come on, are you blind? When you dress them like they are going to the beach in a sparkly shark attracting bathing suit how are the rest of us supposed to be comfortable watching them jump all over a stage that is lit up like they are about to beamed into outer-space?

As a mother, I would be ill if my buxom beauty was forced to dress in something that was not only hideous but totally unflattering and bordering on cruel and demeaning.

Part of me thinks I should single-handedly change the way we dress our littles on the stage. I'm going to draw up a petition and take it door to door to every single person in the entire world.

Having said that, some of them are so cute, their little outfits are so perfect and adorable and I want to shake the hands of the teachers that pick them and say "thank-you." Thank you for not parading all the little people around like oversized, ill dressed, stuffed animals.

Cicely was dressed as a butterfly ballerina and her costume was beautiful. A long billowy tutu and wings. Her teacher also had the best dances of the whole concert but I'm not getting nasty. I will say that if I hadn't already fired that studio for ineptness and an inability to be considerate they would have been fired immediately after the recital.

Un-im-pressed, I was.

Anyway, where is this going?

I don't understand.

I don't understand people who drive to the school 30 minutes before the bell rings so they can park right in front of the doors. Like making their kids walk 40 feet to the car is going to kill them.

I don't understand why when I go to the grocery store someone has to leave their cart in the middle of the aisle and then walk away from it, like they are the only person in existence.

I don't understand why the 9 year old has to contradict EVERY SINGLE THING the 6 year old says. Why does he care?

I don't understand self-disciplined, self-motivated people. They make me feel jealous. All the time. My daughter is one. Maybe she isn't my daughter.

I don't understand people who park where they are not supposed to park. Are we the laziest society ever, or what? Making up a parking space so you don't have to walk makes you look like an idiot, not the super-genius-who-out-smarted-all-the-dumb-people you think you are.



I don't understand why the perfect horror movie is impossible to make and I do not, for the life of me, understand why Diet Pepsi tastes so good.

I live in a state of confusement. Which is not a word. And now I don't understand why confusement is not a word.

And now, I am done.

a saturday catch all

I've only blogged once this week. I don't know why, really, other than that I've felt kind of tired and lazy lately.

What was that? Don't you always feel tired and lazy, you say?

Good point.

So, remember when I was complaining about the ripped chair that came and replaced my tv that no one wanted?

Well, here's the silver lining to that story. Last night, the door bell rang, which normally irritates me because, thanks to my father, I am genetically programmed to be irritated when the door bell/phone rings. But when the kids are here it's a lot less irritating.

I don't know why.

So we answered the door. A bunch of young people were standing there and they said they were from a church across the street (not my church) and they were having an activity called Bigger Better.

Sounded familiar, I thought. And slightly serendipitous. I started to shake with excitement.

They presented us with this.



And asked if we had anything bigger or better we could give them.

Mwahahahahahahaha. That's my evil laugh.

"Why yes, I do, indeed, have something bigger and better to get rid of. I mean give you."

I hailed the man to come and erect the leather chair I moved into his garage when he wouldn't move it out of my living room. The boys saw it and declared themselves the winners.



Ohhhh, someone's the winner here boys, and I don't think it's you! I watched them cart that thing all over the neighbourhood for a few hours before they disappeared in a white truck.

Moving on. Last week I got a text from the man. It read: Guess who just shot a nail through his ankle? Spoiler, it's me. ROAR.

And that's it. He likes to torture me so. I soon found out he was in Urgent Care getting it removed. He brought his own nail puller because apparently he's the kind of guy that brings his own tools to the hospital. That must be an Eagle Scout thing. Always Be Prepared? No?

X-rays showed that it went right through the inside of his Achilles tendon and straight out the other side.

Gross.



He saved the nail. So I could take a picture. For my blog. Good man.

The bad news? They had to cut his work boot to smithereens.



Wait.....no. That's not the bad news. But the good news is that all that money we give to WCB is going to come back to us and buy him a new pair of boots.

Awesome news.

Lately people have found my blog by googling a variety of random things. Like, "barf bucket", "dance hard", "fajita cookers" and "goals of having a party in your house".

I don't know where to start with this. But if I were to try I would conclude that someone is throwing a party in their house, with very specific goals and are planning on some serious dancing that may require the use of a barf bucket because, probably, they ate off a fajita cooker that they may or may not have found in the garbage and they most certainly want me to come.

What other possible conclusion could there be?

And consider yourself caught up.

buy deodorant and shower every other day

Have you ever had a text fight? You know, a fight only through text and it leaves you wondering what the heck just happened.

"What the heck just happened here?" I said to myself Monday morning after the man and I had turned two texts into a slice of marital dysfunction to add to our dysfunctional marital pizza pie.

He went to work, it was a holiday, he always works on holidays and everything was fine. We texted a couple of times, everything was fine. But then I decided that I was down right ticked that once again I was home with kids and a dirty house and company and a dinner to prepare whilst he was the only working carpenter in the country.

National holiday. Why can he not embrace the national holiday like everyone else? Why does he fight it so?

This used to be an argument we had in the "early years", the whole take the holiday off thing, but then I stopped arguing with him because I never won and he fights dirty. I don't like dirty fighters, I think they're cheaters, so I choose not to fight. It's worked out pretty good, we don't fight that much. But every now and then I decide that my tongue is numb from all the biting so I say something.

This time it was via text. But it just slipped out. There was no control. It just happened.

What he hears is a tad unfair, I'll grant him that because remember? I've been biting my tongue so he doesn't even know I'm at boiling point.

Anyway, two texts later and it's on.

What the heck just happened?

Sooooooo.....Holden, who is 9, and this was not a smooth segue, is taking Sexual Education at school and I find this very humorous. Now, I am the kind of mom who sits with my kids and I pull out the books and I tell them everything they need to know about love and sex and babies and puberty and zits and pubic hair and armpit hair and wet dreams and erections and periods and cramps and tampons and sperm and eggs and tubes and all that fun stuff. I make sure they have their facts straight. Straight facts from me, their mother, the one who knows all and isn't going to tip toe around anything that might be confusing unto them or their little minds.

I start in grade 4, just like the schools, and I tell them a tad more than the school tells them ( and by tad I mean everything) so in grade 5 they aren't 1) shocked and 2) behind everyone else who's been talking about it because their older siblings have been playing with their minds since grade 4.

They used to send home forms for a signature but from what I can tell the elementary schools are not doing that anymore and for the past couple of years I have been blindsided with surprise questions and comments directly related to sexual education. I did not sign a form for Holden and he's taking sexual education.

But this is a totally different concern altogether. I did, however, sign forms for the older two so my guess is that middle schools still have their crap together and that also, they are getting into the nitty gritty.

Whatever. Not the point. Yesterday, whilst cleaning up, I came across some school work on the floor. It was on the floor because in this house we don't have tables or desks or counters or dressers or anywhere to put stuff on except the floor. Only floors, lots and lots of floors. So, naturally, he put it on the floor.

It was Holden's. It was sexual education homework. I read it and I laughed. It was called Advice Corner and it said this: Now that you know more about puberty, you will find that your friends come to you for advice on all sorts of things. Below are some of their questions. What will you tell them?

Holden did not answer them all. If it had anything to do with a girl he wouldn't touch it. Bras and periods and cramps?? No way.

Question: I don't want to shave yet but people keep telling me I should. What should I do?

Holden's Answer: If you want to, do it. If you don't, don't.

Sound advice, Holden.

Question: I feel so bad - my friends told me I stink after gym class. What can I do?

Holden's Answer: Buy a stick of deodorant and shower every other day.

That's my boy. Logical.

Question: My skin is always breaking out. I bought some medicine, but it's not working. Can a doctor give you a pill for this?

Ummm, are we asking a 9 year old what a doctor can give pills for? This 9 year old has been to the doctor 3 times in his entire life. Which is obvious since his answer was: Buy cream.

Fake kid bought 'medicine', wants to know if the doctor can give a pill instead, and my son said 'buy cream'. My advice would be to not ask my son for advice.

And finally, question: This person on my track team has feet that smell just gross after every practice. Should I tell him to see a doctor?

Holden's answer: No. I would tell him to buy deodorant and shower every other day.

I was going to ask Holden how I should handle this texting fight I had with his father but I am afraid he'll tell me to buy deodorant and shower every other day.

I don't know, the kid is pretty put together. Maybe I'll give it a go.