so as it turns out, people are good

Allow me to tell you a little story. This story will rock your world. And if it doesn't then just know that it rocked mine and that should suffice.

This is a story about loss, about prayer, about letting go and about moving on. This is a story you can tell your kids to show them that they can be good people who do good things, right things, when faced with the opportunity to do the opposite. Tell them this story as a way of teaching them integrity, that they can choose the right and live knowing that they have. This is the kind of story you start with "Now listen to what happened to a friend of mine..." And then watch their faces closely as they hear the ending. It'll be worth it, I promise.

Now, let's see, where do I start?

Yes, I know, it was a Tuesday. It was last Tuesday, in fact, and I sent the man a text that said "Please bring home $1000 cash tonight to pay for football and first aid training."

The man responded with a "K".

A few hours later I got a phone call. From the man. He told me he'd gone to the bank and taken out $1000. And then he'd gone to the tool store. And then he went to the convenience store. And then he noticed his wallet was missing. He lost his wallet.

He lost his wallet.

It was like someone kicked me in the gut. My husband lost his wallet. His wallet had $1000 cash in it. I didn't know what to say.

What can you say? What is there to do? He had already retraced his steps. He scoured both parking lots. He grilled cashiers, made phone calls. He did everything he could.

I went to the bank and withdrew another $1000 to pay for football and first aid. What a blow.

What a blow.

I said a prayer. All I asked for was comfort. All I wanted was to not have to think about it. It was making me ill.

Later that night we talked about it to death. The man was convinced the cashier at the store had taken it. I was convinced it fell out of his pocket in the parking lot and someone had found it and kept it. He was sure it was a drug addict, I was hoping it was a flood victim who thought it was manna from heaven. It didn't matter who found it, the money was gone. What could we do but move on?

The next day he called the tool store to see if he could watch their security footage, which they agreed to but had to go through a third party security company. After the store contacted the security company they contacted the man and told him this "the camera shows you paying for your items, putting the wallet in your left pocket and patting it. Did we still want to see it ourselves?"

No. We both knew the left pocket and the patting was Darcy to a T. It's what he does with his wallet every. single. time. We knew she wasn't making it up.

We knew the money was gone. It was hard to let go. So I said another prayer. This time I asked for comfort again, and what the heck, some integrity. I asked that whoever found the wallet would find the courage to mail it back.

What else did I have to lose at this point? Might as well ask for the stars. So I asked. And then I stopped thinking about it.

 I was moving on.

Until tonight. I was lying on my bed watching Netflix, the man was on driving duty. I was thinking about a book I had ordered online but hadn't received yet. I needed to go check the mail.

I went to the mailbox and low and behold, there was my book. But there was also something on top of it. A large package. But it had Darcy's name on it. I put it aside begrudgingly, it wasn't mine to open. Sometimes I am the patient wife.

And sometimes I am not.

I opened it.



The letter says, " Dear Mr. Dabels,

I found your wallet lying on the ground outside of Busy Bee Tools on August 20th. My initial intent was to leave it with the store staff but when I found that it contained a significant amount of money I decided to hold on to it. I admit the temptation to just keep the money was huge and I kept changing my mind as to what I should do. In the end I decided to do the right thing and return it to you.

I apologize for the inconvenience my indecision and procrastination has no doubt caused you. I hope this finds you well."

It was signed.

There are no words to describe my gratitude. This letter and the contents of this package speak for themselves, I believe.

People are good. As hard as it can be sometimes, people try, and they succeed at goodness. And also? Remember that people are good, and prayers get answered and they even sometimes get answered exactly the way you want them to.

Do me a favour? Pay something forward on behalf of the person who sent all this money back.

Please.

And thank you.

jumping jacks are for chumps

At 7:15 this the morning, the children were eating Nutella on toast, whole wheat toast no less, because we're healthy like that. Holden is complaining of being too cold. He is tired and mad that he has to be up so blinkin' early during summer holidays. Whatever, kid. This is my week. I have lived for this week. You will go to camp and I will bask gloriously in your absence, we all have our burdens to bear.

Holden: I am freezing cold!!!

Me: Why don't you do some jumping jacks and warm up?

Stunned looks all around.

Amelia: Jumping jacks are for chumps.

ChitChat: I saw you doing jumping jacks yesterday.

Amelia, all sassy-like: No you didn't, you liar.

Me: Jack does jumping jacks every night at football practice.

Amelia: Jack is a chump.

***************************************
So the kids are in camp all week, I may have mentioned something to that effect. And if not, let me tell you. All my kids are gone all day every day this week. There are no words to explain what this feels like in my soul. As soon as I drop that last three off this weird sound escapes my body as I walk to the truck. It sounds a little something like,

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

I'm sure it can be heard in all corners of the kingdom. 

I won't bother explaining to you how amazing and fantastic and super and amazing it is to not have to listen to bickering or x-box begging all day everyday. Or how much easier it is to run to the store without kids tagging along. 

The only problem with weeks like this is that they go by so quickly. Sad face.

Two more weeks until school starts. Two. More. Weeks. Oh glory day.

Can I have my Bad Mom plaque now, please? I already know where I'm going to hang it.

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

Soooooooo, I'm probably watching Sharknado while I write this post. Maybe. Probably. Okay, no I'm not. I am totally not watching Sharknado as I type this.

Ian Ziering is the worst actor of all time. And his name is Fin in this movie. Funny, no? And totally brilliant. And Tara Reid? Need I say more?

Wait....I said I wasn't watching it. Yeah, let's stick with that. Way less embarrassing.

I do believe Pride and Prejudice is up next.

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”  Man, I love that movie.

Oh, hold up!!!! Ian Ziering just chainsawed his way out of a shark that ate him in one bite. And the bimbo was with him and now she is dead. Oh, wait, no she's not. Phew, what a relief, now they can live happily ever after. Ewww gross, Tara Reid just wiped shark guts off Ian's face and kissed him. And now the bimbo loves Ian's son??? Huh?

Okay, it's over. I will move on to something somewhat more productive now. 

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

Amelia's hair has been in french braids for the last two days while she's been at swim camp. This morning we took them out and brushed out her long, golden, curly mane. 

Me: Your hair looks gorgeous, lovey.

Amelia, staring at herself in the mirror: I know, it looks amazing with my lips.

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

G'day.

football mom

You can now add me to the ranks of "football mom". It is a deeply honoured title, one riddled with tradition and pride. Its prestige can't be topped. Its rewards grand. Its investment bottomless.

Why, it's an honour just to be nominated. But to be the winner of such a life altering highlight? There are no words...

Sometimes, people tell me it's hard to tell if I'm being sarcastic or not. 

What about now? Am I being sarcastic now?

Who, moi? Never. 

So what does a football mom do? Well, four nights a week (carpool? what's a carpool?? someone teach the child how to get phone numbers so this football mom can set up a carpool already!!! geesh) she drives her child to a field where there are many many other children dressed like giant metal heads on toothpicks, and she proceeds to play a rousing game of Candy Crush or read a book, if she isn't already dead tired blind from the day. 

She could, if she felt so inclined, go sit with some of the other parents who have obviously done this before and brought chairs with them. But this football mom? No, she has to stay in her vehicle because she has no chair. 

And probably no bra on either. 

This particular football mom is shameful. She would apologize if she wasn't so blasted tired. This football mom is tired. She isn't sure where these kids get their energy from. If she was, she'd rob them blind without remorse. 

And on average, one giant metal head on a toothpick throws up at least twice per two-hour practice.

So, the diehard football moms sit on chairs, with blankets and coffee, while this rookie football mom writes on her hand with a pen she found under the seat, "remember chair".

Remembering is hard. Especially after you have washed your hands for the 423rd time in one day. 

Football moms hear things being yelled to their sons, and a few daughters, that make her mama bear hairs stand up on her mama bear neck. Things like "be more aggressive!!" and "don't be lazy!!"

I mean, I'm trying to teach my son to be loving and kind. Not a terrorizing metal head on a toothpick who likes to hit and knock over other top-heavy giant metal heads on toothpicks. And if anyone gets to tell the child to be less lazy it's me!

Youknowwhatimean?

Be. Aggressive! 

Got. To be aggressive!

A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E.

Aggressive. 

Aggressive. 

Be. 

Be. 

Aggressive!!

Now excuse me, this football has to go locate some pom poms. 

P.S. How come the other moms aren't taking pictures? Clearly I am the only one taking this seriously. 

the fosters

Okay, let's talk about foster kids. Why? Because I said so. Foster kids kill me. I fret about "who we're gonna get" until I have the trots. And then we "get them" and it's like "oh, this isn't so bad" and then they start to settle in and I'm like "whoa, nelly. This business be crazy, yo."

Seriously though, they are great kids. Ten and thirteen year old brothers who have to share a room at my house, which apparently is the "worst thing evah" for the ten year old. 

Excuse me, sir. I have to share a room so why shouldn't you??

So, I've been pondering their nick names for the purposes of this here blog. It's obvious the little one will be forever known as Chill because never, in the history of relaxed people, has there been a more chill dude. In fact, sometimes he's so chill I wonder if he's still breathing. 

And then there is the big one. A brand new teenager. And man oh man, can this dude talk. He talks and talks and talks and when he's not talking I have to check if he's still breathing.  Because geez Louise, surely when you talk that much, and then stop talking, its because you are not breathing. 

So then I get the trots from checking everyone's pulse all the time. 

But, he hasn't talked himself to death yet. I do declare, though, he's working on it. 

And everything he says starts with, "What happens if..."

Him: what happens if I eat this?

Me: ummm, your tummy gets full??

Him: what happens if that guy falls?

Me: ummm, he might get hurt??

Him: what happens if....

Me: for the love!!! Nothing!! Nothing happens! The world still spins. The sun still shines. Life goes on, buddy. It's okay. 

We shall call him ChitChat. Because, mercy, the chitchatting. 

So, there you have it. A brief introduction to the two human beings who have flown into my life and given me the endless trots. 

My poor nerves. 

In conclusion, here is a convo I had with ChitChat about the necessity of diet Pepsi.

ChitChat: why do you drink so much diet Pepsi?

Me: the same reason you breathe so much air. 

ChitChat: I breathe air so I can live. 

Me: yep. 

the foulest confession

I'm just going to say it. As awful as it may sound. As horrible as you might think I am. As ungrateful as it may sound. 

I'm just going to say it. I can't wait for September. 

There, I said it. 

I love my kids. I really do. And these foster kids who have hit their one month mark? I really really like them too. But the combination of my kids and these great foster kids is a cacophony of LOUD LOUD LOUD voices. This might be the loudest gaggle of kids in the history of gaggly kids. 

And there are reasons the noise is not sitting so well with me. But that's not the point. The point is the talking. There is endless talking. And between one 15 year old, two 13 year olds, two 10 years olds and a very enthusiastic 7 year old there is no end to the talking. 

Please, is it not possible to enjoy each other's company without all the loud chit chat? I mean, I think it's possible but the children strenuously object. 

Strenuously object? Yes, it is possible to strenuously object. And they do. Oh, trust me, they do!

Now I'm in the mood for some Tom Cruise and Demi Moore. Great...

Moving on. The children have passionately taken to a new driving game. I really enjoy it. And by that I mean I despise it with every fibre of my being. It goes a little something like this:

Child: Look, it's a Honda. No wait, Dodge. 

Another child: Hey look! It's a Dodge. Oh, nope, that's a Suburu. 

And still yet, another child: TOYOTA!!

Other child: yep! Good job. I hate Toyotas. HONDA!

Another child: no, that's a Lamborghini. 

Previous child: huh? No! That's a Honda! As if you saw a Lamborghini. Where did you see a Lamborghini? 

Other previous child: back there, you idiot. Geez, we're driving, the cars are moving. Idiot. 

Me: we don't say idiot in our family. 

Silence. 

Original child: VOLKSWAGON!!!!

Another child: FORD!!!! 

And still yet, another child: DODGE!! Wait, no, what is that?

Know-it-all child: It's a Suburu. 

Previous child: what's a Suburu anyway?

Know-it-all child: it's a car. Idiot. An ugly car. 

Me: hey!! What did I say about saying idiot?!?! 

Silence. 

Original child: HONDA!!!

So.....without further explanation or justification of my feelings, let's reiterate. 

I can't wait for September. 

it's still 3:30

For some bizarre reason, the idea of blogging has become completely daunting to me. I don't think I can do it, which is weird because I have been doing it for three years, with little to no effort.

I do believe they call this the inner workings of one's mind. My inner workings can sometimes be mean and confusing and lead me to believe I am not capable. Of anything. Plus, it's July. It seems every July I go through something where survival with all the children home from school becomes the number one priority, everything else withers away and almost dies.

Like the clean house. Where is the clean house?

So anyway, I just got back, well three days ago I just got back, from 9 days in the glorious Okanagan at my daddy's house. And my mummy's house. But it's my daddy that made me laugh. He was wearing a watch the entire time. And this watch possessed a battery that did not work.

It was always 3:30.

"Dad, what time is it?"

"It's 3:30."

"No, it's not 3:30."

"That's what my watch says."

"Yep."

This trip may have included our own private showing of The Lone Ranger. Nine people in the theatre and they all belonged to me. We spread out over three rows, we talked to each other. Loudly.

I played on my phone. The biggest theatre faux pas of all. And all without consequence.

Mwahahahaha. That's my evil breaking-the-rules laugh.

The new season of Honey Boo Boo came out, I think at 3:30, and the man would not let me buy the scratch and sniff magazine that accompanied the episode. I have no idea why not. I'm sure the whole episode smelled like peaches and rainbows. The man is such a party pooper.

Dinner time happened at 3:30. Every day. And so did breakfast and lunch and beach time and home time and bedtime and all the times happened at 3:30. My dad never took his watch off. He said it was a nice watch. He also said it was 3:30, when it wasn't.

And then, a few days into the trip, at around 3:30, the man left to run a few errands, in the United States of America. He left me in the Okanagan with 6 kids, which I was expecting but was secretly pleading with the Gods above that he wouldn't actually leave me there. When I tried to explain to the man that he owed me for what he was about to do he claimed he did not have a clue what I was speaking of. I gave him that look and he told me to ask you. So maybe I will.

Actually, I won't ask because I already know. You know how I know? Because I know, that's how. He owes me and I will collect. When I'm not so tired from all the vacationing.

Anyway, sometime around 3:30 on day 9 we packed up my truck to the ceiling and drove away. It was the longest day of my life. Not really, but it was close. I explained to the children that I did not want to stop, except for lunch. I wanted to drive and get home and end the madness.

Children don't listen well. We stopped once an hour for one child or another who simply could not hold it. This does not make me a happy driver. But, I'm sure I was being completely unreasonable. I was the one whining, "are we almost home yet?"

I was desperate.

It felt like time was standing still....

Like it was 3:30...
all.
day.
long.

hell's kitchen

I don't know what's going on here but it seems almost apocalyptic. First there is a flooding in all the land and then Satan turned up the heat. The heat has hit boiling point. You know how I know?

Because I am boiling.

Boiling freaking hot. I can hardly stand it. I want to hurt someone. I have reached curse mode. We are cursing here, people. It is that hot. The a/c in my truck doesn't work and I have never before been so deeply offended. How dare it!?!

The people of my kingdom asked, "what's for supper?" And I thought to myself, 'they are kidding right? No one wants to eat in this heat. This is what ice water is for.'

But no, they meant actual food. So I stood at the stove and cooked ground beef for taco salad, because that meant the oven could stay off and that is a good thing. But, would you know it? The burners on the stove get flipping hot too and that made me melt and by the time I had cooked half a cow I was dripping with sweat and hating the people of my kingdom. And then Amelia may have blurted out the proverbial straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. She may have said something to the effect of, "I don't like taco salad." Actually, that is exactly what she said. Word for word.

I may have thrown a bowl.

At her.

And then all the people may have eaten their body weights in taco salad while I pushed mine around my bowl.

Too hot to eat. That's a new one.

And then!!! And then!!! And then the wonderful mayor of our land told us to turn off all the stuff! The heat is sucking all the power and we need to cool it on the coolers. You know?

No! Nenshi! I don't know. What I do know is that you may be dealing with a homicidal housewife PDQ if you make me turn off the a/c that is blaring in my bedroom and keeping me sane.

Poor Nenshi, I hope he's not melting in his office where I'm sure the a/c is not on. It better not be on, Nenshi! You hear me?

So anyway...I am neglecting the people of this house as I study for this never ending spring course I am taking. It's July. It is July and I am studying for my psyc final. This spring class has just about done me in. Never again will I take an all day Saturday class. Especially during flood season where stuff gets postponed a couple of weeks and you end up having finals to study for when all the kids are off school and home ALL THE TIME. Remind me I said that when I get the hankering for an all day Saturday class. What a terrible idea that turned out to be. This class had been a thorn in my side, to say the least.

So anyway...I lead a glamorous life, where there is no end to the complaining about the weather. And stuff.

Last night I took a cold shower before bed because I was melting and whining and carrying on unlike anything one could ever imagine. I said to the man, "How much regret do you have in marrying me?"

He responded with, "None. Zero." And I thought, 'Awwwwww, he is the very best.' And then he said, "I do, however, wish you didn't complain so much."

Blergh. Let's hope he doesn't stop by my blog tonight....