dabels do dip

We used to get TLC but switched cable providers and now we don't get it anymore. So that means we used to get Honey Boo Boo but we no longer do.

Which is both sad and unfortunate. For we really did enjoy the Boo Boo. Remember the 'sketti episode? When they made their fanciest and favourite meal? It was spaghetti with margarine and ketchup and…..barf.

Like I said, we really did enjoy the Boo Boo, for the Boo Boo made me feel pretty spectacular about myself.

Pre-tty spec-tac-ular, knowwhatimean?

Anyway, I truly believe that almost every family, if not every family, has a meal akin to 'sketti. We don't say it out loud or tell people we eat it because….

Well, because it just isn't right.

But lately, our oldest foster son has let it spill about our own personal 'sketti. He told our foster agency and his social worker and he made it sound like the bestest and fanciest and most wonderful dinner. He loves it. Then the other day I made a joke on Facebook about making dinner and having it take 13 minutes and people wanted to know what it was and I was like, "Ummmmm, nooooooo way am I telling you about what we are eating for dinner."

But I have decided to show you the slum side of the Dabels and share my most bestest and fanciest and wonderful recipe with you.

Promise you won't judge? What was that? Too late? All right then.

We call it….. dun dun dun…..Dip.

Yep, we call it Dip. We do not serve it to guests. We do not even acknowledge its existence. Dip? What is Dip? I do not have any idea what you are talking about. See how that goes?

Except we forgot to tell foster kid one and so the cat is out of the bag. When I ask my people what they want for dinner they usually say Dip. Because they love it. But really………I don't know what to say……

Here goes:
Brown some ground beef
Add red onions
Add kidney beans
Add Hot and Spicy ketchup. Like lots and lots and lots and lots of ketchup. Until it's runny like a chili.

You can put it in a casserole dish and put sour cream on it and cheese and melt it in the oven for a few minutes. At least, that's what fancy Dip looks like. But we don't even do that. We put it in bowls and throw some cheese on it. And then we use tortilla chips to dig out that dip and put it in our bellies.

And now I hang my head. Ground beef and ketchup. Yep, that is how the Dabels do Dip.

I am so so sorry you are on the receiving end of this little secret. You may go throw up now.

sparkling hill. the story of the spa.

Okay, I can't take it anymore. I need to tell you about the time I went to the spa. Here it goes.... Once upon a time, I went to the spa. I am now one of those girls who says things like, "When I went to the spa..." Because I have. Been to the spa, I mean. I took this lovely little getaway with some friends and we drove the seven hours so we could go to the spa. And do spa things. Which we did, by the way. And it was incredible.

And to the fine people at Sparkling Hill, I want to say thank you for hosting me and my motley crue at your sparkling and most phenomenal hotel.

It was worth every second of the drive. I was in heaven all weekend. Three nights away, no school, no kids, no husband. Just me and my friends at the spa. Although, I will say, Sparkling Hill is built for couples as well. Completely. Bathtubs in the living room. Bathrooms with no doors (private toilets, though. Phew.) Walk through showers. I must get the man there sometime for a couples massage in the romantic, elegant little couples rooms. It sounds divine, youknowwhatimean?

Wink.

I can hardly wait. He can, but I can't. But, what does he know anyway?

Sparkling Hill is in Vernon, B.C. You know what else is in Vernon? My mummy and daddy. So this was perfect because it meant some two on one time with the folks in their town. That's never happened before, me being there without anyone else, just visiting for the afternoon with my sweet parents, whom I adore.

After our afternoon together I took them for a little, wee tour of the 'wellness hotel' because if there is one thing I know for sure it is that my mummy likes a view and wow! What a view.

The Serenity Room is banana town. If banana town is code for heaven on earth, and in this case it is, then this room was banana town. Floor to ceiling windows. One wall of windows overlooks the hills and mountains. The other wall of windows overlooks the lake. My gosh, do I love me a lake view. To be on top of a mountain overlooking a lake is my idea of perfection. In case you were wondering what my idea of perfection is.

This is it.

There were saunas, many many saunas. All kinds. And they smelled amazing. Actually, the whole place smelled amazing. Even the water had a flavor. I swear it did and I drank a ton of that delicious mountain water. I couldn't get enough. But back to the saunas. There was like 100 of them and they were all different. The crystal sauna, the rose sauna, the dry sauna and the cold sauna (that actually had ice on the walls, brrrrrr). Okay, I think there were only seven altogether but seriously, I have never seen anything like it. You just walk from sauna to sauna and back again. Whenever you want! When was the last time I got to do things for me whenever I wanted? As it turns out, I do not have a high threshold for saunas. I sort of maxed out a lot sooner than most of my friends but I will concede that the selection is stellar and the facility is impeccable. There are pools, indoor and out. A pool, outside, with a light snow coming down and stars in the sky?

Yes.

Please.

And thank you, of course.

While I was there I had a facial and a hot stone massage. I almost cried when the massage was over for never ever should a thing as wonderful as a hot stone massage come to an end. Ever. It was tragic. I loved it.

The food. Amazing. It accommodated all the weirdos in my group who don't eat certain things. Like gluten. Weirdos. The breakfast buffet was lovely. The dinner in the fancy restaurant (and by fancy I mean dress code!) blew my mind a wee bit. The service and the staff? Honestly, I don't even know what to say, except it was the nicest place I have ever been to and the fanciest for sure. I was pampered and spoiled. I even read an entire novel. I can't get over it. I just can't.

I mean, look at the fireplace in the room! The entire place was dripping with Swarovski crystals. It was the most sparkling of places in the history of sparkling places.

I will go back. Either with my love or with my friends or with my mum and my sister. I don't know yet but I will go back. And if you go (and you most certainly should) you must tell me because I will go back with you too.

Here are some pictures. Some of them I borrowed from Sparkling Hill and some of the view shots are mine. My iPhone fails me when it comes to taking awesome pictures that do a place such as this justice. You'll have to just go yourself and see. You must go.

You must.

cats and kids

Soooooo, I am dying to tell you about my spa weekend/road trip/girls getaway I took a couple of weeks ago but I have been waiting for the time to do it justice. And then, all of a sudden, there was time and I was all "I'm too tired to do justice!"

Because I am a doer of justice. Just ask the kids.

So this is not a post about the spa although, hang tight, because it's COMING!!!!!

I WENT TO THE SPA FOR THREE NIGHTS AND IT WAS POSITIVELY TO DIE FOR!!!!!

I feel the need to yell that, in bold, for whatever reason. So anyway, this is probably just a post about the fact that I have not written anything in forever and well, my poor lil bloggy blog.

It is tragic, isn't it? I do have so much to tell you. There is just so very much to say but when? Where? How? Four university classes and six children and papers and presentations and reading....

Oh, heaven have mercy upon my soul! THE READING!!! There are no words  to express how many words I have read in the last three months. Actually, there is one word.....eleventybillion. I have read eleventybillion words in the last three months. And not all of them even remotely interesting.

Cough cough *GEOLOGY* cough cough.

I seriously hate Geology.

Anyway, if I had time I would tell you about when I took 50% of the children to the doctor, two were of my loins, and she looked at the two that were of my loins and said, "Wow, their eyes are huge and so wide set."

And I said, "Yeah, they have my eyes."

And she said, "There are some syndromes that present with wide set eyes, but on your kids it looks great."

Me, "Ummmmm, ...???...???...???...???"





Or I would totally tell you about the time I argued with a dead white existentialist via essay about whether or not people are born with personalities. I may have accused him of not having children of his own and if he did then he did not spend near enough time with them as toddlers because anyone who has owned a toddler is well aware that they do, in fact, have their own personalities. Anyone ever met a toddler without a personality? Yeah, me either. Anyway, I think the professoress agreed with me because this was her comment, "I'm not a mum, but I've raised several cats, and they all have strong personalities from about the 4th month of life..."

Cats and kids, man. Cats and kids.

I love her.

Or I would tell you about the time I went to the spa with some seriously excellent women whom I love love love. And we had the most amazing time. I was so relaxed. I read a novel. A WHOLE novel in one day.

But I will save that for next time...

miss america and valentine's day

Today is Valentine's Day. I am not a hater of the day, as so many are, but I am  not a celebrator of the day either.

Unless you count buying the man some chocolates and eating cupcakes alone in bed as celebrating...

It has been brought to my attention that I don't blog anymore. Although, this is simply not true, it is painfully true all the same. I haven't blogged in eons and I blame the university. The man would tsk tsk me for saying that, he doesn't care for me putting blame where it does not belong. He would say I did it to myself. He might be right but I dare you to challenge my PMS self with such a proclamation on this day and then make an attempt to get away with your life.

Go for it, I dare you to try.

You see, I am riddled with PMS right now and not making much sense. Also, the world might be coming to an end because I can't see past the cupcakes and the raging hormones.

It will pass. It will pass. It will pass.

So yesterday, as I was PMSing all over the halls of the university campus, I discovered I have a favourite type of student. She is female. And she is ridiculous. She carried with her all the paraphernalia a typical university student might need. Like a back pack. But she also carries with her another bag. It is the size of Africa and I can't even possibly imagine what she has hiding in there.

Until I look at her face and hair, that is. She is Miss America. Or so she must wish to be. For her hair is perfect. Long and curly and flowing. Wait, strike that. It is not flowing. It is an immovable force. One akin to a helmet.

He skin is flawless, her makeup done to perfection. And also, no less that 31 centimetres thick. Her head circumference is astronomical and nowhere near what it would normally be without all that big hair and layers and layers of makeup.

You see, when I go home and do my homework and then my life (for that is the order these things are happening this semester) I sometimes take a study break and ponder that bag that is as big as Africa. What is in there, I wonder to myself. Africa is a really really big place. So a bag that is as big as it is a really really big bag.

What is in the bag? Is there really enough hair product and makeup in the world to fill it? I mean, don't forget, she has her backpack. I know what is in my backpack so I am making assumptions as to what is in hers. But what is in the bag that is as big as Africa? What goeth in there??

And more importantly, why? She already looks done to the nines (that's the saying, right?) Why lug all that extra stuff around with you all day long? Why do this to yourself? Why? Why? Why? This might be the most important thing I have yet to learn at university.

The other day I learned how to use commas and apostrophes so there really isn't much left.

there is value in motherhood. just look at my children.

A new semester started this week. It's going to be a doozy as I have four classes this term. I am also getting over a nasty head cold that managed to damper my happy first-day-back-at-school spirit.

What would I be without a plug for sympathy on occasion? Anyway.....

Today was my first class of Rhetorical Communication. It is a writing course but before we write we make speeches.

Make speeches, you say?

Why, yes, that IS what I said. Making speeches? For grades? Yes please.

As a mother who nags people to death makes speeches on a regular basis I figure I am made for this class.

So, as part of today's class, we were given an essay and told to evaluate it. The essay was written by a woman who put herself through university without a student loan or any money from her parents. She compared herself to those who were put through school by their parents and how spoiled they were and how their grades weren't as good as hers because she sacrificed for a greater cause and they didn't. She pleaded with all parents to not give money to spoiled, entitled teenagers and to make their kids put themselves through school.

It was a silly essay.

And in this essay, the writer goes on to say that she married in college and is now a full time mother. She also said she was grateful for the life lessons learned.

We were asked to say whether we were persuaded by her arguments one way or another and what it was that persuaded us. A debate ensued as to whether it's better to pay your own way through school or to accept funds from parents to lighten your load. We talked about her tone, her diction and her voice. The debate was excellent, many persuasive and differing points were made.

And then the prof said this, "What I don't understand, as a non-mother, is why on earth anyone would work so hard to get a degree, getting all As along the way, just to become a mother."

Now, deep in my soul, in the innermost reasonable recesses of my rational being, I know she did not mean this the way she said it. But, nonetheless, I had no choice to but say something. After all, this class is about persuasive speech. It's about making people see another side. It's about persuading others into another realm of thought.

I didn't even raise my hand. I just spoke.

I don't remember now what I said exactly but I am fully aware of the point I wanted to make and that is this:

The article never said what her life's ambitions were. Whether they were to become a mother, working or stay at home, or if her priorities changed along the way. The article never said what her degree was in because that wasn't the point she was trying to make. I assume. She had a goal. Get a degree. She got it . She wanted to get good grades. So she got them. She had to do it all on her own without financial aid from anyone. So she did. That is what she chose to do.

And then she got married and had babies. Her choice. She chose to be home with them. These were her priorities at the time.

So these were my questions to my prof, and the rest of the class:

Did staying home with her children devalue her degree? (I sure as heck hope not!) Does her choice to get a degree and then have children devalue her commitment to her own personal education and further learning? (Please tell me that can not be so!)

Did she waste her time getting an education during the years when she either didn't want to or wasn't ready to have children knowing that when the children came she would stay home with them? (The answer to this will never make sense in my head if it is a yes. And this is certainly not what I am trying to teach to my daughters and sons.)

Would she have been more of a woman if she'd never had children?  Or if she'd worked with her degree regardless of the children? (No. No. No. No.)

NO!

Look people, we all make our choices and everyone's choices are worthy when there are children involved and education as well. We do those things because we see value in them.

How many people do you know received a degree in something and proceeded to work in jobs where that specific degree was not required? Why does your specific university degree have to dictate the choices you make for the rest of your life? Why can't it be one of the elements that make up the whole? The YOU! 

Why can't a woman get a degree, have children and allow that degree to better their lives in whatever way she chooses?

Well I say she can.

Just like I can understand and appreciate why a childless woman, who openly acknowledges that fact that she chose career over babies, might not understand why putting a career on hold or off to the side for a time to be with children might be just as valuable a decision as believing having a career is.

The choices people make with their lives, their educations and their children have to be their own. And that has to be okay with me and everyone else, otherwise we would spend all our time disappointed with the choices of others or not feeling good enough about the choices we make ourselves.

So, to my prof, I sweetly implied that her choices included much education and no children. And I am fine with that. My choices included full time motherhood and education and possibly a future career and I am fine with my choices, as I hope she might also be. Both of our choices have held value in our society. We both contribute. Is there less value in my contributions because they look different than hers?

Nope. Of course not.

And then I was done.

Had it not been a course based on the premise of argument I probably wouldn't have said anything (okay, yes I would have said something) but when you make it clear that class participation is a large part of the grade and then you push my stay-at-home-mom button I will gladly bring forth my side of the argument.

It was glorious. But, of course, like I said, I know that's not what she meant......

When class was done, she did approach me to apologize and to make sure I understood she was not trash talking moms. Of course, I understand. I am a big girl. I can appreciate the difference of opinions and that maybe those opinions are not expressed appropriately all the time. (I just thought that last part in my head, not out loud.)

I mean really, who wants to tick off the prof on the first day?

Not me. Heaven forbid.

eileen was her name

I had the most moronic Christmas tree ever this year. And this is how it came to be.

Right before we decorated for Christmas my neighbours from directly across the road came by. They are a teensy bit older, like maybe not as old as my parents but definitely older than me. They carried with them, like wisemen following the Dabels star, a ginormous Christmas tree.

It's fibre optic, they said. It's 9 feet tall, they said. It's too big for our living room, they said, but perfect for yours. We don't need it anymore but would love to see it lit up in your house, they said.

You see, I already have tree. It's fake but it's great and has served me well for many years. But a 9 foot fibre optic tree? Already with the wee little lights and such? So tall it would take a ladder to decorate? Yes please.

I said yes please.

Well, the tree was so ridiculous it needs to be acknowledged on this here blog, because I am nothing if not a full blown believer in the ridiculous.

I couldn't get it to stand up straight. I tried fixing the base. I tried fixing the tree. It had a natural born tilt, there was nothing that could be done. I decided that maybe a 9 foot tree with a tilt was exactly the kind of tree this family and home deserved. We let her be.

But every few days she tilted more.

And she hummed. When lit up she hummed this horrific hum that aggravated Gemma so terribly it is a wonder anyone in this house got out alive.

We needed to name her, obviously. She was about to ruin our lives and anything with that kind of power deserves a name.

My friend Shauna named her. Eileen. It was perfection.

And so blatantly obvious it begged laughter of the out loud variety.

The man kept saying he'd fix it. He said he'd tie it to something as to keep the inevitable from happening.

Until, the inevitable happened. Eileen leaned. You know what I'm saying?

                                     

                         

Once it finally fell over and I begrudgingly tipped it back up, and I say begrudgingly because what I wanted to do was set fire to the world and burn that stupid tree right up (and plus, the wee one cried when I said there was going to be no tree this year so obviously I set it back up), it had this sad little curl in the tip thereof. We left it as is, the big giant squooshed up mess it was and went on celebrating Christmas despite the tree, that was now fish lined to the blinds.

                            

Because of the hum aggravating my mental state so dramatically we had to stop plugging it in, therefore leaving it light-less, which was the exact reason I took the tree in the first place! 

And that is the sad tale of the tree that leaned and is now covertly hidden inside a dumpster as to not alert the generous neighbours whom injected my life with this hideous burden.

the resolution that was. or wasn't?

Well, it's a new year. I feel obligated in a sense to make grand plans and reinvent myself. But I'm not going to. It might be because it's 8:30 in the morning. Or it might be because I'm extraordinarily lazy by nature. But then, it might be because it's just not something I do.

I do plan on things being different in certain aspects of my life, like adding three more semesters to my university repertoire and watching my kids grow another year. Hopefully Cicely will get her learners license in 2014. Finally. She has already failed it three times and if you tell her I told you that I might have to add murder to my repertoire as well. What is the deal with this child of mine?

She said to me, "The test is so hard. Not even you could pass it."

To which I replied, "Ummmmm, I did pass it. 26 years ago."

To which she made a grunting noise and rolled her eyes at me. I love her.

I have seen many people in the nets of the inter (that was Catietalk for the internet) proclaim a word they want to be the focus of their lives for the next year. I have never done this but have always thought it a perfectly lovely idea. So this year I chose one. It took exactly .3 seconds to come up with and I have no intention of telling you why I think it came to mind so quickly.

Well, not yet, anyway. I will one day. Because after all, we are BFF's and I tell you everything.

It is Recovery. Chew on that for breakfast.

I will tell you, however, about a sweater I bought for the man. I figured it was time he had a new sweater, a good-going-out sweater, something to go out on the town with.

Yes, we go out on the town!

No we don't. We don't ever go out on the town and to be honest, I don't even know what that would mean for an old married couple. This might be why he has chosen to wear this fancy new sweater as his daily lounging sweater. I was almost certain he wouldn't even like it but as it turns out he loved it and didn't take it off for days and days. I was forced to hide it under the bed until I could wash it. It was like his man muumuu. He came home from work, showered and put on his good-going-out sweater with sweatpants and lounged in it all night. All he needed was a pipe to complete his ensemble. I tried to take a picture of him, daily, wearing his good-going-out sweater in different positions about the house. But he gave me that look and that look means don't mess with me, mama!

Actually, that look means nothing to me but bless his heart, he tries so dang hard.

Okay, off topic, as per usual. Back to the new year's resolution thing.... Really when it comes down to it, I'm just glad church switched to the 1 pm time slot and that I hired a cleaning lady to help me out this semester and that my children are so healthy it should frighten me but really it just pleases me to death. And I have great friends and a super duper husband and many many many children who hardly ever make me irritated or frustrated and one of my new years resolutions should be to cut back on the sarcasm....

But then, what would I be without a constant dose of sarcasm on this crazy high called life?

Happy New Year!!