oh, the insanity

So my kid thinks she's leaving me after high school. She thinks she's going to graduate and then move away to get a university education she says you can only get at one university, in one faraway city.

 And it isn't this one.

Who is this kid? This kid with the ability to dream and make plans that actually make sense, as much as I don't want them to. I really don't know where she gets this from, all this bravery. I mean, it wasn't until the very last minute of grade 12 that it was brought to my attention that I needed to not only decide what I wanted to do after high school but I needed to do something about it. Like apply to university, or something. But this kid of mine?? She's only in grade 11 and she's got it all planned out, like some freaky planning maniac. She spends hours plotting and planning and making it work in her head and on paper.

What is this messed up plan? Well, I do declare, she wants to go to Ryerson University in Toronto and get a degree in something I've never heard of before. She says it's the only university in the world that has this degree and that she has to have this degree like you need to have air. I need to have carbonation.

That is some serious need, I tell you. And she needs it that bad. Like THAT bad.

And here I sit thinking that really she just wants to get the heck out of dodge and finding this random, unheard of degree on the other side of the country is her only way to do it. And then I think why, oh why does my darling daughter want to run away from home? Why does she want to leave her mama?

Ouch, my heart.

She's making me feel old.

I ask her on occasion how she plans on making this work. How will she just up and move to Toronto? How will she afford it? How will she eat and go to school and make money and not die from missing-her-mother? Again, I ask, who is this kid?

I can remember after three years of post secondary education, while living at home, I contemplated moving away to finish a degree in Criminology at one of a very few universities that offered it. I remember thinking about how exciting it would be to have roommates and a job and debt. Lots and lots of debt. And then I thought, "No thank you. I will not leave my mummy for further education."

She is only 16 and is planning her grand escape and I won't deny it sounds exciting and romantic and brave. But I won't lie, I think she is on crack (metaphorically, of course) in thinking this is doable. She's crazy.

She's crazy, right?

Or maybe she's not. Maybe she's living the dream. Maybe she will do it, because lots of kids do. Or maybe she will decide that leaving her mama is not cool.

Not cool at all.

And then she will stay here and go to school close to home where she gets to live at home for free and eat all her papa's food and not have to worry about all those things that are keeping me up at night worrying about on her behalf.

I mean, she is young. Maybe all this mature, planning for the future garbage is really just a cover up for being out of one's mind.

Could she be serious about this? Or is this plan just all kinds of crazy?

Only time will tell....

belated mother's day miracle

Well, Mother's Day has come and gone and that is fine by me because I did not care much for it this year. My gift left me wanting.

I mean, my real gift was great because of course I went to the mall and picked it out myself. I kept telling the kids they bought me a wonderful Mother's Day gift and when they asked if they could see it I told them they had to wait, for it must be a surprise to SOMEONE.

AmIright?

It was the surprise, post-dinner gift I didn't like so much but I shan't complain for the man hated it more than I did. But I declare, I believe he asked for it when he tried to garburate many and much potato and turnip peels.

He made a lovely dinner of BBQ steak, roast potatoes, garlic mushrooms and turnip (which I love so don't ewwww me) and then began his Mother's Day cleanup. He's good at Mother's Day, I will give him that. But...he is insistent the garbuator work to a standard most garburators refuse to work at.

I try to ease the garburator in when I'm dealing with it. I go slow, little bits here and little bits there. I talk real sweetly to it. I don't want any garburator rebellion whilst cleaning up. The man, on the other hand, thinks a certain way and it's his way or the highway. The man is passively stubborn. But don't tell him I said that or he may not so passively rebel against me.

Anywho, I am positive I am not spelling garburator right.

So although Mother's Day dinner was a delight, the kitchen at the end of the day was not. It was a hideous mess because as hard as he tried he could not unplug the blasted demon before we were forced to turn in.

Have mercy...

Don't even mention the oven drawer. The thing is a disaster!

Did I mention we had started a load in the dishwasher and were forced to stop it because the sink guts were all taken apart? No? Well I'm telling you know. The sink guts were everywhere and dishwasher was now sitting idle, mid-load. Gross.

Day 2. The man comes home from work with vats of drano and goes to work. Pouring drano in, waiting, snaking, blowing air, garburating, attaching sink guts, removing them, pouring drano, waiting and so on and so forth in that fashion until once again it was time to retire into bed for the night.

Have more mercy......


Day 3. By this time I am anxious about the mess in the kitchen. I am feeling a panic attack coming on and so off I head to hot yoga because if you can't come to terms with life's tragedies while sweating your brains out then you are not qualified to have life tragedies. It came to me whilst lying in a pool of my own sweat that I was going to have to do something about the kitchen.

I started contemplating various caveman techniques. I decided to go home and wash the dishes by hand.


 In the bathtub.

And so I did.

Oh, the drama.

But wait. There's more. I accidentally closed the dishwasher door and it started up again unbeknownst to me. I left the kitchen and returned a few minutes later to see water pouring out from under the cupboard doors. It was pouring all over the sink guts that were lying on the kitchen floor. The same sink guts that, used correctly, keep the water contained under the sink. Now, they are nothing more than floor decor.

So I cleaned up that mess. And I was still sweating from all the yoga-ing I had done earlier. And the leaning over the tub for an hour. I was a sweaty annoyed lady. Have you seen those? They aren't pretty.

Then the man came home, with more drano, and a determination that spoke volumes to me in a silent way. It said something like, "I will conquer this plug and don't even mention a plumber to me because I am the victor in this story, not some stinkin' plumber."

We admire the man and his ambition.

I grinned, tucked my aggravation away, and watched him poor more drano down the pipe. And wait. And fiddle and fuss all about the sink. We stood staring at two sinks full of water wondering when this plague would lift.

By golly, oh plague of broken sinks and stinky dishes, be gone from this home.

He plugged up one side and ordered me to hit the garburator switch. Which I did because I am nothing if not a team player.

The sinks drain. It is a belated Mother's Day miracle.We stood in awe and amazement. And then we high fived because again, team players.

I have since cleaned up the kitchen, done multiple loads in the dishwasher and pretty much gone on my merry way.

And that, my friends, is how the Dabels do Mother's Day.

another friday mishmash

I was convinced that when I had two weeks off school I needed a project. I had a head full of ideas: I could paint a room, work on my book, clean up the hovel. I did none of it. Instead, I have run around, driving myself places, and I can't even remember where now. My head is swimming in bafflement, what do I do all day?

I bought groceries three days ago and they are still sitting on my kitchen floor. Canned goods and the such. Some might look at me, or my house, and assume a level of depression has fallen like a veil across my life. But I assure you, it is not so much a depression as it is an astoundingly high level of lazy. It's cavernous actually. A cavern of lazy, that I fell into when school finished and I took the time to stand still and check out the scenery. It took my brain a few days to realize that everything had just stopped. It was going full hog and then...it just stopped.

And boom, cavern of lazy.

So anyway, it is Friday, before the Wednesday when school starts again and I have nothing to show for it besides unemptied groceries, unfolded laundry, atrophied muscles and an unfinished novel.

So the other day I walked into a 7-11 and was followed by a person who turned out to be an old friend of mine. After we greeted each other she said, "Funny story, I saw you get out of your car and walk in here and I was watching you from behind and noticed your outfit and thought 'that is SOOOO Mormon'."

And hey! I'm a Mormon, so that's awesome. Or is it?

Still, my head is all abaffled. I don't know that I want to look SOOOO Mormon. What does that even mean? I mean, do Mormons have a look?

Okay okay okay. I know the layered look is a fairly common Mormon look and that whole spaghetti strap tank top over a t-shirt look is pretty Mormon. So I guess we can add maxi skirt and sweater to the uniform as well. Sigh...I didn't know. Not only am I a Mormon, but I look like one too.

Ba dum ching.

Here is the skirt in question.  I am not putting it on, so don't ask.

Back to being a student, I did not too badly this semester, having way overloaded myself with four classes. I am quite relieved. And all bafflety-like that with my level of confusement in all things Geology I still managed to get a B+. Not the best grade ever, but you try to decipher Greek for 4 months and then take a multiple choice test in it. I'll happily take the B+ and wish Geology a nice life for it I and are forever over.

Forever I say.

I know what you're thinking. You're wondering how someone who makes up their own words is allowed into a University. Well, they are. So there. And I will continue to make up words here, there and everywhere because there should be no such thing as words that make sense to me that aren't really words.

Make sense? Ofcourseitdoes

Happy Friday!

a friday catchup

Boo!

I know, you thought I had vanished, and I sort of did. I fell into the chasm of life and life can be a whirling dervish. But right now I am here, in my bed, with my laptop, nursing some hungry hormones and useless cramps and wondering why I feel panic at having nothing to do. Since the beginning of January I have had something pressing to do every minute of every day and now the semester is done, finals are done and I literally have nothing pressing at the moment. The man has gone skiing and so I feel that if I want to sit in bed and watch the Flix all morning then that is what I will do.

Thank you very much.

My 3 three old nephew calls it the Flix and he is dead right. It is flixy.

So let's update the blog and catch myself up with life. Let's see...where to start?

Let's start with the fosters. In a nutshell, I will say that having these fosters made me reevaluate life and when they moved out a couple of weeks ago we decided, or I did, that I am not fostering anymore. Having gone back to school, having difficult teens of my own, and basically being spread as thin as a chubby girl can be spread, it was time to take a look at what can go and what can't. Since it would appear unethical to rid myself of my own teens, and I have no intention of getting this far in my degree to walk away, it just seemed right to end a fostering career that didn't feel good anymore.

Maybe I'll tell you more about that later, maybe I won't. The boys moved in with family which is a good thing and so that is that.

Next, school. Yesterday I received two of my four class marks. One was for geology, which has terrorized me for the last 4 months and the other was for a Canadian pop culture history class. One of these appears to be an easy A and the other, as I said, terrorized me for the last 4 months. I don't know what it takes to get an A in this history class but I clearly don't have it. For as brilliant as I think I am, whoever marked all the writing I did for this class did not agree with me. I did better in geology, the terror, than in Canadian pop culture. How does one not get an A in hockey, rock n' roll and corsets?

I don't get it. University is baffling unto me.

Next, the gray. I have four gray hairs and I have named them all Jack. Okay, Cicely can have one. But Jack gets the rest. The punk.

What is the deal with teenagers? Can someone please enlighten me? Why are they wired to drive their parents nuts? I spend most of my day shaking my head in disbelief at their wild mood swings, their strange choices and just at their general...everything. How ever will I survive the next 15 years?

I would like to take this opportunity to publicly apologize to my parents for their gray hairs named Catherine. For I assume there are many.

If you have easy teens then move on. There's nothing to see here. I don't need to know. I already spend too much time trying to figure out where I am going wrong. I don't need more to think about.

Mostly I am being over dramatic. Or am I? I blame my hormones.

So how about you? Whassup?

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...