back to school preview

I could do the obligatory back to school blog post tomorrow or the day after. The one where I post all the cute pictures of the kids being all nervous and stuff for their big day.

But why? It's the same every year. Nervous, excited kids. Weepy proud mama. Blah blah blah....

It would be weird to do that today though because there are no pictures. Except this one......


Little Miss Mia's new indoor shoes are so cute I want to eat them.

Huh? I don't even know what that means. Moving on.

I can't blog about it, however, because the big day hasn't happened yet. Back to school is tomorrow.

The kids are so excited. Especially the big one who home schooled last year in an effort to drive me out of my mind. What she doesn't know is that it actually worked out great. She babysat the loud one a ton for me while she put herself through grade 8.

What a gal. She's the best.

The kids are picking out their 'first day of school' outfits. Which actually look a lot like all their other outfits because I don't buy my kids back to school clothes. Yes, I'm mean like that. Trust me, I've heard all about it. I buy them clothes when they need them. Whatever. September is expensive enough. Plus, in my experience, when I buy them stuff in September it doesn't fit by December and that is really super annoying.

Like to a spectacular degree super annoying.

The two little ones got new shoes and it took many hours at the mall to accomplish that much. That was torture enough, yes it was.

Plus I got my curly, unruly hair stuck in my favourite earrings twice and I had to tear it out both times. I hate that so much.

Anyway, tomorrow they ALL go to school ALL day. By 9:15 tomorrow morning I will be a free agent until 4 or until someone pukes and the school calls me to come get them. This has never happened, so...............

Did I just jinx my first free day in like 100 years?

While my children sit around today and wonder about teachers and friends and all the glorious anxiety inducing moments they will have the first day, I have only one thought:

What movie should I see tomorrow?

Tomorrow at 9:15 am, if you listen hard enough you will hear me woot wooting over here. Alone. While the kids are away.

I might be a bad mom.

Whatever.

stuff my kid says. part one

Kids say the darndest things, do they not? Sometimes one of my kids will say something and for the life of me I will not be able to understand what that kid was thinking.

Seriously. What are you thinking?

We are on holidays right now and I am blogging from my phone. I know, I know, my skill set never ceases to amaze you. I am talented, this I know.

We were on our way to the beach a few days ago and we stopped at 7-11 so the man could get his Big Gulp. He's old school. He drinks the Big Gulps. We love him anyway. While he was in the store a shirtless man riding a bike came to a stop right outside my window, which was rolled all the way down. This man had some distinct qualities that may lead a person to conclude certain things about him.

My son Jack says, quietly, "Mom, is that a homeless person?"

To which I responded that yes, he may very well be a homeless person.

Amelia then shouts from the top of her lungs "IT'S A HOBO!!!!"

I barely had time to reach out and pinch her knee before he rode off. We all held our breath and waited for any repercussions.

None.

Oh mercy, whose kid is that??

random ramblings of the officially insane

At this moment:

- the kids are "wrestling" but all I hear are sounds that always inevitably end up with screams and/or tears.

-I have been waiting since Tuesday to get out of town. What day is it? I don't even know anymore but I do know it isn't Tuesday!

-I'm waiting for the man. SURPRISE! It isn't his fault that we're still waiting. At least that's what I've been telling myself since Tuesday so as to not lose my mind entirely.

-"It isn't his fault. It isn't his fault. It isn't his fault." This sentence repeated 1 million times a day coupled with sensory deprivation has successfully brainwashed me.

-It isn't his fault.

-Yes, it is.

Dang It!! Didn't work. Okay it's not entirely his fault but it's one of those things where if he'd done a couple of things differently the whole week may have looked different. It might look like a beach and some sand.

I'm just saying..... it's not his fault but it sort of is. Do you have a husband? Do you understand what I am saying? If you have a husband and you do not understand what I am saying then you should not be here because you most likely do not understand a single thing I say. Ever.

Moving on, y'all.

-The truck is packed. We have a showing in 20 minutes and I need to sweep the floor. The man is still not home.

-I blog instead of sweep. Why? Because I can.

-I am officially insane. I have diagnosed myself. It's all good.

-Why fight the obvious? I have embraced it. Please say you'll visit me in the "home" (asylum) when you have a chance. I'll be hard to miss. I'll be the one in the corner rocking, drooling and whispering "I didn't kill them all. It wasn't me."

-Now I sweep.

See you later lovies. I'm going to give the beach another go. If I don't return it's because I have filled my pockets with stones and walked into the lake. Very Virginia Woolf.

Just kidding.

i am very busy over here. doing stuff.

Sometimes it seems as though there is nothing to do. Wiping the counter for the three hundredth time is not something to do. Neither is sweeping or dusting or unloading the dishwasher.

Going outside, where the sun is, is something to do but apparently we aren't doing that. I guess we're too busy.

Folding laundry is also something to do and can be done in front of the tv so it isn't entirely counterproductive.

Reading is something to do but when one of the kids has come and interrupted you for the three hundredth time it takes away from the awesomeness that is your book.

Knowwhatimean?

So sometimes, when there is nothing to do, I sit at the computer and wait for children to come in and need something. Like a drink. Or a band aid. Or food. Or to tie up a balloon that is filled with water.

Wait..... why do they have a balloon filled with water? You know what? Never mind, I don't care why. Just don't throw it at me.

Anyway, as I sit at the computer I think: Hmmm, I haven't checked facebook in awhile.

So I check facebook. Then I think: Oh yeah, I'm on Twitter now. I should check that out.

So I check out Twitter. And then I tweet that I am doing nothing, as usual.

Then I think: Maybe I should update my blog. But, I haven't really done anything remotely interesting in like a month so what will I write about? I sit and stare at the empty white space that is eagerly awaiting my brilliant prose.

Stare.

Staring.

Still staring.

I write something. I delete it. I think to myself: Hmmm, I haven't checked out facebook in awhile.

So I check facebook. And then I think: Oh yeah. Twitter. I forgot.

So I check out Twitter. And then I tweet that I am thinking about what to make for dinner. Which is a bold faced lie because I haven't thought about what to make for dinner since June.

Last night, I told the kids we were having lasagna for dinner. The frozen kind you buy at Costco. I told them that because they asked "what's for dinner?" and I was all "oh, we have a frozen lasagna in the freezer" in my mind so I just said it out loud. But then I sat down to read and at like 5:34 they are all "Mom, when's dinner?" and I'm like "Oh yeah, food. Right. I forgot you guys like to eat on a somewhat regular basis."

So I got off my ever growing duff and went to read the instructions for the lasagna and it said it needed to cook for 70 minutes and I was like, in my head of course: "70 minutes!! What on earth? But then it won't be ready until 7. Since they are used to eating at 5 and it is practically 6, I am thinking this is not going to work."

Crap.

At 6:30 I called to them that dinner was ready and they came running, slipping on their drool in their haste to get to the table. I swear I can hear the faint humming of the word lasagna coming from their panting, starved mouths.

"This isn't lasagna."

"Nope it's Quinoa and left over **Silly Greek Chili. You hardly ate any last night so there was tons leftover for tonight. How lucky is that, you guys?"

"But you said we were having lasagna."

"Did I?? Hmm, don't remember that........"

So......what was the point again??

I don't even know anymore. I'm just sitting here.

Staring.

I have folded 6 loads of laundry this morning AND put it all away. The dishwasher is unloaded and I'll wipe the counter later when the you-know-who's have decided they are done eating for a few minutes.

I tried to read my book but the you-know-who's won't hear of it. They are demanding things. It's rude.

Hmmmm, I haven't checked out facebook in awhile.........



**As a side note, I went to link the Silly Greek Chili for those of you who are curious and instead of trying to find it in my blog I googled it and my blog post about Silly Greek Chili was listed as number two so I am thinking my google rating is wicked.

grody to the max

When I was a kid we used to say 'grody to the max' all the time. If you've never heard this saying before then you are young and unschooled in the art of publicly claiming something to be disgusting.

It's sad for you, but what are ya gonna do?

In all honesty, I thought it was 'grody to the Mac's' but I think that was because I had candy on the brain all the time.

Every Saturday my mum would give us $1 and send us to the down Mac's. There was an up Mac's and a down Mac's. The down Mac's was at the bottom of a monstrous hill and I think her reasoning for sending us to this Mac's was to work off the sugar by the time we got home.

Whatever her reasoning, it doesn't matter. Candy is its name and ingestion was its game. We could buy a bag of chips, a small Froster and a candy for a buck.

Ahhhh, the good ol' days.

Bite me, I'm not that old.

This is totally not what I came here to discuss today. It was the grody part of the title that prompted this trip to bloggerdom, not the Mac's part.

Good heavens, what is the matter with me?

You know what grosses me out? Bulk Cheezies. Can you even imagine going to Superstore and buying bulk Cheezies? Why would anyone do that?

Wait a minute, I buy bulk peanuts for baking. Oh mercy, I'm starting to shake and rock........

Blowing my nose also grosses me out. I can't hack it. I won't tell you the story about when I was at church a couple of weeks ago and had to blow my nose and how somehow what came out of my nose ended up in my hair. I'll save you the grody details of that gag inducing adventure.

Cutting fingernails and/or toenails also invokes a vomit-like reaction in me and when I was pregnant the man had to cut everyone's nails for me, on the front stoop, in the dead of winter, to save me the time dry heaving incurs. He even keeps clippers on his keychain and cuts his claws at work so I don't have to hear him trying to saw through his unguis.

That's a new word for me. Unguis. Like it? Kind of gross, no?

Don't clean your nails in front of me either. It makes me nauseous. The kind of nauseous that only a burger from Five Guys can cure.

Fat, hairy men who walk around their neighbourhoods without their tops on is also seriously gross. Why don't the women who love these men tell them that as a group we got together thousands of years ago and voted that men are sexier with their clothes on?

Remember that? That was good day. I think that was the same day we decided that baseball hats and decent cologne should be mandatory.

The man has this one cologne that....... mm mm mm.

Picking scabs. This genetic mishap has been passed down from the man to my children and when I see it happening I begin to envision packing a bag and moving out. After a good old fashioned upchuck.

Popping zits on anyone but myself is just not going to happen. The man insisted I do it to him once when he had small mountain growing on his back. I refused and he didn't speak to me for a whole day.

This was unfair, I declare. I have my limits. He should recognize that. AmIright?

Dogs that eat their own poop. Honestly. No wonder they're called man's best friend.

This is pretty gross.


Watching people barf is gross too. Gross to the point that others feel the need to join in creating what we lovingly refer to as the 'barfarama'.

When I was kid we had a 15 seater van. It was Indian Red. I learned how to drive in that beast. We had a couple of foster kids and we went to visit my nana's house. There were 7 of us kids. As we were climbing in the van my brother decided it would be funny to spit on the window and smear it around which is just gross in and of itself. One of my beloved foster brothers barfed. And then the other one did. And one by one all the children took their place in the barfarama. My mum lost it. Who could blame her.

Poor woman.

My stomach is a tad unsettled. I'm pretty sure it was unsettled before I sat here today but now I'm not so sure..........

What do you think is grody to the max? Besides this post.......

stuff to do

This week has really been something. The man has taken the boys with him to work four times. When they are gone I feel as though there is nothing to do. I read. When they are here I want them gone because all I do is break up fights. I'm the bouncer.

Plus they're really loud. Vaulted houses are for people without kids. I have kids. It's loud in here.

I don't get paid enough for this job.

Moving on. I shot myself in the foot last week.

Not literally, although that really would have been something to talk about. Maybe I should go shoot myself in the foot, for real.

Seriously though, the man told me he thought he may be able to go with us on our next trip to Vernon (next week). The last time I went the weather sucked so bad I have decided to book a week off from my painfully busy summer schedule and go again. The man wants to come. The man needs to come. He really does. He is worn out.

Anyway, he gave me the "I have one job to do before we go. It will only take a couple of days and the then there will be a few days where I will be waiting for the next job so I think I should be able to come" speech.

That was last Friday. I was so worried he wouldn't get done in time I told him I would come and work with him if he thought it would help. I made it perfectly clear I wasn't coming to work my duff off and then have him not come with me. I would only help if it would guarantee his butt would fill a seat in my truck on our way to the beach.

Bang! (that was me shooting myself in the foot) Ouch!

He got all excited about this. He started thinking how fun it would be to work together again. Just like we did last summer on the reno. See, he and I share very different views on our working together last summer.

My view: I have left my children to do this horrific job that I hate more than life itself and I can't believe I agreed to this horrible awful reno and why is this so hard and why can't anything just be easy with this stupid hard reno and when will the nightmare end?

His view: Now this is the life. Working with my beautiful wife who makes me so happy with her cheerful demeanor. Since I have to work anyway because that's my job as the man, I may as well bring my amazing wife with me to keep me company all day since she's my favourite person in the whole wide world. Plus, she looks really hot when she's all sweaty and stuff.

Like I said, slightly different outlook on things.

Back to the present. Monday came along but so did my period.

"Is there a toilet out there because I'm going to need a toilet, if you know what I mean" says I.

"Nope. But there are lots of trees" says he.

"Then I can't go. Sorry. Take the boys" says I. And he took the boys.

Tuesday.

"You coming to work today?" Hint hint.

"Sorry. Still on my period and it's rough this month. Take the boys" says I. He took the boys.

Wednesday. Things seem to be under control but the man is still hinting that I should come to work. He thinks it would be fun.

"Look, I'm not coming to keep you company" says I.

"You said you would come" says he.

"Yeah, if you NEEDED me. I don't think you need me. You said you are almost done" says I. "Plus, I have stuff to do, you know."

Stuff to do: The Help came out in the movies and it was imperative that I see that. On Wednesday. Opening day.

Imperative.

Lately I have caught him reading my blog so hopefully he will recognize the importance of what I do all day and not begrudge me an afternoon at the movies. Disregard anything I said at the beginning of this post that may have alluded to the fact that him taking two of the children to work all week has left me nothing to do except read.

My life is hard. It's my burden. Never you mind.

Friday, today.

"Are you coming to work today, because I could actually use you today."

I believe him. But........

there is a showing today and I need to clean the house since it isn't that clean. I've been busy. I had stuff to do.

Take the boys.

He took the boys.

Where's my book? I mean......vacuum.

get outta here!

We are really bored around here. Not up to much. Except Amelia. She's pretty busy.



Today I found 101 of these 'home movies' on my computer.