Wooooo Girls

Two male colleagues, one who's known me well for years, and one who's worked with me for a few weeks recently started conversations with me the same way.

Exhibit A: "Take what you will from this question, but try not to get too excited...."
Exhibit B: "Try not to get too excited, but...."

Hmm. (to their credit, my almost immediate response was heeeeeeeeeeee! So they might have had a point.)

Someone else recently told me that my Facebook profile shot looks fantastic, and that "I'm one of the smiliest people" she knows. Really?

Is that how people see me? Flying off the handle with cheering at the happy life news of colleagues?

Should I be renting a hummer now?

Or is this all more irrefutable evidence of my long-held claim??

I shoulda been a cheerleader, man. It's my calling.

Dudes.

I'm exhausted.

In a way that's hard to explain, the depths of the exhaustion. So much so that today's parking ticket almost made me cry, right there on the sidewalk beside yet another unsuccessfully plugged meter. But hopefully, the teeth will come soon, and transit strike will end, Christmas will be celebrated, the First Ministers' Meeting will happen in January, they'll think I'm doing a good job at the new work, and we'll all sleep better for it.

And also? Just a few lessons from a recent Friday night out.

First: Late night shopping without kids IS as fun as you remember it was. Especially if you're with a girlfriend.

Second: While shopping wearing the pink sock monkey jammies your mom bought you at Target for the three-generations-in-sock-monkey-jammies photo op, it's much easier to feel sane if you don't look down.

and finally:

If you are a teenage member of the 'style squad' - St. Laurent Centre, I'm looking at you - and you're tempted to treat adults wearing sock monkey jammies like crap, please remember that there's a much greater chance that adults will write to your boss to complain about your behaviour. Just sayin'.

hypochondria, explained

The thing about fibromyalgia is that it's got weird, wildly variable, traveling symptoms. Such that one day, you're fine. Miss some sleep, get a head cold, and you can't figure out why your hip hurts so, or your pinky finger is completely numb.

Anxiety? check. Short attention span? yup. Light hurts your eyes and vision blurry? uh-huh. Grouchy tummy? oh, yeah.

And there are occasionally conversations like this:

"Yeah. The [Florida] Keys are pretty terrific. I think we were in Key Biscayne, (of course this was 30 years ago or so - so my info is HARDLY current) but some people had a car and we ended up going to...... oh..... dang. The word..... you know, those places where fishes are?"

Right. Those. places. where. fishes. are. (It's called fibrofog - and also, an aquarium)

Sure, there's stuff I can do: I eat bran every day. Every. Day. I avoid caffeine after 3 to try to sleep heavier. I try to stay active.

I keep my spell check on all the time.

I wear sunglasses and sit with my back to the window in meetings.

The best thing I can do? Figure out how to keep a thesaurus next to me at all times. Oh, and maybe move the baby out of our room.

It might be time.

More lessons in culture shock

Moving from the small office building of oh, somewhere in the hundreds in population to the office complex with somewhere close to twice the population of the town I grew up in is fun.

Really. It's fun. Especially for a people-watcher such as myself.

I've felt the need to create PSAs - for example, aimed at the lady last summer who was sporting the skirt that might have been from a few seasons back. It was apparently higher waisted than when she first bought it, and yet, the slit was in the same place it used to be, only, as you might imagine with the rise in waist, a corresponding, and truly, truly unfortunate rise in slit had happened. We could call that one "Madam, we can see your ass cheeks, or: Please consider boyshorts for the workplace"

Or for the lady with the unusual chunks of colour in her otherwise white hair "I'm not sure that you should let your berry-loving bird friend sit on your head while you watch scary movies"

But the PSA aimed at me? Well, it might be titled "there's a subtle but clear difference between the way ladies who are paid to organize and deliver things and ladies who are paid to be theoretical dress." Huh. Not quite as catchy as the last two. But probably an important one to watch. I mean, I wear boyshorts and don't let birds sit on my head, so I'm probably ok there. But it's a different aesthetic. Like cool boots but no lipgloss. Dresses but no eye shadow.

Sadly, almost a Daphne vs. Velma thing.

I'm doing my best to blend, but old habits die hard. Today, I used my wiles to bend my provincial colleague to my will and sign an MOU he had been stalling on.

Do you think he'll respect me tomorrow?

Mixed Grill

That's kinda how I've thought of this week.

Saying goodbye to S - the only thing she was ever, I think, super early for, and it was this.

Starting the new job Monday. Realizing that program people are extroverts, and policy folk introverts. For the first time in my public service career, working with a team where the boys outnumber the girls. We talk about bikes a lot. The kind you pedal, not the kind with engines.

Having the following conversation with the guy showing me around on my first day in my boss' absence: "If you bring your lunch, what I do is find one of the small boardrooms and lock the door. I'm not inviting you to join me - I don't want to eat with you in the least - I'm just telling you what I do." "As a model available for imitation?" "Exactly."

Experiencing the sudden and unexpected feeling of my heart singing a a little song of hope at the work I was doing yesterday.

Seeing some really great colleagues I haven't seen in a long, long time.

Getting hugs from those very same people.

Loving Phase 4 after being in the boonies for the past 5 years.

Experiencing the public transit commute again.....

Having a minute long conversation with Auntie Maiden on the phone today - "Hi, Katie" "Hi, Auntie Maiden" "I hear you have two beautiful children now." (to the tune of MlleL yelling mamamamamamamama from her time out - heh.) "uh, yeah. They're pretty great." "And you and Husband are doing really well" "Well, I guess so." "It's really nice to be talking to you" "Yes, you too." "24 years is too long." "Yes, it has been" (by the way, again, I was 14 when you ended our relationship - I hardly think I'm to blame for it being this long. Additionally, you could have answered my email if you had wanted to be in contact.) "It's been that long. 24 years. Well, I'll give you back to your mother now" (Hah. that's exactly what Mr. Maiden said almost every phone conversation we had.)

Running face first into Mr. Maiden's anniversary. Dad - it's been a year today, and I think of you and miss you every single day.

Eating pumpkin pie with MlleL tonight, because just as it has been for MasterP's labour, MlleL's birthday, MasterP's birthday, and Valentine's Day, it's Husband's night at classes again.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!

Beauty tips, Katie style.

Now.

You know I love me my spanx. Love, love, love. I wear them now to pretty much any event that requires a dress. They're fabulous, AND a slip. All in one.

What I didn't love about them was the waist. It left a line, and uh, well, rolled a bit. And required some tugging throughout the evening. So you could see it under dresses. Which was the antithesis of the whole point of them.

So for Husband's cousin's wedding two weeks ago, I invested in the higher power. The ones that go all the way to your bra strap. (In my case, I think if I pulled hard enough, the top strap.)

But here's the deal. The thing with Spanx is that while they make you look sexy with your clothes on, they're remarkably unsexy on their own. Particularly if your beloved sees you putting them on.

There's not much that will change that for you.

EVEN IF THEY'RE CROTCHLESS. Spanx, I'm looking at you here. For ease when nature calls, the package said. I don't know about you, gentle reader, but I really, really don't mind pulling down my undergarments to pee. Especially if my business is put away such that I can sit down without a constant gentle reminder of the lack of secure covering.

Who the hell thought that was a good idea????

no no no.

My cell phone rang as I was helping MlleL out in the washroom, actually, on Friday morning. As we came out of the hotel bathroom, Husband announced 'your phone rang'. Uh huh. I heard it too.

Strange.

I checked the voice mail, the one I'm not supposed to have since the changing of the plans, but there it is, still blinking away. It was a work colleague and friend still on mat leave. 'You need to call me as soon as you get this', she said.

So I did, going back into the bathroom for a bit of privacy - and a seat on the toilet lid in my jammies.

'Why are they calling me', I thought 'what could be so urgent in the office?' but no. That doesn't make sense. I'm leaving in a week - I'll have been in and out in 5 weeks - not nearly long enough to have acquired the kind of expertise on something that gets you called while you're on vacation. And why would a work colleague on leave be calling anyhow?

No. Something must be wrong. An accident. Someone dying. Maybe boss-lady.

Instead, the news was of S.

Beloved, beloved, beloved S, who's prayed for health ran out after ten short weeks of marriage. Tiny, angry, headstrong, brilliant, funny S, who had too much pain for 27 years.

MlleL told me on Sunday as we were grocery shopping that I should be happy and not sad because S is happy now that she can be with her baby (who lived for 5 days in January) and with God. It's hard to argue with that kind of logic.

But I wish we didn't keep having to have these conversations.

My bellybutton, exposed.

A friend asked me a while ago about my hobbies. I told her that a) I didn't have time for them and b) I don't really have any anyhow.

I was thinking in particular of my sad scrapbooking supplies after the plan of cheap and easy grandparent Christmas albums created three years ago during MlleL's infancy went so desperately awry. They were, in fact, neither of those options, and I haven't done anything since.

So I thought to myself, no, I don't really have hobbies.

A few nights ago, however, it occurred to me that I just wasn't thinking of the right hobbies. Because, in fact, I do have hobbies. Currently, I run and I write. Sometimes I do both at the same time, and then I trip for lack of attention to the first. And actually, there's a third.

It's hard to think of excersise as a hobby - particularly since a) I am not very fast, b) I cannot run for great distances, and c) I am, at best, sporadic in my achievements. Let's say once or twice a week. But really, I guess, that's a hobby.

And just because I don't post more frequently doesn't mean I'm not thinking about writing a lot more. Often, I'm worrying that I don't have the right voice - or that I'm not consistent with its use. I wonder if the nicknaming of my friends and loved ones is more annoying than good. I worry that my entries are not interesting enough - that the everyday minutia of working and momming and cooking aren't that interesting to the greater crowd. Or I worry about how to get more people interested. (Yes, it's about writing, but I'm goal oriented. It's numbers, baby. Numbers. Training dies hard.)

Sometimes I wonder about grammar, but then I reread to edit.

And then finally, I start to worry. I spend hours helplessly entertaining myself. I have a secret fear of Husband not coming home from errands. I worry for the kids. I think about you. Because, my dears, I really am Mr. Maiden all femmed up. I manage to restrain the general anxiety and worries for the future most of the time through careful inspection of the logical and statistical likelihood of occurance (no, crazy, it's extremley unlikely that Husband will be attacked in the bathroom of this backwoods gas station for being a brown fella - even if it IS in the middle of nowhere, and if he is, he does hold several black belts in various marial arts so he'll probably come out any second now), but when there's big change afoot, I'm a snappish, worrying looooonatic.

I'm sure it'll work out. It'll work out, right? They'll be nice there? There will be somewhere to make/get coffee? They'll think I'm doing a good job and that I'm smart enough? I'll get the commute worked out?

I mean, I guess I could always run. If I'm late, I could always write a note by means of explanation...

Dang it.

I just sent me spam of Michelle Obama naked. Ick. I mean, I'm sure she's a handsome woman. It's just that I'm not so into seeing first ladies naked. Or really, any ladies naked.

But I can't mark me as spam, right? Cause' then, what if I emailed me again with something important?

How would I know???

The ugly side of the 50s wife

A few years ago, I declared that if dinner was required shortly after I returned home from work, there would be nights I would need help. Specifically, I would like someone else to cook for me.

What I got instead was a crock pot. I say crock pot, because it's actually a Rival, the original maker of the slow cooker. It wasn't just any crock pot, it was a smart pot. And it was even slightly programmable, in that I could select the temperature (high or low) for a specified period of time, after which it was to turn to a warm setting.

I had such hopes for her, my tidy little oval wifey cooking me my dinner. So pleased to think of her watching over my tasty stews while I thought about you know, budgets and stuff. Welcoming me home with open arms and the scent of my dinner bubbling happily away.

As it turned out, Husband did not like her cooking. MlleL did not like her cooking. (and secretly, I did not either, but I made all of us eat it anyhow.) Husband complained that it was dry, and tried to talk me out of future dates. I refused to consider that meat that had been stewing all day in its own juices lovingly cared for by wifey could be dry. How could it????

Well, it was, and it has been for the whole time, really.

And tonight? Tonight was the last straw, my dear. I'm tired of you not listening and burning my food. Your lack of communication confuses me. How could it have gone so wrong? You're on your way out. Oh, yes. That's right. After what you did to my pot roast, cooked for only four hours from FROZEN, I went on-line to read about your escapades.

It seems you've been burning everyone's dinner. And not in a cute, 'caution, hot dish' way either. In a horrible, dry, grey, hard to chew, not even homemade gravy makes it that much better fashion.

Dude. I'm getting a divorce. And I'm looking for a mistress.

Conversation with a three-year-old

"So." She said, climbing up on the breakfast bar stools, "how were you at work today?"

The grateful file...

So Monday, Husband finished assembling the anniversary/Christmas treadmill. And I was very grateful, and promptly ran 4 miles. Awesome. No commute. Sweet. Janey, please note that I am slowly building the distance. Preparing for next year....

Also, I was able to watch the Saturday night live prime time special and catch up on all the Tina Fey I'd missed at the same time. Brilliant.

Sadly, to be able to hear the tv over my pounding feet, I had to turn it up so far that I could no longer hear the baby monitor, but as it happened, I was fine. He didn't need me until 2 AM, when the puking began.

And so Tuesday, I spent the day being grateful for last year's anniversary present, which some of you may recall was the large capacity front loading washer and dryer. With sanitization cycle.

Ah, romance.

Thanks..... I think

Last time I came back to work after MlleL, I had the following conversation:

"You know, you're doing pretty good after the baby. I mean, some women, after they have kids, they turn into a f***ing nightmare, you know what I mean?"

"Um yes. Thanks. I mean, I should get a t-shirt with that on it, right? Katie Valentine, no f***ing nightmare!"

This time, it was boss lady:

"You know, I really do have to say again that you look in amazing shape. I mean, a lot of times, after women have babies, you know (gesticulating widely at her hips) but not you!"

"WOW. I mean, thanks. Well, I really can't afford all new work clothes, so it was pretty much my only choice"

More conundrums

ok. So second:

The chiropractor. Some may know of him; I refer others to him frequently with the same description "I have this really good, super hot and flirty chiropractor. You should go."

In fact, dear reader, YOU should go.

The return to work last week made me notice a general stiffness, and I figured it was high time for a tune up. So on Friday, off I went, only to find that the SHC was out of the office. In his place was the older owner of the practice. Well, fine, I thought. Can't hurt, I guess....

He used a massage thumpy thing. (That made me laugh really hard.) And then, after I had regained a little dignity? An actual neck massage with massage oil.

So the choice is: Super Hot or Massage??

Oh Dear.

So I have a few conundrums to solve.

First. Truth telling.

Mrs. Maiden's Mum is from the Ottawa area. She, in fact, was most likely born in a little house in Westboro. Grandma's best friend is thus from around the area too. In fact, she lives in Kingston, and because we have met, and she is kind and a good friend of the family, I have included her on the family Valentine Christmas card list. And she would occasionally call and we would catch up and promise a visit. Which never happened.

When MasterP was quite young, I'll bet several months old, Mrs. M called. That was not unusual. The problem was is that she explained how much she was missing her good friends, my grandparents. Oh, I said. Yes. I understand perfectly. I do. I miss them too, really.

How are they? she asked, point blank. Well, I said, (stalling for time, and shocked, because truthfully, Grandma died in 1990, and my grandfather in 2004 - the summer I was pregnant with MlleL.) Uh, well, I said, deciding in that instant that it really couldn't hurt to let her keep them alive in her memory, they're doing fine. Oh? she said, Where are they now; I seem to have lost their address? In Quebec, still, I said. Doing very well. Do you have their number handy, she asked? Oh, I said, well, it's just that with the baby and all I don't really know where my address book is at the moment......

That's ok, dear, she said, I'll call back.

But she didn't. And I felt awful. I mean. How do you tell someone their best friend died almost 20 years ago? Even worse, how do you chicken out and tell her that they're alive and well and still living in their retirement home in Quebec???

As it happens, telling the truth as an option goes something like this. Several nights ago, she called again, this time, asking for Lil. I asked who was calling, as I had a feeling I knew. A friend of hers, she explained, Lil was going to pick me up in the morning for a meeting and I needed to cancel because I think I'm coming down with a cold.

I explained who I was several times, and she was understandably confused. But why do I have Lil written down here? And who are Mr. and Mrs. Maiden? Those are my parents. I'm so sorry to tell you, my dear, that Lil died some time ago. Oh, she said, was it fast? I'm sorry, but no it wasn't, really.

Oh......

That didn't feel any better. Next time, I think I am just going to promise to pass the message on. Next time, I think I might just pretend to be Lil. We resemble each other very much, she and I - could it be that bad???

I'm baaaaack....

Sigh.

Yep - I am. Back in the office.

Asking myself: What on earth is my password???? Where does this come out of a printer? No. Seriously. Where does this print?? Why don't the printers have the same numbers as the choices offered to me in my menu?

How do you work a Blackberry again? Thumbs? Do you remember? (Turns out yes. THANKS, thumbs!)

Dude.

MasterP is good. He's doing great, in fact. No tears. Never any tears at drop off (from him). Now, if only the transition went as smoothly for all of the family members Valentine.

Wait for it....

This morning, as I drove through the Glebe, a lady in front of me, tired of waiting for a clearing in traffic to make a left hand turn (which, by the way, was approaching in like, 5 cars), simply drove directly through the oncoming cars. Which, upon seeing her rapid advance, slowed to allow her to pass.

I was amazed at her audacity. And, as it happened, we ended up next to each other at a stoplight. She was an older lady - in her 50s, I'd guess, but well kept.

As we waited for the light to turn, she loosened her hair from its pinning, and shook it out; it splayed out rather erratically, but I think she liked what she saw as she admired herself in her rearview mirror, because she pursed her mouth and blew herself a kiss.

And there she was. Right next to me.

Snaggle haired and crazy faced.

last time

Coming back from a meeting yesterday morning, I realized I had run my last run with the strollercize moms. I felt that regret that I always do upon realizing that the last time has already past without me noticing. I should have paid better attention while it was happening, but I thought that there would be more time. I always think there will be more time than there is.

And so I went anyhow. Knowing that I would catch them at the end of the run before the ab workout. I stood by the car in my suit, watching my friends come up the hill - and it was like I was waving goodbye from a moving train - pulling away, the gap widening, widening...

Too fast

I clicked them in this morning, into their carseats, and gave them a kiss each. I closed their doors and stood, tears falling helplessly. "Poor wifey," Husband said, "call me as much as you need me."

It was the first morning of day care for MasterP. And I do not want this. I am not ready.

But time marches on, and although I begrudge every day, I can not stop it. So this morning, I wore sunglasses so that the tears wouldn't show, and next week, I will put on a suit, blow my hair out, paint a smile on my face, and drive myself to work.

I know that this too shall pass, and that soon enough, I will be relatively enthusiastic about my files and my work and my colleagues. But right now, all I can see this this. The end to our year.

Shameless self promotion

I see you have a minor in Journalism, he said to me yesterday, do you consider yourself to be a good writer?

Well, I said, That was some time ago (like 1993), but I do like to think that I am a strong writer....

Do you write outside of work, he asked?

Actually, I said, I do. I have a blog' that I keep.

Do you have a lot of visits, she asked?

Well, I said, it's rather new. Not a lot of people know about it, but I do have some folk who aren't my direct friends and family who sometimes read....... (right?) And I think that must be a measure of success. (right?)

Hmm, they nodded.

Apparently, this had been the right thing to say.

But it brings me to a second thought. I must learn the art of shameless self promotion.

Program, I can promote you. Not-so-secret life? Sorry about that. We need a comms plan.

Something more than Facebook....

Shout outs

There is something very intimate about the relationship one has with workout partners. In a lot of ways, more so than other friendships.

It's the physical knowledge of the other, I think, their strengths and weaknesses, their potential and their limitations, their hatred of the hill, their secret love of the speed song in step class, and what makes them sound like the END IS NEAR (nb - please see previous item in list). There is an amazing trust in that partnership - of reliance, inspiration, and endurance.

So to my girls, Janey, Miss K, and Wondermom.

Thanks, you guys.

You rock.

How marketing works

Said to me last night as we were hanging out on the couch between bedtimes:

"I wish that man could come and help you clean the house."

"What man? Mr. Clean?"

"uh huh. I wish he could come and clean the house."

"Me toooooooooo!"

Week's roundup...

Wow. Another week gone. Seems faster and faster.

MasterP and I have another week and a half, and then he is in daycare for four half days, and then I'm back to work.

He's 11 months old today. Yesterday, he took a step on his own. He fell right away, but it's beginning! First step! Woooo!

And, of course, there was JT and Janey's birthday party on Saturday night. First, I must start with the fact that I went feeling ok about myself. I had dug out some prebaby jeans that were fitting, and a trendier shirt, a normal bra (HAH!), my 'pakey' coach bag and my new metalic ballet flats and was thinking I was doing a reasonable job of having ok bar clothes for a mother of two who's been married for nearly 8 years. I was even practicing flirting on the drive in. That's not hot, but a girl should be prepared, you know.

Sadly, I realized several things as I entered the bar: first, while I think that 8:30 is a perfect time to start drinking, apparently, it's not so cool to start before 10. Or, at least, the bar doesn't open before 10. (Luckily for me, my one drink can still be had.) As well, in the time I've been away from the scene doing things like working, having babies and stuff, bar clothes have certainly changed a bit. As I mentioned to another party goer, I'm very happy I'm no longer single. I don't think I can afford that many strapless bras. Finally? While the clothes have gotten fancier, the bathrooms are still just as grotty as they always were.

That being said, there were some definite highlights for me:

1. Seeing the folk I work/ed with and being reminded that really, they're a pretty fun gang.
2. Seeing Miss Emm and her fascinator. Dude! Way to bring it!
3. My somewhat successful forays into the world of flirting. Happily, only one conversation turned awkward such that it required the 'getting a drink' lie.
4. JT's finally calling me 'bella' too. Yay!
5. The random gentleman blocking my exit from the parking garage, who, as he wandered past me with his gang of friends, told me 'Look nice tonight!' despite my stink eye and the two car seats. Seriously, thanks. You're pretty awesome too!
6. And my favorite - Madalone, B and myself very seriously discussing what to drink. Which ended with Madalone ordering shooters and the phrase "I dunno. Six??"

Heartbreak at the Casa Valentine

So sad.

Husband's friend J has been a regular visitor at the Casa Valentine for a while now. J has been a single guy, and a giant fan of motorcycles, so the guys have been spending the occasional evening fixing stuff up after a communal dinner.

Now. J's a really good guy. He's funny, kind, loyal, helpful, and smells great. He's not quite my style, but for MlleL, he's hung the moon. He was, in fact, her special guy. She loved his visits, and lavished him with three-year-old affection each time he came, sitting next to him at dinner, sitting on him while he checked out the computer (J is also Husband's LAN guy from work), teasing him and bugging him all evening. He came to her birthday party, and calls her sweetheart.

Until last night.

Last night, J brought his special lady over, and everything was changed for MlleL.

As I tucked her into bed last night, we had this conversation:

"I'm sad."

"I know, baby. I'm sorry."

"Do you think she plays games?"

"Well, yeah, honey, I think she plays grown-up games."

"Does she have lots of toys?"

"Well, sweetheart, I guess she does."

"Grown-up ones?"

"Probably. She's a mama too. Her little girls aren't little anymore."

"They're big kids too?"

"Yeah, but you know, J still loves you."

"......"

I mean, how do you explain what she has that I don't to a three-year-old?

Further conversations with Mrs. Maiden

When I received this fabulous creme from Mindy, and tried it out on my upper arms to see if it would help with the kp I've had all my life (hey Mindy? so far so good!!):

"Now I guess we'll see how MasterP likes it."


When I told her of achieving my summer goal early:

"Watch out for your knees."


When I told her the amusing story of Mr. Valentine (senior) arriving at our house Sunday night to babysit while Husband took me out for my surprise birthday dinner date (!!) and announcing that Husband's cousin R "might get married next month!" (more on this later)

"Just send a big gift. You shouldn't go. I never went to Uncle F's kids' weddings - Husband isn't that close to them, right?"

The Beer Fairy had kids? I don't think it's quite the same, Mom. I mean, Husband has two first cousins here in North America. They're important to him. The first time we'd met the Beer Fairy was at Mindy's wedding five years ago.

"I'm just supporting you."

Thanks, Mom.

Peeves - a cautionary tale

I have a peeve that makes me crazy. Makes me just about lose rational thought.

It's when I come back to my car in a parking lot and find that the person who parked in the spot next to me after I've left my car has left me a foot of clearance between my car and their unfailing SUV or minivan.

I've been known to leave nasty, sarcastic notes thanking the driver for their thoughtfulness. It's not big of me, I know. But it's better than keying their car, which I have also considered as I try to contort my body and that of MasterP to fit us into our respective seats.

But I have a new example of what not to do: yesterday, I saw someone take the lower road. Clearly, rational thought had been lost in the face of their greatest peeve.

A car was signalling a right turn from a stoplight, and, as the driver didn't accelerate in a speedy manner, the car in front of me took the opportunity to zip left in front of it. The right turning car was required to brake to avoid collision.

What happened next was nothing short of, well, mortifying for the wife who was trapped in the car with her beloved. Her beloved honked at the car in front of him. And continued to honk, never removing his hand from the horn as he tailgated the offender for 5 or 6 blocks until the offender turned off the road we were all on. Every driver stared. People walking on the sidewalk stopped to watch. Not be outdone, the offender beeped his horn and waved at her beloved as they drove away.

The last we saw of the beloved as he drove away was his middle finger, waving out the window. An over-reaction? Maybe. I mean, probably, yes. But just how long had this been building up?

Awkward

Conversation had at the reception after the funeral:

"You're the one who speaks Polish, right?"
"Me? no. I don't speak Polish."
"Well, what languages do you speak?"
"Uh, well, English, I guess, and you know, bureaucratic French, for the most part...."
"Yeah, that's what happens. My kids only speak English as well.... You were born here?"
"Uh, yeah. In Canada, you mean? Yes. I was born in Canada."
"They were born here too. Lost their language as well..."

Well, I suppose, had I ever found Polish, it'd have been a damn shame for me to have lost it.....

Does this shorter hair make me look Eastern European?

Hey, Republicans?

First: It's not a war unless there was an act of war signed by both houses. (here's a hint - there hasn't been one for quite some time { June 5, 1941 - the US declared war on Bulgaria, Hungary and Romania in WWII.}) It's a policing action, 'military engagement', or an invasion of a sovereign nation based on lies, suspicion, and oil. Your pick.

Second: What's the deal with wearing things at a convention (or other special events, cheese heads, I'm thinking of you) that you might otherwise never wear? It's easy to imagine getting swept away in the moment, but come on. How cool did you think the elephant's ass hat would look?

What to say, what to say?

Disjointed is the word of the week, my friends...

I've been thinking of working some occurrences into a story, but I can't think of how to do it. Thus, the gap. And the fragmented entry.

The Casa Valentine has had our three bad pieces of news over the past few days, so we're dealing with the outcomes of that. Direct members of the family Valentine are fine. It's my estranged cousin, found after a number of days in his apartment in Denver, my sister-in-law's ex-husband's new wife and their twin babies (not yet born) (got that? P and P have one of the best ex relationships I've ever seen/heard of - mostly due to their shared custody of son A), and the most difficult for us - Husband's beloved 'uncle'.

Instead of sad details of the above, I thought I might detail for you some weird things people say to me about my kids. And what I struggle to say in response:

1. At Toys-r-us, said by a friend of Grandmother Valentine: "He's all Filipino, and she's white!" (really? You say something like that? And really????)

2. At my beloved chiropractor's office: "I love their ears. Are you going to get those fixed?" (Well, they come by them quite honestly. MlleL's bobo ear is the family Valentine. What? I'm not pointing fingers, and MasterP's are quite clearly thanks to Mr. Maiden. But we don't talk about them, a) because they're not an issue for us, and b) because I don't really want them to be aware before they need to be.)

and finally, in explanation of what yesterday's meeting with Boss Lady was like:

3. An uncomfortable try at humour, said to the beautiful east-African S: "S! I think he has your eyes!"
(uh...... !!!!!!)

Saturday Night

We went to a wedding. That of my dear friend S. and her very handsome new husband.

We had the kids all planned out - they were to stay at friends' for the ceremony, and, as the church is close to the Casa Valentine, we were going to RACE to the friends' house, pick the kids up, whirl out to Kanata, where I would nurse MasterP and they would stay with Husband's brother and his family for the remainder of the night while Husband and I would return to the Chateau for the par-tay.

Oh man. We went to the beautiful ceremony, in that church we're knowing better and better. It was lovely. Lovely, lovely, lovely. As I said to her, she looked just like a doll - perfection.

After returning to Friends' house and finding MasterP clutching the back of Friend's knees and wailing while she was calmly mixing some cereal (note: this is why we chose the well experienced mums. As I pointed out to Husband - if things don't go well, we need someone unafraid of the crying.) we were not expecting miracles.

But we persevered. We partayed. Deeeelicious food. Scrumptious desserts were had. And then? Calypso music to dance to. And between you and I? Shh. Lean closer. (Super FOINE gentlemen to watch. Whew! Very, very handsome. You sir, with the dreads and the Van dyke. Yeah, I'm talking about you. And you? Angry fella by the corner of the dance floor with the tux shirt on? Goodness. That's like to hurt a girl. And last, but not least, well-built Asian guy in a blue shirt... hey, wait a sec!! Hi, honey!!)

We teared up at the speeches (not all of which were entirely coherent - the best kind!) and prayed fervently with the family that this be the beginning of a long, long life together full of blessings, health and happiness. Please, God.

And the kids?

When we got there, they were both out cold. MasterP in his stroller and MlleL on the floor in a pile of blankets with her big cousin Jman. We carried them to the car and strapped them in and they never woke up. We drove them home and carried them upstairs and put them in their beds and they never woke up. MasterP's first wake up was 5AM, and he went back to sleep until 7:30. MlleL followed at 7, in time to see the balloons fly over the house from the Festival.

Awesome, Awesome, Awesome.

Can we do it again next weekend?

Breakfast Conversations, or, what it's like to be more brown than me.

"You're not supposed to touch other people's blood, right?"

"Gah! No. That's important. You don't touch other people's blood"

"No. It's important. Like the airport is important! [what?] You don't touch other people's blood. You wipe it off. And maybe then you get a band-aid to put on it. And then, when it's all healed, it's gone! And you take off the band-aid, and then you have a tan line."

Chapters Bargain Books

Hee.

So I just bought Trinny and Susannah, The Survival Guide A Woman's Secret Weapon for Getting Through the Year

I kinda love it. I'm working through it bit by bit. So far? My two favorite pieces of advice that I plan to implement IMMEDIATELY!

1. (about making time and money for pursuing your dreams) "Maybe you go to numerous exercise classes. Ask yourself how fit you really need to be."

Well, exactly. I mean. When you have available to you the magic of Spanx, why would you ever go to the gym? Oh, well, yeah, I guess. Heart disease and the needing to remain in one's trousers. Picky.

2. (and kinda my favorite) "Once a month, wash your engagement ring gently with an old toothbrush and fairy liquid. You will get lots of compliments."

Dude! Compliments!! I'm totally doing this. I already have a ring, and an old toothbrush. Now I just need to find a fairy willing to give me some liquid. Hope it's not too sticky....

9:49 PM, Aug. 26

Walkley Goodlife.

The left hand rocks the cradle. The right hand runs 10K.

I had set 4 miles as my goal last night; MasterP had slept through bootcamp, and Husband offered to put MlleL to bed to allow me to get to the gym all by myself. Four miles would have been the most run yet, but then, as I approached that, I still felt great. And then, I was timing out on the treadmill (cause' it'll only let you go for 60 minutes, and my dears, Katie is not one with the wind unless she has to catch the train.) but still, could breath. Legs felt good. Kept running. Retimed the treadmill.

HIT 10K. That little promise I made to myself with the right handed wedding band.

Things I said yes to last night:

1. $10 parking
2. Do you have a snack?
3. The dinosaur ride and the firetruck ride and the Raiders of the Lost Ark ride
4. Should we buy more tickets?
5. The VW bug ride and the elephant ride and the airplane ride
6. The bumper cars
7. $5 for a Batman balloon 'prize'
8. Pogo and fries for dinner
9. Giant lollipop for dessert
10. Do the carnies seem a higher class to you this year?
11. Did you see the no smoking signs?
12. A ride on my shoulders back to the car

and finally:

13. Wasn't this best Ex yet?

What a day.

Last night, MasterP did not wake for milk. Instead, I woke at 3:30, and couldn't get back to sleep. (n.b. - I do think that this is terribly, terribly unfair.) I had had this amazing but concerning dream - this doula/babysitter had come to see us, and announced that she only had a two week period to get MasterP sleeping through the night, which apparently was being done by feeding me huge amounts of fabulous hippy food. Starting with a big, big bowl of seaweed salad.

Yum. (no seriously, it was just like the one you get at sushi restaurants. mmmmmmmm)

But seaweed? THAT'S what my subconscious would like me to be eating?

Well, ok, I guess, if it'll help MasterP sleep, I'm in!!

In other news? I really do have the gravitational pull of a black hole. Just ask the second person in as many months to drive into me. I was actually driving this time, on a road as opposed to a parking lot, in my rental car, as my car is currently still in the shop from where the first person drove into me. Again, gentle readers, do not fear. I am fine, and MasterP (as last time) did not even wake up.

But seriously. What is the universe trying to teach me here?

Lessons Learned

Number 152:

If you taunt Jules while running backwards, she will come up the hill after you, and push you. She can also yell really, really loud. It's probably better just to run when she tells you to.

Thanks, but umm....

My sister, when packing to come to North America, couldn't find the PIN for her visa. Apparently, in Europe, you can't buy anything without that PIN. They require it for any purchase. Anyhow. She searched high, low, and in-between, but to no avail.

Finally, she tried Mrs. Maiden's tactic, and asked Himself to help her. The response she heard was something telling her to 'clean her house.' Each time she said 'But I am busy looking for something!' the response was 'keep cleaning your house.' Hee. There it was on the centre of her coffee table.

But that's so Himself. Helpful beyond the end - clean your house indeed.

But listen, Dad? If that's you that's recently signed me up for all of the CNN and MSNBC email alerts, thanks, but, umm.....

I kinda like being out of the loop, ok?

My Summer Vacation

I'm back. As you know, I've spent the last week in the land of dial up. Also, Mrs. Maiden does not know about the blog. Both of which make for awkward posting.

First, the basics: We got there Saturday night, and left on Sunday morning a week later. The kids had a great time; MasterP, while not a great napper, didn't do too badly at night. Thankfully, we remembered the night lights and sound machine, as we discovered on our last trip that the remote village Mrs. Maiden lives in is both TOO DARK and TOO QUIET to sleep.

Berries were picked, beach time had (both at rocky beach and sandy beach), and campfires complete with s'mores were enjoyed. Auntie and Uncles adored. My Auntie could not come, as her doctor refused her request to drive the 18 hour trip on her own at 73.

Husband, Bigbrother and brother in law worked like dogs each day cutting down dead trees and pushing the bush back from where it had spent the past 3 years encroaching on the yard.

Addresses were not made. It was a little as if Marie Antoinette planned the memorial - except that there was pie and cookies instead of cake. But about 20 people came, and raised a glass, a fork, and some flags to Himself. And as MlleL said at the event, "He's the only grampa I miss, Mama." And also, while jumping on the bed and discussing things with our next door neighbor "I wish Grampa could come back from God." Reasonable sentiments, both.

But it was the discussion on the eve of the memorial that brought the most reflection for me on the way home. During planning what would happen the next day (which didn't), we discussed the house, and what would happen to it, in the vaguest of fashions. Would we come up? was asked of the three of us and our spouses.

Uh, we guess, was the answer. Shrugs and nods occurred. Mrs. Maiden expressed her fantasy where this would be the place we came to, piling in and taking the boats out for a paddle. Despite the probable reality that the week we return each year would be spent much the same way as it was this time - with the guys working like dogs to keep up the property and the wimmins entertaining kids and cooking, she wanted us so badly to say that this was where we considered our home to be.

But where is your home town? I had a professor say that it was where you graduated from High School. In which case then, South Haven is my home town. It's where I graduated (the first time). It's a nice place to visit. It's beautiful, but there's nothing. I really don't even know many folk I went to high school with - with the exception of High School Best Friend of the same name as me Katie B. (Now Katie H., but she'll always be Katie B. to me.)

Is it through length of connection to a place, or is it your future there? (But, Mrs. Maiden said, we've been coming here for 25 years!) Is it where you've finally decided to make your home as an adult? Where you've bought your house and had your kids?

Is it where you have the most emotional contacts made? Husband and I killed ourselves to get to the annual Beef Barbecue - a homecoming for the village and it's disparate children. We drove 13 hours (had to keep stopping to let the kids out of the car.) We got there after the dinner, and before the dance really got going. We walked up to the town hall, conveniently located at the end of the driveway, and into the dance hall, ready to say hello and let the kids run a bit before bedtime.

What we got was open mouthed stares. Not welcoming smiles, not waves, not even a hello.

Now. It's possible that they were in awe of our intelligence and good looks, but I'm not convinced. It's not like they wouldn't know who we are, for goodness' sake, there's not even 20 people who live in the village full-time. We've been coming there for 25 years, after all. Shouldn't be a mystery.

What had just happened was the only brown person at the event had just walked in. The Island is populated by Scotch descendants and Ojibwa. While they blend a bit more down island, up at the west end, they don't so much.

Is this my home town? I wouldn't say as much. I'm happy that Mrs. Maiden has a place that she feels so emotionally tied to, but me?

I had a nice time, and a good visit. Wasn't long enough with Bigbrother or Littlesister and her delicious husband. (Four days in three years isn't enough, Auntie M. - we are discussing a trip farther East in the next couple of years... stay posted.)

While all of those things are true, I'm glad to be home.

Ok, but how's your form?

Mums and Babies' Boot camp. Yesterday afternoon at the Arboretum.

Jules spanked my butt and sent me home sweaty and hurting. Awesome!

The most motivating part?

My three-year-old, in her pink, sparkly mary-jane crocs, saying 'Mama, I'm doing it faster than you!"

Speaking Notes Needed.

On Saturday, we Valentines will be leaving for Mrs. Maiden's house in Points North - roughly a 9-10 hour drive, depending on how the kids do. We're heading up for our customary first week of August at the Maidens', only this time, it will also include Mr. Maiden's memorial.

Which is being held this much later than his actual death because he wanted us to be able to plan ahead and get the cheapest airfare.

Bigbother and Littlesister and Brotherinlaw are coming in as well (from Arizona and Ireland respectively) - so it will be a full house of Maidens. The last time we were all together was at Bigbrother's second wedding when MlleL was 9 months old - the same age MasterP is now.

So that will be good. Sad, but good.

I have to think of what to say - if there is going to be addresses made, I guess I'll have to make one. (true to Mrs. Maiden form, all details have been left to be ironed out once we arrive. The date is what we know so far.)

Here's the thing, though. Mr. Maiden's little sister is driving up from Ohio for the event, and as she has indicated in email to Mrs. Maiden, will stay a few days to 'talk'. I do not know what to say.

When Grandma Maiden died, I was in grade 10, so I must have been about 14. Grandma Maiden made Mr. Maiden's siblings the executors, but left a lot of the detail out of the will. In addition, it seems she had promised the same pieces of furniture and belongings to several different people over the years. Which made for some conflict. Quite a bit of conflict, actually, in the days leading up to the funeral. Agreements were made for us all to return to the house they grew up in one last time after the funeral for final discussions before returning home.

When we returned to the house, again, right. after. the. funeral, the locks had been changed. Now. I'm sure you expect me to say that the funeral was the last time I saw Aunt Maiden, but that is not the case. After heading down to the centre of small town Ohio and retaining his high-school-now-lawyer buddy, Mr. Maiden headed north on the interstate. Which is where, as fate would have it, we overtook Aunt M in her grey minivan with my cousin riding shotgun (her niece from Uncle Maiden). THAT was the last time I saw both of them. Any of them.

So. Miss Maiden actually called Mr. Maiden a few years back, and they were talking and emailing, and they (Uncle and Aunt Maiden) came for a very short visit as well. In fact, when we were in Arizona at the hospital, Uncle Maiden called to say goodbye. So there had been a rapprochement.

So she's coming. Bigbrother must have found some zen in the Navy, cause' he's the guy who sees good in everyone. I'm not sure he's got beef with anyone. I can't remember him talking smack about anyone; ok, I can think of one instance, but when your wife leaves you for your friend, I think smack is the least of what one should be talking.

So he'll be his usual self - which means, he'll be a talking, talking, talking fiend. (seriously. Think I'm a talker? I'm the quietest in the family. By far. Confirmed by Mrs. Maiden this past week.)

Littlesister is pretty much going to follow suit. Don't get me wrong, that girl will talk smack. (But you'll love it). Overall, though, she's not a holder of grudges. I am the grudge holder.

I do not know what to say to the adult in my life who chose stuff over a relationship with me. The grownup part of me acknowledges that 22 years of life lost is enough punishment, but the 14-year-old still wants to do what I wanted to do at the moment we passed that minivan.

That time, Bigbrother and Littlesister sat on my hands so I couldn't flip her off.

This time, I think I'm on my own.

how many degrees is that?

When you move to Ottawa, they will tell you that it is a small town masquerading as a capital. Here's my story:

Last night, I had the fabulous pleasure of attending a work colleague's wedding, at the Blessed Sacrament and the Chateau Laurier. SO fabulous. SO beautiful. Amazing time had.

The bride, C. worked in the same division as me, but not in the same unit. Soon after her engagement, we were talking around the lunch table about wedding planning when she looked at me and said, "I think you know my fiance." "Really?" I said. "Yeah," she said. "When I mentioned you, he said you mean Katie Valentine and showed me a picture he had of you." So then he really must know me. Interesting. But HOW?

Turns out, Mrs. Valentine is the groom's godmother - the groom is the son of close friends of the family. Friends we know well. This relationship - that of Husband to groom, J, is referred to in our house as 'God-brother'.

God-brothers, here, are roughly equivalent to cousins. They're definitely extended family. So I was really excited to have C. joining part of the extended family. Everyone needs more cousins - that's how I look at it.

So I was invited as one of the younger Mrs.' Valentine, but with the additional connection of having known C. from work.

As I was sitting enjoying a wonderful dinner, (thinking up and singing all of the bad love songs Husband and I could use to make C. and J. kiss - umm, Tainted Love! Silly Love Songs! (or whatever the title of that is) Bad Medicine!) I was watching an older very well dressed couple singing - a couple I had been watching throughout the ceremony and the evening trying to figure out why the gentleman particularly, with his white hair and wide, happy smile looked so familiar and familial. Discreet inquiry of the groom's mother led me to this conclusion:

I was looking at C.'s Uncle A., who just happened also to be my mother's beloved god-brother. With whom, after the war, my grandparents lived before their first house was built in the Westboro area and when Mrs. Maiden was a toddler.

yaaaawn.

I've got no funny things to say today.

Instead, I will offer a description of last night for your enjoyment. (or not.)

7:30 PM - After very successful dinner out due to Husband's absence on another motorcycle buying mission, I put a very, very sleepy MasterP down for the night.

10:30 PM - MasterP has woken himself up by trying to crawl into the corner of the crib. I'm able to reposition him in sleeping mode, and he goes back to sleep.

11:30 PM - repeat above.

1:30 AM - Having done the same, MasterP is angry because I have taken longer to get to him. (Probably because I was dead asleep.)

1:40 AM - MasterP will not succumb to my back rubbing and lullaby singing.

1:50 AM - He is still very tired, but still no sleep, and yells when I try to leave him to return to my own bed. I give in and nurse him (he is not hungry, but maybe I can sleep soon?)

2:00 AM - MasterP is back in bed and so am I.

3:30 AM - MasterP awakens again. I am able to reposition him and return to bed quickly.

3:34 AM - Husband comes to bed having returned from mission, installed new cycle in basement (so very recently vacated by the First Wife), and settled down from 12+ hour drive and countless, countless coffees.

4:30 AM - MasterP awakens. Yeah, doing what you think he might have been. At the end of my patience, I pat him, and sing to him, and kiss him, and return to bed despite the protest screaming. (It must be explained here, that as mentioned previously, MasterP shares our bedroom.)

4:35 AM - still screaming. Only now that he is a little more mobile, he is standing on his knees to watch us while he screams. I advise unmoving but clearly awake Husband that he should probably go sleep on the couch. Husband continues inactivity.

4:45 AM - more of same, but I think MasterP is tiring.

5:00 AM - Husband gives up and carries screaming boy downstairs to watch 'In the Night Garden' and sleep together on the couch.

7:10 AM - MlleL appears at the bedside to say "Mama - time to get up."

Blessedly, Mrs. Maiden is still in town, and entertained MasterP so that I could get a few more hours of sleep this morning.

Today, I bought chamomile (for him) and lowered the mattress in the crib (for all of us).

A new king is born...

Or at least, that's what it looked like to me, from up at the altar, as MasterP was thrown in the air at arm's length by Father Joe.

MasterP loved it and Father Joe. Kept feeling the gold brocade of his robe. Splashed his hands in holy water at Father Joe's urging. Heeee. Awesome.

Needless to say, we're exhausted. Mrs. Maiden is here, and she's exhausted too.

I'm going to take a nap. And then I'm going to try to make strollercise. No promises......

Still kicking!

So Monday morning, at the urging of an old Hill friend, I went to Strollercise for the first time. I don't know why I felt too shy to do so before, but I was. What? I am a shy person. I just warm up fast.

We (me and the gazelles I was trying to keep up with) ran 5k of intervals with the babes - 10, 20, and 30 seconds, which, after my time in the gym, I thought doable. (we got to the usual turnaround spot, everyone slowed, and she yelled "that's ok - we're making excellent time! Keep going!!") Doable it was, but nearly killed me. And then? The core work on the lawn of the medical building. Not so doable, but didn't quite kill me. Nice try, Jules.

Tuesday? Woke with difficulty sitting up due to soreness. Would like to revise last comment to Great work, Jules!!

Today: Hair appointment all set to go for the morning - caregiver for MasterP and gift card for the spa at the ready, when we woke to continuation of MasterP's tooth fever. And so? Back to strollercise. And I think, think, think, it might have been easier today.

And also? I'm thinking about her bootcamp.

Lessons learned this weekend

1) When your Caribbean friend invites you to her wedding shower and says "well, 3ish. We're not so organized on start times" believe her. Don't get the kids up from their nap to be there only one hour late. People won't even have had time to change yet.

2) If you insist on arriving that early, it's handy to bring folks you know, even if they're only 3. Along the same line, it's also handy to have snacks for those folks.

3) Don't look at someone like you know them. (Seriously. I got to see someone dressed down for doing just that. It was awesome, and I'm not quite sure how you would do that, but just don't do it.)

4) Always, always look at a chair before you try to sit in it. Especially if you have the baby on your lap. (Dang. S - please, please tell them again that I'm soooo sorry!! MlleL told me that maybe I should sit in bigger chairs from now on.)

5) The party will be just as awesome as you think it will be!

Oh man. I only wish I could have stayed forever! Well, at least until I won one of those fab party games. I've totally got it figured out too.....

a. appetizers
b. bells
c. chalice
d. doves
e. engagement ring
f. flowers
g. garter
h. headpiece
i. ice sculpture
j. jewels
k. knee (the one he got down on, right??)
l. love
m. men (as in groomsmen)
n. not a dry eye in the place
o. ooooh - isn't she beautiful???
p. processional
q. quirky
r. recessional
s. shoes
t. tiara
u. unity candle
v. veil/vows
w. wedding dress
x. xylophone (could happen...)
y. Yes!
z. zzzzzzzzzzz.

SEE??? I'd have rocked it.

Now. Does anyone know if I should show up late to the wedding itself?

Whew.

MasterP is the proud owner of a new tooth. Which is a big event in the Valentine household - this one has been a looooooooooooooooooooong time coming.

What is also concerning is that at the same time as the tooth - maybe as a result of the tooth? Came the fever (which is par for the course, but this was higher than expected) and the middle of the night vomiting (not so much expected). Gah.

So what's a girl to do after a night like that but go shopping? I gave MasterP the Advil, got whatever breakfast I could into him, put him in his car seat to grab whatever car nap he could, and headed out with Janey for a fabulous and, might I add successful if not a bit whiny, mid-week shopping trip for the christening dress. (Mine, not his, to be worn at HIS christening, not mine.)

How does one celebrate this achievement?

By the Bucks' of course. Where I ordered my signature decaf, soy, sugar-free cinnamon dolce latte. (forgive me. It's a breastfeeding thing with the decaf, a milkish thing with the soy, and a basic love of all sugar-free syrups.) I was standing at the counter with the rest of the patrons when the barristra called it, and the guy next to me snorted. He snorted!! at my drink!!!

I glanced over at him with what must have been my mom look, because he looked instantly mollified, said 'sorry', and resolutely ignored my glance for the rest of our visit - but I must admit to feeling just the littlest bit deflated.

What would you have done?

Best. Question. Ever.

Heeeeeee.

Just a quickie.

Those of you who know me have heard the sordid tale of how Husband and I came home from work several years ago to find Mr. EasternEuropeanNextDoorNeighbor up our tree with a chain saw and liquor on his breath. I'm not sure if I've explained that the main reason, as far as I can tell, is so that Mrs. EENDN can continue her sunbathing (sometimes topless) late into the afternoon sun (which our tree was blocking). Now. To give you the appropriate image, I must unkindly explain that Mr. and Mrs. EENDN have two grown sons in their 20s.

Just now, as MlleL, MasterP and I were outside playing with one of the coolest toys ever, grace a Miss Vicky, Mrs. EENDN came out bikinied and ready for some bathing.

MlleL, ever ready to make conversation, looked at her in all her glory and said:

"Why you don't have your clothes on?"

Indeed.

What we talked about doing...

yesterday was the Teddy Bear Picnic at the Governor General's. What we ended up doing was putting the kids down for their nap (out of the gutter - we're done with that!) donning our work clothes, safety glasses, and rubber gloves and stripping the deck. (or the duck, as MlleL calls it.)

It needed done, but the rapidly approaching MasterP's christening is apparently creating great impetus for home repair. That, and the sun - it seems like forever since we've had full sunny weekend days.

Today's list holds: morning mass as a practice run for the aforementioned christening (note to self: Dammit is not the appropriate thing to say when hearing there's a visiting priest and realizing that the practice run is in vain; that we are no closer to being able to recognize Father or know how he does baptisms than we were at 9:30 this morning), further prep of the duck, and painting the front door.

Finally, the purple will be gone!!! (Be warned, those of you who use this as a marker to tell which house is ours!)

Further conversations with my mother

His 'Deal with the Devil', she off-handedly referred to it, as if it were an aspect of his death that had been considered and discussed before.


It's new to me, the knowledge of that bargain, that he refused to tell anyone about the extensive bleeding so that he might visit MlleL and spend time with her that summer - the last one he was in Canada. He loved her so much, she said, he just didn't know the price he would have to pay for that.


This dual responsibility - the influence and the knowledge - is too great for her to bear alone, but it is unbidden. I did not ask for it. I carry its weight with me everywhere - it's jagged edges surprising me in unguarded moments - and hope that through constant company and scrutiny I will wear those edges down and soften it so that eventually, I might fold it up and place it carefully away at the bottom of my bag with my good luck penny collection and my worry stone.

la la la, Afternoon....

Egad. And also? Oh, god!

A public service announcement for parents with small children. (and to be honest - Mr. and Mrs. Maiden I'm looking at you here -this would also apply to parents with kids in their twenties as well. Am I right, LittleSister?)

Think of a plan. If you know me, you know I'm an advocate of planning. Because, as I've said before, you might not follow the plan, but at least you've thought the situation through. At least you have that.

Because if not? You do what we did.

Saturday, I went to visit the salon for a way, way overdue visit to the lady. So now I can wear shorts, if you get my drift. This new state of affairs must have been inspiring, because as we put the kids down for their afternoon nap, Husband made an unusual suggestion, to which I thought "why not?" Why not, indeed.

So as we were, ummm, in flagrante delicto on a blanket on the family room floor (as MasterP is currently occupying our bedroom) I looked up to see MlleL standing in the room. Trying to play cool and flip the blanket over Husband at the same time, I said "uh, hi, sweetie!" and she said:

"What are you doing?"

Giggling uncontrollably, Husband blurted out "We're wrestling!", to which I added helpfully "it's funnier if you don't have your clothes on."

Ah, yes. The highly probably humorous naked wrestling explanation.

Please let this be a lesson to you. A) make sure your kids are asleep before coitus, and B) think of something less desperate to say for when the situation undoubtedly will occur to you.

Happy Belated St. Jean the Baptiste Day!!

Oh, happy day! In traditional form, Janey and I celebrated (possibly for the last time, as a result of her recent announcement. Dang. ) the man of hair shirts, bugs and honey, and, most importantly, baptisms.

How, you might ask? Ah. Well. By the traditional baptism of feet in scented water and subsequent painting of toes, of course. Oh, didn't you know? Yeah, I'm pretty sure the Holy Father would decree this a suitable method for marking such a significant day. I mean, feet washing, right? That's holy - Mary Magdelene did it for Jesus.....

Hee. I dropped MasterP at the caregiver's for a trial run, and ran! I got to see Janey's new place, and all of it's fabulousness (and there's quite a bit, let me tell you!), almost got to drink some tea there, plugged the wrong parking meter, got a pedicure, and a parking ticket!!

I mean, what else could have made this more perfect?

Honestly. St. Jean really knew what it was about, supporting a holiday no-one else got. It's like someone shouted ollie-ollie-in-free! You get a whole day on your own to do what you want. Kids at day-care, spouses (if they work in Ontario) at work.

Remind me I said this next year when I'm complaining that I had to work Civic Holiday Weekend again, ok?

Why I buy Canadian

Well, because at heart, I'm a little bit lazy and impatient.

I could buy from elsewhere, but see, I don't like to drive over the border much - let alone with a yelling MasterP in the back seat. As well, I like to have my stuff here sooner rather than later. And I don't like to pay exorbitant duty and shipping. And frankly, Target won't ship to me here, so I'm sorta forced to in that regard.

So if I can, I do. I'm just hoping that Ann Taylor will decide to move here too. I think she'd like it. We're nice, and have a lot to offer as a kinder, gentler society than them south of us.

You know, except for Target and Ann Taylor.

who's with me?

Ok. Baby showers are supposed to be about 2 to 2.5 hours max, right? (Unless they're at a bar. You know who you are! Thanks again - best shower ever!!!)

You go, you have sweets/snacks, drink the punch, play the ridiculous don't cross your legs/say baby games, guess at the contents of the diapers and how many jelly beans are in the jar, collect your prize if you've been so lucky, smile and demure when the mom-to-be opens your gift, eat the cake, and we're out, right?

Maybe I should have known from the fact that an entire email account had been set up that this was going to be an unusual party.

It began at 1. MasterP and I left at 4:30, having just about come to the end of what you can expect from a 8 month-old, and they hadn't even cut the cake. Even more disappointing than that, they hadn't put out the fruit for the CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN. Sigh.

And I don't even know if I won the door prize. Bath and Bodyworks, y'all.

Now that's a bummer.

Oh goodness!

Just so I don't forget, I'll jot it all down now.

Wednesday night: the late night arrival of Mrs. Maiden - several hours past her arrival estimate, finding me on the verge of what? calling the police? Is that what you do when your mother is out late?

Thursday: MlleL stayed home with us, and we all (Mrs. Maiden, MlleL, MasterP and I) went to our Thursday morning music programming. Awesome time was had - MlleL, having been when she was an infant, knows all of the songs, and really enjoys singing them to MasterP. So it was fantastic. And to top it all off, there was wonderful homemade baked goods for our snack. Love that lady!

So then, Mrs. Maiden needed a few things at the drugstore, and I needed some cards for Father's Day, so we all headed off for Billings Bridge. Where, as I was cruising the very full parking lot looking for a space, I looked up to see a perfectly nice man waving his arms in alarm. What, I thought, could that be...... CRUNCH. Ah. Yes. The Yukon, being backed into MasterP's door by an unjustifiably angry office worker and her equally unhelpful friend on their lunch hour (as was explained to me as the rational reason to why they refused to call the police - they were on their LUNCH HOUR, and thus, did not have time for that.)

This, after jumping out of the truck to say "What were you DOING??? I was just backing up to STRAIGHTEN MY CAR!!" and also, the best accusation of all - "My reverse lights were ON!!" Umm. yes. But you see, you backed your car into me. Thus, you DROVE YOUR CAR INTO MY CAR. In fact, INTO MY INFANT. (who didn't notice. Let me be clear for you, gentle readers, MasterP was fine. MlleL asked me what the bump was, and Mrs. Maiden was hugging the irate driver of the Yukon.)

Me? I was thinking that if they couldn't possibly call the police for an accident, would they for a beat down in the parking lot?

Friday: Oh, I forget. No. Wait - yeah, I forget. But I do remember that Mrs. Maiden told me the most high-larious story that she's never told anyone else. Heeeee. Heeeeeeeeee. No, I'm sorry. What if you mentioned it? Then she'd know it was me.

Saturday: Gymnapstics finale. Where, at the graduation ceremony where the kids were supposed to jump on the vault for a few jumps and then run up a ramp to receive applause from all and a ribbon, MlleL planned a HUGE jump off the vault that went wrong and ended on her face, with sobs and humiliation such that she was unwilling to accept the ribbon at all. We have an unfortunate photo of ME presenting (ta da!) with MlleL clinging to me.

Sunday: The day to end all days - Father's Day at Husband's big brother's house in the afternoon, after a morning of Filipino Independence Day Picnic at Vincent Massey Park. Wheeeee! Due to the fact that the Civic does not have room for more than the family four, we packed ourselves, carseats and all, into Mrs. Maiden's GMC Sierra. Man. Again, I am forced to say that I do understand the yearn to have an SUV. Particularly after having one drive into me.

The rest of the week has been spend in trying to get MasterP to sleep, both in the daytime and in the night - about every other night, he's awake screaming for 1.5 to 2 hours AT A TIME - usually from about 1:30 to 3 AM. It's exhausting. And makes me feel just the smallest bit broken. In fact? There he is, my dears.

I must run.....

this post brought to you by a 700 year old.

Ok.

I realize I'm in my 30s. But it wasn't so very long ago that I was in my 20s. And for quite some time between then and now, I frequented the Jacob Annexe (now Connexion) at South Keys. So much so that the staff recognized us, Husband and I.

But somehow, after I've had the chillens, something has changed in our relationship. I feel dismissed and old. But I don't think it's all me. The clothes look super-cheap. What has gone wrong?

MasterP and I walked in today, ready to spend money on some reasonably trendy looking summer clothes. I was even ready to shop in size larger than I require in other stores. So I grabbed a bunch of things - I was really hoping for tops, as somehow, I've gotten much taller since I've had kids - and headed to the dressing room the staff member picked out for me.

It was just large enough for the stroller and me. Not large enough for the stroller and me and the actual trying of crappy cheap clothes on. Which I did, awkwardly contorted around MasterP. And was thoroughly disappointed with what resulted.

So I was forced to head down the strip - because if it's not at South Keys, these days, I don't go - to this store, where I fit a considerable range of clothes in a much smaller size. Me and all the blue haireds shopping there this afternoon were very pleased with what we bought.

Sigh. Where do the suddenly tall get their shirts?

Thursday's voicemail

"Hi honey, it's Mum. The plumber is also bringing his pump to pump the cistern. So I guess I should be there for that. I'll be down Wednesday night."

Cool. We're going to be able to have two working toilets in time!!!!

Wednesday conversations with my mother

"so.... Since I've sold the car, and got the guy coming to get the water turned on and everything, I'm feeling like I can get out of here and come see you guys pretty soon!"

"Mom, that's fantastic! When you say soon, when were you thinking?"

"The weekend?"

"(!!!!!!) Umm, great! Well, just keep me posted on how that's coming..."

Tuesday update

Miles run? 3 (mental note for future: give those tired PC muscles a break and go to the bathroom before a run)

Hair? Flat ironed

Nails? French tipped (thanks, Sephora!)

Shirt? Clean, with coordinated scarf!

MasterP? In bed by 7:15

8:15 showing of SATC? SOLD OUT.

Starbucks? Awesome.


And also? Wearin' the pregnancy wedding band on the right hand. It's a little promise to me about something I might talk about in a little while. I'll see how it's going and keep you posted, ok?

Big Love

So.

I helped Husband finally move his mistress out of the basement. That's right. I pushed her up the stairs, and held the patio door open while the boys pushed her out the back door and through the back yard.

Wheeeeee!

Except that if I'm totally honest, I guess she's actually the first wife. He had her before he met me, so.... Looks like I'm the interloper here. Anyhow, I have opposable thumbs, so I'm claiming the first wife place in her absence.

When I told Mrs. Maiden about this, she laughed and said that she had just had a celebratory dinner at the Inn after getting the 'other woman' out of the backyard. Hopefully, the marina can help with her sale. In her absence, Mrs. Maiden bought herself a brand new lawn tractor.

Aren't we feeling powerful?

Hooray!!

What a terrific day. It was the day all things went right.

Could this mean that MasterP will sleep through the night? Just asking.

I'm glad it was such a good day, as yesterday? Not so much. (This next bit is especially for Vicky. Janey? Look away. MasterP and I have been having problems with the left boob in particular, and yesterday, after finishing a nurse, he looked up at me with a smear of blood across his cheek. Not from biting.) Enough said there. Shudder, and yes, ow.

But today????

Today went like this. MasterP wouldn't take his usual lengthy morning nap (I suspect the cat woke him up jumping in his crib.) so I got him ready and headed out for a weigh-in, which I have been missing due to Thursday morning music programming.

At the WW, confirmation was made of the 21 lb loss over the past four months or so. YAAAY!!

And then? As I drove over to the produce place, I heard about SEPHORA OPENING IN OTTAWA ON FRIDAY!!! Man. It's better than the Lulu warehouse sale.

And then? The produce place, noting my difficulty with bags of produce and child in carseat, had staff carry my bags to my car for me. Very old school, and sooooo appreciated!

So then, all happy from all of that, I went to buy me my favorite latte at the Bucks' with my mother's day gift card, when their new policy of discounts for card holders was explained to me, and I watched as the cost of my latte went from 5 something to 3.64. Haaaaaaa!

And then???? I got home, and Mrs. Maiden called to tell me that CRA reconsidered their taxes, and are allowing them to claim Canadian residency last year (as opposed to the money grubbing folk over at Service Canada who are requiring Mrs. Maiden to repay some of her and Mr. Maiden's OAS from last year - due to the fact Mr. Maiden was busy dying and couldn't come home.) so that the 5K or so of taxes we thought she would have to pay are going to be much, much reduced.

Sigh.

That? That was some good juju.

You can call out my name....

I've been thinking a lot about Facebook lately, and the return of old friends. I guess that's what it's for and all, but it's pretty entertaining to me anyhow.

I have had a number of old friends cross my paths lately. First, in the gym, I ran into someone who had been a very close friend until I realized she was kinda mean. To me, and to my other friends who had flown into town for my wedding. She made some of them cry, and others so stressed out that they screamed at homeless people. And she poked my fat - the stuff right above the back of my bra strap. I just couldn't really forgive all of that, so I generally stopped calling. It's been a while since I'd seen her - and it was amazing to think she didn't know about MlleL, let alone MasterP, but there you are. We polite talked, and now sometimes wave, but that's about it.

Second, one of the B1 Babes found me on Facebook. For those not in the know, B1 was the first dorm/Rez I stayed in at LSSU - a suite filled with 7 roomates. It's been a good 17 years since we lived together - back when my stories weren't about childrens and breast pumps, and usually started 'oh, my god, there was this time I was so drunk....' Sigh.

Finally, my bestest friend from Grad School found me again. She's teaching in Texas as a PHD, and Facebooked me. My friend Janey reminds me of her so much - the same sense of humour, same love of books (both English undergrads gone bad...) I stood in her Vegas wedding, and she stood in the restaurant wedding for me.

A few years ago, we drifted apart. I always wondered why - but was really happy to hear from her again.

Who knows who else lurks around the corner??

The Kilborn Guernsey

I am so over the past few months of fiscal propriety. Seriously.

So today? I spent MONEY at Babies R Us. I know, not exactly the splurge you were thinking it might be, but heck. A girl's gotta start somewhere.

Made purchases necessary to move MasterP to the crib - a new mattress and the magic go-to-sleep aquarium - he's been in the rocking wooden cradle that Mr. Maiden built for us when we were babies, Bigbrother, myself and Littlesister. Mr. Maiden was so proud to bring it down to us here in Ottawa from Points North when MlleL was born (on the back of the pickup, thank you very much) for its use with the second generation... It's honestly really sad to think of our time with the cradle being done. Or that he's been sleeping by my right side for almost seven months. Amazing.

However, after months and months of frustration with the Isis (squeaky, squeaky) and recent revelations about the safety of plastics and one's babe, I made the jump away from the 'harmful' Avent and towards the more baby-friendly BPA-free Medela and their 'Swing'.

And to my bovine sisters on the farm, I say, rock on, my dears, rock on. Power to the milkers! (And heck. You could have told me how much more comfortable the whole pump with an electric motor thing was. Help a sister out, you know?)

(As a sidebar - Husband finds milking time in the living room just as fascinating as Janey does at the farm!!)

Deep inside the jungle, where nature's running wild...

Back when the SARS hit Toronto, there was this fabulous theatre deal. You could go, get dinner, a show, an attraction, and a hotel for a really cheap price. Practically free. We made use of that deal a number of times. The last show that Husband and I saw live was Mama Mia.

Mama Mia is an awesome, awesome time. So great, in fact, that we saw it twice. The second time (and truthfully, most of the first) we knew every word.

MlleL had her special day today, complete with a family trip to Go, Diego, Go LIVE! It was pretty terrific, seeing MlleL boogie to all of the songs - and we still knew every word.

aaaaaa!

MlleL has been going through a phase recently; it seems like forever, really, but can only be the last couple of months.

It goes like this: Chastisement: Like, for example, what are you doing with your clothes all off when I just told you you couldn't dress up because you were leaving for Maira's in a few minutes? Answer: AAAAAAAAAAAAA! Daddy!!!! AAAAAAA!!

Can't find one parent, because they might be in the bathroom, bedroom, etc? Keep yelling for them, escalating into wailing in the few minutes they're trying to flush.

My response? Instant frustration. I know it's not good. Lord knows I don't have the patience of Miss Vicky.

Oh man. I know that there is worse coming. But goodness, I'll be glad to see the end of this one.

Don't you wish your wifey....

So Husband's 40th birthday was yesterday. MlleL, MasterP and I woke him with breakfast in bed, and then I spent the day getting ready for the great surprise BBQ.

The one with 20 lbs of steak, three bottles of sangria, and a tiramisu for 25.

So much work, everyone was here with hidden cars, and up the driveway walks Husband and Auntie. Who he had met on the bus. Heh.

But an awesome, awesome time was had by all. And we all had to lie down after dinner. We're all still exhausted!

The couple that kinks together...

Last night, I lay MasterP down to sleep and ran away to a party at a local, lady-friendly toy shop. It wouldn't have been my first choice for an evening out, but as I discovered, sitting down with a bunch of relative strangers (and a few good friends), most of whom had been drinking, to hear a VERY INFORMATIVE and very frank nuts to bolts discussion of sex (Hee) turned out to be great fun.

Letsee. We talked lube, and umm, 'ginas, and the things 'ginas like, then some stuff about the penis, and the types of things the penis likes, and then some about bums, and then about the accessories one could use for many different types of amusement, in the singular or plural.

The best, most informative part of the evening came as cars started to enter the parking lot and noise could be heard overhead.

"Oh," the moderator explained, "there's a private kink club upstairs that's having an event. We've been invited up when nothing was going on - it's a pretty interesting place - they have workshops on stuff like how to properly flog someone to avoid repetitive strain injury (my note: How much need you be flogging to have that happen, by the way?) and sometimes they have events where the music is pumping and there's frames to tie your submissive up to and stuff."

And then we had a brief discussion about the type of person who chose to be a submissive, and the types of stuff that went on there.... you know, from all of our broad personal experience of watching CSI.

And then? We had a guest at the door. It was a KINK EMERGENCY!!!

Someone had forgotten to bring their collar.

And then, into our midst walked what we could only assume to be the host of a couple new to the scene, and then that new couple. Master and slave. The slave was probably about 50, a slightly larger lady, wearing a black caftan and some lovely red and black cuffs. (the collar they bought was to match the cuffs) The host was a gentleman of about the same age, silver hair, tanned, and wearing a black leather vest over a black shirt and leather trousers, and the master?

Umm. He looked to be younger - like maybe in his 40s - and looked like he might have just finished a very nasty slightly mortifying P2 meeting, red face, khakis dress slacks, button down shirt and all.

Turns out I know NOTHING about kink. Turns out that when I claimed financial planning wasn't hot, I was WRONG, WRONG, WRONG.

Quick. Someone get me a whip!!

Things I wish I could have said....

1. To my knit-suit-wearing, undergarmently challenged colleague:

My dear, I certainly do believe that the reason you wore your maternity pants throughout your entire maternity leave was due to your healing c-section scar. Really, I do. I mean, what other reason could there have been?

2. To the flamenco dress wearing lady on Bank street:

Madame, why so angry? Please look down at the riotous ruffles peeping from below your trench coat. Surely they will cheer you?

3. To the gentleman in the BMW:

Yes, you. First of all, yes, we can all see you chewing with your mouth open like that. Your mother must be so very proud of you. Secondly, the reason I did not proceed as quickly as you would have liked through the left hand turn was that I was simultaneously trying to steer and stop my three year old from throwing her brother's toys out the window. I can only assume that what you yelled at me through our mutually closed car windows as you sped by and cut me off after honking at me was a lovely pleasantry regarding the nature of Ottawa weather. RIGHT???

Just so you know? I'm not so sure that your car makes up for you in the laws of attraction.

21st century grandparenting...

So we've done it. I've managed to finally talk Mrs. Maiden into the wonders of broadband and the web-cam. We've come a long way, Mrs. Maiden and I, and now, we manage to get ourselves connected in less than 5 minutes, being able to see each other and everything.

Hurrah!

As Mrs. Maiden is shortly leaving the glow of Arizona for Points Closer North, these virtual visits will come to an end, as Points Closer North is a remote community with dial-up.

I'm kinda sad about that, but then, I also don't have to be part of the hide-and-seek and body part inspection that MlleL and Mrs. Maiden's conversations are. ("What big EARS you have, Grandmother..." "See my bum, Nanny?")

Now? On to chatting with Bigbrother in Arizona and Littlesister in Ireland.

Lessons I never seem to learn

1. Husband doesn't really like surprises. Sad for all of us. He likes to know what he's getting for his birthday. In fact, he likes to buy it himself, with my blessing. He's pretty exact that way. It takes a little of the romance out of the event, but in the end, I know he's happier with the turn-out.

2. The mystical power of passing a damn ES-06 competition. Boo. Enough said.

3. That when you get your hair cut, it's always, always shorter than you planned. Always. Glory? Well, limited. Ponytail? Not everything! Everyday blowout? Yeah, pretty much!

And in other news? The stylist totally asked me if my hair was all in my natural colour. Heeeeeee. Take THAT 10 Minute hair dye!!!

Hair bands....

When I was pregnant with MlleL, I spent a good deal of time commuting to and from my doctor's appointments listening to Eminem. Miss Emm held that this would make the baby a 'hoodlum'. Well, if her choice in clothes is any indication, it may have made her a peeler, but that's another story.

While I was in the lobby of the Civic at 3:00 AM in labour with MasterP and waiting for Husband to park the car, I was listening to the 'pod to keep me company. An all-time-favorite was playing. That's right, Bon Jovi was accusing me of being "an all-night generator wrapped in stockings and a dress". sigh..... Strangely appropriate, non?

Is it any wonder my boy's hair is so long?

Asset Qualifications

Some of you know that I have long held that I should have been a cheerleader in high school. No really. I stand by it. It turns out that I'm pretty good at dance routines - and, twenty years ago, I'm betting I could have learned to do the splits....

In any event, I've just learned of something that may affect my future job prospects. Apparently, years of yoga and swallowing emotion (please note: I am very happily married. This is not a reflection of that!) have lead to another talent, discovered while in labour with MasterP. AT 5:30 AM, when they finally let me into a delivery room after walking around for 2 hours in active labour, they put a monitor on me and my tummy.

As the next contraction came on, I closed my eyes, took a breath, and pushed down into my tummy and held there. (Unfortunately for me, I had to do this without the help of brownies, which are my favorite way for holding things down.)

And the nurse said "Huh. That's neat - I've never seen someone's pulse go down during a contraction." (!!!!)

Today, I tried it again. While I was on the treadmill. I'd just finished as much as I could from the inaugural run, and closed my eyes, and pushed me down, and there. The beeps went down. Now - not crazily, but each time, they went down. Here's the thing.

I've got six months before I have to return to work. As it turns out, I can willfully slow my heartbeat. I'm thinking I have a future in magic shows!!

Either that, or a definite out for interminable meetings. "I'm sorry, Katie seems to have coded again. We'll have to reschedule!!"

Dude. It's gonna be awesome!

Flattened.

Why the long wait between posts? Well, my dears, it's been tax week. Spend $40 for a few years in a row, and all of a sudden you're a tax expert. Or gifted in filling in computer forms. Or something.

After doing the family Valentine's, I've also spent the last few days doing the family Maiden's. Well, first I wore the hair shirt of guilt for procrastinating. And then I entered all the info I had and called Mum, where we talked about the details of what else I should put in there. Oh, you know, all the great international wealth we have south of the border. Snort.

In any event, I'm hoping that CRA has the same tough signing standards as HRSDC, and they'll accept the sig of "Katie Valentine for Mr. and Mrs. Maiden". Well, they'll have to accept someone's signature for Mr. Maiden, as unfortunately, that's all they're gonna get. Mr. Maiden's signature would be pretty creepy by now.

The real reason for the delay? I'm sad. I miss him, and I just signed my dead father's tax return. Mum was right. It is the financial paperwork that's the hardest.

Dandyland

So we're all at home today. One of the other mothers brought their kid to daycare with pneumonia, and we figured we'd just sit this one out. Seriously. That's not something we need in the house.

Anyhow. As I'm cooking, I'm listening to MlleL play "Dandyland" (Close your eyes. Can't you see them all prancing around in their ascots and spats?) It's a Dora Candyland, for those not fluent in Valenlanguage.

I'm sure you remember the original? She just pulled the card for Senor Tucan's "eyedrops".

Yum!

Lor' help us

I just downloaded Britney. Well, I downloaded two of her songs. I think Britney the actual person is a little too large for my ipod. Although, I have borrowed a stretchy sling, so I guess we could give it a go....

Why did I do this? Well, I saw the video at the gym, and kinda liked it. Poor kid. So crazy. Pretty talented, though, even through the crazy. (as an aside, I wonder what Van Gogh would have seemed like with 24/7 media coverage - dude. Hookers as lady loves, pure ghetto living, and it was his EAR, not just hair....)

Anyhow. The 'pod is getting a little bored of the feelgood mix. Now. You know I loves me some Big Will, Kanye, Def Leppard , and Bon Jovi, but are there good workout tunes I'm missing that I really should consider?

The siren's call

It's been such beautiful weather for the past week that MasterP, the BabyBjorn, and I have been taking an afternoon walk most days. It's under the hazy guise of errands, but really, it's an excuse to walk in the sun with my boy in easy kissing range.

On Friday, P and I walked over to Blockbuster and the Farm Boy on Bank, cutting back up Randall for a little variety. (Our usual route to anything is down Kilborn past the diocese, and out onto Bank.) Our route took us past the Alta Vista Elementary School at 3:30 on one of the first really warm Friday afternoons of spring.

Arriving from all around were the parents to pick up their one of a crowd of playing kids - the mums with their sleek ponytails and casual clothes speaking of stay-at-homeness, sitting on the benches around the playground watching their younger kids and waiting for their older ones. Standing in friendly groups on the sidewalk, each of them said hello to me as we passed, and most of them knew each other's names, including the obvious care providers.

I know I am blessed to have won the Cash-for-Life public servant lottery. I know that. But on days like that, with my baby's head lolling against me in nap, I feel like crap and I am jealous of the lottery I did not win, because I will never get to know these other mums, and my kids will never know the security of getting out of school to find me waiting for them. Instead, I will always be rushed, picking them up from the daycare pen an hour and a half after school has ended and whirling home to try to fix us all food before it's bedtime.

A multiple choice question...

So. If you had dyed your hair three weeks ago, and NOBODY said anything, which of the following reasons might be the cause of that?

a) It looks so good that everyone just took it to be your natural gift.
b) It looks so horrible that everyone hopes that if they don't say anything, you'll change it quickly.
or
c) They're just not that in to you?

In other hair news, I asked a Mennonite for her advice on what I should do with my hair. What do you think her advice was? (hee. 10 points if you guessed 'keep your glory'!!)

Fauxgenauf

Last night was Husband's night class, so I was on my own with the chillens. MlleL was VERY lovey during dinner - a lovely little dish I like to call fauxgenauf (it's TVP version is known to us as Mockenauf). It's made with ground turkey, cream of mushroom soup, fat free sour cream, mushrooms and tinned green beans served over whole wheat bowties.

MlleL leaned over, hugged me, and said 'You're such a good cooker, Mama.'

Made my day.

The many benefits of nursing

There are a number of things nursing does for you. First, there's the benefits that everyone promises you: First and foremost, 'the weight!! will fall RIGHT OFF!!!' umm, kinda. I guess. Well, you WILL be hungry. So there's that. Second, they tell you that it will help your uterus return to it's original size. Check, I mean, I suppose....

But there's a couple of things the doctors, nursing advocates, and prenatal teachers do not mention. I'm here, my dears, to help you.

First, and not altogether surprisingly, you will have the largest breasts of your life. No really. Possibly the largest in the gym that you have begun attending a scant 5 months after your baby's birth - go ahead. Look around - I did.

As well, here's the one that no-one ever mentions. Think Swedish penis pump. I can also tell you, gentlemen, that if you use the aforementioned pump up to 8 times a day for 20 minutes at a time or so, you too will be surprised at the outcome.

Nursing nipples. Remember that Sex in the City episode? Did you also think 'but no-one has nipples that look that big'. Umm, well, maybe some single ladies do, but I can now point to a whole segment of the population that does.... And they don't 'relax' off-use. No really. You can see them through a fleecy.

As well? If I'm going to do anything with bounce, I'm going to have to employ the double bra system.