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.