So.
Heh. Long time no see?
Sigh.
I'd love to tell you that I've got a realy good excuse, or I've been sick - been super busy? How about just in over my head.
Some days, it just feels like I'm busy rolling the boulder up the hill, and every morning, I'm back at the bottom.
Other days are great. Don't get me wrong - I'm ok. It's just that there's no extra for writing.
So what's happened over the past four months?
Oh lor'. I found out that I needed to pay my taxes in the US. Or rather, I needed to file for them. (because even if you don't owe, you need to file.) And also tell the US government about all of my bank accounts (joint or otherwise) that I and my husband have here in Canada. In great detail, over the past seven years. And there might be some penalties for that. I guess I'll find out when they get around to it. Or not. So that took some time, and continues to take angst.
MasterP started kindergarten. MlleL started first grade, and started giving up her naps (yeah, I know. I know.) We're struggling with that. It's pretty exhausting, managing the mood swings of a really tired 6 year old. It feels like I'm constantly on a high wire balancing what's happening between the time I get home and the time she gets to bed. Am I making dinner quick enough? How is her blood sugar? Will we make it through without that awful whining, convulsing stagger she does, dragging around the house to display her displeasure? (Never mind that that's a huge button - I have no idea what makes me so crazy when she does that....)
I turned 40. It was pretty great. I've worked on a list, but haven't got far, of the things to do before I'm 50. I'm not sure I'm ready to committ to writing them down. One of them means running a hell of a lot more than I am right now. so....
I ran the Rattle Me Bones the fastest I've ever run 10k on October 23. Which was great, but 2 minutes over where I really wanted (sub 1 hour) so I'm working on feeling better about that.
MasterP turned 4. I made cake pops, and a cake covered in squinkies. heeee.
We went to Target on November 11. We got stuck at the border for almost 2 hours, so ended up having about 1 hour and 45 minutes to shop before tearing north again. LOTS of fun.
November was November. I continue to be super funky (in a hateful way) around American Thanksgiving - mad at everyone for nothing. Man November sucks.
And here we are! We did our first Christmas Activity tonight - making snowflakes. But both pairs of scissors didn't work well, so MasterP was easily frustrated... And then we hung them, and then while working on French reading, MlleL had a full blown meltdown.
I guess tomorrow I'll hope for better.
And meanwhile, I'm trying to type my way down from a chocolate craving.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Glorificus
At the beginning of the summer, a dear friend invited me to share in an organic 'share' from a local farm. I thought that this might possibly be quite awesome, and signed us up.
Since that time, it's become clear that I don't really know what to do with a wide variety of organic vegetables (especially since it seems that the wide variety is really mostly greens of one sort or another.) My tries to interest the family in these greens, usually by stir frying them in sesame oil and adding soy, are not well accepted.
So much that when picking up last week's share, Husband tried to convince my dear friend to keep ours. Dear friend's husband offered to help him carry it to the car. (heh. sounds like the greens are equally welcomed at her house.)
This week's share included beets. Which, to be honest, I first unsucessfully tried to roast to make delicious beet salad. (I know, right? So yummy!) It did not work out.
So imagine my happiness in having been introduced to Glory Bowls. "No, seriously", I said, putting on the rubber gloves to peel the beets (and changing after getting juice on work clothes, dammit to hell) "You're going to love it!"
"It's a Glory Bowl! It's gonna be glorious!!!" Husband looked askance at that. I mean, I guess I can understand his hesitancy.
"It was created in BC! I took out the tofu and added left over turkey!" Not better.
In fact, until I finished. And put it on the table.
MlleL declared it yummy. MasterP agreed. And so did Husband. In fact, he went back for seconds, and had so much that we barely have enough for lunch tomorrow.
Make this. Make it. You'll be thinking how awesome it is - healthy and super tasty. No gluten, for wheat haters, and if you don't want to use all that oil, well, then, don't!
Then? You too will be sitting around thinking about making this for a dinner party. Too informal? Perhaps. It's a rice bowl, after all.
Maybe, like me, you'll imagine your guests donning black robes and serving your every whim. I mean, it looked great for the first half of the season, right? Focus on that. And look out for a spunky blonde with a fake 'little sister'.
(yeah, that's right. I linked to explain the joke.....)
Since that time, it's become clear that I don't really know what to do with a wide variety of organic vegetables (especially since it seems that the wide variety is really mostly greens of one sort or another.) My tries to interest the family in these greens, usually by stir frying them in sesame oil and adding soy, are not well accepted.
So much that when picking up last week's share, Husband tried to convince my dear friend to keep ours. Dear friend's husband offered to help him carry it to the car. (heh. sounds like the greens are equally welcomed at her house.)
This week's share included beets. Which, to be honest, I first unsucessfully tried to roast to make delicious beet salad. (I know, right? So yummy!) It did not work out.
So imagine my happiness in having been introduced to Glory Bowls. "No, seriously", I said, putting on the rubber gloves to peel the beets (and changing after getting juice on work clothes, dammit to hell) "You're going to love it!"
"It's a Glory Bowl! It's gonna be glorious!!!" Husband looked askance at that. I mean, I guess I can understand his hesitancy.
"It was created in BC! I took out the tofu and added left over turkey!" Not better.
In fact, until I finished. And put it on the table.
MlleL declared it yummy. MasterP agreed. And so did Husband. In fact, he went back for seconds, and had so much that we barely have enough for lunch tomorrow.
Make this. Make it. You'll be thinking how awesome it is - healthy and super tasty. No gluten, for wheat haters, and if you don't want to use all that oil, well, then, don't!
Then? You too will be sitting around thinking about making this for a dinner party. Too informal? Perhaps. It's a rice bowl, after all.
Maybe, like me, you'll imagine your guests donning black robes and serving your every whim. I mean, it looked great for the first half of the season, right? Focus on that. And look out for a spunky blonde with a fake 'little sister'.
(yeah, that's right. I linked to explain the joke.....)
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Wishlist: A Cleaning Lady
List of things I found under the cushions of the couch today:
1. 15 raisins, not completely whole;
2. 6 crayons, also, not completely whole;
3. two pink socks, (matching) in different locations;
4. a multicoloured zooble;
5. a sound making flashlight designed to assist in the reading of 'Cars: Carburetor County'
6. countless crumbs. (and I do mean countless);
7. 3 pieces of fruit candy, the kind obtained from the Canadian Tire vending machines. (clearing throat and looking at Husband here.); and
8. A HARMONICA.
Just saying.
1. 15 raisins, not completely whole;
2. 6 crayons, also, not completely whole;
3. two pink socks, (matching) in different locations;
4. a multicoloured zooble;
5. a sound making flashlight designed to assist in the reading of 'Cars: Carburetor County'
6. countless crumbs. (and I do mean countless);
7. 3 pieces of fruit candy, the kind obtained from the Canadian Tire vending machines. (clearing throat and looking at Husband here.); and
8. A HARMONICA.
Just saying.
Changes....
Perspective is the weirdest thing.
It's so variable, so biased.
It has, in the months immediately following the half, become harder and harder to see my accomplishments. My waist is once again covered with layers of sloth and pancakes.
And so I return to the pavement, at an hour I have only previously vaguely talked about (5:30). Husband laughed at me when I've mentioned it before. I am not known as a morning person. But it's before the heat of the day, and (mostly) before the after work fatigue hits. It allows me a morning that is of my own choosing - and the time to wake up before I am hit by the demands of the day. It is a remarkably peaceful thing, but also, apparently a rather busy time of the day for other runners.
I love it. It gives me time to get the work out out of the way. I can listen to my podcasts and have lunch again, with others, and not feel guilty for having not done what I should have.
That said, these runs are affecting my perspective. Where once the distance was (a little) easier, they are difficult again. The early morning sun at my back strikes me in such a way as to cause my shadow to resemble a giant fertility figure - a tiny head and giant bottom waggling along the road. No wonder this is so difficult, I think, look at the size of that!
Mrs. Maiden has told me the story of her comeuppance as a 40-year-old. She was wearing her blue bikini and feeling rather proud of herself for doing that at her age; "not too shabby," I remember her describing herself. However, after laying on some sun warmed rocks in the North Channel during a cruise on the Maiden family boat, she sat up with a squelching, sucking noise. Her back fat had sealed her to the stone.
I remember thinking that was hilarious. Ok, well it kinda was, until the fertility figure thing.
And until I raised my arm to wave goodbye after having spent the weekend with awesome friends from my youth and most of our kids, doing really great beachy cottage type things, and caught a glimpse of the bottom of my arm waggling away in it's own fond farewell.
It's so variable, so biased.
It has, in the months immediately following the half, become harder and harder to see my accomplishments. My waist is once again covered with layers of sloth and pancakes.
And so I return to the pavement, at an hour I have only previously vaguely talked about (5:30). Husband laughed at me when I've mentioned it before. I am not known as a morning person. But it's before the heat of the day, and (mostly) before the after work fatigue hits. It allows me a morning that is of my own choosing - and the time to wake up before I am hit by the demands of the day. It is a remarkably peaceful thing, but also, apparently a rather busy time of the day for other runners.
I love it. It gives me time to get the work out out of the way. I can listen to my podcasts and have lunch again, with others, and not feel guilty for having not done what I should have.
That said, these runs are affecting my perspective. Where once the distance was (a little) easier, they are difficult again. The early morning sun at my back strikes me in such a way as to cause my shadow to resemble a giant fertility figure - a tiny head and giant bottom waggling along the road. No wonder this is so difficult, I think, look at the size of that!
Mrs. Maiden has told me the story of her comeuppance as a 40-year-old. She was wearing her blue bikini and feeling rather proud of herself for doing that at her age; "not too shabby," I remember her describing herself. However, after laying on some sun warmed rocks in the North Channel during a cruise on the Maiden family boat, she sat up with a squelching, sucking noise. Her back fat had sealed her to the stone.
I remember thinking that was hilarious. Ok, well it kinda was, until the fertility figure thing.
And until I raised my arm to wave goodbye after having spent the weekend with awesome friends from my youth and most of our kids, doing really great beachy cottage type things, and caught a glimpse of the bottom of my arm waggling away in it's own fond farewell.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Conversations with kids
Before the rewedding, I took them both in for haircuts.
"What'll it be?" asked the hairdresser, looking at MlleL. "Short" she says, pointedly ignoring me in the mirror. "No" I say. no. Except that then the stylist suggested donation.
She gave me her reasons, involving her ability to do her own hair, to wear her hair down, and the like. And I get it. I'll make the appointment to get her hair cut (which is very, very long) and she can donate it. We've discussed length, and options for donation, and she's given me a deadline. As I brush it at bedtime, I try to take my time now, knowing that these moments are limited.
The other night, she watched me in the mirror as we talked and I brushed and she finally got it.
"Will you miss it?" She asked.
"Yeah," I said, "but this is your hair. It's your body. It's ok."
Suddenly, she looked closer. She took the makeup mirror and moved it closer to me, flipping it to the magnification side.
"What do the cracks do?" She asked, pointing at the corner of my eye.
This morning as I was making my coffee:
MasterP "Mama, where does Santa live?"
"In the North Pole, buddy. Remember? With the elves?"
"Yep. Where dat?"
"Where it's winter all the time. Remember?"
"oh, yep. It not winter time now. It's rainy day."
"Nope - no snow. Which is good, right? Summer time is Mama's favourite time."
"Summer time is not my faborite time."
"No? Well, when is your favourite time, sweetie?"
"Well, not bed time."
"What'll it be?" asked the hairdresser, looking at MlleL. "Short" she says, pointedly ignoring me in the mirror. "No" I say. no. Except that then the stylist suggested donation.
She gave me her reasons, involving her ability to do her own hair, to wear her hair down, and the like. And I get it. I'll make the appointment to get her hair cut (which is very, very long) and she can donate it. We've discussed length, and options for donation, and she's given me a deadline. As I brush it at bedtime, I try to take my time now, knowing that these moments are limited.
The other night, she watched me in the mirror as we talked and I brushed and she finally got it.
"Will you miss it?" She asked.
"Yeah," I said, "but this is your hair. It's your body. It's ok."
Suddenly, she looked closer. She took the makeup mirror and moved it closer to me, flipping it to the magnification side.
"What do the cracks do?" She asked, pointing at the corner of my eye.
This morning as I was making my coffee:
MasterP "Mama, where does Santa live?"
"In the North Pole, buddy. Remember? With the elves?"
"Yep. Where dat?"
"Where it's winter all the time. Remember?"
"oh, yep. It not winter time now. It's rainy day."
"Nope - no snow. Which is good, right? Summer time is Mama's favourite time."
"Summer time is not my faborite time."
"No? Well, when is your favourite time, sweetie?"
"Well, not bed time."
Sunday, June 19, 2011
The Ottawa Half - a bit late
So finally, a round up of what it was like to run 21.1 kilometres, again. Finally.
It was, as you well know, the fourth half I've trained for. The second one I've run. It hurt. Oh, lord.
I started with colleagues (I mean, who better to spend over 2 hours of pain with than the folks you see every day? And yes, Janey, you better believe I had mascara on.) The pick-up guy, to be exact, was our bunny. And I did my best to stay with him, even though it was my fantasy pace. I had honestly planned to finish. I thought maybe I could do better than last time, but I was prepared to run the same race and figured that'd be ok.
It was crowded. So crowded, that I was soon knocked back in the pack - the pick-up guy turning to check a few times for a thumbs up, but soon I could only see his back, and his ears...
I ran through neighborhoods, past work, across the bridge I cross on almost every lunchtime run. I experienced unbelievable kindness when my ipod fell and the guy behind me stooped in the middle of the surging crowd to pick it up.
I ran past a pirate family no less than three different times, I ran through heat, and drizzle and steady rain, I ran past signs that made me laugh out loud (worst parade ever) and ones I considered stopping to debate (you've done harder things than this), I ran past old colleagues and new, some who recognized me, but most who didn't - I certainly didn't smile the whole time, but there was a moment when I realized that if I stopped to walk the rest of the way, I'd still have finished faster than I ever thought possible.
And that moment was pure brilliance.
It was, as you well know, the fourth half I've trained for. The second one I've run. It hurt. Oh, lord.
I started with colleagues (I mean, who better to spend over 2 hours of pain with than the folks you see every day? And yes, Janey, you better believe I had mascara on.) The pick-up guy, to be exact, was our bunny. And I did my best to stay with him, even though it was my fantasy pace. I had honestly planned to finish. I thought maybe I could do better than last time, but I was prepared to run the same race and figured that'd be ok.
It was crowded. So crowded, that I was soon knocked back in the pack - the pick-up guy turning to check a few times for a thumbs up, but soon I could only see his back, and his ears...
I ran through neighborhoods, past work, across the bridge I cross on almost every lunchtime run. I experienced unbelievable kindness when my ipod fell and the guy behind me stooped in the middle of the surging crowd to pick it up.
I ran past a pirate family no less than three different times, I ran through heat, and drizzle and steady rain, I ran past signs that made me laugh out loud (worst parade ever) and ones I considered stopping to debate (you've done harder things than this), I ran past old colleagues and new, some who recognized me, but most who didn't - I certainly didn't smile the whole time, but there was a moment when I realized that if I stopped to walk the rest of the way, I'd still have finished faster than I ever thought possible.
And that moment was pure brilliance.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Raise a Reader
I am trying so hard to raise readers. So hard.
I switched, a few months ago, to reading longer books at bedtime. Buh Bye, Bellybutton book! (ok, we still read those to MasterP, but follow with a few pages of the chapter book for MlleL. She's so tremendously impatient that I'm trying to train her to slow down and listen.)
We've worked our way through Pooh (the adventures of and further adventures....) and are starting on the Moomintroll books http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moomintroll. (I know, right? You've probably never heard of them. I'm not sure why I have, only that Mrs. Maiden loved them - she had been in Sweden as a young person and was taken. We had as many as she could find, and as a weird result - no childhood complete without Moomins - I might also have a bunch as well as a result of an ongoing relationship with rare book sellers in far away places. Or something like that. I've just done a Google image search for little My, and am shocked to find the following they have, apparently, there are plays and maybe a show? [if so, why does it take a rare book seller to get them? Just wondering.] Swedes. I do have to admit, tho, that I am now wishing for Little My paraphernalia. In case you're considering gift shopping or anything like that.)
I've talked MlleL into them by explaining that she looks just like Little My. And she does. Nevermind that that was MY nickname as a child. Or that Big Brother sometimes still calls me that.) Little House is next. We got the box set when Mrs. Maiden came up last time.
(Me: YAY BOOKS!!! Kids: Where are the toys, Nanny?)
Some nights are an exercise in more patience than I can muster, when MasterP wants me to stop reading the long story, stop, stop, stop, and asks at every sentence something unrelated to what is happening. Mama. Mama.... MAMA! What. I love you. Excellent. Thanks for that. Love you too. As I was saying. MAMA! Yep? Will you give me a hug? Yes. Absolutely. When I'm done with the story, just like every night. MAMA!! Do you like my car? (and..... I'm done. Exactly as he had hoped.)
Some nights, they both settle in, and have a listen while I read several pages. These moments are my favourite. I remember my mother reading these books to me when I was their age, Mindy and I in the bed together (I remember Mindy in the cradle, actually, as reading was going on, and then later the blue crib, in the big brass bed, and finally on our own...) I remember big brother creeping down the hall to settle outside of our door to hear the story...
She sat in the rocking chair and worked her way through Roald Dahl, C.S. Lewis, Laura Ingalls Wilder, E.B. White, Louisa May Alcott, L.M. Montgomery, Frances Hodgson Burnett (the Secret Garden AND the Little Princess), Charlotte and Elizabeth Bronte, Jane Austen, and quite a bit of Dickens. She even got through the first several chapters of Great Ex (to the cemetery scene) before she closed the book and told us if we wanted to know how it ended we should read it ourselves. (Isn't that enough, Mr. Maiden yelled up the stairs, for Christ' sake, the kids are teenagers!)
I know MlleL likes it, because every night at bedtime, our book appears on the foot of her bed. But I'm never sure if she's really listening. I'm not sure if she gets the story quite yet.
Until this weekend, when she was explaining to me how she managed to get MasterP to go to sleep for his nap.
"I pretended I was reading him a long and boring story, and told him to pretend to go to sleep while he listened to it, and he did." (Uh Oh.) Well, what kind of long and boring story, I asked?
"You know, like how Owl told the long and boring story about his uncle and Pooh had to listen with his eyes closed and then Owl's house fell over. Like that."
HOORAY!!!!
I switched, a few months ago, to reading longer books at bedtime. Buh Bye, Bellybutton book! (ok, we still read those to MasterP, but follow with a few pages of the chapter book for MlleL. She's so tremendously impatient that I'm trying to train her to slow down and listen.)
We've worked our way through Pooh (the adventures of and further adventures....) and are starting on the Moomintroll books http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moomintroll. (I know, right? You've probably never heard of them. I'm not sure why I have, only that Mrs. Maiden loved them - she had been in Sweden as a young person and was taken. We had as many as she could find, and as a weird result - no childhood complete without Moomins - I might also have a bunch as well as a result of an ongoing relationship with rare book sellers in far away places. Or something like that. I've just done a Google image search for little My, and am shocked to find the following they have, apparently, there are plays and maybe a show? [if so, why does it take a rare book seller to get them? Just wondering.] Swedes. I do have to admit, tho, that I am now wishing for Little My paraphernalia. In case you're considering gift shopping or anything like that.)
I've talked MlleL into them by explaining that she looks just like Little My. And she does. Nevermind that that was MY nickname as a child. Or that Big Brother sometimes still calls me that.) Little House is next. We got the box set when Mrs. Maiden came up last time.
(Me: YAY BOOKS!!! Kids: Where are the toys, Nanny?)
Some nights are an exercise in more patience than I can muster, when MasterP wants me to stop reading the long story, stop, stop, stop, and asks at every sentence something unrelated to what is happening. Mama. Mama.... MAMA! What. I love you. Excellent. Thanks for that. Love you too. As I was saying. MAMA! Yep? Will you give me a hug? Yes. Absolutely. When I'm done with the story, just like every night. MAMA!! Do you like my car? (and..... I'm done. Exactly as he had hoped.)
Some nights, they both settle in, and have a listen while I read several pages. These moments are my favourite. I remember my mother reading these books to me when I was their age, Mindy and I in the bed together (I remember Mindy in the cradle, actually, as reading was going on, and then later the blue crib, in the big brass bed, and finally on our own...) I remember big brother creeping down the hall to settle outside of our door to hear the story...
She sat in the rocking chair and worked her way through Roald Dahl, C.S. Lewis, Laura Ingalls Wilder, E.B. White, Louisa May Alcott, L.M. Montgomery, Frances Hodgson Burnett (the Secret Garden AND the Little Princess), Charlotte and Elizabeth Bronte, Jane Austen, and quite a bit of Dickens. She even got through the first several chapters of Great Ex (to the cemetery scene) before she closed the book and told us if we wanted to know how it ended we should read it ourselves. (Isn't that enough, Mr. Maiden yelled up the stairs, for Christ' sake, the kids are teenagers!)
I know MlleL likes it, because every night at bedtime, our book appears on the foot of her bed. But I'm never sure if she's really listening. I'm not sure if she gets the story quite yet.
Until this weekend, when she was explaining to me how she managed to get MasterP to go to sleep for his nap.
"I pretended I was reading him a long and boring story, and told him to pretend to go to sleep while he listened to it, and he did." (Uh Oh.) Well, what kind of long and boring story, I asked?
"You know, like how Owl told the long and boring story about his uncle and Pooh had to listen with his eyes closed and then Owl's house fell over. Like that."
HOORAY!!!!
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