Okay, I have a ton to do this morning... Cutting apples for "healthy Halloween" (yuck), getting 3 kids ready to go to school complete with costumes (Audrey: gypsy; Henry: Spiderman; and Elliott: ironic ghost) so no blog today. Please enjoy my horns and scary contacts. No costume for me... just like in life, I like to concentrate on accessories.
Usually it's breakfast but yesterday it was blogging. I learned my lesson and my cream of wheat is now boiling on the stove. I'll always eat my breakfast. Otherwise it makes me clumsy among other things. Case in point:
Here in Canada and in the UK, we commemorate our troops on 11th November at 11am. In the weeks leading up to the event, we wear poppies on our coats. We buy these poppies for whatever we want to donate from a veteran or cadet at a table in most stores.
Yesterday I went to buy mine after grocery shopping from a sweet old dear in a uniform. I struggled with my change, trying to put my handful of coins into the teensy slot. Toonies, Loonies and dimes started to cascade onto the floor and as I juggled my purchases, loose change, tried to sift the coins into the box and step on the coins that started to roll away, I knocked over her display. The wreath that said "Lest We Forget" in somber letters fell to the floor. Only a tiny bit humiliating. I replaced the wreath, mumbled an apology, crammed the rest of the change in the container, grabbed my poppy and hightailed it out of there. Double time.
So lest I forget, I'm having breakfast. It may not stop my comic clumsiness, it'll cut out an excuse I can use for my antics.
Hapy Monday! Remember that band? The Happy Mondays? Anyway.
As I sit at the computer trying to ignore Audrey's Monday morning screaming fit, I'm still in a good mood. And see? Ignoring the crappy behaviour works. She just came into the kitchen in a better mood to have me fix her hair. Those child-care experts sure know what they're talking about.
So, today I want to vent about Halloween. If you were reading my blog last year about this time (check 26th Oct 2006), you already know I hate it and the reason why so I won't go into that again. But I do have to vent about being forced to partake in the activities. The kids all need costumes for school on Wednesday. Thankfully I still have some influence on them and they've decided to make life easy on me. Audrey wants to be a gypsy so she'll cobble together stuff from my closet for that. It's amazing what the bribe of long dangly earrings will buy you. Then there's Henry who'll happily wear Elliott's robot costume from last year. And the piece de resistance, Elliott. He watched Charlie Brown yesterday and now wants to go as an ironic ghost. I love that he's doing this. It's just a sheet with eye holes. As much as you think you've seen that one a million times, really, how many times have you seen a kid at your door in that costume? I love it. And it makes me hate Halloween just a little bit less.
The nudity is mine and the underaged kid is Elliott.
When are we supposed to stop being nude in front of our kids? When they were babies, my nudity was a necessity. Time just marched on and frankly I just kinda noticed that the kids are now 11, 9 and 7. This morning I was just coming out of the shower and Elliott came in to brush his teeth. Of course I was naked as the day I was born. Neither of us said or did anything out of the ordinary, just went about our business. But I couldn't help but think that I was emotionally scarring my son somehow. What if he later uses my spectacular surgically improved breasts as a yardstick against all others? I'd never forgive myself.
I suppose it's all okay until one of us starts yelling "PRIVACY! PRIVACY!" while slamming and locking the bathroom door. But how are we supposed to know what to do when it's perfectly okay in this house to walk into the kitchen to grab a medicine spoon completely in the altogether? Scott did that one this morning, too. Henry even commented that "Hey, daddy's nude in the kitchen". Scott replied "That's be a great name for a band." and walked off.
See? I've finally found a reason to use some of my secret cash after the major mp3 purchase of last year. Aside from the odd purse and shoes, of course.
So I heard on the radio about creepy contacts for Halloween. As I sat at my desk, I thought: "What a great idea! Subtle and really cool. That's for me." I drove across town and thought that they couldn't be more than about $30. In which case I could use our joint chequing account. When I finally got to Party Mart, I saw the great selection and settled on orange catlike eyes and pulled out my wallet. "That'll be $80 plus tax." she said cheerfully. "Gurk", I reply as I pull my secret bank card from the depths of my purse. Scott would never ever sanction this one. Not that he'd say no. He never does but he would say no to almost $100 spent on something I'll wear for all of 6 hours a year. And I had to have them. So it's a win/win situation.
Scott's home sick and hates that I do a blog (more because I spend time on it and make no money, not because he hates that I write) so I have to be sneaky about this. Every time he walks by I have to (... uh oh... that was him right then) switch windows to the weather channel website under the guise of checking the temperature.
Anyways, as this stress is totally sucking my creativity, this is going to be a lame blog today... oooooh it'll be 11C later... What do I hear around the house? Audrey found a kiddy piano and is pounding away at it. Henry sounds like he's moving furniture. Scott's calling the office and telling someone named Jeff that he's not coming in. Taz is moving around the house and meowing for attention. On the radio they're playing Fifty Mission Cap by the Hip. Awesome song by an awesome Canadian band.
Gotta go make sympathetic noises about Scott's illness (I hate when he's sick so I'll be faking it as usual... ooooooh that was bad) and get Audrey off to school. Have a great day.
So now I'm a GoodLife member. I hated the sales job they used on me. They could have saved their breath since I was already convinced that I would go there. It's convenient by bus, bike and car, it's on the way home from work and 5 minutes away from home (by car anyway). Their classes are convenient for me and the step class I took on the weekend kicked my ass. Loved it.
Problems? Well the one I could see is the fact that in that step class, and in the whole place as a matter of fact, I was the errr, largest one there. And I'm okay enough with my body to know that I'm not a fat person. Big-boneded, yes, but definitely not fat. But the women that took the class and the teachers were thin. I mean vegan triathlete thin. Pierced-bellybutton thin. If-I-looked-like-that-I-wouldn't-be-at-a-gym-but-marvelling-at-my naked-body-at-home-in-a-full-length-mirror thin. What's up with that? There wasn't a "juicy" girl in the bunch. I had to represent us all.
There's also the fact that I have to actually pay unlike the free ride I got from the YMCA. But honestly, not having to give up my Sunday morning wiping butts and noses may be worth the $60 per month.
Great stuff about GoodLife? Carpeted change room (awesome coming out of the shower), great smell even at the end of the day... let's just say the Y is a community service and leave it at that. Oh, and the tvs. Eight gorgeous televisions all set to different channels. In my mind, that's what heaven looks like.
So I'm happy with my new purchase. I'm going again today to watch tv in peace. I mean to work out. And if I go often enough I'll be one of those ripped belly piercers too.
I have to give kudos to the good folks at Tylenol who came up with an easy open package for their extra-strength pain relief pills. Child proof lids drive me absolutely nuts. And I don't suffer from anything more than a short fuse (besides the headache or cramps I need the pills for). And don't get me started on lining up the stupid arrows.
I understand the need for childproof packaging. Of course I do, I have kids. But when they swaddle my maple syrup within an inch of it's life so that I slice through my palm with the kitchen knife trying to open it when all I wanted was some sweet sweet goo for my morning Eggo, I have a problem. If they left the package alone all the kid would get would be a bit of a sugar rush. What's with the overkill on packaging?
Tamper-proof you say? Well I still say that the amount of product tampering that may go on is far outweighed by the frustration of trying to find something sharp to prise open the bloody ketchup bottle. Have you ever been to a kids' house after Christmas or a birthday? The way they attach the toys to the packaging, it's criminal. It makes you want to go back to simpler times and get your kid a bloody ball. I mean, I've seen doll hair sewn to a strip of plastic then in turn sewn to the cardboard box. I mean, what do they think they're playing at? Who is tampering with an effing Polly Pocket? Although to be honest, I guess they're so small they can be taken internally.
Let's go back to the pills, shall we? Once, in Miami I was PMSing big time and was trying to open one of those infernal packages. You would not want to have been there, I would have cut you (remember Kathy?). All I wanted was a Midol to calm my manaical symptoms and by the time I got my package open, I was ready to commit homicide. So thank you Tylenol. I know you made your new packaging for those with arthritis or some such ailment but all of us with PMS raise our tampons to you for your thoughtfulness.
Awww... I had so many other videos to add. Well in Karenworld I pretty much do as I please since I'm chief cook and bottle washer so I'm putting a bunch in. What can I say? When this is the only place you're ominpotent it quickly goes to your head.
This song is so up my alley. I understand every word. Why? Because you're reading the blog of someone who took just one semester of Spanish herself. I love the singer's pasty white chest in the unbuttoned shirt, all sexy like a drunken Irish pub rat. Minus the teeth in his fist and bloody nose of course.
Okay, not really my goat but I liked the title. When this gorgeous goat came through consignment the other day, my boss found it and was the first to snag it. At first I was jealous but then realized that if I had it, it would get old fast but luckily I had my camera. Now I can enjoy it anytime I want and not have the hassle of getting rid of it when it drives me nuts.
Continuing the video blog week, I have to add this. Chad Vader is hysterical and inspired. Two things I aspire to be be never reach. You don't even have to be a Star Wars fan to find this hysterical. This is part 1 of about 8 but it's my favourite. Do yourself a favour and watch them all.
Oh boy are you guys in trouble. I learned to put a video in a blog. And to celebrate, all the blogs this week will be stuff I love from YouTube. First, though, I want to show you what I deal with on a daily basis in regards to Elliott (firstborn son, love of my life and shiny new sax player).He has to practice everyday and in doing so sends the family from the livingroom, forces me to put the captions on the tv and birds fly from their perches outside. I love the boy madly but...
On the radio this morning the djs were talking about what they'd do if an asteroid was on collision course with the earth and we only had an hour left to live. Aside from the inevitable sex, praying and pigging out, the answers were pretty standard. Someone even said looting. Because getting the new iphone will fulfill you like nothing else. Sure. Way to make sure that you're going to hell. And yes, I believe in hell. I'm a good Catholic girl. Even though I haven't seen the inside of a church in over 2 years.
So what would I do?
I'd go to Blockbuster and rent a family movie and watch it with my little clan gathered around me. Not too inspired but in order not to freak out the kids and to keep them all in one place with me, I think the movie idea is a good one. Something cute and funny like Happy Feet or the Incredibles. Oh, and I'd bake a cake (out of a box... no time for scratch) and we'd eat the whole thing with no untensils. Nothing would be better than that for my final moments. What would you do?
Not that I'm complaining but this one is so darned agreeable.
We were having a third conversation about Halloween costumes. This one was terrific compared to the first one where she told me she wanted to be a mushroom. Thank goodness I waited that one out before saying no. You have to know that I hate buying costumes, I'd rather make them, but ironically I can't sew. Go figure. In the second conversation, she wanted to be a gypsy. Woohoo. I can assemble that one without sewing or pulling out what's left of my hair.
In this conversation she stated that she didn't want to be a gypsy anymore because Rachel was going to be a gypsy. She wanted to be a genie. Several things went through my head at once:
1) I can 't easily assemble a genie costume, I may have to buy this one; 2) Audrey's not the slimmest girl in her class. Barbara Eden she ain't; 3) This is Canada. At the end of October. At night. Average temperature? 0.
So I say "no" to her and brace for the inevitable screamfest. It doesn't come. She shrugged her shoulders and said "Okay, me and Rachel will be gypsy sisters!" What happened to the slightly hysterical and tantrummy daughter I used to have? Honestly, I do not want her back. I love this new and improved version.
I remember when my dad bought our set of encyclopedia. There was actually a door-to-door salesman involved who coerced my dad into the 22 volume "leather-bound" set of World Books (including the Reference Guide, of course). They sure looked good sitting in our family room making us look like the smartest West Indians on the block. I copied....errr... researched every high school project out of them. That set of books was my internet. A heavy, awkward pain-in-the-ass, internet. Did you know the whole set could fit on 2 cds? Sigh.
Flash forward to yesterday. Audrey needed some information on Newfoundland and Labrador for school (actually Terre-Neuve but that's neither here nor there). She went online and found some photos but after labouriously typing some info into Notebook, she promptly lost the work she did during dinner when she forgot to save it and the computer went into sleep mode. Before the waterworks started, I told Elliott to run down to my room and get the N-O World book. Sure enough, information on N&L was there. Okay, the stuff was woefully out of date... the thing was published in 1974 so it wasn't Newfoundland and Labrador yet and the flag was different but she got what she needed in glorious, vibrant black and white. I say again, internet, schminternet.
I have a friend who recently changed her name. I've heard of people doing this but never knew anyone who actually did it. She said that her name never accurately reflected who she was and that made me pause.
We're given our names before we have our personalities. How many times have we met someone whose name keeps escaping us because they don't "look" like that name? If they changed it, it'd make it easier to remember, sure, but what about their personality or looks? That'll stay the same. I read somewhere that "Cameron" means "crooked nose". Does that doom Cameron to look like his name? I'm not sure.
My dad recently told me that he and my mum were thinking of naming me Tara. Would I be a different person as Tara? Do I even look like a Tara? I sure don't feel like a Tara. And what if I chose my new name as an adult? Would I expect people who've known me for 40 years to immediately call me by my new name? Or just introduce myself to new people by my new name? Would I even answer to it in public if called? Hang up on people who asked for the new name on the phone because I forgot that it was me?
Growing up I never liked the name Karen. I was always one of a hockey team of Karens in every grade in school. I hated that but got used to it. Now I actually like it. No Tara for me. No offense to any Taras out there but it's just not me. I kinda like Ivy, though. I don't feel like an Ivy, though.
When Audrey was named I wanted her to be Isabel so bad that I called her that for a week. But Audrey stuck and now I can't even imagine her being Isabel.
In my bar days I'd give a fake name all the time. "Olivia Davis" after my two favourite actresses back then... Olivia DeHavilland and Bette Davis. I'd give it out and think "they must know I'm lying... that so isn't me". But they never did.
In my travels, I've met 2 women with really cool names: Violet Greene and Kat Wolf. Both are married names and I can bet that they were thrilled to take their hubby's last names. Well, my name is pretty run-of-the-mill... boring, even. But I wouldn't give it up or change it for anything. Within reason.
I read in bed until 9:30 this morning, I did a load of laundry, I'm still in my jammies at nearly noon and I'm watching the Jeffersons on tv. Life is good.
Later I'll watch the Tudors on tape and my soap opera "live" and cook a sumptious dinner of turkey, stuffing, mac & cheese, salad and veggies. With cake for dessert. Heaven. And just to let you know, I did get an invite from Shelley last minute. We ate over at the farm Saturday night after a Friday night call from her. Knew it! And we saw baby Deya and her parents and everyone's happy and healthy and beautiful. It's a Thanksgiving miracle. Have a great day, I know I will. Showering is optional.
Look, ma it's after 3pm and I'm only now writing a blog! I have no explanation only excuses. Today is a PD day for the kids so I made them clean their rooms. Being the good example that I am, I cleaned up too. My words would hold no sway if I made them do dungeon duty while I watched tv and blogged (much as I wanted to). So blame the good parent gene in me (it does surface now and again) for the late blog. Now onto more interesting things. For you, at least...
Happy Thanksgiving to us Canadians! I've been holding out buying a turkey and all the trimmings because for the last few years my SIL has invited us to dinner at the last minute. Year after year I've bought a turkey only to have to freeze it for the Christmas dinner. One year I even invited the neighbours over only to be the worst neighbour ever and uninvite them at the last minute because of a brain-fart of Shelley's. I did and do ask her if she's having a thing and she always says "no" only to change her mind last minute. So I'm buying nothing until Saturday afternoon.
On a completely related note, I have a question about vaccination scars. Why do I and everyone around my age have a pretty big one on our arm and my kids don't have one at all? Did they use a bigger straw-like needle? Was the vaccination more poisononous? Why do we have a scar for life? The kids're innoculated just like us. So what's with the lack of life-long proof?
Just something to ponder as you tuck into your turkey this weekend. maybe a little dinner conversation. If any of you find out the answer, let me know. I'm not in a googly place right now. The floor's not going to mop itself, you know. Thanks and have a great long weekend!
Not sure what to write today. Looks like it's another stream-of-consiousness blog. Sorry. The up side is that I'm off tomorrow to be with the kids on their PD Day and I can write something really profound. You know how profound I am... Shut up.
I was going to fill in one of those "get to know me" email questionnaires for you but seriously, you know all that stuff already. Favourite question? 34. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT? Life, America's Next Top Model and Coronation Street.
I'm drinking Acai juice. Supposed to be good for you. Something about antioxidants. I think it tastes good. Blueberry-like. I think it compliments the bagel and Cheez Whiz nicely. Besides, what's an antioxidant when it's at home?
I'm giving blood tonight. Woohoo... free doughnuts! I may also check out the grocery store for some new clothes. Doughnuts and shopping. A perfect night.
My favourite radio station is doing it again. They're giving away a prize that consists of 24 hours in Las Vegas. No hotel room, no tickets to anything, just a plane-load of Ottawans let loose in Sin City for a day.
Now on the surface, this sounds like a blast. Then I realize the logistical nightmare that could come of this. I'd need a sitter to sleep here overnight and get the kids to school if it's a school day. I like to sleep. What do I want with a trip that doesn't provide me with an actual bed? A better trip for parents of young kids? A 24 hour bed-in at the nearest motel. With room service. This is definitely a prize for those:
a) without kids;
b) without jobs
c) without comittments of any kind or
d) all of the above.
Then there's the Vegas aspect. I've been there for a four day weekend and even that wasn't enough. There was so much to see. I could spend 24 hours at The Star Trek Experience alone. Yes, I'm aware of what that makes me, thank you.
Anyway, if you go to Cirque de Soleil, say, then go for dinner and gamble a little you're done. Call me crazy but that doesn't sound like a prize to me. I'd much rather win movie passes.
The preparation for the trip would take more time than the trip itself. You'd have to find the perfect outfit since you don't have time to change. No luggage. You'd have to wear (ugh!) comfortable shoes. I don't know. This sounds like no prize.
Aren't I cool? Did you see how I used the kids' lingo?
I just wanted to congratulate the Canadian loonie for it's superiority over the American greenback. It's been a little over 100 cents for about a week.
Now you'd think such a financial coup would translate to us little people. That we as consumers (some of us frequent) would see the delicious benefits. But not so much. Are clothes cheaper? No. Is food cheaper? Nope. Is gas cheaper? Hell, no. I have heard tell that Canadians are buying American real estate in droves, though. Has nothing to do with me. Neither does the fact that I can shop on my American holiday considering I can barely afford to get myself and my family on the cross-town bus.
You know what really drives me nuts? It's the books. On all books and magazines sold here the price is in CDN$ and USD$. Printed directly on the cover. Up until about a week ago, the American price was a bit below the Canadian one allowing for the exchange rate. And rightly so. No debating that. But now that we've achieved near parity, shouldn't Canadian book prices be the same price or even (gasp!) cheaper than American? Even though it's pre-printed on the item, couldn't our awesomeness be translated at the register?
Someone has to be able to reap the benefits from this other than people with deep pockets who can travel to and buy a house in America. What about us little guys? All I want is a damn People magazine.
After sleeping in 2 days in a row and not showering for same, I'm awake and showered and ready to go at 7:30am. Doesn't mean I'm not tired, though. And good for me, I'm biking to work this morning.
On Friday Audrey came home from school and declared that her friend Rachel would be coming over for dinner. They'd set it all up at school and one phone call would seal the deal at precisely 3:30pm that day. Not wanting to break my only daughter's heart, I said okay. Operation Win Over Mummy With Fluttering Eyelashes And Big Smiles was in full effect. What I neglected to mention was that Friday was leftover parfait night with fruit bars for dessert because we have an empty fridge by then because of the menu plan I follow.
When Scott came home at 5:30, Audrey's best friend Rachel was already here and the girls were playing quietly in Audrey's room. Whoever came up with the equation stating that removing one of three kids from a room reduces the noise factor by 80% is a genius. Even works when you add a child to the mix.
So anyway, Scott suggests that we order in and to my surprise I say no. I didn't mention I saw my fat thighs in a photo of myself (in a local newspaper, no less) on dragonboat weekend and fought to keep down my breakfast. Nope, I was in cobble together mood. We had frozen fish filets (box chipped from the side of the deep freeze), salad from a bag (another genius invention) and carrots fresh from my neighbour's garden. Don't worry, they were given to me that afternoon. All above board. And because I have an amazingly stocked baking pantry, we had these molten chocolate cakes. Seriously, I love my kitchen.
I'm a married mother of 3. I'm Canadian. I'm a Whovian, a sci-fi nerd, a ukulele player, knitter, cartoon/animé lover and a tv/pop culture-holic, I keep a blog that inflates my already swollen ego. I'm not all that interesting but I have high self-esteem which makes up for it.
Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org. Let's talk about the stuff I love.