Okay. I have the day off and instead of passing the time with more weighty pursuits, I’ve been concocting an evil High School Musical quiz on Facebook. Audrey and I saw it again on the weekend and I felt the need to nitpick it since I’ve seen it so many times. These questions are nearly impossible. I wish I could link it... you’re just going to have to find it on your own. I’ve got some packing (actually unpacking since I can’t close the damned suitcase). See you tomorrow.
Hellllloooo? Just writing a blog now. At the end of the day. Hey, if no one’s going to notice, maybe I’ll do this all the time. Do you realize I write each blog in the morning before I leave the house for work? Sometimes even before breakfast? During the hustle and bustle of getting the kids and myself out the door, ready for the day?
Today the schedule was different. The kids were home (Another pd day? Are you kidding me?) and so was Scott. But he had a meeting at work that started at 9am. My work started at 9:30. He needed the car and since my work is closer so... auuuugghhh... long story short, I got a lift to work. But we were rushed and I was early. Forty-five minutes early but who’s counting? We need 2 effing cars. The long and the short of it was there was no time for blogging this morning. Then I had to go to the gym, then drive back to work to pick up my sunglasses, then drive a playdate of Audrey’s home, then eat 3 doughnuts then check my emails... now I’m here.
And since this blog is so interesting to you who are not inhabiting my pants right now, I’ll end this on a high note. Have a lovely weekend. I’m back as normal at the regular time Monday morning. Do something interesting this weekend and tell me all about it. I promise I’ll have a better blog than this dreck next week. Especially since some of my blogs will be posted from Merry Olde. See ya.
I just signed up for a marathon. You know the kind. Over 42k? I’m not sure what I’m thinking really. It’s on the 25th of May at 7am (you read that right). This is crazy on so many levels:
1. I’ve never run a marathon in my life. Which is why I intend to walk the entire thing. It should only take me about 6 to 8 hours. 2. 23 May is my 15th wedding anniversary. No getting drunk or gorging out before the race. 3. I have to be downtown at 6:30 for the 7am start time. In case you missed it that’s seven o’clock in the morning, friends.
Why did I do this? Because once, a long time ago, in passing, at a time when I was probably punchy from lack of sleep, I said I wanted to "do a marathon" by 40. I’m 40 now and will be 41 in August. So this is it. My last chance. At least I didn’t pidgeonhole myself by saying I wanted to "run a marathon". So a few days ago I held my breath, paid the $90 and now I’m officially signed up. You know, I could have signed up for a 1/2 marathon but those who know me know I don’t do things by halves. Now, all I have to do now is train, right? Does walking over to the fridge for a snack count? Changing channels with a sticky remote? I do have to press realllly hard. Oh, I am so screwed.
Yesterday as usual I walked Henry to the bus stop. We waited for a few minutes and when we saw the bus turn the corner and turned to the dad at the stop to say something clever. When I turned back there was a hand in front of my face. Holy crap, Henry was assaulting me! No, not really. He wanted me to kiss his palm. Kiss his palm, you ask? Here’s the deal:
A few years ago back when I was doing daycare, I read the sweetest book ever. It’s called "The Kissing Hand" and it’s all about a raccoon that’s afraid to go to school for the first time. His mother convinces him by saying if she kisses the palm of his hand, he can put it up to his cheek if he needed his mummy’s kiss during the day. Isn’t that sweet? There’s something about the raccoons and their little hands with their opposable thumbs. Adorable. Almost makes you forget that they are giant garbage eating rodents. So now, every morning, Henry wants me to kiss his hand and yesterday was no different. Only he caught me unawares and nearly smacked me in the face. Oh yeah, nothing says "I love you" like a bop on the nose.
It seems that the kids are lobbing around some kind of coughing virus thingie. Henry had it late last week, now Audrey has it. We were trying to ignore it when we took the kids out to supper at their cousin Natalie’s on Sunday but Audrey would not be denied. She pushed her supper around her plate then fell asleep on the couch in front of The Goonies. Always making a good impression, that girl. Well at least she looked cute passed out and slobbering on Nat’s beige Pottery Barn couch.
So here we are. Me blogging and her watching cartoons and hacking away like an asthmatic octegenarian. Poor kid. And this looks so bad at work. I’ve hardly showed up this March. And it’s not for lack of desire. Oh well. You can’t control a houseful of sick kids, can you?
Well it looks like Jesus isn’t the only one who had a reprieve this weekend. Who knew that when I went to a going away party Saturday for a co-worker that I’d come home with another rabbit for Audrey? I told my friends about what happened to poor Monkey and my boss who gave him to me in the first place said the second one was still at her house. She had just had an arguement with her daughter that morning saying that if she didn’t get rid of this second rabbit, she’d send it to the SPCA. In comes me. After a quick call to Scott to make sure it’s okay, I followed my boss home at the end of the evening and came home with another rabbit care of the "Easter Bunny". This one is a brown girl bunny that we named "Cocoa" (short for Chocolate Bunny... get it? Easter? Well, Audrey thought it was clever anyway).
Please pray for this one. We hope to have it last at least until Christmas. Wish us luck.
Monkey didn’t make it. He lasted even less time than the 9 month marathon life of Betty the beta fish. We were so careful about changing his shavings every weekend. We even bought a huge bag of cedar shavings to make his cage smell awesome. Unfortunately no one told us that aromatic cedar is poisonous to rodents and in a matter of days he was gone. Why the hell do they sell it at the pet store if it’s poisonous to half their stock? Grrrr...
Anyway, Audrey was beside herself and cried for about half an hour. When she was through we discussed planting a garden in the backyard with all Monkey’s favourite veggies. Cucumber, lettuce, carrots and celery. Audrey wants to make a plaque for it that says "Monkey’s Garden". She also wants to let the wild neighbourhood rabbits (of which we have tons) eat from it and not chase them away. I wanted to make it go away so I told her we could get a new rabbit right away. She said she wanted to be sad about Monkey for a while. Isn’t that mature? I’m so proud of the way she’s handling this.
Hope your Easter weekend is less deathy than mine. Except for that whole Jesus thing.
So I got a delivery from eBay yesterday. Not ususual since Scott and I both use my eBay account and we get lots and lots of packages. I do so enjoy packages. Except when they ask for extra duty. What the hell is up with that? I paid for the item, I paid for the shipping, now I have to pay for the delivery git to put it in my hands? What an effing cash grab. Anyway, yesterday I got a package (no duty... woohoo).
When I opened the door, the delivery guy said (looking around and behind me) "Mrs. Kaye, please". Ummm... that’d be me, I replied. I grabbed the box and signed the thingie. Afterwards he started to say that he needed to ask for my name because it’s not the same as the one on the box... then he looked down and saw that the signature was the same as on the box. I grabbed my booty (the package, not my ass) and shut the door. Huh? Minutes later, I realized that he didn’t immediately think I was Karen Kaye. Granted with my errr... complexion I look more like a Sha’niqaa Jackson but this is the ’burbs, man. I answered my own front door but nearly had to convince the postal worker of who I was. After all, I could have been the maid, right? Hey, who could blame him. It’s not like this is Canada or anything. Hmph.
I present Stellar Mothering Moment 2 (in an unending series)
I realize that either I’m not a great mother, I don’t like my kids or I’m just plain not nice. This is why:
I hate having the kids help me in the kitchen. It’s true. Yes, I know all the books say it’s an incredible teaching moment and that I should be embracing the fact that they want to help me work. My mind knows I should be eager to teach them how many teaspoons are in a tablespoon (3) or use them as cheap manual labour for stirring messy concoctions. But honestly. Have you ever seen a kid in the kitchen?
Their hands are nasty. Even when they wash them, I turn to the sink and turn back and they have fingers in noses, mouths or eyes and expect to keep helping. Uck. They want to lick everything that’s not nailed down. Bowls, spatulas, spoons, countertops... even moving beaters and knives. Part of me wants to see what’ll happen when they stick their tongues into a moving wire whip. But that’s fodder for "stellar mothering moment number 3". And don’t get me started about the mysterious crunchy eggshell bits in the finished product accidentally dropped into the food by the elusive "Not Me". Grrrr...
So when they ask the bright-eyed, excited question: "Can I help you bake mummy?" and I give my typical answer of "You can help me by going downstairs to watch a movie. I’ll call you when the **insert delicious baked goods here** are ready" know that I’m filing it in my Stellar Mothering Moments file.
kxx (Oh, and remember the Violent Femmes incident? That was Stellar Mothering Moment Number 1)
As a customer service to some of my new readers, in an effort to fast-track the get to know me phase and being in a good mood today (the mumless fog has lifted) I thought I’d go back to what I do best. Talk about myself. And besides myself, these are other things that make me happy:
Quiet children TV Tasty food (savoury, spicy and salty... mmmm) Baking High School Musical 2 (okay, so I kinda lied... but this is not about HSM1. Ha.) Shoes Money Jewellry Movies Summer Pedicures Word games Downy Dragonboating The smell of rain Figure skating Falling alseep Getting a compliment Archie Comics Double Digests Scott (it would be awful not to add him, eh... is it too late to say that these are in no particular order?) Having warm feet and hands (which rarely happens outside of bed between September and May) Plane trips Accents (any) A genuine smile Tea Douglas Coupland (jPod is absolutely fantastic) Cats My job
That’s it for now since I have to get ready for said job. Have yourselves a lovely day and we’ll talk again tomorrow. Love you lots.
I do this every year on my mum’s birthday and, frankly, this year is no different. She would have turned 74 yesterday. I miss her like crazy. She died of stomach cancer in 1995 and she never met my kids. She would have adored them. I often say that she’d still be living here to help with the "babies" even 8 years after the youngest was born.
I often wonder what my life would have been like had she lived. I know that I probably wouldn’t have appreciated her like I do now. I probably wouldn’t call her as much as she’d like. I’d definitely take advantage of the free babysitting and not even think twice about it. As it stands now I only call my dad every few weeks and it’s a total chore. I love him but he drives me crazy. I’d probably feel the same about my mother. Death really makes you realize what you had. I wish she was here for me to take take for granted.
Everything you remember is wonderful, isn’t it? A happy memory. Like when those old actresses were filmed with a greasy lens to make them less wrinkly. Our brains seem to have Vaseline on them to romanticize their memories. Like the time when she got drunk on St. Paddy’s day/her birthday at my favourite bar in front of all my friends. If I think back fondly on it it was a funny bonding moment where I realized my mother was a person just like me. But if I remember the actual moment all those years ago, I was humiliated to tears, angry and sober because I had to take care of her all night.
It took time and perspective to understand where she was coming from now that I’m a mother too. About staying up all night waiting for your kids to come home. About being so tired at the end of the work day that you go to bed at 9pm. About the guilt you feel when you, well, pretty much do anything related to the kids. About how you sacrifice things so the kids can have what they want and they don’t even know it or care. I wish I could tell her that I understand now. I get it.
I still miss her everday. I cry less but I still cry. Sometimes a song will get me out of nowhere and create a perfect storm of sap. Last time it happened was about a month ago when I heard a Spice Girls song. Yes, I know... but I can’t predict when it’s going to happen, it just does. Last year I got a tattoo to always keep her close but I don’t really need one since she’s never ever far from my heart. But the tat is in her handwriting so it’s really special to me.
So I know none of you knew her (she died the year I got the internet) but if you could spare a happy thought to wherever she may be right now, that’d be great. I know she’s somewhere making up words at Scrabble like she used to and making everyone nuts. Hiya Ma! Happy birthday!
I’ve had more hits this week than I’ve ever had in my 2 years of blogging. I’m shocked. Why? My writing hasn’t gotten any better. It’s just as self-involved as ever. I’m still shocked that people are interested in what I have to say. You do know that I’m a middle aged, Black (well, Oreo, actually), happily married, suburban mother of 3, right? Oh my hell (to quote a phrase), how boring is that? What is the deal?
I’ve had 511 hits this week. Fifteen already this morning before I’ve even written anything. On the day I posted the photo of the High School Musical on Ice kids, at 11:30pm I had 115 hits. One hundred and fifteen. Holy crap. I usually average about 30 per day. Talk about pressure. I need to be on my best behaviour, kids. We have company. If you mystery blog readers don’t stop this, I’m going to think this blog will actually make me some money. Oooh... what if I can get a job writing? Can you imagine? Well, I won’t forget you little people who made me what I am today. Thanks, kids!
So Elliott asked me one day to make a choice. Would I rather go to the High School Musical school (East High) or Hogwarts (Harry Potter’s school). He thought he knew the answer. In fact I thought I knew the answer. Of course it would be East High. But wait. I have to think.
At Hogwarts you have kids wandering up and down the halls with potion textbooks, wands and pointy hats. They have cliques but everybody in the same house is on the same level. Magic.
East High seems like a typical high school. A typical high school where the kids routinely break out into song but a typical high school nonetheless. There are cliques like a typical school... cool kids, jocks, freaks, brainacs, etc. Which means the cool kids (ie: the ones who sing) would never in a million years be my friends. Ever.
So, looks like Hogwarts wins by default. Wingardium leviosa.
This past Sunday Audrey and I went to see High School Musical the Ice Tour. What can I say? If Audrey wasn't into it, I'd have found some little girl to take or showed up on my own like the crazy cougar I am. The show was unbelieveable. They did HSM for the first half then HSM2 (my personal fave) after intermission. Nothing was missing except for the pesky dialogue and Zac Efron. But if he could excecute a triple lutz like the guy who played him Sunday night, he'd be the perfect man.
My figure skating background (did I ever mention that I have one? Remind me to tell you about it) came out and I kept wanting to clap after each Arabian and Axel but being the only one aware that they were skating really well, I sat on my hands after the first number.
We had great seats very close to the ice and I only managed to part with $10 for a slushy. Yes, I see the irony of buying a plastic cup of snow at an extortionate price after driving through 52 centimetres of the stuff but what can I say? I was in the moment.
I got lots of illegal photos and videos but I won't bore you with all of them. Okay, just one of them.
This is "Troy" and "Gabriella" kissing. You can't hear the retching noises Audrey was making at this point.
And yet, it keeps falling. Who did we piss off to make it snow like this? All I want is summer. I want pedicures and pretty toenails. I want tank tops. I want shaving my legs and armpits to mean something. I want to go outside without 15 minutes of coating, mittening, scarfing, hatting and booting. I want soft skin. I want to open all the windows of the house. I. Want. Summer.
On the weekend I was coming home on a 4-lane road from the grocery store and the snow was really starting to come down. I was slowly driving behind two plows driving staggered behind each other as they so often do. No problem since they were literally clearing the way for me. (Hey it is Karenworld after all).
Anyway, for reasons known only to God and those 2 plow drivers, they decided to do a 3 point turn in the middle of the road. I waited an intelligent distance behind the two trucks to let them do their thing. I notice coming up behind me on that slippery road, this fool in a Hummer (naturally) who was driving way too fast. He drove up to where I was waiting then swerved around me into the oncoming traffic. Thankfully no one was coming the other way. The trucks were now perpendicular to me and the road and Hummer idiot almost crashed into the blade of one of the plows. It was one of the scariest things I ever saw on the road. I even covered my eyes as it was happening. I thought for sure I'd be a witness to something nasty. Fortunately for him (yet unfortunately for natural selection) nothing happened but, man, it was close.
This is Canada, people. It snows here. Please drive accordingly. Don't tailgate me. Drive at the speed you'd like to crash at. Make no sudden moves. That's all I ask. And while I'm on a rant, Can you please brush off your car? Don't just get in, run the windshield wipers and drive off. Brush the snow off your hood, roof and taillights. Snow flies off and endangers not only others but yourself. The taillights because, I don't know, maybe I'd like to know you're about to stop? Call me crazy. And while you're at it, brush off your licence plate so I know who I'm reporting to the cops other than "the fool in the Passat reading the sports page at the traffic lights whose car looks like a rolling snowbank." Thanks.
Blogging from work again so sorry gang, no links or photos. Isn't it enough that I'm risking my lifestyle to do this for you?
Let me just tell you about the thing that made me laugh the most and hardest this weekend. The gang and I were watching Star Wars Episode ummm... you know the one where Annikin turns into Darth Vader (I can never remember which episode is which since I'm old and saw them as they were released). Anyway, 2/3 of the way through, a desperate, crying Amidala is asking Obi Wan "What do we do now!?"
I find it interesting about how a sense of humour is developed. Is it from the environment or a personal mental development? It's absolutely fascinating to me. Because in the heat of the excitement of this tense movie moment, the room was silent except for Henry answering Amidala's heartfelt, impassioned question with "I dunno, get a juice box or sumpthin?"
Or so said the kind Black girls in my high school. It was supposed to be a rude comment about the fact that I'm Black on the outside and White on the inside. Well you know what? I'm okay with that. It makes me uniquely positioned to be comfortable in both worlds. And seriously, I couldn't be happier with my white hubby and beige kids. Anyway because of this interesting personality trait, I love videos like Weird Al's White and Nerdy and these...
It's one of those idiosyncrasies that make me the well rounded person you all know and love. Anywho, I've been buying and collecting the digest magazines since I was about 10 years old. I've really cut down on buying them lately but have amassed a collection of at least 1000 of the things. Ah, if only they were worth money. Not that I'd sell them or anything.
But to be honest I have a few that may be worth a couple of bucks. I have the first issue of Pals 'n' Gals. I have a superhero edition where the gang turns into Pureheart the Powerful (Archie), Captain Hero (Juggie), Superteen (Betty) and Evilheart (Reggie). I have issues so old that there's a duck character (Superduck) who actually beat up his son. Abuse has got to be worth something. I'll check on ebay.
Remember Little Archie? Those comics had Ambrose and Fangs Fogarty. Sometimes he'd solve crimes. The bad guys were Mad Dr. Doom and Chester. I even have an issue when the gang visited Canada. And what about Betty? Did you know she has an older brother and sister? Polly and Chick. Ummm... Moose's real name is Marmaduke. Jughead's? Forsythe. Did you know that yonks before Harry Potter, the first Hermione I ever heard of was Veronica's mother?
I still buy them if I'm left too long to wait at the grocery checkout. But I have to admit I hate the newer ones. I think they're trying to deflect homosexual rumours by making Jughead date girls from time to time. Yuck. If he's gay, he's gay. There's nothing wrong with that. Only, I prefer to think of him as having a love affair with food. I think I still buy them to see if Archie has finally made up his mind and chosen Betty. I mean really. Did Veronica ever really have a chance? She's rich, high maintanance and spoiled rotten. Betty is down-to-earth, willing to get dirty and knows how to fix Archie's jalopy. The perfect woman.
I'll just add to my collection and when I die I'll be that weird old lady with the attic full of yellowed comic books worth a fortune. That's fine. At least I'll leave a legacy to the kids. It's better than being the crazy cat lady.
And I realized haven't blogged today. Ooops! How can I abandon my peeps? Thank goodness I can blog from here.
This morning was odd because we're having yet another snow day because of the dump we had overnight. That's the second snow day for the kids in 3 days in case you're keeping score. Monday I stayed home as I was nursing a slight cold and, frankly, I wasn't too motivated. Today the snow was crazy but I got Scott to start the car and clear off the driveway before he went back to bed so I was able to fishtail my way to work only 30 minutes late. Kevin (my trainer) cancelled for today so I'll stay here an extra 30 minutes to make up for being late. Have I ever mentioned how much I love the flexibility of this job? Awesome. I heart Boomerang.
So anyway, here I am, data entrying away... well blogging actually but I'll be getting back to work as soon as I'm done here. Hope you have a pleasant snowy day today and I'll have an awesome blog tomorrow. I'm cooking it uop right now but I'll give you a tantalising hint... it has to do with Archie Comics. Yup. it'll be an instant Karenworld Klassic (don't you hate when people abuse the letter "K" like that?)
I don't believe in it. Don't get me wrong, I believe in love, and I believe that two people can fall in love very quickly... in a matter of hours, even, but at first sight? Without even speaking to each other? No way. Of course it's a romantic notion -- one that makes us all believe in magic but it's an illusion. Scott has told me many times that he fell in love with me the minute I walked into the bar. I think it's sweet and romantic but I don't believe him for a second. You can't just clap eyes on someone and instantly know you're going to marry them. It's asinine. I myself fell in love with Scott over the course of about 2 weeks. Much more realistic.
There has to be at least one conversation. You have to hear the sound of their voice. See the way they cut their food during dinner. The way they deal with inappropriate gas... I don't know. What I do know is that there's no way you could fall madly in love at first sight. Lust? Most definitely. Not love. I mean how many times have you gone off someone because they were wearing tragic shoes or made loud chewing sounds at dinner? If you were in love (at first sight or otherwise) that stupid stuff doesn't matter.
So grow up people. There is no "love at first sight". Now love-after-arduous-painstaking-periods-of-talking-meals-movies-and-a-prolonged-amount-of-hanging-out-phonecalls-and-maybe-a-little-sex... that I believe in. But it just doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?
We got 20 cms of snow not 3 days ago and today the rain. The pouring,drenching rain. The schoolbuses are cancelled, the kids are home and so I'm off. The very first day back after my boss asked that I start working Mondays again. Oh well. The kids are enjoying their bonus off day by watching cartoons. I'll probably bake and do laundry. I'm not planning much, though. I may not even shower. I love days like this when you have a built-in excuse not to set foot outside. Zero guilt. I'm off to enjoy it. A demain tout le monde!
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.