Do you know where you're going to?

So, we were out of town this past weekend visiting family in Calgary. Since both our vehicles need work and are not in safe driving condition ... and it's winter, on the highway, with two small children ... we rented a vehicle for the trip. Best to be safe, we figure.

We don't know our way around Calgary. So we took the GPS. Generally, the GPS works like a dream. But sometimes it's not up to date on closed businesses, new streets, etc. Also, it can give off some fairly interesting directions. Like these:

"Right turn on Memorial Doctor West"
(actual street name is Memorial Dr ... or "Drive")

"Exit right onto Crowchild Triangle"
(actual street name is Crowchild Trl ... or "Trail")

"Slight left turn on 15th Avenue Say"
(actual street name is 15 Ave SE ... or "Southeast")

"When possible, make a legal u-turn"
(up here, u-turns are never legal)

"Make a diagonal left turn on Unnamed"
(what is a "diagonal left turn"?!?!)

"Exit right to 16th Avenue East 1A Highway E 32 Street to H W Y 1E Highway 32 East"
(ummmmmm ...)

It's great when the GPS gives no advance warning, too. And that's when you think it should just say "Turn left ... NOW!" But mostly, it's good. And it certainly helped us to find our way around. Eventually. It also inspired some interesting discussions. And we have found that a fairly inexpensive way to stay entertained is to drive your vehicle into the middle of a large parking lot, ask your GPS for directions, and then drive around in circles completely ignoring its directions and waiting for its microchips to start smoldering as it keeps "calculating route" over and over. Also, you can contemplate what the perfect GPS would actually say to you at any given moment. Like so:

"No. Your other left."
"Stop your vehicle now. You should not be driving."
"Make an illegal three-point turn."
"Our records show this is not a street. You are driving through houses."
"We are contacting the authorities. Stay where you are."
"Return your rental vehicle here, before you kill someone."

**********
We had a lovely visit with my birth mom, though it was too brief. She seems to be doing well, all things considered. I don't think I've blogged much about her illness, if at all, so I'll do so now. If you're here for humour, you should probably just skip over the rest of this post ... it's medical stuff, and cancer is just not funny.

My birth mom has a rare form of pancreatic cancer. She was diagnosed with it this past summer. The tumor was quite large (roughly 6 inches) and had spread to her liver, bloodstream, and lymph system. It's an aggressive and fast growing form of cancer. It is also inoperable. When she began treatments, we were told that the cancer had almost completely replaced her liver and that, without chemo, she would not be expected to survive more than a few days. Fortunately, her type of cancer is generally very responsive to chemo, and liver cells can regenerate if enough of the cancer cells can be killed off.

The tumor has responded well to the first bunch of chemo treatments and has shrunk so that it is no longer causing any pain. And her liver is functioning once more, which is good news. The doctors stopped the chemo when they were required to, when her white cell count was at a certain low level. She will go for a CT scan in the new year to see if the tumor is growing again and, if so, she will need to start another round of chemo treatments.

In the meantime, she's fighting the cancer any way she can, and is trying an experimental therapy with a drug called "DCA". It's not presently being tested as a treatment for pancreatic cancer, but we are all hopeful that it will help her. Next time we go down, we'll try to stay a bit longer and have a better visit. We hesitate to tire her, though, so have to curb our enthusiasm a bit. The kids in particular can tire a person out pretty fast.

Everybody sing!

In the year of 2008, the evils gave to me:

Twelve investments falling
Eleven solicitors hounding
Ten kidney stones passing
Nine insurance arguments
Eight years of sick cat dying
Seven months of bed rest
Six torched houses
Five broken bones
Four engine issues
Three ailing parents
Two shattered windshields
And an elk slamming into my van.

It's almost over ... 2008 is almost over ... just three more days ...

Happy freakin' new year, everybody!

Edited to add:
This post is mostly tongue-in-cheek. There have been good things that have happened in 2008. I recognize this. I don't want to appear ungrateful. I know that this past year has brought its fair share of blessings to counteract all the bad. And much of the bad stuff has just been inconvenient. And many people have been hit harder than have I. But I'm irritated right now, because both of our vehicles have broken down yet again, with a vengeance, and it's getting a bit ridiculous. This too shall pass.

Santa Baby

Wishing you all the best for a happy holiday season!


(This photo of N was taken by Draya's Mom over at Draya's Diary. She takes mighty good pictures, huh?)

They wouldn't let poor Rudolph join in any tax planning activities

Okay, first of all: Is it just me, or does "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" sound an awful lot like the title of a Beatrix Potter book? Seriously. I keep expecting to see Brad Pitt in a bunny costume, possibly sporting a little blue jacket, hopping through a dangerous garden in search of lettuces.

Apparently, I only read children's books and accounting texts these days.

***********
And on an unrelated note, someone recently landed on my blog by googling "reindeer financial riddles". Did anyone know there was a calling for those? Out of curiosity, are reindeer supposed to know something about finance? Or would this be more about paying for stuff with reindeer instead of cash?

Your thoughts please. And if you know any reindeer financial riddles, do share!

Baby got teeth

So, N cut his very first tooth today. Just a tiny little speck peeking out from his bottom gums, but sharp as all get out. No wonder he was acting so grumpy. His cheeks are all red, and he's been lapping up the Tylenol. Quite inconsollable. Sure must hurt him. Hurts me too. Every time he bites.

**********
I'm still pretty sick. The cough has turned bad. I'll omit details, because it's gross and nobody really wants to read the finer points about what you coughed up today. But it's been rough, and I'm really tired, and then I started fearing really bad stuff, because that's what you do when you're displaying truly awful symptomology for more than a few days. So I headed to a walk-in clinic this evening to get things checked out. Two hours later, we knew with certainty that it's nothing especially horrible. But it's not just the common cold either. I've got bronchitis. So I have an antibiotic, and some Codeine cough syrup, and I'll hopefully be feeling better in a few days. Chest x-ray scheduled for the new year, just to make sure things are okay because ... well ... gross details omitted again. But I'm sure the x-ray will be all clear, and everything will be just fine.

("Am I contagious?", I asked. "No. You're infectious", came the doctor's reply. I just love semantics, don't you?)

I got home from the doctor after picking up my antibiotic. I told H I have bronchitis. That's why I've been so sick. That's why my energy has been shot. I want to take my drugs and pass out now, so I can get better. H responded to my glassy-eyed stare by telling me that he's just exhausted tonight, and then asking me to please put both kids to bed and help him carry J's big Christmas present down to the basement before taking the smaller one down by myself, and also, could I please wash the dishes and cook up those pork chops tomorrow. Then he proceeded to lay down on the couch and watch an episode of Law & Order before having a leisurely bath and going to bed before me.

I didn't even kill him a little bit. Too tired. Maybe tomorrow.

She was a wonky, one-armed evil Walmart mitten eater

I'm addicted to Jen's blog over at Steenky Bee. She's taking a bloggy break, and I just don't know how to stay amused without her cool brand of funny! But fortunately, she is guest posting today over at Kaply, Inc., so I was able to get a bit of a fix. She shared a somewhat unique version of the old tale, Gift of the Magi. I don't remember it quite the way she related it, though there are certainly similarities.

You remember the story, don't you? There was this couple who had no cash for Christmas presents, so the guy sold his hand to buy his wife combs for her hair, while she sold her head to buy him a watch that would no longer stay on his bloody stump. And that was of course the end of the story, 'cause you can't live without a head. Or so I've been told. Though many of the people I encountered at Walmart last night have made me question that particular theory. Especially that one fool who actually stole one of my mittens out of the bathroom, and I have no idea what she plans to do with her ill-gotten booty that I would consider to be quite frankly useless unless she happens to have a spare right-handed black mitten at home that matches my left one perfectly. Or maybe she lost her right arm in some tragic shopping accident and just can't bring herself to purchase two mittens 'cause of the exorbitant financial waste and stuff, so she lurks in the Walmart bathroom hunting for lefty mittens. Seriously, WTF, Crazy-Walmart-Chick?!?!

(Yes, of course I checked at the lost-and-found. What do you take me for?)

Anyway, it's true. I was at "Walmart" last night. Judge me all you like. I don't care. They had the perfect gift for my son, at the perfect price, in the perfect badly damaged box that made the price even lower when I couldn't really care less about the condition of the box anyway, since it just goes to recycling and the box's contents are in perfect shape. So, lost mitten or not, I'm good with my find. Also, oddly enough, Walmart actually sells mittens too, so I left with three whereas I'd arrived with only two. What a bargain!

(In hindsight, I bet the Walmart store manager stole my mitten so I'd have to buy more stuff while I was there. Evil Bitch.)

Parents just don't understand

J talks a lot. And his speech is fairly advanced for a 3-year old.

J: Oh, thank you. Thank you so much. I really appreciate that.

His advanced speech was noted by impartial third parties at his most recent nutritionist appointment. This week, we switched over from the nutritionists we'd previously seen and started going to a clinic with occupational therapists who have trained with Dr. Kay Toomey on the steps to eating hierarchy. The new clinic has a different feel, and I believe it will be more helpful. They have already given us a number of tips to help J through his eating problems, and to help us with the stresses that come along the way.

J: The TV is disturbing me from drinking my milk and eating my banana.

We always knew to keep distractions to a minimum. No toys at the table. No eating in front of the television. But we didn't know that playing with food could be a really good thing ... using food in different ways ... familiarizing him with textures. Gradually, we move toward eating. Slowly, the food moves closer to his mouth. In time, he will get there.

For us, the key is to stay neutral. No begging. No stressing. No anger. No comments on the food that could be seen as positive or negative. So instead of "This is yummy", we say other things; "This is crunchy", for example, or "This is yellow". Or ...

T: Who’s on this cup?
J: Mickey Mouse!
T: Right! That’s Mickey Mouse! And where does he live?
J: I … um … I don’t know.
T: Disneyland.
J: Oh! Disneyland!
T: Right!
J: But why does he have a wand?
T: Because he’s Wizard Mickey.
J: Oh! He’s Wizard Mickey?
T: Yes. That’s one of his characters.
J: Oh, okay. But why is he a Lizard?
T: He’s not a Lizard. He’s a Wizard.
J: Oh!

Already a master manipulater, J really knows how to get us riled up in a big hurry. It takes some effort to maintain composure when he acts out. But we're getting better at it, with practice. For now, we work on our understanding. J is very advanced in a lot of ways and, in others, he struggles. He has a different learning style from the norm. He is extremely active. He can be very sarcastic, or very literal, depending on the moment. He tests his boundaries in unique fashion, seeming to enjoy it when we get riled up. He pushes hard, trying to see if he can get us to change our minds and give in to his wishes. Life is a power struggle.

J: I need to pee pee.
T: Okay.
J: Upstairs.
T: Okay.
J: I want you to come with me!
T: No.
J: Please? I want you to come upstairs with me!
T: No. I'm not going upstairs.
J: Please?
T: No. You can use this potty.
J: I like upstairs bathroom!
T: Why?
J: Because. I think it's more yummier than the one down here.
T: You can go upstairs by yourself.
J: No, I want you to come with me, because I love you!
T: There's nothing wrong with this bathroom.
J: No, come upstairs so I can pee!
T: Pee down here if you want me to come with you.
J: WWWWAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

J is a pretty unique kid, who doesn't follow the patterns we've come to expect in most other children that we know. He requires a different parenting style, and we are learning what must be done and adapting to his needs. Proper communication is key.

J: Is it toast?
T: Yup. Eat it, please.
J: What?
T: Your cinnamon toast.
J: No, I’m not!

Yeah. Proper communication. Key. Yeah ...

You've got a friend in me

J and N had a doctor's appointment this week. Waiting in the doctor's office, J suddenly hugged N and said:

J: You're the best baby in the whole wide world. You're my best friend, and I'll never let anything happen to you.


I hope my boys are always this close. Aren't they cute?

Sorry for the brevity, and for my recent absence around my favourite blogs. Still sick. Back soon.

Sickos

I am going to post about sickness today. Because really, it's all I've got. There is sickness ... what can I say.

It started when N got what we thought was just a bad case of the sniffles about a week before my exam. He was pretty miserable.

Ever the pessimist, I saw the writing on the wall right then. I figured the very generous N would pass his cold along to the rest of us. H would get it first. He would be laid up all weekend, and unable to care for the kidlets while I studied. J would catch it next. He would be horribly sick and unable to go to school, so I would not be able to study for the days leading up to the exam. Finally, I would catch the dread virus just in time to be thoroughly ill on exam night. But as H readily pointed out: "If you can pass an exam with contractions, you can certainly pass one with a cold." Good point. Still, I preferred not to have to write while ill.

So I prayed. Please, just don't let me get sick until after the exam. Please, oh please, don't let me get sick until after the exam.

As predicted, H caught the cold the weekend before the exam. He was laid up all weekend. But kind and generous family members stepped in and cared for the children so that I could still study. J was hit next, a little later than I had originally predicted. He was home from school Wednesday, the day of the exam. H took a family sick day to care for J so that I could still study. (J's condition worsened on exam night, and he started throwing up. We decided to keep him home for the rest of the week. When we called the school, we learned that Norwalk Virus is circulating. Faaaabulous!)

But it's all good. By Friday, my exam was over. H was feeling completely better. N was almost over it too. Even J appeared to be feeling 100% better. And aside from a touch of nausea, I had escaped completely unscathed.

Could it be? Had I finally avoided catching a cold that had hit the remainder of my household with a vengeance? I am an asthmatic, so one would not think so. But maybe, just maybe it had happened. Finally.

Except that the kids really weren't on the mend. Deceptive little beggars that they are, they apparently simply wanted to instill a false sense of security in their poor mother. And so, late one night on the weekend, with J coughing until he threw up and N barking like a seal on each intake of breath, we headed to the Emergency Room. Two small children, with matching fevers and matching cold viruses. N's cold had turned to croup, and he required steroids. J needed to be watched for dehydration; just keep him drinking, and he should be okay.

But at least H is feeling better. And I haven't caught the virus. It's been two weeks, and I am feeling rather indestructible at this juncture. Two sick kids, climbing on me for cuddles, breathing and coughing directly in my face, but somehow I managed to evade their bugs. Celebrate with me!

Yeah ... Until today, when I awoke feeling like I'd been hit by a rather large truck. J still coughing. N sobbing and miserable, with the mother of all runny noses and croupy coughs. And me, the caregiver, totally incapacitated and unable to function, with a severe headache, fever, ear infection, tonsillitis (again), upset stomach, a hacking cough, and complete exhaustion. I can't even take anything for it, because I'm still nursing N!

It's been a good day. (Riiiiight.) I'm going to bed now. I hope to feel better soon. I hope for no bronchitis, the usual development in an asthmatic with a cold. I hope it all departs from my system very quickly.

I am tired. I am sick. But I still feel blessed, because at least the virus failed to catch me until after my exam was done. And really, that was all I asked for.

So, how about you? Any winter colds going around your household? Do you have a tried and true cold remedy (safe for nursing moms)? Do tell!

We don't need no education ... but I'll give you one anyway

Oh, Canada. You are unique. You are beautiful. Your red and white flag. Your political strife.

Canada is a Parliamentary Democracy. Which begs the question ... what does that mean?

In Canada, we do not vote for President. We don't even have a President. We have a Prime Minister. A Prime Minister, for whom we also do not vote.

We are represented by Members of Parliament. And for those Members, we vote. We are subdivided into various ridings, each represented by one Member of Parliament, our MP, who is affiliated with one national party. The primary parties are the Liberals and the Conservatives, with a strong group of supporters who favour the NDP, a select but discriminating number who support the Greens, and a significant portion of Quebec who feel they are best represented by the Bloc. Five parties. One nation.

Canada is in a state of political unrest. In the last election, a scant 38% of seats, significantly less than half, went to Conservative MPs. The remaining 62% of seats were split between the four remaining parties, with the vast majority of these belonging to the Liberals, NDP, and Bloc, in that order. But as no one party obtained more than 38%, a minority government was formed with the Conservative leader as Prime Minister.

A minority government cannot govern without cooperation from at least one other national party, for 38% does not a majority make. The rule of a minority government is cooperation between the parties. In other words, play nice; you do not run the show.

At present, Canada's illustrious Conservative leader is one Stephen Harper, a man with his own ideas and agendas who does not want to cooperate with the other parties, will not play nice, and apparently believes that Canada should be a benevolent dictatorship. His thoughts include ignoring the recommendations the IMF has made to all governments for coping with the recession, stripping unionized civil servants of their right to strike for a minimum of three years, quashing legislation entitling women to receive equal pay for equal work, and selling off Canadian assets (during an economic downturn when their worth will not be realized) in order to make it appear that the country's books are in a favourable position when they are not. You know ... kind of like the Enron scandal, but for government.

Obviously, at least 62% of MPs are not in favour of these actions. Accordingly, a non-confidence vote is inevitable and, in anticipation of such, our Grand Poobah of the Conservative arm decided it would be prudent to cripple his opponents by essentially firebombing their taxpayer subsidies. They're sort of miffed about that.

There is a loss of confidence in the current government. Without support from some of the 62% faction, our current government cannot govern. Therefore, the Liberals and NDP, supported by the Bloc, wish to form a Coalition Government with the Liberal leader, one Stephane Dion, stepping in as the head. Stephen Harper has responded to this tactical move with a special delay maneuver. With the dubious approval of our Governor General, he has prorogued Parliament, putting off the non-confidence vote and effectively silencing our elected MPs until late January. What a nice, upstanding guy.

The moves of the respective parties have obviously received considerable media attention. Facebook groups have been created, damning and supporting the Coalition Government by turn. People are spouting off about all manner of things with varied degrees of comprehension. High school students, not legally entitled to vote as they are below the age of majority, are expressing erroneous opinions about how economic upturns and downturns are managed with no governmental influence whatsoever. (FAIL! I personally give you an "F" in your Social Studies class. Deal with that!)

Ultimately, we can conclude that some Canadians are in support of the Coalition Government. Others do not want a Coalition Government, and say that no one voted for a Coalition Government as Prime Minister. But what these people fail to understand is that in a Parliamentary Democracy, we do not vote for Prime Minister at all. By virtue of the fact that a minority government was elected, there is already a Coalition Government of sorts. All parties, required to work together, for the greater good of the country as a whole. Democracy is unaffected by the formation of a Coalition Government. The elected MPs would hold their seats. And as an elected MP, even Stephen Harper would retain his seat in Parliament; he simply would not be Prime Minister any longer. Only the Prime Minister, the head, would be changed. Changed to a different elected MP in whom a majority of the other elected MPs have confidence.

One should also note that between them, the parties involved in the would-be Coalition actually represent more of a majority than does the current Conservative minority government.

And ... I can't emphasize this point strongly enough ... we in Canada do not vote for Prime Minister. We vote for our MPs.

Now. Some Canadians understand this and will vote for the MP of their choosing. Some fail to understand this and mistakenly believe they are voting for Prime Minister, and that's sort of sad. And some people do not care for whom they vote. They are mindlessly devoted to a specific national party, and care not who is at its helm so long as that individual becomes Prime Minister. Whomever he, she, or it may be. These are the people who scare me the most. These are the people who would vote for a Hurdy Gurdy monkey as long as it had a big "C" emblazoned on its chest.

(Come to think of it, a Hurdy Gurdy monkey would probably make a better Prime Minister than Stephen Harper. For a Hurdy Gurdy monkey would stride into Parliament in his little Hurdy Gurdy outfit and be met with acclaim and admiration for his very cuteness. The MPs would probably give him peanuts, pleasantly and politely cooperating with one another as they took their appropriate turns at the peanut vending machine. But there are no peanuts for Stephen Harper, who looks ridiculous in a Hurdy Gurdy outfit. Not to mention the fact that Stephane Dion would steal his hat as soon as he walked into the room and promptly hand it off to NDP leader Jack Layton for a rousing game of "Piggy in the Middle".)

The bottom line is that a Coalition Government is legal, democratic, and perfectly acceptable and appropriate in the situation. The government has considerable control of economic upswings and downswings (no matter what some random high school student who has clearly not studied economics thinks). And all parties need to put aside their petty differences and work together for the greater good of the country as a whole at this difficult time.

Of course, if you are one of those people who don't vote at all, your opinions do not matter one lick, and you are really nothing more than a Hurdy Gurdy monkey. So quit yer whining! Stupid.

Da Victory and Da Feet

My exam is over. (HURRAH! HURRAH!)

I think it went pretty well. I lost several marks for careless errors, but that happens. I feel fairly certain that I passed. Probably with something in the 70's or maybe low 80's. Probably not high enough for scholarship money this year, but as long as I don't have to redo the class or re-write the exam, I'll count myself fortunate. Sad, though ... that scholarship sure would have been nice.

Marks get released January 27. I hate the long wait, but that's how it always is. Now, on to my next course ... Auditing. I hope I enjoy this one a bit more.

Since I have been released from my studying dungeon for the time being, I now have time to post this little anecdote.

**********
I took a brief study break one evening last week, and we went out for dinner as a family. I left the table for a short time to change N's diaper, and H entertained J.

There was a nice man sitting at a nearby table who thought J was pretty cute. Kept calling J "Batman", wanting to play peek-a-boo, that sort of thing. While I was gone, he caught J's eye, and he smiled and waved. And J flipped out. "Daddy, I'm scared", J cried out, before hiding in a teeny huddled mass in H's lap.

Once he felt more secure, he decided to strike up a converation with the nice man, who we will call Bert, for the sake of this entry.

J: My mommy broke her knee.
Bert: Did she?
J: Yes. She stepped on the cat and broke her knee.
Bert: Oh! Well ... Is the cat okay?
H: Yes, the cat is fine.
J: But she had to go down to heaven.

Okay, just to clarify this. The cat went to heaven because she'd had kidney failure for the past eight years and was starting to suffer. Not because I crushed her with my giant lard feet of doom.

Also, I know that heaven is "up". I've explained this on several occasions, but J seems unconvinced.

Things you never thought you'd hear yourself say

T: Don't throw your head at your brother!!!

***********
I've been absent a bit of late. My exam is Wednesday night. Studying frantically until it's done. It's starting to come together. Sort of. Not leaving much time for anything else, though. I don't think I'll be around much until it's over. So ... yeah.

See you all Thursday!

All we hear is radio BLAH, BLAH, BLAH

By definition, an Exam Preparation Audio Lecture should be designed to prepare students for an exam. (Kind of like how Management Information Systems are information systems for managers; the definition is inherent in the title.) So, one may ask what students require to prepare for an exam. Or at the very least, one should ask this question when one is the course audio lecturer. If one does trouble oneself to ask the question, one will learn that the answer is really quite simple.

We require a strategy. The exam must be completed within three hours. What kinds of questions are likely to be featured on the exam? How can we best complete questions such as these in the shortest amount of time possible? Are there any specific techniques that we may use in order to keep the 60-some formulas we have learned in this course intact? How should we best spend our time? The setting of a time budget should be reviewed. Opinion of what is likely to be featured should be provided, though the actual exam contents should not be disclosed.

We also require practice. Provide a series of sample questions. Cover a diverse base. And walk through completion of those questions, so that we may better understand how to arrive at a correct answer.

What we do not require is regurgitation of concepts previously studied in the text or lesson notes. We also do not require any statements that "This was covered in the earlier lectures, so if you have any questions, go back and listen to those". Nor do we require any particulars about the lecturer's favourite hockey teams, which details I am almost certain will not be examinable.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, we do not require a point by point on the lecturer's position. "I am sitting". "Now, I think I shall stand and walk about". "I am suddenly tired, so I think I should sit once more, if that's okay with all of you". With all due respect, it is an audio lecture. I cannot see the lecturer, nor do I care to. His movements do not interest me. I only care about what he says. In all honesty, he could be recording his lecture as he sits on the crapper, and I would still get every bit as much out of it. (But please, dear lecturer, do not actually say "Now, I am sitting on the crapper". This detail is totally unnecessary.)

Perhaps next time you record an Exam Preparation Audio Lecture for your class, you could take some of these tips to heart and provide students with something vaguely usable. 'Cause that would be sweet.

And now, I must return to studying and/or sleeping and/or caring for young children and/or ... I guess I could have titled this post "But there never seems to be enough time", but that just wasn't as cool.

And just to wrap things up on a pleasant note: I hope all my American bloggy friends had a wonderful Thanksgiving today. 'Cause you are all awesome and deserve much happiness and many pleasant days. All the best!

A petri dish of principle

So I'm trying to study for my exam, which is in a week. And, I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but all of the materials for this course changed for the 2008-09 school year. Dramatically changed. So that all the past exams from 2001 to 2008 ... yeah, none of them totally apply. Bits and pieces are usable, but for the most part they're not particularly helpful. So I'm studying them anyway, just for form and also to make sure I know the stuff that's still applicable, precious little of it that there is.

Also? There's an online course review that's supposed to be updated to the current term's materials. But it seems that someone just slapped "2008-09" on the top of last year's review and didn't touch anything else. Which is totally brilliant, and I hope they were paid well for this sheer genius.

Oh! And there are multiple choice questions that are meant to simulate the kind of multiple choice section we might see on our exam. Except that they aren't properly cross-referenced, no new material is included, one module is missing in its entirety, and much of the stuff we didn't study is still included.

But hey. It's a new course. And there are bound to be some growing pains. We're all trying to work through it and hoping for the best.

So anyway, I'm running one of the past exams from 2001, and I see an ethics question on the difference between in vivo and in vitro ethical principles. And I'm all "in vitro ethics?", and I wonder how exactly that would work. And also, what it is, since it's not in our current course materials but in my mind "in vitro" totally means something not remotely affiliated with accounting, except for the fact that it's really expensive. So then I start wondering how they can tell the girl ethics from the boy ethics, how they combine them together, where they implant, what the success rate is and, perhaps most importantly, what is this going to cost me this time? Because the Clomid was expensive enough. And also, I don't want to pay any more for this class, which was totally overpriced. And that's when I flashed back to that time in my earlier management accounting course where we were learning about ways to improve the CM ratio and I couldn't stop thinking about Robitussin cough syrup and how that totally works, but also has nothing to do with accounting, so I really don't know why we were studying it. I wish I knew why my management accounting courses always seem to reference stuff like this, 'cause I think that's awesome.

Suffice it to say, I am over-tired just now. And really ticked off at my course and its outdated resources. Also, I still have no clue what in vitro or in vivo ethics actually are or how to tell them apart, nor do I know why I should care.

You say it's your b-day? HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!

J hates birthdays.

Specifically, J hates his own birthday.

It's not the other children, nor the presents, nor the bright colours that J loathes so. And while he doesn't generally enjoy cake, he is not morally opposed to it and certainly does not object to it being eaten by others in his presence. Decorations and gift bags are lovely things for which J has an appreciation. But nonetheless, J hates birthdays.

J's agitation revolves around the birthday song. Well, not exactly the birthday song, specifically. In fact, J quite enjoys the birthday song and sings it with great gusto for much of the year. (Whether it's someone's birthday or not. Complete with the presentation of pretend birthday cakes that he's made from scratch, of blocks, socks, and anything else at hand.) It is only when said song is sung directly at him that he appears to take great offence. At that moment, he loses it. Tears and screaming abound. Don't believe me? See for yourself.

It has been this way for the past three years, and we are starting to get used to it. We wish it weren't so. We trust it will change some day. Some day, a group of happy smiling people singing "Happy Birthday" will not make J scream as though he were being tortured in a prison camp. Some day, J will no doubt enjoy the singing. But for the moment, we can only conclude that "Happy Birthday" was written by Satan himself specifically to torture our son (and therefore indirectly our entire family and all of our friends).

Yes indeed. J hates it when people sing "Happy Birthday" to him. So much so, in fact, that J has taken to reminding us that no one can sing "Happy Birthday" to him on his birthday. His reminders start earlier and earlier each year. Next year's reminder began today. With more than four months to go until J's birthday, he reminded me that no one may sing "Happy Birthday" to him on his birthday.

This did not go over well. Partly because I am every bit as stubborn as is my son. But mostly because it's fun to bug him, and I just can't seem to help myself. I'm hard up for entertainment right now, so this makes me happy.

**********
J: No one can sing "Happy Birthday" to me when it's my birthday!
T: Yes, they can.
J: NO! I WON'T LET THEM!
T: Too bad. We will all sing.
J: NOOOOOOOOO!! I WON'T LET YOOOOOOOUUUUU!!
T: People sing on birthdays. Get used to it.
J: I don't like that!
T: Tough. People will come by. And they'll all sing. Just to bug you.
J: NOOOO!
T: Yes.
J: I DON'T WANT THEM TO!!
T: Sucks to be you, then. They're going to do it anyway.
J: NOOOO!!!!
T: Yes. Loud. And off key.
J: They can't sing to me!
T: What was that?
J: No! Singing!
T: What? Extra singing?
J: No!! NO! SINGING!!
T: Oh. Okay. Extra singing. You've got it.
J: NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Eventually, I got bored with this conversation. Sadly, J did not.

J: I won't let anybody sing "Happy Birthday" to me!
T: Well, then maybe they'll all just take your presents back to the store because you're rude.

J mulled this over for a moment, and then announced triumphantly:

J: But Santa Claus brings me presents!

(Ha! Showed you, you stupid woman. Santa can't take my presents back to the store. Because he makes them himself!!)

T: Santa Claus only brings you presents at Christmastime. Other people bring you presents for your birthday. Other people who like to sing "Happy Birthday" to you, and who don't like being yelled at for it, give you presents. If you're nice.

(Ha ha! Take that!)

J contemplated this unfortunate new development for a few moments.

J: (heavy sigh) Alright then. I'll let them sing to me.

My son, ladies and gentlemen. We've taught him well. "Do whatever you've got to do to get free stuff", we said. "Sell out. Sell like you've never sold before!" That's our family motto. Good thing J's picked up on it. We're so proud.

Ooh baby, it's freakishly cold outside

So, I came up with this awesome flowchart to remember eleven of the different variance analysis formulas I may need for my exam. It's complex and detailed, but it works like a charm. Easy to remember, it can be reproduced with pen and paper in under a minute. I posted it in the course forum for all of my classmates. The course director reviewed it and wrote me to say "This is amazing!", and so I feel all smart. I am flattered. But not so flattered as to do something stupid like reproduce a management accounting variance analysis flowchart here. Because it's ridiculously dull, and no one wants to see that.

Instead, I present random cuteness from our "winter attire" catalogue.


Baby N is wearing a fleecy that will soon not be warm enough, given our cold northern climes. But for now, he is all warm and fuzzy. And quite adorable, if you'll take J's word for it. J says "Awww. He's soooo cute. Is he a sheepy?" And then he taunts N by making "baa baa" noises at him. For about an hour. Then the novelty wore off. (Thank God!)


J sports the coolest winter coat I have ever seen. We found it a couple of years ago; a brand new item buried in a clearance rack, sporting a sweet $3 price tag. Obviously, we nabbed it knowing he'd grow into it eventually. The eyes on the hood double as reflectors for nighttime safety. And it has a detachable black cape on the back, for extra Batman authenticity. (But why a person would detach it, I can't imagine. 'Cause I think it's awesome!) J's hands are a bit blurred in the picture. He was excited about being a bat here, and he was flapping his "wings" excitedly.

So, how about you? Is your family all outfitted for winter? Is your weather already freakishly cold? Do you enjoy snow and winter sports in general? Or do you wish we could just skip those eight months in their entirety? (Yes. I said "eight months". It's terribly cold up here.)

Fine young cannibals

Yes, I'm aware of what time it is. I'm on a study break. Surfing around the Internets to pass some time 'til my mind clears.

I love you, always forever
Near and far, closer together
Everywhere, I will be with you
Everything, I will do for you
Yes, I said I'm on a study break. Yes. I'm aware of what time it is. What's your point?

I love you, always forever
Near and far, closer together
Everywhere, I will be with you
Everything, I will do for you
Okay. So I've got a friggin' Donna Lewis song stuck in my head. And it's running on repeat. It's annoying enough the first time. But after several hours of it, you start praying for the sweet release of death.

I love you, always forever
Near and far, closer together
Everywhere, I will be with you
Everything, I will do for you
What's especially bad is that I don't know the whole song. Just the chorus. I keep hearing the chorus. Over. And. Over. I can't seem to reach the stop button in my brain.

And I don't even like the song!

I love you, always forever
Near and far, closer together
Everywhere, I will be with you
Everything, I will do for you
It was playing on a TV program earlier today. Just a bit of background noise. And this is how it came to be in my head. I am apparently powerless to remove it.

I love you, always forever
Near and far, closer together
Everywhere, I will be with you
Everything, I will do for you
I thought I might be able to exorcise my demons, if I could just play the entire song from beginning to end. When it finished, the automatic repeat in my head would end. This sometimes works. But I don't know the entire song. Foiled again!

I love you, always forever
Near and far, closer together
Everywhere, I will be with you
Everything, I will do for you
Fortunately, Google allows me to search for lyrics.
Unfortunately, a number of sites contain misheard lyrics.
Fortunately, those can be highly entertaining.

I love you, always forever
Near and far, closer together
Everywhere, I will be with you
Everyday, I will devour you
Unfortunately, the song is still stuck in my head.

Fortunately, now that it's sung by a crazed cannibalistic lover instead of a whiny love-struck sap, I don't mind it quite so much.

Writer's Workshop: Memories

So, Mama Kat over at Mama's Losin' It wants us to post about memories. Specifically, "I remember when ..." is one of her weekly writing prompts. And we all have memories. So this should be easy. Right? Right? Yeah ...

Try as I might, I must admit that I've got nothing this week. I tried to think of something to write about. And I know that when you're having writer's block, other people can provide inspiration. And my advanced management accounting textbook just isn't inspiring any great writing moments for me today. (I don't know why.) So I wandered around and visited some of my best bloggy friends to try and find some inspiration.

I checked out Steenky Bee, of course, as she is all kinds of awesomesauce and I was sure she could help me out. But I was dismayed to learn that she's gone today. Fortunately, she was located in the vicinity of her neighbour's kitchen, taking a meeting with Clark Kent. But she couldn't talk, as she was busily belly crawling back to her home at the time.

The Bloggess is also busy today, dealing with her Pringles cravings and trying to save the world's kittens. This is an admirable goal, because everybody loves kittens. Even God. No matter what that email implied.

(Look! A bunny!)

Okay then. How about Heinous? Heinous always has something good to say ... but not today, apparently, as he is having some writer's block issues of his own this morning and can't think up witty comments. WTF, Heinous?!?! (Thanks for the shout-out, btw. You're awesome!)

This isn't working out so well.

The Stiletto Mom had some promising things to tell me about memories. But then she went off into some kind of strange tangent about monkeys. Now personally, I have nothing against monkeys. But I have no monkeys in my past. No memories of monkeys at all. And I couldn't come up with anything, monkey-related or otherwise, to write about. (In hindsight, I wonder if she got confused when I asked about "memories" and thought I said "monkeys". That makes sense. Miscommunications like that are the reason for much of the world's strife, I am certain.)

Okay. Nothing. I've got nothing.

Fortunately, Captain Dumbass posted yesterday about a great memory of his. He says he remembers that the trailer for "The Shining" scared the hell out of him when he was a kid. Well, that I can certainly relate to. I remember the first time I saw it, too. Totally freaky. And if you check it out, I'm sure you'll find it very, very scary too.

Can't find it? Well, thanks to the wonders of YouTube, I can help you out with that. Here it is!

See? Terrifying!

Okay. That's as much of a study break as I can afford just now. Must get back to the riveting details that are advanced management accounting. Jealous?

How about this: I remember when I could memorize an entire textbook word for word without too much trouble. Today? Yeah ... not so much.

The Spin Cycle: My favourite things

I'm feeling a little bit more positive today. (This is no doubt due in part to my discovery that eleven of the seventeen formulas I have to learn for Module 2 are interconnected. As long as I can remember the web that connects them to each other, I should be okay with them. Now to learn everything else. The "Exam Formulas" link over on the right? Don't click it. It's seriously just exam formulas I still need to learn. It will bore you. Enough about the exam for now. It will be okay. I think.)

Today, I learned that the knee has healed up enough to be able to withstand physio. So that's fantastic news, as it means things are improving.

Also today, N turned six months old. He eats like a little piggy, in direct contrast to his older brother, and is getting quite plump. Granny calls him her little butterball. A six-month-birthday post will be written when I have more energy.

The kids got up early today. The doctor's office was a long wait. There was considerable studying today. And now, I am tired. And lazy. And it seemed like a good time to just give up and go for the archives. How convenient that Sprite's Keeper has asked us to revive our old favourite posts for this week's Spin Cycle!

(I love her!)

I don't have much to grab, to be frank. Until late August this year, this was one of those private unsearchable blogs for a few family and friends, and so older posts were not written with due care and attention, and are totally not suitable for re-posting. What to do ... what to do ...

It is my understanding that American Thanksgiving is coming up soon. In celebration, I give you my post from Canadian Thanksgiving. Which was over a month ago. Because we're awesome like that up here, and we don't believe in waiting a month when turkey can be eaten right now. Seriously. What's wrong with you people?

Oh, whatever. Just ... Here ya go!

**********
Now it's turkish delight on a moonlit night

Today is Canadian Thanksgiving. In our household, it goes something like this.

**********
H: J, put your shoes on please.
J: I got the green!
T: J, can you please move that toy?
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
J: I wanna take this hammer!
H: Fine. But put your shoes on please.
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
T: J, I really need you to move this.
H: Please do what your mother tells you.
J: I got that green, too!
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
T: Come on! I need to pee!
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
H: Why did you take your pants off, J?
J: I ... um ... can't remember.
T: I can't get around that toy, J. It's too big.
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
J: N's crying.
T: J! Will you please move that toy!
H: J! Pants! On!
T: Honey, you're confusing him.
J: I wanna take this saw too!
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
H: N, please stop.
J: I want chocolate!
H: No, J. We're going to have dinner.
T: Pants! Toy! Now!
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
J: But I want chocolate!
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
T: Please? Please move the toy?
H: No chocolate! Listen!!
T: (Singing to N) Rock-a-bye, baby ...
H: J, put your pants back on.
J: Why?
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
H: Because I asked you to!
T: ... when the wind blows ...
J: But I want ... um ...
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
H: I am tired of you saying "I want"!
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
T: ... the cradle will fall ...
J: But Daaaaadddddyyyyy!
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
J: I want ...
H: Stop saying that!
T: Please stop crying, N? *sob*
J: Whyyyy??
T: H, can you move the toy?
H: J! Move that toy!!
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
T: J? Please?
H: Why won't you listen, J?
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
J: I wanna watch "The Incredibles"!
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
H: N, please stop crying!
T: What?! No! We are not watching a movie!
J: But Mooooommmmyyyy!
T: I said no!
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
H: J! Put your pants on!
J: Umm ... I ... I wanna ... umm ...
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
T: Enough! I need to pee! Move the toy!!
J: I give you the toy!
H: Good, J. Now please, put your pants back on.
T: Thank you, J.
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
J: You're welcome, Momma.
H: N! Please?!
J: Can we watch "The Incredibles"?
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
H: No, J. It's time to go!
T: How are you doing, honey?
H: Just great! J?! Now!!
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
J: But I'm just spinning!
T: I'll be right there!
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
T: Okay. Can we go?
H: J! Pants!
J: Um ... oh! Okay!
H: Thank you, J.
T: Okay. Now can you put your shoes on?
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
J: I want my boots!
T: No. You need to wear shoes.
J: But I want my boots!
H: No, J! Shoes! Put them on!!
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
J: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
T: ...
N: WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
H: ...

**********
Today, I am thankful that H didn't just drive off the embankment on the way to his brother's house for Thanksgiving. Thanks, Hon!

And Happy Turkey Day!!

**********
So yeah. That was the post. Heartfelt family moments. Still makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Now go visit Sprite's Keeper and put your spin on it!

I can't. I can't. I can't stand ... this

I can't do it.

I can't handle two kids, a birth mom with cancer, two parents with dementia, a child with an eating disorder, a broken knee that still hurts like the devil, vehicle repairs, money concerns, and school. I can't pass this class. I can't memorize the 15 formulas that relate to Module 2, plus all the formulas in the remaining 9 modules, plus all the theory. I can't catch up on all the reading that I skipped over entirely or skimmed over casually when life was so crazy that I just ran out of time. I can't prepare for the exam with the resources that have been provided, given that half the course is new material with inadequate practice resources.

I especially can't do it in two weeks, which is the time that remains until the exam date.

I can't. I can't do it.

I should probably mention that I always panic two weeks before every exam, and it always turns out okay. I don't think it will, but it does. But right now, I feel very ill-equipped, and I don't know if that will change before the exam date. I feel stupid and poorly prepared and stressed and miserable. And I think I should probably just drop out of school. But I can't do that either.

Updated to add: You know what would really help me out right now? That's right. An ear infection. That, and the baby's swing battery dying. Again. HAHA!!

A raccoon by any other name would still not speak

Some of you may be aware that our 3-year old has an eating problem. In that he doesn't eat. Anything. At all. Every time he agrees to put food in his mouth, we count a victory. We have found a few things that J likes to eat, but even then there's always a fight about food.

We have been to specialists. We have found nothing that works. Our 3-year old is about the size of a typical 2-year old. At three-and-a-half, he weighs only 26 pounds. Every meal takes three times longer than it should. It's a constant struggle.

Do you want to know what a typical mealtime in our household is like? It goes something like this:

**********
T: J, what do you want for lunch?
J: Eggs.
T: Okay. You want eggs?
J: Yes, please.

(Because the little tyrant is nothing if not polite.)

T: Okay. Let's go make eggs.
J: I want the sunny brown ones.

("Sunny" means "light", I have learned.)

T: Okay. We'll use the sunny brown ones.
J: Can I watch you?
T: Yes, you may watch me crack the eggs.
J: YAY! YAY! YAY! I GET TO WATCH YOU!!

(J pushes his stool over to the stove to watch me crack eggs into the frying pan.)

T: Okay. Here we go.
J: I want that egg.
T: We're going to use that egg.
J: And that one.
T: Okay.
J: I WANNA DO IT!!
T: No, J. I will crack the eggs.

(I crack the eggs into the pan. Two eggs for J.)

T: I'm going to turn the burner on now, J. You need to move your stool.
J: Oh. Okay!

(J puts his stool back at the counter.)

J: It's not right!
T: What?
J: My stool! It's not right!
T: Oh. You mean it's not straight?
J: It's not right!!
T: Okay.

(I straighten the stool, which was very slightly crooked. But apparently, if it's not 100% straight, it is completely unsatisfactory. J is appeased. I then turn the burner on.)

J: Are the eggs cooking?
T: Yes.
J: YAY! YAY! YAY! MY EGGS ARE COOKING!

(N awakes and starts to cry. But I am powerless to do anything, as the eggs are cooking and require constant stirring in order to scramble to J's satisfaction.)

J: N's crying.
T: Yes, I know. I'll deal with him after your eggs are done.
J: I'll help!
T: No. You need to eat. I'll handle it.
J: But I wanna help you.
T: You need to eat, or the cat will get your eggs. I'll be quick.
J: Okay.

(The eggs are cooked and J's portion is put on his plate. I go to get N, who is now shrieking at top volume, and I instruct J to stay at the table and eat. But J gets off his chair and comes after me anyway.)

T: J, you need to sit at the table and eat.
J: I just need to get my red dice.
T: No toys at the table, J.
J: But ... um ...
T: Go back to the table and eat before the cat gets your eggs.
J: Oh! Okay!

(Runs back to the table and climbs in his chair. I finish changing N and return to the kitchen. I dish out my now cold eggs and sit down to eat. And as I do so, I notice that J's plate is untouched.)

T: J, why aren't you eating?
J: My eggs are too hot.

(I check the eggs, which are only mildly warm at this point.)

T: They aren't too hot, J. Please eat them.
J: No. They're too hot.
T: J! Eat your eggs!

(J takes a bite. I finish my eggs. Then go to get baby N to give him some cereal and formula. I return to the kitchen to find J banging his fork on the back of his chair, with a full plate of eggs in front of him.)

T: EAT YOUR EGGS!!
J: This fork is a bell.
T: No it's not. Now eat.

(J throws his fork on the floor. I wash it and give it back to him.)

T: Now eat.

(J returns to banging his fork on the back of his chair.)

T: EAT!
J: This fork is a bell.
T: J! Stop playing and eat!

(The eggs are ice cold by now. J holds up a contraband red Lego for me to see.)

J: This is a dice.
T: You're not supposed to have toys at the table, J.

(I take the Lego away. J starts playing with his eggs, dragging his fork across the plate and spraying them over the counter. I put the eggs back on his plate.)

T: Don't play with your food.
J: But raccoons play with their food.
T: But you're not a raccoon.
J: Yes I am.
T: No, you're not.
J: Yes I am!
T: Fine. You are. But you know something?
J: What?
T: Raccoons don't talk!
J: Yes they do.
T: No, they don't.
J: Yes they do!
T: No. They don't. Raccoons don't talk. They don't talk at all. Raccoons don't do much of anything. They just sit quietly at the kitchen table and eat their eggs!!

(J mulls this over for a moment.)

J: I'm a talking raccoon!
T: There's no such thing.
J: Yes there is! I'm a talking raccoon!
T: No, you're not. Because raccoons don't talk.
J: But I'm a talking raccoon!
T: J! Eat your lunch!

(By this time, I have finished my lunch and N has eaten his bowl of cereal and is now eagerly drinking his formula.)

J: Feed me!
T: I'm not going to feed you. You're a big boy. You can feed yourself.
J: Feed me!
T: No! I'm not going to do it!
J: Feed me!
T: Feed yourself.
J: I can't do it.
T: Yes, you can.
J: I can't get these eggs!

(I balance N's head on my arm and hold the bottle with the same hand. I scoop eggs onto J's fork with my free hand, and instruct him to put the eggs into his mouth. Instead, J pours the eggs over the counter and onto his chair. I scoop them back up and put them on his fork, insisting that he eat them. And the rest of lunch goes like that. I scoop the eggs up, J pours them on the chair, I put them back on the fork, J puts them in his mouth. Finally, he finishes.)

T: Good work, J.
J: Thank you, Momma.

(I put N back in his swing, and go back into the kitchen to give J a glass of milk. I find J lying on his back on the floor behind his chair.)

T: Do you want the yellow glass? Or the blue?
J: Green!
T: Yellow? Or blue?
J: Spiderman!
T: Yellow? Or blue?
J: Purple!
T: Blue it is!
J: NO! NO! NO!
T: Yes. Blue it is.

(I pour milk into J's glass. J continues to lie on his back on the floor behind his chair.)

J: I can't get up.
T: Yes you can. Now get up.
J: No. Pick me up!
T: No. You can get up.
J: No, I can't! Lift me up!
T: Get up, or I'm putting your milk back.
J: Lift me up!
T: Fine. Have it your way.

(I start to pour the milk back into the carton. J flips out, stands up in a hurry and climbs up onto his chair. I give him the glass of milk.)

J: I couldn't get up.
T: Yes, you could.
J: No I couldn't.
T: You just did.

(There is a slight pause as J contemplates this.)

J: You're not being very nice to me.

**********
The kids are asleep. I need to study now. Exam December 3. I am not prepared.

Master of the house

Once upon a time, there was a kingdom. In the kingdom lived a happy king and a happy queen. King H and Queen T could do whatever they wished. They had lots of money, slept late on weekends, and could watch any television programs that they chose. And there was much rejoicing throughout the land.

One day, a brave knight named Sir J arrived at the kingdom and there was much rejoicing. But Sir J screamed and cried and needed much care. And as he grew, he became a total crankypants. He took some of the money. And some of the sleep. And most of the television programming became much more cartoonish. King H and Queen T were happy to have Sir J in their kingdom, but they were also very tired, a fact that made them cross much more frequently. But King H and Queen T and Sir J all learned to live together, for the most part in peace and harmony, and life was mostly good.

A few years passed, and a baby named N arrived at the kingdom and there was much rejoicing. N was a good baby. A sweet baby. He loved to eat and sleep and be played with, and he rewarded all of his minions with many smiles and giggles. And though he too took some of the money and some of the sleep, the kingdom continued to function well. Everybody loved N, as he was very cute and very chubby and very happy. Sir J loved N very deeply, and sang to him, and offered him many toys. And despite the poverty, exhaustion, and cartoonish television programming, the kingdom was essentially a happy place.

And then N started to cut teeth. And he developed a loud and high pitched shriek, the likes of which has never been heard. And upon seeing how everyone raced to his aid when he made that noise, N decided to use it for everything. And the kingdom became a much louder place. King H and Queen T were very tired and cross. Even Sir J became frustrated with his beloved N. And while he continued to sing songs to N, they were delivered in loud staccato tones. Finally, having reached the conclusion that all babies cry all of the time, Sir J began to search for a solution.

**********
After a particularly bad night with resultant morning drama, this conversation was heard in the kingdom:

H: I didn't order a baby that cries all the time. It must have been you.
T: I didn't do it either. Maybe we could trade him in for another baby.
H: (incredulously) Another baby?
T: Or, you know, something else. Like maybe a fish tank.
H: Or magic beans.
J: Or a play-doh barber shop?

**********
And this is how Sir J became the owner of a brand new play-doh barber shop. You can't judge us. You weren't there.

The Spin Cycle: Relax? I don't do it

I'm late. I'm late.
For a very important (Spin Cycle) date.
No time to say "Hello"
Goodbye!
I'm late. I'm late. I'm late.

**********
Sprite's Keeper asks "How do you relax"? That's a good question!

Life here tends to get mighty busy. Even right now, while I'm on maternity leave. I'm a mom of two and a full-time student. Ordinarily, I also work outside of the home. Add in the household chores and you'll see I'm not left with many extra hours in the day. I rarely get enough sleep. Sometimes, I forget to eat. In my spare time, I wish for spare time.

Relaxing tends to take the form of study breaks. And as luck would have it, I study at my computer. So how do I relax? By reading all of your blogs, of course! I love them!!

**********
Okay. Got to go. The kids are asleep, and I've got an exam in a few short weeks. Must study now.

**********
And ...

I'm late. I'm late.
For a very important (study) date.
No time to say "Hello"
Goodbye!
I'm late. I'm late. I'm late.

Angel of the morning? HA!

J awoke out of sorts. I mean, really out of sorts. He cried. I mean, really cried.

J: I want my hearts!
H: What hearts?
J: The red ones!
H: What red ones?
J: The hearts I had in bed!
H: Hearts you had in bed?
J: My hearts! I want my hearts!

This continued for quite some time. J has many toys that he loves. Some he takes to bed with him. His favourite toys are round and egg-shaped. He has a preference for green items, though he is starting to really like red too. But he has no heart-shaped toys, and we had no idea to what he referred.

H: Where did you get them?
J: From the litter box!
H: J, you're not allowed near the litter box.
J: No. I didn't touch the pee or poop.
H: There are no hearts in the litter box.
J: Yes there are!

H tried in vain to placate J, who continued to shriek about his missing hearts.

H: What do they look like, J?
J: They're red hearts!
H: How many hearts were there?
J: Two! A big one and a little one!
H: How big are they?
J: One's big! And one's little!
H: What are they made of?
J: My hearts! My hearts! I WANT MY HEARTS!!

H searched for J's hearts. Hunting high and low. He even went out into our front yard and rooted around in J's sand table in search of the missing hearts. In the freezing cold. In his pajamas. At one point, he thought he'd found a red heart-shaped toy out there. But the sobbing J insisted that it was not the right one and just screamed louder.

J: My hearts! My hearts!
H: Are they squishy, like gummy candies?
J: No! They're ... they're ...
H: What are they made of, J?
J: They're made of wood!

And through the entire search process, I lay still, nursing N back into a peaceful slumber, and periodically stating what I thought was the very obvious. That the hearts do not actually exist. That J had a vivid dream which he now believes to be real. That we cannot magically bring toys out of J's dream world and into this one. Of this, I am quite certain. And so, I stupidly attempted to reason with my 3-year old while H unwittingly validated his preposterous claims. I reasoned thusly:

You're not allowed near the litter box.

And if you were allowed near the litter box, you certainly would not be permitted to sift through it.

And if you did sift through it, you would not find little red wooden hearts in the dirty cat litter.

And if you did find little red wooden hearts in there, Mommy and Daddy would have thrown them out, because they would be icky and disgusting.

And if Mommy and Daddy had actually lost their minds enough to allow you to keep the little red wooden hearts that you had found in the dirty cat litter, they still wouldn't have let you sleep with them, because we do not sleep with hard wooden toys!

All perfectly logical, I thought. But an over-tired tantrum-throwing 3-year old is not perfectly logical, nor even remotely logical, and he could not be made to believe that his beloved little red wooden hearts existed only in his subconscious. Obviously, the hearts are real. Obviously, H is just not looking hard enough. Obviously, we are horrid, cruel parents who intentionally steal and hide our 3-year old's toys just to make him cry. We laugh about it later, while we sit together and play with the toys as he cries himself to sleep. What parent doesn't do this? You've done it. We all have. You know it's true.

Eventually, H had to admit that I was probably right. The hearts were fictitious. The morning activities resumed, around the shrieking J.

J: My hearts! My hearts!
H: Do you want to go potty?
J: No! No potty! My hearts! I want my hearts!
H: There are no hearts. Now go potty.
J: MY HEARTS!!!!!

J refused to go potty. Refused to get dressed. Refused to stop screaming. And eventually, ran over to me, grabbed baby N in a death grip, and sang a new song. If you consider his high-pitched shrieks of rage to be "singing". Which I do not.

J: I want my baby!
T: You have your baby. He's right here.
J: My baby! My baby!!
H: J, you're holding the baby.
J: I WANT MY BAAAAABBBBYYY!!!

Eventually J, clothed and nearly in his right mind, was escorted off to preschool. He had refused to go potty before leaving the house, insisting "I want to hold my pee pee in my penis for preschool". What an odd request!

And so he left, wearing a pull-up, just in case he had an accident on the way to school. Which he didn't. But once inside and at the potty, he did overshoot the toilet and get pee on the floor, on the underwear he was about to be changed into and, perhaps worst of all ... on Panda, his faithful companion who he can obviously no longer have for today's naptime. That oughta be fun for someone to deal with.

But not me!

I love spending time with my son. But today, I am relieved that his teachers get to handle him. 'Cause ... damn!

I thought I saw you

I thought I saw you the other day,
But I really wasn't sure.
A shadow in among the fray.
Passed by me in a blur.

I thought I saw you the other day.
I didn't know what to feel.
A billion shades of dappled grey,
As many ways to heal.

I thought I saw you the other day.
I guess you're doing fine,
'Cause most things just work out okay
If only in my mind.

I thought I saw you the other day.
Thought maybe I should speak,
But I didn't know what I should say.
Tired. Feeling weak.

I thought I saw you the other day.
A chance for me to grow.
But I turned and walked the other way
Preferring not to know.

**********
The above poem is apropos of nothing. It was inspired by Mama Kat over at Mama's Losin' It, whose writer's workshop for the week included a prompt to begin a post with the words "I thought I saw". So there ya go!

Head on over. Check out the writer's workshop prompts for the week. Read the many posts. Write one of your own and link up. Come on. You know you want to. It's fun.

Hair!

I hate getting my hair cut. I consider it to be a necessary evil. One that should be put off as long as possible. The result of this is that I often have long shapeless hair that desperately needs some style. When it starts to drive me crazy, I get it cut. Usually, I get it cut into a jaw length bob. That works well for me. It looks good. It looks professional. It suits my hair type and my face shape. And since it's an easy cut, I can just go to the cheapest place to get it done.

Last time I got my hair cut, I asked for the usual jaw length bob. But I apparently managed to get the only hairdresser in town who couldn't handle that. And I ended up with this crazed uneven quasi-bob falling past shoulder length. Longer in some parts, shorter in others. It looked completely ridiculous. So for the past six or so months, I've been wearing a lot of pony tails to hide the differing lengths.

Whatever. It's just hair.

In my usual zen manner, I recently decided that it was time for another haircut. And not being one to learn from my mistakes, I went to the same place. You get different hairdressers each time, so the lady with the pinking shears and anatomy issues (is that your jaw, or your shoulder?) would likely not be there. And she wasn't.

I thought I'd go for a slightly different cut this time. I've worn the cut in question before. And I liked it. And I know it's an easy cut. It's basically a rounded shoulder-length bob with a slight whispy bang and a few longer layers by the face for added shape. Pretty.

I went in armed. I had pictures of the cut. Four different pictures, in fact, showing the same cut from different angles. I showed the pictures to the butcher stylist. I showed her all four pictures. She agreed that it was a simple cut. And she went to work.

I left a few minutes later with a cut that is completely unlike that in the pictures. It's cute. And it's professional. But it's much shorter, heavily layered, with a fuller bang. It bears absolutely no resemblance to the pictures that I showed her. None. Zero.

But at least it's cut. And it's a cute cut. And it's not crazily uneven. So that's something. And ordinarily I might think it was an improvement over what I had before. But I don't.

Why don't I?

Because I have just noticed that the cut I am now sporting ... the cut I did not request and which will take months to grow back out so that it can be fixed (at a different facility, thank you, because I have now learned my lesson) ... the short sassy cute cut that is not what I wanted ... is virtually identical to the cut currently worn by my friend Liz. Who has roughly the same hair colour. Awesome.

Liz doesn't like her cut much either. But that is not what disturbs me. No. What disturbs me is that Liz and I are close friends. We actually hang out. And when we hang out, other people actually see us. And I don't want to look like the freakin' Bobsy Twins!

Here's another issue. Because Liz and I are close friends with similar interests, people have gotten confused in the past. If one of us expresses an opinion, it is assumed that the other will share that opinion. (Now, oftentimes that does happen, but it's not written in stone or anything!) As a result, occasionally Liz or I have found it necessary to gently explain that we are not actually the same person. I'm sure that's obvious, but human nature is such that sometimes people just need to be reminded. A quick word seems to do the trick. Problem solved.

But I just can't help but feel that having the same blasted haircut will only reinforce public opinion that we are interchangeable, when we are not!! And it really pisses me off!!

Ah, son-of-a ...

J, he's got a ...

Today, J wanted breakfast for supper. Oatmeal. Oatmeal with dinosaur eggs. Dry oatmeal with dinosaur eggs. And nothing else would do.

Would you like an egg, J?
No. Oatmeal with dinosaur eggs.
Oatmeal isn't really a supper food. Hamburger soup?
No. Oatmeal with dinosaur eggs.
But you need protein.
No. Oatmeal with dinosaur eggs.

Oatmeal. With dinosaur eggs.

Okay. Maybe he's on a carbs kick. I can get behind that. But oatmeal? For dinner? It just ain't right!

As we continued to suggest alternatives, J sat down and played with his Leggos, all the while insisting on breakfast for supper. And not just any breakfast, either. No. It must be oatmeal. Oatmeal with dinosaur eggs. Dry. And immediate.

How about pancakes?
No.
Toast?
No.

Oatmeal. Oatmeal with dinosaur eggs.

Oatmeal with dinosaur eggs served by Mommy, because there are lots of dinosaur eggs when Mommy does it, and there aren't lots when Daddy does it, even though J's oatmeal with dinosaur eggs comes out of a package, and the exact same number of eggs are in each package. You can't reason with a 3-year old. And as he played with his Leggos, his insistence grew, and I began to feel alarmed. And a little intimidated, too.


Yes, that is a gun. Complete with hammer. And it appears to be cocked. *


Okay, fine. So we gave in. Because we're lousy crisis negotiators. Besides, he looked kind of scary and it just wasn't worth a hail of gunfire. But his list of demands kept growing, and eventually he was sitting there screaming: "Feed me, or the Panda gets it!"


Well, what would you have done?


Send help.


* Okay. Granted, J insists that it is a nail gun. But I've never seen a nail gun that looks like that. I'm still not quite sure how J figured out how to make this eerily realistic looking Leggo weapon. We do not have gun-type toys in this house, and I had no idea J had ever even seen one.

The Spin Cycle: No more kings?!

So, lately I've been stalking reading the blog of the lovely and talented Sprite's Keeper. And I must say, I quite enjoy it. She organizes a weekly Spin Cycle wherein her minions agree to post on a particular topic. So this week, I thought I'd join in. The theme is voting and elections. And who can't get behind that, right?

**********
We in the Great White North had a federal election just recently. My vote actually counted for absolutely nothing, but I'm kind of getting used to that. The point is that we exercised our right, headed to the polls, and voted, just as we are supposed to. We took H's mom with us. She lives right nearby, so this should be easy. It's just voting, after all. Shouldn't take long.

H's mom is a bit disorganized these days. She misplaces things. Keys. Phone numbers. Her voter card. That sort of thing. Happens. I'm starting to relate to her more and more, actually.

Anyway ...

The plan was that H would first pick J up from school, then pick up Mom, and then take her to vote. When she was done, he would drop her off, stop off at home to pick up me and N, and then we would return to the polls and take turns, one sitting in the van with the kids while the other voted.

As complicated as it sounds, there was a good reason for the multiple trips. H's mom has certain physical limitations, doesn't drive, and certainly can't weedle into the very back of the van and, with my broken knee still being a huge issue (I know: whine, whine, whine), neither could I. I also couldn't drive yet because of the aforesaid whining broken knee. And with two children in carseats and three adults in tow, one adult always has to sit in the very back of the van. You see? So we had to coordinate this whole ordeal in two trips. And this seemed to be the best option. Mom only lives a couple of minutes away, and the poll is right in the middle between our two homes. Easy peasy. Right? Right!

All went according to plan until H picked up Mom and discovered she had misplaced her voter card. Undaunted, H took Mom to the polls and learned that, since she didn't know her riding (which was written on the card), she would have to wait in two line-ups: the first to obtain her riding, and the second to vote. Apparently, a lot of people head to the polls without the card. (Who knew?) The first was a long and slow moving line.

It was doubtful that H and I would both get to vote if he waited for her. So H decided to leave Mom in the first of her two line-ups while he returned home to pick me up. We live minutes from the poll. We'd work this all out.

We returned to the polling station. We would be quick, as we both had our voter cards and the lines for those who knew their riding were quite short. H parked as close to the doors as possible. I waited in the van with the kids while H went to vote. And when H returned, Mom was walking beside him. She was miffed, and I heard her crossly expressing herself and H's response of: "Well, it's not my fault!"

This was when we learned that our area of town actually has two polling stations. Having no idea that this would be the case, and without the appropriate voter card at hand, we couldn't possibly have realized that Mom was expected to vote at the other one. So H left me to vote while he drove Mom to the other station, waited for her to vote, and then took her home after. He then returned to our polling station to pick me up. Meanwhile, I voted and then sat on a bench to wait for him. (People were oddly reluctant to get up and let the woman with the crutches sit on that bench, but I guess that's a story for another time.)

All told, the outing actually took hours.

And after reading this ordeal, you can no doubt understand my frustration that my guy didn't get in. 'Cause after all of that, my vote should have counted for something. Right? Right!

**********
Really, we had some pretty slim pickings in this last election. But I have learned my lesson. Next time, I will make my vote count. I will pick the best candidate available. Even if he is not officially on the ballot. I will campaign with might and main, and ultimately, I will vote Captain Dumbass for PM!

Actually, no. Make that Captain Dumbass for King! 'Cause we really should have a King, don't you think?

I think he'll get in.

Pearl jam

By highschool, my life had changed substantially. Fewer bullies. Better coping skills. And though it was still possible, it took a lot more to make me run away. New environment. New people. I was a better fit.

An observer who sat on the sidelines, I was able to blend. At the first sign of trouble, I moved swiftly into avoidance mode, and I was rarely backed into a corner. I had learned well. There were usually many ways to stay out of trouble. And when I was firmly stuck in the mess, it was never for long. I'd learned it wouldn't last, and I could wait it out. So aside from a few memorable blips, grade 10 was a better time.

I was smart, but poorly organized and easily distracted. My grades put me in advanced Math and English classes. But I didn't want to excel. I wanted to pass my classes, but with average standing. I didn't want to be smart. I had found my niche. I fit in well with underachievers and troublemakers. Hard work just wasn't my thing. But neither was failure.

I shortcut every assignment, always doing just the bare minimum that was required to get a passing grade. No more, no less. But sometimes, my poor organizational skills would get me into trouble, and I'd have to act quickly.

And that's how I found myself dumbfounded in 10th grade English, staring in disbelief. As I walked through the door, I saw the writing on the wall.

The note on the blackboard read "REMINDER: IN CLASS ESSAY TODAY ON 'THE PEARL'".

Scanning the room quickly, I spotted one of my friends. Wild-eyed, I straddled the seat in front of his desk and faced him.

T: Hey, D. Did you read the book?

D: Of course I read the book! We have an in class essay today on the book! What kind of idiot wouldn't have read the book?!

T: Shut up, and tell me the plot.

(I'm not even kidding. I vaguely remembered being handed the book on the first day of class. I have no idea where it went from there. I do not remember ever being told that we would have an in class essay on it, and I certainly don't recall a date being provided. See? Poor organizational skills. You have no idea.)

D stared at me in disbelief, fully taking in the situation. But not a moment could be spared. Class was about to start. In a matter of seconds, D ran through the basic plot. No character names were supplied. I seem to recall D saying something along the lines of "A guy finds a pearl, then a bunch of really bad things happen, so he throws it into the ocean".

I nodded. "Okay. Thanks. Got it." And then I went to my desk, and got ready.

Careful to use no character names, since I didn't know any of them, I wrote an essay on "The Pearl". I discussed the symbolism. At length. I uncovered the hidden meanings, and commented on the tragedy. All of the subtle nuances were revealed in my incredibly vague words.

I got a 79%. I'm not sure if D was more upset that I'd passed, or that my mark was actually higher than his. But I remember how his head nearly exploded when he learned I'd gotten a better grade.

To this day, I still have not read "The Pearl", though I really think I should.

**********
I bring this up now because I am wondering what happened to the 15-year old girl who could BS her way through a project, still end up with a 79%, and call it a good grade. 'Cause now, I have to work really hard for my grades. I need superior organizational skills. If I get behind, I panic. Minimal to zero effort no longer results in a decent grade. A 79% makes me want to slash my wrists. Frequently, I lack comprehension skills. And my memory frankly stinks. I feel like an idiot all the freaking time. And what makes it even worse is that now, I'm actually reading the book!

I am totally not enjoying this class. Apparently, I kind of suck at it.

Momma got run over by a reindeer

So, an elk hit our van.

No. Not the other way around.

Last night, as we were driving down a dark stretch of road on our way home from the flu clinic, a suicidal elk leaped out of the bushes, raced to the road, and slammed its preposterously large form into the side of our van. I really didn't know they moved that quickly.

It survived. We survived. The van, I think, survived.

Initially concerned for the welfare of the animal, J became angry when he saw the damage to the van. "Reindeer!" J shouted sternly, "Why did you hit our van?!"

H swerved to avoid the elk. Thankfully there was no oncoming traffic. Because of H's evasive driving, we did not hit the beast head-on. And for that, we are thankful. Also, the antlers did not come through our windshield or my window. And, while the front end and passenger side of the vehicle are pretty messed up, damage appears to be contained to the front of the van. The back door doesn't appear to have even been hit. We are happy to all be alright. 'Cause the van is just metal, and doesn't matter as much as the rest of us.

But just to recap 2008 to date:

High risk pregnancy;
Abrupted placenta;
Prolonged bed rest;
Grumpy disability provider;
Kidney stones;
Hospital stays;
Precipitous birth;
Complications immediately post-birth;
Birth mom with cancer;
Financial constraints;
Broken knee (tibial plateau fracture);
Surgery and another hospital stay;
Painkillers;
Block fire;
Suicidal elk slams into van.

You ever have one of those years? I seriously can't wait for 2009!!

Later this week, we will be having elk burgers. Just you wait. I'll get him yet.

It's all I can do

So Shelle over at Blok-Thoughts is doing the "Don't you hate it when" contest for a second month. I have never gotten any votes, but it's still good fun. So here goes ...

I'm in school. Working hard to get my assignments in on time, but it's not working out so well. After a few mediocre assignment grades, I thought my marker might be penalizing me for late submissions. But in hindsight, I don't think he is.

Why?

Because on my most recent assignment, which I submitted on time, my marker docked me three of the five available marks on one question because I didn't specify per unit profit of $36. But the question asked for total profit, not per unit profit. And I showed the calculation as the number of units sold multiplied by this: ($180 - $144), where $180 is the selling price per unit and $144 is the cost per unit. So out of curiosity, what does $180 - $144 equal? And why did I lose three marks?

I hate it when that happens. Don't you?

Now, go and visit Shelle. Read. Vote. Play. Have fun! I'm going to go beat my head against the wall until things start making sense to me. It's all I can do.

On this day

Today is an anniversary.

I didn't blog much in 2007. I was really busy. And my mood was altered. And so, there is no entry to refer back to. But I remember the day. One year ago today.

H and I had difficulty conceiving our children. I had to take Clomid. And some other stuff as well, which I won't get into here. The medication has certain side effects that aren't at all pleasant. But ultimately, we got pregnant. Twice. So it was all worthwhile.

We were in Maui last September. And it was there that we learned that we were going to have a second child. We were ecstatic. And thankfully, the morning sickness didn't start until a few weeks post-vacation, so we still had a good time.

We came home and settled back into our routine. I went back to work. But the morning sickness was so awful this time around that I had trouble coping and keeping to my schedule, and I was taken out of work at the end of October. The plan was to return to work when the morning sickness subsided. Shortly thereafter, that plan was abandoned.

On this day last year, I was 10 weeks pregnant and suffering pronounced morning sickness. I was home alone with J, who had just gone down for his afternoon nap. I put a few toys away. And then I phoned H and my mother in a panic. There was blood. Red blood. Lots and lots of red blood.

I laid down and awaited their arrival. Mom would stay with J while H and I went to the emergency room.

We were scared. The bleed with J hadn't happened until I was 18 weeks along. J's issue was an abrupted placenta. And I ended up on bed rest for a combined total of 5 months. But this was different. This was earlier. And there was even more blood. I thought I'd lost my baby.

We arrived at the emergency room and were quickly seen. It seemed that history was repeating, and no one wanted to take chances. A check showed that I had not miscarried. "Threatened abortion" is the distasteful term given; it means "threatened miscarriage". I was put on rest, pending discussion with my obstetrician. A phone call and a couple of emails later, and I learned that my obstetrician wanted me to remain on bed rest until at least 20 weeks gestation. While it was too small to visualize on ultrasound, the symptomology indicated that the placenta was detatching. A second pregnancy, and a second abruption.

And ultimately, a second live birth. A second miracle.

I didn't get off bed rest until I was at 37 weeks. The bleeding just never resolved. And there were other complications that kept cropping up. It was hard. But it was worth it. I have my boys; my miracles.

On this day, we learned that a rare complication can still happen, and that it can occur more than once, defying probabilities. We learned that I just don't carry well, and we decided not to have any more children. And some days that saddens me, but it is for the best. Because neither H nor I ever want to go through that fear again, and we now know that it would happen.

Today is an anniversary. It marks a moment. Something we will always remember. On this day, we learned that our child was still with us, despite the complications and misgivings. We banded together as a family, with faith to beat the odds. We received help from family and friends. Prayer chains were begun and continued for seven months. We received support from others, too. Coworkers. Employers. Doctors.

Thanks to all of these, our miracle is here today.

Today is a good day.

Driving in a winter wonderland

I hope you enjoy this somewhat realistic depiction of a Canadian police chase. It's not totally realistic, though; no polar bears or igloos are featured.

(Looks like it's only viewable with Firefox.)

Crazy train

I see your train of thought.

I see it. Right there. Upended and smoldering in the ditch, having been derailed from the tracks of logic.

200 dead. Good for you!

**********
Query: What is $180 less $144? Is it not $36? And if it is, then why did I lose 3 marks?

Query: When one's child has a meltdown and refuses to go pee-pee before bed, is it wrong to threaten to siphon his urine manually with a homemade catheter?

Query: Is it prudent to leave lit candles unattended on your wooden porch when your neighbourhood nearly burnt to the ground less than three weeks ago?

Riiiiight.

**********
The above list is not exhaustive, and may be revised over time. Meanwhile, have you anything to add? Questions you would like answered? Or simply restatements of the blatantly obvious?

Please share. I'd like to know it's not just me.

Puff the magic dragon

I shouldn't write when I am in a negative headspace. The dark and broody stuff just comes out then. And really, this blog is supposed to be fun. I try to post the fun and comedic and leave the dark and broody posts alone as much as I can. But there are times ...

Hmm ... Perhaps I need a separate dark and broody blog space for that stuff. I'll give that some thought.

In the meantime, we are now back to normal over here. And to celebrate, I present the following:


Happy Halloween!!