Pandora's Ethernet Connection

Show 'n' Tell

2010-09-10T07:23:00.001-06:00

"Good morning, J", I said. "It's show 'n' tell day at school today", I said.

J's school has themes for show 'n' tell. Today, the theme is colours.

"Do you want to take my rainbow maker for show 'n' tell today, J?" I asked.

"Yeah!" responded J, happily.

J was excited for show 'n' tell. He loves to show his friends new things and explain how everything works. The rainbow maker is a very cool thing indeed, and has so many colours for his friends to enjoy. And it has a scientific bent to it; J loves science. So we cuddled together, and I held the rainbow maker and explained its workings to J. He listened attentively, soaking it all in.

"See, J? There's this little suction cup here. You get it wet, and you stick it to a window. Then the sun shines in the window and hits this little black angled rectangle - that's the 'solar panel'."

"Oooooh."

"Yes. And that solar panel powers the 'battery', over here."

"Here?"

"Yup. Right here. Then the battery makes all these brightly coloured wheels turn inside the rainbow maker. See the wheels?"

"Yeah!"

"Those wheels are the 'motor'."

"That's the motor?"

"Yes, it is. And when the motor runs, it turns this big crystal on the bottom. The crystal is a 'prism'."

"A prism?"

"Uh huh. And as the sun shines on the prism, the light becomes 'refracted'. Say refracted, J."

"Refracted," said J, with his typical perfect pronunciation.

"Right! 'Refracted'. See? Light gets refracted through the prism, and then the refracted light shines on all the walls. And that makes the rainbows."

"Oooooh!"

"You love the rainbows, don't you J? You love how they dance around the room, huh?"

And J nodded.

"It's dark and cloudy right now. But we can still see the rainbows, online. Do you want to watch a video of the rainbow maker?"

J nodded again. And we cuddled together and watched a quick Youtube video of the rainbow maker. J stared in awe, rapt with attention, thrilled to see the rainbows flying about the room on my computer screen.

"Pretty! Pretty!"

"Now, it's supposed to be a cloudy day, J. So the rainbow maker might not make the rainbows for your class. But you can tell them how the rainbow maker works, and you can take it back to school on a day when it's sunny so your friends can see the rainbows. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah. That sounds good", J agreed.

"It's delicate, J. You have to be careful with it. It's not a toy to be played with. And you can't put it in your mouth. But we'll tell your teacher how it works, and she'll stick it to the window for you and gently turn the crystal for your class if the sun isn't strong enough to do it for you. Okay?"

"Okay", J agreed. And then he held the rainbow maker, and started manually turning the crystal at the bottom.

"Careful, J", I said. "Remember, that is delicate. You have to be very gentle. You really shouldn't play with it like that".

[No response]

"Gentle, J. J? Please don't play with it like that, J. J? J?"

[No response]

"J????"

And then J was off and running like a shot, rainbow maker in hand. He moves quickly - much more quickly than his old and decrepit mother. He smacked the suction cup down, adhering it to his glass-topped craft table, then grabbed hold of the crystal at the bottom and pulled with all his might.

And this is why J's show 'n' tell item for today is a tri-coloured plastic airplane. At some point today, I hope to figure out how to reattach the crystal to the rainbow maker. That would be lovely.

*sigh*

Gadgets? We don't need no stinking gadgets!

2010-02-13T07:36:00.008-07:00

Ordinarily, I delete spam comments. I'm fairly ruthless about it, too. I click on the little "remove forever" button, so no one can even see the trail of spam. Its presence irritates me, and I have no problem with removing forever all traces of it.

But today, I will make an exception. Today, someone posted a spam comment that I was ridiculously tempted to keep. I mean, I couldn't keep it; it is spam, after all. But while I deleted the comment, I didn't check the "remove forever" button; it was a particularly delightful read, and I felt okay about preserving the history on this one for a change.

I decided to write about the experience here. Why, you ask? Because the choice of post for this particular comment was so poor as to make the random comment completely awesome, and I really wanted to share!

Now, since the spammer in question actually had to make it through the word verification feature, you would think he might have taken a moment to read the post he was commenting on. It's a short post. Tiny, really. Would have only taken a couple of seconds. Less time than it takes to go through the pesky word verification feature. But no! No, he couldn't read the post on which he was commenting! And that is what has made this moment truly wonderful and gotten my morning off to a really great start. So, thanks for that!

The comment in question was posted on this old post, about porn spam and poop. Obviously, I've eliminated the comment's link, as ... well - it's spam and all. But the rest of this comment is verbatim:

"Interesting post as for me. It would be great to read something more about this theme. The only thing I would like to see here is a few pics of some gadgets.
John Karverv"

John. Seriously. Dude. It's a post about porn spam and poop. And you want pictures of gadgets with that? I don't think I have any such pictures. What gadgets did you have in mind, John? Maybe I can help direct you to the right place. Or an appropriate support group for your particular ... problem.

(On a rather unrelated note, I think I'm about ready to return to the bloggy world and write some real posts again. Maybe visit friends' blogs. Maybe even comment! Could happen. Should happen. And I think it will happen very, very soon. Stay tuned!)

Deck the halls with your questionable photos?? No. I don't think so.

2009-12-25T23:33:00.004-07:00

Merry Christmas!

Today, a spammer posted a random porn link on my blog. On an old post, all about how my darling husband parodied an ABBA song to help our son with his potty training. Yup. Lots of references to fecal matter in that one. Just screams "porn", doesn't it?

Ho. Ho. Ho.

*sigh*

Because mouse poop is funny

2009-11-13T22:37:00.004-07:00

So apparently, if you don't post for a few months, the spammers come and get you. They put comments in random posts, thinking you won't notice.

I NOTICE!! I DELETE YOU!! HAPPILY!!

So for the sake of dissuading the spammers, I shall post. Though I've still not a great deal to say. I'm going through something of a depressive period, and I can't organize my thoughts coherently. It's easier not to write. But write, I shall. For it is now apparent that the penalty for writer's block is spam in droves, and that is unacceptable to me.

Feel free to skip this nonsensical post if you like. I just haven't got much to say.

*sigh*

First things first: I got scholarships! Two scholarships! One of them is a coveted national award. Annually, there's only one of these granted in each level. And I took it for Level 4. So I'm happy. There's cash involved. Now I can afford to buy tires. Because they continue to be punctured on a fairly regular basis. I still don't know why, but continue my conspiracy theories.

Secondly, J was moved into Pre-Kindergarten at school. I thought I had another year of preschool, but Pre-K is here. I'm getting used to it. He likes it a lot.

J says many funny things these days. But by the time I get to my computer, I've usually forgotten. I live in something of a fog lately, I'm afraid. But off the top of my head:

J: When I get big, I'm going to paint all the street lights green.

J: Can we go to the AC/DC Centre?
Note: This is J's term for the "ACT Centre", a pool and rec centre that he really enjoys.

J: Today, we talked about our favourite books at show and tell. Thali's favourite book is called 'Diarrhea Mouse'.
T: I think you mean 'Diary of a Mouse'.
J: No. It's 'Diarrhea Mouse'.
T: 'Diary of a Mouse'?
J: No. 'Diarrhea Mouse'.
H: J. Is the book about a mouse that sits on the toilet all the time and does absolutely nothing else? Or is it about a mouse that writes in a little book?
J: Oooooh ... [giggle] It's about a mouse that writes.
T: Ah. 'Diary of a Mouse'.

The final thing that I shall report on is N. Who is sick. Constantly. He's having teething issues. He had a flu bug a week or two ago. He now has a cold with fever. He is rather inconsolable. Last night, he even cried during bathtime. Poor little Pineapple.

There. I posted. Now quit spamming my comments, you nasty robots!

My apologies

2009-08-18T23:46:00.001-06:00

I wish to take a moment to apologize for the rather severe case of writer's block that I have experienced of late. I promise that there will be new posts, just as soon as I can come up with something worthwhile to write.

I will be back. Sometimes, it just takes awhile.

Sorry.

YESSSSS!!

2009-07-27T23:31:00.002-06:00

Just a quick post to update.

J saw a pediatric gastroenterologist today. They think he has a reflux issue. He'll start getting treated with some meds. Hopefully, if food stops making his tummy hurt and he stops gagging and throwing up, he'll be more inclined to eat. I think his eating is slowly getting better, and I think his time is starting to improve also ... it no longer seems to take the boy several hours to eat a quarter of a sandwich. So that's good.

What's great, though? He's in the 25th percentile for height and weight! We've gotten so used to a struggle - used to hearing bad news ... he's below the 5th percentile ... try this nutritional supplement ... he's too small ... if he won't gain, we'll have to do a G-tube ... failure to thrive ...

So yeah. Today was such a welcome change. Today, we got good news. He's smaller than averaqe in both height and weight. But at last, he's on the charts. He's not a malnourished starving kid who needs to be tube fed. He's not stunting his growth by refusing to eat. He's in the normal range, at last!

Now the trick is keeping him there. But I am feeling optimistic now. Sweet little J may be okay yet. We keep plodding along, and do our best.

It's all we can do.

A quick non sequitur

2009-07-22T22:33:00.003-06:00

H: I think I'm right.
J: Well, I think I'm right.
H: So you think Daddy's wrong, then?
J: Yes. You're wrong, and I'm right.
H: No. You're wrong, and I'm right.
J: No. You're wrong, and I'm right.
H: But I'm the Daddy. So I'm always right.
J: But we have a Daffy Duck movie. So I'm always right.

Yup. Makes perfect sense.

RTT: Because I'm sick and the baby's angry. Apparently.

2009-07-14T13:55:00.005-06:00

Make the baby stop crying. Make the baby stop crying? Make the baby stop crying!

Debt sucks. Just sayin'.

The Reese's peanut butter cup commercial mocks me, since I am out of peanut butter cups. Oh, delicious peanuty goodness, why do you taunt me?

New class, new policy. I no longer answer questions on the student collaborative board if they are addressed to me personally. I'm not the course tutor, and I won't give out my assignment answers. That would be called "cheating". So just stop asking, and we'll get along much, much better. I promise.

OMG! "Vision Quest" is on! And I'm watching it!

Sick as a dog yesterday. Slightly better today. Hopefully I'll be all fine tomorrow.

There are dishes to be washed, but I'm still lacking energy. Tired and sick. Must rest. Maybe later tonight, I'll be up for some chores. Just now, I need to nap and try to knock out this cold virus. But it's totally not working. I just can't nap. And why can't I nap?

Make the baby stop crying. Make the baby stop crying? Make the baby stop crying!

**********
Head on over to Keely's. Grab a button. Create your own Random Tuesday Thoughts. Do it. You know you want to.

'Kay, I gotta go. Obviously, the baby's crying.

*sigh*

It's educational, because I didn't know Maleficent was British

2009-07-09T23:22:00.000-06:00

First, a word of caution.

Please ignore the nasty Blair Witch Project type special effects that occur largely at the tail end of this video as I searched frantically for the stop button. The camera is still pretty new, and I have yet to learn to edit these things.

And now for our feature presentation. We are pleased to present the opening sequence of "Sleeping Beauty", as told by J.

My kid, ladies and gentlemen. He's teh awesomeness. Yup, yup.

(One day, I hope to be able to upload videos through the button in Blogger, instead of having to use Youtube. Sadly, Blogger keeps giving me failure messages. This does not help my self-esteem issues, Blogger. Smarten up.)

Don't sweat the small stuff ... or, you know, sweat a lot

2009-07-08T22:32:00.004-06:00

I had a moment today. A moment where I felt really stupid. A moment where I thought to myself "I can't finish my designation; I'm not smart enough". You ever get like that? It happens to me more than I'd really care to admit. But then, today, I realized that it's a nonsensical feeling. I am not stupid. I can't be. My course grades negate the concept. I'm actually very bright. I'm just not highly functional in a number of other very important ways.

No. I'm not stupid. But ...

You know how, when you go in for a job interview and the interviewer asks you to outline your weaknesses ... and everyone always tries to pick something that's actually a good trait but make it sound kind of negative? Remember saying: "I can be too much of a perfectionist"? Oh, admit it; we've all said it. The thing is, though, that for me, this is actually true. And incidentally, it's not a good trait at all. Actually, it kind of sucks.

I waste time. Everything must be just so. For if it is not absolutely perfect, then it is wrong. Other things are pushed aside as I work to make it perfect, totally functional, and beautiful to boot. Because I care, even if no one else does. And everything else that is actually of utmost importance suffers for it. I try to move on, but I am unfocused, knowing that I just blew something over, leaving it complete but not 100% perfect in every single minute and irrelevant way. And to get past it and carry on, I must first go back and finish the fool thing to my satisfaction.

It's pathetic.

I think it's some kind of weird undiagnosed OCD problem. It must be. I redo, and redo, and redo, trying to make everything in my world fit with absolutes, when the reality is that some things just don't matter that much. Other things are of greater importance. But I can't look at any of those things just now, because this spreadsheet is not evenly spaced and the fonts go all weird partway down, and the symbols switch from red to blue and back again with no rhyme or reason whatsoever, and it's making me crazy. Because it's not perfect.

It's not my fault. If the chairs are not completely straight, evenly spaced, and precisely the right distance from the table, something bad will happen. I just know it. Apparently.

Today, I realized that if I were in the army, I'd be the guy who routinely lags 10 minutes behind the batalion (and ultimately gets ambushed and offed by the enemy) because my bootloops were not perfectly symmetrical and I simply had to fix it before I could march.

Yup. That's me. I am just that insane. And over time, the problem appears to have gotten worse. Much to my chagrin, I appear powerless to just carry on and accept that things don't always have to be perfect. Sometimes, it just has to be good enough. And you move on, accepting that it's as good as it needs to be and no one else cares.

But I care! And dammit, that's good enough. Isn't it? Well, it should be. And if other people don't care about it as much, then they're just wrong. Apparently.

This is a flaw. It's a big one, actually. You don't want it.

Though at times when there are serious things going on around you, it can be helpful. It provides a distraction from the serious, as you work on fixing the inconsequential. This can help you keep your sanity in what might otherwise be a terribly stressful situation. Because you can focus on tiny details and completely ignore the fact that your hair is on fire, if you so choose. The problem with this, of course, is that you really have no choice in the matter. You must deal with your flaming hair. And yet, while your hair burns brightly, you find yourself completely disabled because you have observed a small scratch on the side of your fire extinguisher and you really can't bring yourself to deploy it until it is properly resurfaced.

This annoying trait means that everything takes me too long. And I don't like it. But I appear unable to change this in myself, and it's really, really irritating. Plus it creates stress. The stress of having to do it perfectly. It's a hard thing to handle. And then, you start irrationally feeling stupid, because you ran out of time or missed something or ... and it's at that moment that you feel like you're teetering on the edge of a precipice, still balancing on the appropriate side of the idiot line but just about to topple over. And you just don't know how you'll manage to carry on, because the slightest movement will push you right over the edge.

I really don't have time to be like this. Busy. Yes, with things that actually matter. I must find a way to get over it; some way to not care so much about trivialities. But I don't know how.

You know?

No. Of course you don't. Because you are not deranged.

Are you?

*sigh*

Cat toys are not suitable presents for your 4-year old son

2009-06-28T22:11:00.006-06:00

Tonight, H and I stopped at a Second Cup to get expensive coffee drinks, because an occasional treat is a good thing and also because J had just announced that he needed to pee and Second Cup was close-by, and we can't abide being "those people"; you know, the ones who use an establishment's bathroom and then leave without buying anything and just really tick everyone right off. But mainly, we bought drinks because an occasional treat is a good thing. And to that end, when J spotted a special cookie that made his eyes just light up, we decided to get it for him.

A happy J skipped out of the Second Cup, cookie in hand. It was a big sugar cookie, shaped like a teddy bear and decorated with green and yellow icing, and J couldn't have been happier. It was very cute, and it looked delicious. We were sure that J would want to eat his treat right away.

J got back in the van, and H strapped him into his carseat. H then removed the cellophane wrap from the cookie and presented it to J so that J might eat his special cookie at once. And as H handed the teddy bear cookie to J, one of the bear's legs broke off. J looked kind of stunned for a moment. But we told him this wasn't a big deal; the cookie would taste the same, and J could just eat the leg first. Apparently placated, J began to eat his cookie. And we headed off for home.

As J continued to eat his cookie, he discussed the situation as he saw it. "Poor teddy bear", said J. And we explained to him that the teddy bear cookie was made to be eaten. It wanted to be eaten. This was the teddy bear cookie's sole purpose. But though J continued to munch on the cookie, he appeared somewhat upset. Periodically, J would look at his cookie with sad eyes and sigh mournfully at the poor teddy bear's plight.

J ate his cookie slowly. He ate the bear's legs, and arms, and then he started working on the bear's head. And then suddenly, he cried out "His eyes are gone!", in the same urgent tone of voice one might use to say "I backed over your brother! Call 911!" And I again told J that the teddy bear was made to be eaten, and that his eyes would surely disappear as he was eaten, and that it was all going to be okay.

To my dismay, J's big bright eyes welled up with tears, and he started to sob uncontrollably. He wouldn't eat the rest of the cookie. It was too painful for him.

He cried for the loss of his teddy bear, whose beautiful yellow and green icing was now completely gone. J wanted his teddy bear cookie to be whole, with yellow and green icing, and eyes that would last forever. He did not want to eat this special cookie. And he would not have done so had the teddy bear cookie's leg not fallen off when its package was opened. To J, this cookie was a real teddy bear, meant to be slept with, played with, and cuddled, and certainly not meant to be eaten. J was horrified that he had mistakenly eaten his new friend.

H considered going back to Second Cup to get J a new teddy bear cookie, but we realized that doing so would be problematic. J would try to sleep, cuddling his replacement cookie. And he would be upset when the cookie crumbled, or when it grew old and stale and had to be thrown in the garbage. Food is not forever. And cookies are meant to be eaten. We needed to come up with something else.

Toy stores are closed. Drug stores, however, are open. And so we stopped at one, looking for a teddy bear. Something small and inexpensive. Something inedible. Something that J could cuddle with and keep.

There were no teddy bears at the drug store. There was a large green ball with a picture of Winnie the Pooh on it, though. But J was unimpressed. A ball was not a friend. A ball was a poor substitute for a teddy bear. A ball could not take the sting off J's wounds. And as he looked at the ball, he tried to be happy. But the tears were still flowing, and they spilled over and wet his sweet little cheeks. He liked the ball, but it was just not the same.

Grocery stores are also open. And we need baby food. And so, with a basket of baby food in hand, I searched. I looked at baby toys, but there were no bears. I looked through the seasonal area, but there were no bears. Specialty items? Giftware? Greeting cards? Yeah, no. There were no bears. Ummm ... cat toys? (Don't judge me. I was desperate.) Oddly enough, there were no bears.

I had nearly given up when at last, I found them. In the back of the floral section. In an area that I think is actually reserved for employees only, but I didn't really care anymore. Balloons, frogs, dogs, unicorns ... and bears! Bears! Cute little stuffed teddy bears! They even had them in yellow and green! Perfect!!!

J sleeps now, with new bears in yellow and green. They are not meant to be eaten. They are not filled with catnip. And when he awakes, he will not be stunned and saddened by their unexpected deterioration into a pile of crumbs.

I am the mom who cannot bear to see tears in your eyes. I will do anything in my power to protect you and to make you smile. Heaven knows that there are harsh realities and disappointments to be faced in this life. You will encounter them someday. And much as it pains me to realize it, I won't always be able to make it better. But just now, you are four. You are four, and you are mine, and I can look out for you. I can't give you everything, but I can give you this. I can wipe your tears and kiss your ow-ies and offer you small tokens that bring a smile to your sweet face once more.

And at the end of the day, I promise that there will be teddy bears.

I love you, J.

At least he knows what's most important

2009-06-18T19:48:00.001-06:00

J: My teacher swallowed a frog.
T: You mean she has a frog in her throat?
J: Yes. She swallowed it but it got stuck. And now, she can't eat her french fries.
T: I see.

Maddie's Song

2009-06-07T21:21:00.001-06:00

Two months.

(Photo courtesy of Heather Spohr)

Two months ago, Mike and Heather Spohr lost their precious daughter, Maddie. She was 17 months old.

Born prematurely after a complicated pregnancy, Maddie was a fighter. She defied the odds to survive the pregnancy, to be born, and to be released from a prolonged stay in the NICU. And though she had weak lungs and struggled to gain weight, she did well at home overall.

Until one day, she didn't.

For 17 precious months, Maddie grew in beauty and intelligence, making new friends and earning the love and admiration of all who saw her. And then, one day, she caught a cold, just as she had many times before. And she quickly developed a chest rattle and required oxygen, just as she had many times before. And she was admitted to hospital with pneumonia, just as she had been many times before because her lungs, weakened from prematurity, made her more susceptible to complications from colds. And she should have recovered and been released to her loving parents, just as she had always been before. But this time, she wasn't. And no one saw it coming.

She was special. And she is greatly missed.

**********
I never met Maddie. And I don't know her parents in real life. But for some reason, Maddie's story had an impact on me, and I don't rightly know just why.

Maybe it's because she passed away on J's birthday this year. Or because of the similarities between my pregnancies and Heather's. Or perhaps it's because Maddie was a preemie, just like J and several other children who we love so deeply. Or that she, like J, struggled to gain weight. Or the fact that she bears a bit of a physical resemblance to our baby N.

Or maybe it's because, after their loss, her parents threw themselves headlong into fundraising efforts for the March of Dimes, raising about $60,000 in Maddie's name, in hopes that other parents may not have to go through this pain.

And maybe it's because, several years ago, a couple of really close friends of ours who we love deeply also lost a much loved baby born too soon. At the time, I wanted to write something in tribute to their beautiful little Aiden. But I was shredded, too close to the loss and pain, and I couldn't pass through it all to find a way. Sometimes, that's how it happens.

Maybe it's any of these. Or more likely, it's a combination of all. But Maddie inspired me, just as she has inspired and continues to inspire so many of us. And this is why I wrote to her mother, Heather, and asked permission to use some of her words, so beautifully written on her blog, in a tribute to the incredible Madeline. And she agreed.

**********
And so, I am now posting a song. Lyrics by Heather and myself, together with music that I wrote. Maddie's Song. And I hope you like it.

MADDIE'S SONG

Verse 1
There’s a heaven in your smile.
There’s a halo of light around Madeline.
Though I shared it for only just awhile.

Verse 2
Your bright eyes and golden curls.
Such a beautiful child is my Madeline.
An angel sent from another world.
Smart, sweet little girl.

Chorus
Heaven
Right in front of me.
You will always be
The daughter I always wanted.
Remembered
For all eternity.
You will always be
The daughter I always wanted.

Verse 3
There’s a hole here in my arms.
A space left by my Madeline.
Exquisite pain I can’t comprehend.
And a world that makes no sense.

[Chorus]
[Musical Break]

Verse 4
There’s a heaven in your smile.
There’s a halo of light around Madeline.
And I know that someday, we’ll meet again.

[Chorus x 2]
For Madeline Alice Spohr. And for her parents. And for all children whose lives have been cut too short, and their parents as well. For those left behind to grieve and mourn a loss none should have to bear.

For all of you. I wish you strength to bear up, hope for the future, and a world with no pain.

This video must have been terrible before they fixed it

2009-06-04T15:49:00.003-06:00

I've been remiss in posting. I'm unrepentant and continuing to do it. I promise a real post will come soon. Honest. Maybe even before my exam next Friday. Who can tell?

In the meantime, enjoy this new and improved Bonnie Tyler video.

Her hair. It's awesome.

Chuck E Cheese is not ...

2009-05-19T23:17:00.004-06:00

Today was N's first birthday. Such a big boy! He had a cupcake party at daycare this afternoon. Apparently, he quite enjoyed his chocolate cupcake. They made him a little party hat of construction paper that he wore without complaint. He was a happy little guy. Everything was good.

To celebrate his birthday this evening, we decided to go out to Chuck E Cheese. N wore a little birthday boy crown, and ate some pizza. And with considerable prompting, J ate a hotdog. Games were played. Fun was had. Exhaustion ensued.

And people were people. As they often are. And because of them, I have decided to make a list of the things that Chuck E Cheese is not. Because there appears to be some misunderstanding.

So, in case anyone was wondering, Chuck E Cheese is not:

quiet.

representative of the fine dining experience.

relaxing.

an excellent choice for a romantic evening out.

appropriate for a group with no children present.

nutritious.

a place that children want to leave. Like, ever.

staffed by friendly, knowledgable, polite employees.

a library.

a magical place where all your dreams come true.

responsible for any loss or damage.

the best place to really tick off an over-tired mother of two who has just worked a full day and is now at a really loud establishment trying to get a picture of her one-year old sitting in a pretend car next to a giant rat as her insanely hyper four-year old throws up in a place as yet to be determined, because he refused to tell her.

cleaned on a regular basis.

quiet. (I know I said it before, but it bears repeating.)

an alternative to daycare.

So ... Any questions?

Shopping FAIL! Bedtime WIN!

2009-05-16T21:56:00.009-06:00

Today, we met up with our friend L and her girls I & G at Ikea. L was a bit late arriving, since she had to come from the other side of the city, and also since she drives like someone's grandma. (Seriously, L - the gas is the little skinny pedal on the right. ;))

We decided to meet up for lunch. And then, we thought it would be fun to let the three big kids play together in Small Land while the rest of us shopped. J is finally tall enough to be admitted to Small Land. When we found out he could get in, H and I were over the moon! (Imagine the prospect of shopping sans preschooler!) But it was not to be. Because J, after taking far too long to eat and tying everyone up for a prolonged period, refused to go into Small Land. And he started having a tantrum, so we picked him up and just left. And poor L had to shop all by herself while we took J for a much needed nap. She must have been so lonely, shopping all alone, with not even a screaming preschooler for company. ;)

As we drove, we passed what appeared to be a carnival. Big rides. Looked like fun. J wanted to go and play, but we weren't about to have him miss his nap after his earlier display. Besides, there are those pesky height restrictions to think of. J is still pretty short for his age, the result of his continued refusal to eat, and he probably wouldn't come up to most ride height restriction lines. So we took a pass.

H: No, J. You have to be a certain height to ride.
J: I AM a certain height!

Well, he's right. We're all a certain height. But he still didn't get to go on any rides.

**********
Sadly, today's Ikea experience was more familiar to us than we'd like to admit. These days, we just don't get to spend quite enough time with other adults without children present. As a result, four-year old logic is starting to make sense to us. Like so:

J: Look at the big nose on my watch pointing over here.
H: That's an arm, J. Not a nose.
J: But it's on the watch's face!

Incidentally, does anyone know why watches have arms on their faces? Were they designed by Pablo Picasso or something?

**********
J has many interests. Mostly balls and blocks. But sometimes, other toys get his attention. Like paints. Or Star Wars.

H: Maybe they just know we're busy with our two?
J: D2.

(Seriously. Think about it. Say it out loud. It makes sense; I promise.)

**********
In other news, tonight N had a bath. While that doesn't sound like much, it was significant. It was the first time that N did not sob uncontrollably during bath time. He sat up in the tub and splashed happily, chasing after his little toy seal and spraying me with water. He frequently stood up for hugs, smiling happily. And he would lie back, knowing Mommy would catch him, and then roll over onto his tummy to crawl around in the warm soapy water. Such a fun time!

Then the kids went to bed. J wanted snuggles, and I happily complied. Always with a tune in my head, I lay next to my little guy with my eyes closed and I hummed. And J looked at me with love in his eyes, and sang me an impromptu lullaby:

Go to sleep.
Go to sleep.
Go to sleep, and sing.
I love you.
I love you so much.
So go to sleep, and sing.
You will be my mommy forever.
You will be my mommy forever.
And I love you forever.
Now go to sleep.

Sometimes, J can be a bit of a demon. But tonight's lullaby really made up for a lot.

Good night, J. Good night, N. I love you.

Random Tuesday: April can kiss my a$$

2009-05-12T22:34:00.003-06:00

Okay. Here goes.

April sucked, with a suckage that cannot be adequately described. Death was featured prominently in April. Many posts were begun and abandoned in their entirety, due to pronounced despondence. I cried a whole lot more than I would like. Concentration lapsed completely. It was dreadful.

I hope May is a better month. April can just go screw itself.

I'm anemic. Again. Not a big surprise. I'm actually surprised the level is as good as it is. Usually, it's lower. They're still concerned enough to call in a prescription, though. Meh.

I went back to work last week. It's going fairly well. So far, I haven't done my customary act of destroying everything in my path. I haven't fallen down at the office. No one has been injured. So it's been good.

Been working on a new song. It's almost done now. Of course, it's heavily steeped in April, which sucks. But it's pretty, and I hope those for whom it was written will like it. I can't take the pain away, but I can give them this. It's not enough. I don't know what would ever be enough. I don't know ...

I had a group of friends who came up with a super power club. One had super-human strength. Another had super-human speed. The guy who got to pick first chose "impervious to everything", which meant he couldn't really do much except sit in the bar, drinking and smoking, and not be affected by it. But it was a good super power, and people enjoyed it. If I had a super power, it would be "can fix everything". Cancer would be gone. Crime would be gone. Babies would be born healthy, at full term. There would be no pain. There would be no grief. And the world would be a perfect place. But then, what would be the point of heaven? I guess my chosen super power just can't exist here. Which is a shame, because it really should.

Finally, I got 96% on my auditing exam! (I didn't find that out until May ... had marks been released in April, the month of complete and utter suckiness, I'd undoubtedly have flunked.)

So there you have it. Kind of random, in an "April totally sucked and I hate the entire month" kind of way. But it'll have to do. At least it's a post, right?

It's all fun and games until the dinosaur tackles you and rips out your throat

2009-05-01T23:33:00.014-06:00

J has a dinosaur. A big, black and white, remote controlled robotic dinosaur with artificial intelligence components. You push a button (conveniently located right on the beast's unmentionables) to start and stop the thing. But you must (MUST) have the remote control in hand to deal with the ramifications. For without the remote control, the dinosaur acts of its own volition. With its fierce jaws aimed at your jugular, the dinosaur will violently shake its tail and roar angrily before it lunges, leaping across the room. And honestly, it can be pretty difficult to get close enough to turn the fool thing off again.

Today, I was in the kitchen feeding baby N when J, alone in the living room, pushed the Button of Doom as the remote control sat, unattended, on the opposite end of the room.

The dinosaur took off like a shot, roaring and shaking its tail, as it aimed itself at J. Cleverly, J evaded the beast by leaping onto the couch. The fierce creature then turned its attention kitchen-ward. It bounded across the room, presumably aiming for N's apple sauce and Cheerios, but was temporarily distracted by the basement door. Which it tried to eat. In an effort to protect his household, J took the opportunity to bravely run toward the dinosaur. Grabbing the creature by its violently shaking tail, J attempted to pull it away from the door. And the dinosaur turned. It lowered its head. It roared at J. Not to be bested by a toy animal, J stood firm and, raising himself to his full thirty-eight inches, shouted "Stop, Dinosaur! I command you!!"

Not surprisingly, the dinosaur was unimpressed. It advanced on J, who backed away quickly while continuing to scream "I SAID STOP!! STOP DINOSAUR!! I COMMAND YOU!!!" And so, I protected my child. I snuck up behind the out-of-control animal as it menacingly approached my 4-year old. I reached under its tail, and I hit the power button, stopping the mad beast dead in its tracks and quite possibly saving my child from a tragic dinosaur-related end.

And then, of course, J got mad at me for turning off his dinosaur when he wanted to play with her. Ungrateful little so-and-so.

(We're sending it to preschool next week for show-and-tell. Because we're awesome like that.)

Proof that urine is acidic

2009-04-25T15:16:00.005-06:00

J is a poor eater. You may remember me discussing it at some length. He doesn't eat; therefore, he doesn't grow. He is now the smallest kid in his class. We've been working on it. Different strategies have been employed, doctors and nutritionists have been consulted, medications have been used. But J still just doesn't eat enough. It's a problem.

J is on an appetite stimulant. It seems to work marginally, but does not provide a great improvement. It also makes him tired. The doctor assures us that this is a good thing; kids experience most of their growth when they are asleep. And so, J needs a lot of sleep. He sleeps well at night, and also has an afternoon nap. Sometimes, it's easy to get J to nap. Other times, it's more difficult. Usually on the weekends, J would prefer not to nap at all. Various delay tactics will be employed as J works to stay awake in the afternoon. If he succeeds, he will be grumpy and act out as the day wears on; eventually, he will start getting in trouble and will have to go to bed early because he's too tired to carry on.

Today is just such a day.

J's usual delay tactics are just not especially noteworthy. Really, any kid trying to delay bedtime will employ most of the same tactics; his are no different. But today, one of his stalling techniques was somewhat unique. It must therefore be shared, and preserved, and probably brought up again in the future, possibly on his wedding day.

And so it goes.

After being tucked in, J climbed out of bed and started going through his stuffed animal toybox, eventually finding an animal that makes noise. He then played with the noisy animal for a bit, ran around his room, and kicked his wall several times. Eventually, he grew bored and started knocking on his bedroom door and shouting (his ever-so-subtle signal that "IT'S TIME TO GET UUUUU-UUP"). I went up, and told him that it was still nap time. J insisted that he needed to get up to give Daddy a kiss. I called H up so that J could kiss him (much to the chagrin of J who wanted to go downstairs to kiss Daddy). J then said that he needed to pee. So I took him to the bathroom, and then tucked him back in. He then insisted that he was thirsty and needed a drink of water.

Now here's where it got interesting.

J: I need a drink of water because my throat hurts. My throat is soooo sore, because I needed to pee soooo badly. So that's why I need a drink of water.

I couldn't really relate. Must be a guy thing?

Will the circle be unbroken? Um ... NO!

2009-04-23T21:13:00.009-06:00

Today, H picked up J from preschool. Inexplicably, J burst into song. "Santa Claus is Coming to Town". (Yes, in April.) This drew attention from one of J's teachers, who laughed and then relayed a little story from today's "circle time".

In "circle time", the class takes part in various activities. Show and tell ... music ... yoga ... Spanish class ... stories ... the list goes on and on. It's a very active preschool. Today in circle, the kids were playing a game called "Who stole the cookies". The idea is to rhythmically say: "Who stole the cookies from the cookie jar? [Name of child] stole the cookies from the cookie jar". And there are a few more silly little lines, with fun and innocent rhyming responses from the child in question, and then you keep going down the line of children until you've done all of the names. It's very cute.

All good, right? Except J doesn't like being falsely accused. So ...

Class: Who stole the cookies from the cookie jar? J stole the cookies from the cookie jar.

J: (sporting his best "mad-face") I DID NOT!!!

Teacher: It's just a game, J. We go down the line. So next, we're going to say that B stole the cookies from the cookie jar.

J: Well, then maybe he did it. But I didn't! **

J quite enjoys circle time. Only problem: he and his best little preschool friend A aren't allowed to sit together any longer. They chat and play during the planned activities, and I've been told that they get quite disruptive. I also note in recent days that they are also no longer allowed to eat lunch together. But they still get lots of good play time in, so I think they're pretty happy all told.

**********
** Note: The following is how "Who stole the cookies" should actually play out:

Class: Who stole the cookies from the cookie jar? [Child] stole the cookies from the cookie jar.

Child: Who, me?
Class: Yes, you.
Child: Couldn't be.
Class: Then who?

The Tail of Sleeping Beauty (and that is not a typo)

2009-04-22T20:40:00.001-06:00

J loves the story of "Sleeping Beauty". He will often act out parts. Now, I don't remember the story this way, but here was tonight's rendition:

J: (calling from upstairs) Mommy. Be Sleeping Beauty.
T: Okay. (pretends to sleep) I am Sleeping Beauty.
J: (coming down the stairs) I'm a shark!
T: (completely loses it, then pretends to sleep again)
J: (leans over T) RRRRROOOOOAAAAARRR!
(pause)
J: (climbs up and touches T's face) WAKE UP!
T: I can only be woken up by my true love's kiss.
J: But I can't kiss you. Because I'm a shark.
T: I can only be woken up by my true love's kiss.
J: But I have sharp teeth!
T: I can only be woken up by my true love's kiss.
J: But ... but ... DADDY!!!

H arrives, to find T pretending to sleep on the couch and a frustrated J dressed in a hooded towel that strongly resembles a shark.

J: You're Sleeping Beauty's true love! Kiss her!

H complies, and T awakes. Moments later:

H: J! Don't wrap your tail around that bag!
J: But I can't hold it with my fins.
T: (completely loses it and almost chokes on her gum)

Mr. Shark then works to postpone bedtime. He gives Sleeping Beauty presents for her birthday (which is not for several months, in case anyone was wondering). She receives a bag full of stuffed animals actually belonging to baby N, a Merlin magnifying glass (which J tells me is "so you can see any wet spots"), and a dump truck. Score!

And then, when he realizes it is not actually Sleeping Beauty's birthday, Mr. Shark swims away with all the presents tied to his tail. He informs Sleeping Beauty that she does not get any presents; she has to wait for her birthday.

Of course, it all ends very badly. A tragedy of Shakespearean proportions. There is a horrible bedtime brawl. A cat's tail is pulled. Screaming ensues. There are tears and headaches. And someone has to go to bed without a story. And The Tail of Sleeping Beauty is nearly ruined.

Nearly. But not quite. For H and I will always remember the sight of J, swimming away with several bags of toys tied around his hooded towel tail. And that's worth a lot.

In which I declare war. A kind of sad and pathetic war, but war nonetheless

2009-04-22T15:40:00.007-06:00

It's April. It is what it is.

Ordinarily, April is tax season. It's crazy busy. There's no time for anything but taxes. Just get them done, get them filed, get them paid. It's April. That's it.

In April, things get chaotic. It's tense. Balance is difficult. Work takes a higher priority, and personal life takes a step back. But it's just April. Not a big deal. The chaos is contained, so I can handle it. Actually, I usually quite enjoy April.

This year, April is my last month of maternity leave. I'm missing tax season. But I haven't escaped the chaos and tension. It's just manifested itself in different ways. Ways that I do not enjoy at all. Ways that make me really miss tax season.

This year, I hate April. Hate it more than I had imagined possible. Hate it with a hatred that exceeds even my hatred of 2008. And we all know how much I hated that year, don't we?

This year, April has been hard on a lot of people, for a lot of reasons. And I haven't felt like posting much during the whole thing, so I haven't.

This year, I grit my teeth, and I wade through April in anger and frustration. But as I have no one with whom I can genuinely be angry or frustrated, I have no outlet.

And so, I have decided to be angry with April. (Yes, the month.) Accordingly, I hereby declare war on April. (Yes, I realize that I sound like a lunatic.) And I assert that April shall bear the brunt of my wrath. Of course, April being a month of the year rather than a tangible object makes it rather difficult for me to wreak the havoc on it that it so richly deserves. But were there a way, I guarantee that I would find it and it would pay dearly for what it has done.

(Stupid month and its stupid intangible properties ... mutter, mutter ...)

It's April. It is what it is.

Note: I'll be back to regular posting as soon as I find my bliss. I know I left it here somewhere ...

And then, the elephant boy was eaten by a dragon, and peace reigned throughout the land. At least, until the crows came ...

2009-04-14T23:24:00.018-06:00

Puff the magic dragon
Lived by the sea
And caught up on the other one
In the lands of Connor Lee.
Now. Have a 4-year old sing that 428,686,297,886 times in a row at top volume while a baby shrieks inconsollably and you and your spouse try to have a serious discussion about the meaning of life, and you'll be roughly where I am now.

Also: You should totally take the 4-year old with you to the vet's office to buy cat food. It's fun. Trust me. It goes something like this:

J: I want this octopus! This big blue octopus! The octopus! I want the octopus!! I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT ... !!!!
Eventually, our kind receptionist-type friend gave J a shrimp-shaped cat toy as a compromise, just to make him stop flipping out. A very pissed-off looking J left the vet's office, shrimp in hand. Other people commented that he was very cute. H offered to sell him, but there were no takers. I can't imagine why.

**********
As an aside, in J's bedtime story this evening, a large, long-legged white bird delivered a baby elephant to Mrs. Jumbo. Now, what do we call that large, long-legged white bird again? Well, according to J, that bird is called a crow. And honestly, hearing that the baby elephant was delivered by a mutant albino crow really changes the feel of "Dumbo" for some reason. But I don't know why.

**********
And on that note, when H and I were teasing J this evening and telling him that he was actually an elephant, he argued with tremendous force and perfect tone.

J: I am not an animal! I am ... a person!!
Oooh; he almost had it.

Seriously Random

2009-04-07T07:33:00.003-06:00

Time for Random Tuesday Thoughts, sponsored by Keely over at The Un Mom. So here goes. Try to keep up.

One of my friends passed away last week, and I've been working on a post in memory. Should be up soon, if I can ever finish it. Looking for the humour in the situation, so it has to be just right; Joe was a born comic, and the sombre wouldn't suit him at all. Ever the comedian, he checked out on April 1st. Which was actually hilarious in its own way, since most people thought it was an April Fool's Day prank. Even at the memorial service, I think some of us expected him to leap out, laughing like a maniac, and say he was just fine. But no. And while you may think it terrible of me to refer to death as "hilarious", Joe would have really liked it. If you knew him, you'd understand. If not, that's a shame. Joe was one of the good ones, and I bet heaven is an even happier place now that he's in it. Remember the good times.

Today, I am the mother of a 4-year old. J's party with his school friends is today, at school. His party with all our friends was Sunday, just before the memorial service. J was very excited, because he'd talked me into making him a cake shaped like a tank. It turned out well; pictures will come. J was walking around for 2 weeks before his party telling everyone. "Mommy's going to bake me a cake! It's an army machine! And it has a BIG GUN!!" J is obsessed with guns. It's a very strange obsession, since we don't allow guns as toys, and neither does school, and neither do his grandparents, and ... honestly, we have no idea why he's so gun-crazy. It's a bit disconcerting. A birthday post should also be forthcoming. Can't believe he's four already; where does the time go?

On the subject of "where does the time go", I go back to work in four more weeks. Since I spent much of my maternity leave recovering from a knee break, it just doesn't feel right to go back yet. Leave feels incomplete somehow. In some ways, it will be nice to be back among adults some of the time. In other ways ... well, change is always alarming. I'll miss my baby, and my routine will be all messed up for awhile. I'll do it because I have to; it's the only way our family can make ends meet. And I really do like my job and my employer a lot. But it's still hard to leave the baby. And while a part of me wants to go back to work, there's also a pretty big part of me that just doesn't want to be away from the kids at all. I mean, ever. They should just stay little forever, I think.

Knee's flaring up again. I guess it's affected by changes in the weather. I'd love for it to quit hurting, but every so often, I develop a pronounced limp. While I really do miss the cat, I can't help but think that it's kind of all her fault I'm in this condition. At least I'll always remember her, right? I think I'll name my knee hardware "Damn Cat", in her honour.

School's going okay, I suppose. I got de-railed again last week, when Joe passed. So now, I'm playing catch up again. Lots of fun. Still no word back on my first assignment, though some other students have theirs back already. And on the subject of "some other students", I'm feeling generally frustrated with my class in general. I just wish people would read the materials before asking questions. (Honestly, people; I'm happy to brainstorm, but I can't read the textbook for you!) Anyway, hopefully I did okay on the first assignment. I'm working on the second now. And I'm still waiting for the results from my last class and the results of my university application. These things all take time, and patience is not my strong suit.

Happy Tuesday, everyone. Now, go visit Keely, and do your own Random Tuesday Thoughts.

We're in a recession, but the tire business is booming. Apparently.

2009-03-29T20:33:00.001-06:00

I'm convinced that the Harper government is randomly puncturing the sidewalls of our tires as part of their economic recovery plan.

It's kind of like the home renovation tax credit they recently implemented. If you're fortunate enough to already own a home and you have a spare $10,000 kicking around, you can get a tax break this year for doing upgrades to your home that probably weren't needed in the first place. The general idea is to get people spending money hiring licensed tradespeople, which pumps cash back into the economy and keeps those tradespeople working, reducing EI payments and such. It's a well-intentioned idea that kind of misses the mark a bit, since the only people who really stand to benefit from the tax break are the ones who don't actually need a tax break in the first place. And in that sense, it's kind of like the Universal Child Care Benefit, which redirected money that had been earmarked for the creation of subsidized childcare spots for low income earners. Instead of providing those spots, the UCCB provides a monthly taxable sum of $100 per child per month to the lower income partner in every household with young children, regardless of income threshold. So now, a single parent working a minimum wage job and the stay-at-home spouse of a millionaire are treated equally and given the exact same amount of assistance per head, and everything is "fair". You know; kind of like Communism.

This is what comes of having a government that caters to the wealthy. It's like living in a country run by Robin Hood. Only in reverse. And without archery or fancy outfits. Try Conservative - The Un-Robin Hood!

Awesome.

Not that there's anything wrong with being wealthy. I myself aspire to it someday. And I am certainly a fan of plans that focus on encouraging selective spending to aid economic recovery, if the plans are implemented correctly. I am also a fan of all things pretty and clean, as well as of efficiency in general. But I think there are limits as to how far one should go. Not so for the Honourable (and I use that word loosely) Nancy Ruth, an Ontario Conservative whose "kill two birds with one stone" philosophy extends to cover off the death of any two inferior beings. One bird and one poor person, for example.

The following editorial is taken from page A14 of the March 29, 2009 Edmonton Journal. Enjoy.

"Another blow to the poor, beleaguered Canadian Senate was struck last week by the Honourable Nancy Ruth, an Ontario Conservative appointed by the Martin Liberals. Ruth was holding forth on her important priorities at the Senate finance committee on Tuesday, as the body deliberated the budget for Canada's Food Inspection Agency, which hasn't had great outings of late.

Ruth's laser-like gaze fixed on the vexing national problem of dirty Canada geese. They are a "health hazard," she said, since they foul the waters around her summer cottage. That produces the malady known as swimmer's itch, and Ruth was itching for a war against our iconic fowl. They're also soiling her home in downtown Toronto, she continued.

When enlightened by colleagues that waterfowl hunting rules are a provincial matter and only aboriginals are allowed to shoot Canada geese, Ruth pronounced that as "excellent. Why don't we kill them and feed them to the poor in Toronto?"

While we're at it, senator, why waste all that summer roadkill when food banks are looking for supplies? Surely, the hands-down winner of the 2009 Marie Antoinette on the Rideau Award is Senator Nancy Ruth, doing the people's work, one (dead) honker at a time."

They're dirty. A health hazard. They cause swimmer's itch. They foul up our waters and soil our homes. So let's kill them. And feed them to the poor. Who presumably will voluntarily ingest dirty, diseased waterfowl? Excellent!

As ridiculous as that is, it is clear that the Conservative government is looking for solutions to the crises in our nation. And we know that one such solution is to encourage spending to aid economic recovery. And for that, I applaud them. But random acts of vandalism? Seriously?

The thing is that so far this year, we have experienced six (yes, six) irreparably flat tires. Each time, the puncture has occurred in the sidewall, where it cannot be patched. Some of these tires were new. Only one was under warranty at the time. And so, we have had to pay for five new tires so far this year. Sidewall punctures are relatively rare, so it's a bit odd to see six of them in the space of three months. And this leads me to conclude that the Harper government, wanting to encourage spending in the tire and rubber market, is puncturing our sidewalls in order to force us to buy new tires. Really, it's the only logical explanation.

Dear Harper government: You've gotten us six times. Please move on to someone else's vehicles now. We should not single-handedly be responsible for the revitalization of the entire rubber industry. Our contribution has been made.

To everyone else: Protect your sidewalls. For Big Brother is here, and he wants your tires. There is no telling where he may strike next. Be warned.

It is inappropriate to have a "favourite large yucky bug"

2009-03-25T22:32:00.006-06:00

Today, I had to phone H at work and have him come home. I've had a severe headache since Saturday morning. My positive thinking and careful Tylenol dosing have not helped it to pass. I couldn't cope with the pain today, so I couldn't take care of the kids properly. I also couldn't drive myself to the doctor because I could barely see. H loaded the kids into the van and drove me to the doctor, then returned home to wait for me to call for a ride home. And I waited at the doctor's office for over two hours before I was seen.

It's a severe sinus infection. Hurts like hell. Imagine someone attacking your eye socket with a crochet hook. Yeah. It's kind of like that. But now, I have drugs. The doctor says I should be feeling better by the weekend.

As painful as this is, though, I think it may actually be preferrable to the torture H had to endure at the hands of our children while I was away.

*********
N: WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!
H: (singing) Rock-a-bye baby ...
J: Daddy!
H: ... in the treetop ...
N: WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!
J: Daddy!!
H: ... the cradle will ...
J: DADDY!!!
N: WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!
H: WHAT, J?!?!
J: I want you to pretend to be the big giant cockroach from "Men in Black".
H: ...
N: WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!
H: Rock-a-bye ...
J: DADDY!!
N: WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!
H: FINE! (In a really low voice) I am the big giant cockroach from "Men in Black".
N: WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!
J: Big giant cockroach?
H: *sigh* Rock-a-bye baby ...
J: BIG GIANT COCKROACH FROM "MEN IN BLACK"?!
H: Yes, J!!!
N: WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!
J: Cockroaches are my favourite kind of large yucky bug, because they have big sharp teeth coming out of their cheeks.
H: Good. Is that all?
N: WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!
H: ... when the wind blows ...
J: COCKROACH!!!

**********
That? Or the sinus infection? I think it's a toss-up. But what would you prefer?

Irritation and Injuries

2009-03-21T23:14:00.004-06:00

Yesterday, I turned my back for a moment to put in a video for J to watch. J took that opportunity to swan dive off the couch, landing directly on his face on the hardwood. Good times.

I worked to stop the blood that was pouring from J's nose and mouth, trying to console my little boy, while also admonishing him that "This is why Mommy and Daddy tell you not to jump off the furniture like that". I realized that he'd banged his mouth and nose but good, and he'd also smacked his chin and forehead. He had tooth punctures in both his upper and lower lips. I was worried about his mouth. His teeth. His nose. His head. Oh dear ... I hope his teeth are okay; his nose not broken; he has no concussion.

And J screamed and cried. And I applied pressure to his nose and mouth. And I phoned H. And I carried the crying J up the stairs, while he shrieked, waking N from his nap with screams of "I WANT MY N!!!" (It's sweet that he's so attached to his little brother.)

J went to emergency. He is okay. No breaks; no stitches. Popsicles to reduce the swelling in his mouth. And he feels better today. Sadly, he continues to leap off the furniture like a little maniac. But hopefully, he has learned to land on his feet and yesterday's faceplant will not be repeated.

**********
Today, I feel agitated. It's a general unhappy rage. I'm not 100% certain of what has caused it, but it is there nonetheless. I don't like it. I wish it would go away. But these moods take time to pass. And so, I wait. And as I wait, I brood. And question everything and everyone around me. And wish for a happy headspace, which will only come when it is good and ready.

Mood swings are a part of me, and you'd think I'd be used to them by now. But apparently, I am not. So for now, I grit my teeth and wait for the tides to turn. I hope happy, fun posts will soon appear. They'll come; they always do. Just takes time.

Getting in touch with my inner 6-year old

2009-03-19T23:04:00.003-06:00

Youtube thought I would like to see this tonight.

Youtube was correct.

Random Dorito Tuesday ... with cake and toilet paper

2009-03-17T11:41:00.005-06:00

N is in his exersaucer. He rocks back and forth like mad, propelling himself across the room. He operates the exersaucer like a car with no wheels. Every so often, I get nervous that he's going to flip the saucer over, and I call out to him. "N ... NO!" He stops rocking briefly, looks at me, and smiles engagingly. And then proceeds to rock violently, as though I had never spoken. This can't bode well for the future.

N's favourite toy is the red phone on his exersaucer, which he holds and waves about as he drives about the room. J's favourite toy is anything round. J loves to share. And that is why N is presently standing on a bunch of balls of assorted sizes, all of which are apparently now stored in the bottom of the exersaucer. I've given up removing them; it doesn't work.

Auditing exam went well. I was temporarily deceived into thinking there were no questions fresh out of left field on this one. That's uncharacteristic for the auditing exam, so I wondered what I might have missed. Then my classmates pointed out to me that those questions were all about law. Which is my other education and experience base. I didn't even notice. I think I did pretty well on it. Hopefully I'm correct. Won't know until May 6. The two month turnaround is aggravating, but I'm kind of getting used to it.

I want Doritos. We have no Doritos. There should always be Doritos. A Dorito-less house by itself cannot stand ... or something. And I think my Wii Fit trainer would like Doritos too. If she ever ate anything. Which she doesn't, because she is a computer animation. But if she had an actual mind and body, I bet I could corrupt her and make her gain a whole bunch of weight.

My training was suspended for an extended time while I prepared for my exam. Back to my Wii Fit this week. I have to lose about a gazillion pounds, so that should be entertaining. When they invent the Doritos and Chocolate Cake diet, I'll be very, very happy indeed. (Mmmmmm ... chocolate cake ...)

H gets irritated whenever I forget to throw out the cap from a bottle of formula and he finds it on the kitchen counter. I get irritated whenever I find an empty toilet paper roll that hasn't been thrown out and/or replaced. So the solution is clear. I've now told H that I will be stockpiling the formula bottle caps and placing them next to the empty toilet paper rolls.

Now, go visit Keely, and do your own Random Tuesday Thoughts. Very freeing!

Yeah ... 'cause THAT's what's important there ...

2009-03-15T21:03:00.003-06:00

Watching "Sleeping Beauty" with J tonight. And ... well ... you know the scene where the beautiful princess pricks her finger on the spindle and collapses to the ground, near death? And the evil witch sneers in triumph right before she disappears into a big ball of evil green aura? Happens right around the 3-minute mark ...

J: She forgot her ball!!

(He was genuinely alarmed by that. Couldn't have cared less about the plight of the beautiful 16-year old princess, of course.)

Wordless Wednesday: 'Cause I think I'm getting laryngitis anyway

2009-03-11T00:38:00.001-06:00

This post has absolutely nothing to do with auditing ...

2009-03-08T22:02:00.007-06:00

... and isn't that a relief!

**********
Okay. One of these days, I'll be getting to the "google search post". 'Cause there are definitely some good ones I can put up here now. But for the moment, when I'm short on time, I'm just going to comment on a particular search anomaly.

People keep coming here looking for words that rhyme with other words. It's an all-too-common search, invariably landing an unfortunate searcher on this post about potty training. What a disappointment!

Though there have been several very interesting searches of this type, the most common appears to be for "words that rhyme with connection". Which makes perfect sense. Now, I could spend time thinking about it and posting all the words I can think of to help you out (convection, inflection, correction, protection, the list goes on). But I think what you're really looking for is probably just a rhyming dictionary.

So ... yeah. You're welcome!

But it'll all be worth it when I meet Mickey Mouse

2009-03-06T22:39:00.011-07:00

Studying frantically. Test on the 13th. J is allowing me to study. Mostly because I have told him that in a few years, when I'm designated, we will be able to take him to Disneyland. Whatever works, right?

Just one problem. What's the risk that we never get to Disneyland because of the risk that I incorrectly assess the risk that may or may not be involved in the risk of death from infection caused by jamming a fork through my own eye just so I don't have to read any more of this crap?!

***********
Auditing is ghastly.

It's theory. All theory. Picky, niggly, ridiculously in depth theory. Theory that you cannot begin to grasp unless you have actually audited. Personally, I have not. Now, they do mention this fact in the course. Not in the course syllabus, mind you. Nor in a note about the course pre-requisites. No. Nothing so simple. They mention it at the very end of the summary of the very last module for the course. You will not understand this class until you have auditing experience. Thaaaaanks!

Auditing involves a series of standards, assertions, procedures, objectives, tests, and communications.

Generally accepted auditing standards. One general, three examination, and four reporting standards. They are involved and detailed. And they should not be confused with assurance standards, which have three very subtle differences but are otherwise virtually identical.

Management assertions. Different assertions apply to balance sheet accounts, income statement accounts, and note disclosures. Accounts are linked together in various cycles. Each cycle includes primary assertions. Assertions must be substantiated with a procedure. General procedures are: analysis, enquiry, inspection, observation, computation, and confirmation. Different procedures are used to test different assertions. Specific procedures are not so much provided as made up as you go along.

Internal control objectives. Each corresponding with a management assertion. These fall in categories and levels. General controls. General IT controls. Application controls. Input, processing, and output controls as subsets of application controls. Three subsets of input controls, one of which is entitled "input controls". Eleven controls in this category. Tests of controls. Reliance on controls. Weaknesses in control. Manipulation of control. Different duties which must be segregated in different account cycles for effective control.

Communication. The auditor's report. Engagement letter. Management representation letter. Derivative communications. Two other letters I'm forgetting. Communication with predecessor auditors. Does this client even need an audit? Three paragraph standard report. Introduction, scope, opinion. Qualifications in "except for" wording. Where do extra paragraphs go? What should they say? What should be in each paragraph? Audit report addressed to shareholders. Dated. Signed. What is the date? When do you issue qualified, unqualified, adverse, or denial? When do you resign from an engagement?

Law. Liability. Ethics. Structure of the CEPROC. Computer auditing. EDP. EDI. Through vs. around computer. Computer assisted auditing techniques and when to use them. Sampling. Statistical vs. non-statistical sampling. How and when to sample. Upper and lower error bounds. Unadjusted vs. adjusted error bounds. Interpretation of results. Stratification of samples. Types of independence. Audit risk model. Types of risk: alpha, beta, sampling, detection, audit, business, information, inherent, control, incorrect acceptance, incorrect rejection. Risk on top of risk. Risk of assessing risk incorrectly.

Risk of assessing risk incorrectly? You can't be serious. What happens if you assess the risk of assessing the risk incorrectly ... incorrectly? Hmmmm?

Auditing is ghastly.

But this is why designated accountants get paid the big bucks. 'Cause everyone else would rather just drown themselves than even think about this crap. And I personally am contemplating ripping out my own liver and beating myself to death with it, just so I can have something else to do. I bet the magazines at hospital emergency rooms are more interesting, and they probably mention nothing about the audit risk model; not even once.

Exam on March 13. Can't wait for it to be over. As long as I pass, it's good. I just don't want to have to repeat this class.

Dear lord, I hope my next class is better. But I dread it, too. Theory courses are problematic for me. And this next class has "theory" built right into the title, so that just can't be good.

**********
So ... What's the risk that I might make an error in assessing the risk that in a few years, my son may or may not be emotionally scarred for life at the hands of a giant rat who insists on hugging him forcefully in the middle of a theme park while "It's a Small World After All" plays on a pipe organ over a tacky PA system?

Dammit!

Random Thursday Thoughts

2009-02-26T21:15:00.002-07:00

Because I missed Tuesday ...

N crawls now. Not well, but he's working on it. And yesterday, I awoke to him standing up in his crib for the very first time. Holding the top rail for support, of course. He is 9 months old now. And quite the little charmer.

N loves his exersaucer. He practically lives in it. For some reason, he hates the exersaucer at my parents' place, and he screams whenever he is put in it. But the exersaucer at our place is most helpful.

J's eating is improving now, thanks to some very militant techniques that H and I are employing. It's quite torturous for us, really. But at least he's taking in more food. I hope he'll soon just eat properly, without all the drama.

Yesterday, J wanted to sing "The Last Saskatchewan Pirate". He wanted me to sing with him. We were halfway through the verse about Mountie Bob being laid off and joining the pirate crew as "Salty Bob", when J stopped and announced: "This song sure has a lot of fancy words". (He's right; it does.) J has decided that next Halloween, he wants to be The Last Saskatchewan Pirate. He would also like us to dress N up as Salty Bob. This could be interesting.

Still reading my auditing course. Hard haul. Most of the readings are honestly quite dull and poorly worded. And then there's that whole repetitive nonsense. It's frequent. Very difficult to be motivated.

We are in a small house, and I have to study in the family room, where the TV is on every evening. You know that phenomenon when you're writing while someone is talking, and you end up writing down what you hear instead of what you were thinking? (What's that called again?) Well anyway, that same "writing" principle also applies to reading. I know, because last night, my auditing reading suddenly became half "Auditing, An International Approach" and half "Law & Order", and it read: "The general purpose of auditing is to commit assisted suicide". I concur.

Got the materials for my next course today. A friend taking it currently had told me that she figures there are about one-quarter of the readings as compared to other Level 4 classes. Should be good. The text is cute. It's so tiny after what I've gotten used to. I held it up, called it "dainty", and compared it to a wallet. J is convinced it is a baby textbook, meant especially for him. He figures he can pretend to study from his baby textbook while I use the real one, when it arrives. Hilarious!

J attends a very nice preschool. Today, all the kids were supposed to pick a subject and then tell a one-sentence "story". The teachers compiled the stories into a list on the wall, which looked kind of like this:

Child #1 - Mittens: You wear them when it's cold.
Child #2 - Cars: They drive down the street.
Child #3 - Dinosaurs: They eat eggs, and toast and jam, and carrots.
Child #4 - Shells: You find them at the beach.

Want to guess which child was J? Anyone?

Observation for the day

2009-02-23T12:11:00.004-07:00

My textbook could probably be about one-third its current size, if its publishers employed better editors. Case in point:

"Expectations of dollar misstatement have the effect of increasing the sample size. The more dollar misstatement expected, the larger the sample size should be. Sample sizes should be larger when more dollar misstatement is expected. So, sample size varies directly with the amount of expected dollar misstatement."

That one passage just ate my brain. Seriously ... thirty seconds of my life that I will never get back. The last sentence is self-explanatory and well worded all by itself. Why is it necessary to reword this same thought four times?!

Updated: The above quote was taken directly from the 4th Edition of Smieliauskas & Bewley's "Auditing, An International Approach". Missed the citation earlier, but I should probably give credit where credit is due. Though I kind of doubt the authors of this text would actually want to take the ~~blame~~ credit for such a trainwreck of a passage.

Sporadic

2009-02-15T21:58:00.005-07:00

I remain roughly five modules behind in school readings. My last assignment is due this Thursday by noon. Once that is in, I have three weeks until exam night. Lagging too far behind, I have to use all available time to prepare. It's gotten critical. (Doesn't help that I have had a migraine for the past four days ... I'm not even kidding ... and who can read anything when you're both doped up and in considerable pain?)

This is why posts here and comments everywhere have been very sporadic of late. Short on time; something's gotta give.

So for the next few weeks, I'll be posting and reading what I can, when I can. It's all I can do. Bear with me please. Presumably, we will return to our regularly scheduled programming shortly after my exam. Until then, I'll see you as often as I can.

Back soon!

Redneck Shower

2009-02-15T21:11:00.005-07:00

Tanis of The Redneck Mommy got to bring home her newest addition last week. It's a boy!

In honour of her newest arrival, some fabulous folk are hosting a shower. Yup. It's an online baby shower for Tanis. They want to know: How are you a redneck mommy (or daddy)?

This is a toughy for me. 'Cause while I do live in the middle of the redneck prairies, in what I suspect is actually the redneck capital of the world, I don't quite fit in here. I don't have a double-wide. My firepit hasn't been used in about three years. No one in my family makes moonshine. I don't own a set of hair curlers. I'm involved in the arts, an advocate of gay's and women's rights, and I've never voted Conservative. There is nothing plaid in my wardrobe. I have two very tame tattoos, no piercings (other than the ears), and I don't shop at any store that uses the word "Hemp". Don't smoke. Barely ever drink, and when I do I tend to grab Blue Monday martinis. My musical tastes are eclectic, including various jazz standards, The Offspring, and Captain Tractor, but I loathe all things country. I work in finance, have diplomas in music and law, and am currently studying for an H.B.Com. and accounting designation. My family is religious, educated, and very very calm. No skeletons in our closets. I don't know what to tell you.

So ... yeah ... I guess you know you're a redneck mommy when you're not me?

Pathetic, I know. I hang my head in shame. Alright, I'm off to buy a head jacket now. I think I stand out a little too much, so I've totally gotta try and fit in better.

Love ya, Tanis. Congratulations again on the new boy!

UPDATED: Why children are the best!

2009-02-09T23:37:00.006-07:00

Tonight found me wearing the same clothes for the third day in a row. (N and I have been sick ... don't judge me!) The clothes in question are an old pair of grey maternity sweatpants (no, I'm not pregnant; they're just comfy) and an oversized black Elton John concert shirt. N had thrown up oatmeal and applesauce down the front of the shirt this morning, and I was too tired to change it, so I'd just kind of sponged it off and carried on.

Tonight, I decided to work out even though I wasn't feeling well. Workouts give me energy. We recently acquired a Wii Fit, and I love using it. I've lost a little bit of weight, but I'm still classed as obese. It takes time. Must be consistent. So I did about half an hour of expert level rhythm boxing tonight. Worked up a good sweat. Tired. Sore arms. Sweating profusely. I collapsed on the couch in a heap and tried to catch my breath.

J was watching from his perch on the other couch. And as soon as I had flopped my ill-clad, obese, sweaty self down, he sweetly said: "You're so pretty, Mommy".

Good boy. I think I'll keep him.

**********
On an unrelated note, someone landed on my blog today by googling the words: "youtube how do I get out of this chicken".

Dear Googler,

I hope you have now somehow found the assistance that you required. But I'm unclear as to how you could have watched a self-help video on Youtube while trapped inside a chicken. Must have been a very large chicken. Please enlighten me. Please also advise as to where I may purchase just such a chicken. It could be useful for large family dinners.

Sincerely,

Momma T

PS - "How do I get out of this chicken" was actually in quotes. What is truly alarming is that the unfortunate googler landed on this post. I don't know why.

Johnny Appleseed IS Father Christmas

2009-02-08T10:57:00.005-07:00

J decided that we should all say grace at breakfast this morning. And so, he "taught" us to sing the special grace he learned at preschool. Feel free to sing along!

Oh, the Lord is good to me
And so I thank the Lord
For giving me the things I need
The sun, and the rain, and the appleseed
The Lord is good to me
Jolly Old St. Nicholas
Um ... erm ...

Thank you ...
Ummm ...

Ah-men.

J's theological training continues to progress nicely. For while he confuses Johnny Appleseed with Santa Claus, at least he no longer ends his prayers by shouting "What the heck!" Progress, peoples!

Bad. Good. Awesome!!

2009-02-06T15:13:00.006-07:00

BadN isn't feeling well today, has barely eaten, and doesn't want to sleep. J used quiet time to repaint every surface of his room with a tub of Zincofax. HR isn't returning my calls. Daycare is being quite uncooperative about placement for the boys; the childcare system is pure evil. My fourth assignment is due next Thursday; I've barely begun the work, and I'm still about five modules behind in readings. We've got yet another flat tire. And I just found out that the police labeled Tyler's death a suicide (though his family remains certain that he was actually murdered ... which would mean his killer is walking free and clear, and I'm not really sure which of those options would be worse).

GoodAt least the Coke I put in the freezer to chill and then forgot about for several hours didn't explode.

Awesome!!And also, my birth mom's oncologist advises that all of her cancerous tumors shrunk a bit even after the chemo was stopped. So that's wonderful news!

**********
I'm tired. Tense. Easily distracted and overly busy. Must complete assignment now. Will post when I can.

I've got no time for words today

2009-02-04T21:04:00.002-07:00

How to annoy me

2009-01-30T10:55:00.004-07:00

I'm on maternity leave right now. In school. Two children. Ordinarily, I also work outside of the home at a job that I very much enjoy. I'll be returning to it in May. This dual income household concept is foreign to many. Why would both parents in a household choose to work outside of the home? Why wouldn't one of you stay at home with your children? What's wrong with you?!

Of course, there is nothing wrong with us. We're just fine. So why do both of us work outside of the home? And why might other couples make that same decision?

Well, there may be some fairly obvious financial considerations. And of course there are some developmental and social skills that a child can garner from early childhood development centres, which centres are reasonably unaffordable if you don't happen to have a dual income household. But perhaps the main reason to have two working parents is just plain sanity. 'Cause a full day at the office is vastly more relaxing than a morning at home with both my children. Quite frankly, it feels like a break. If you have children, you probably understand this. If not ... well, read on and you will very soon.

**********
My child knows just exactly how to annoy me. Now, other people can get in there and really piss me off, too. But the 3-year old J has become quite the old hand at it. Bravo, J!

For those of you who aren't quite as adept, here is a quick reference guide on how to annoy me. And I venture to say that this list would transfer to pretty much anyone, so feel free to use it at your discretion. You can do all of these things in a short space of time. Just ask J, whose time management skills are so fabulous that he has done everything on this list today! (It's not even noon.)

Thanks, and have a lovely day.

**********
After walking your father to the door to see him go off to work and promising not to cry, pitch a screaming fit with more tears than I've ever seen before.

Pace up and down the stairs, turning lights on and off and crying inconsollably.

Demand I call your father on his cell phone and tell him to return home at once so that he can pour you a glass of milk.

Insist that Daddy, and only Daddy, can give you milk; Mommy is not good enough.

When I theorize that you just miss your father and would like to talk to him, and so I phone him (at your insistence) so that you can talk, spend all your time on the phone shrieking at the top of your lungs that you need him to race home and pour you a glass of milk immediately.

Scream and cry for an hour about the fact that Daddy will not return home to pour you a glass of milk.

Unlock the front door, presumably to go searching for Daddy or to let Daddy back in so that he can pour you a glass of milk.

Do not tell me that you have unlocked the front door.

Insist on having both white and chocolate milk for breakfast, and demand to drink your chocolate milk with a spoon.

When I (very reluctantly) give you a spoon for your chocolate milk, insist that you want a different spoon.

Throw yourself on the kitchen floor, kick your feet, and scream incessantly about the fact that the spoon I gave you is inadequate, because it is not shiny and grey from top to bottom, did not originate from the cutlery drawer, and is not "breakable".

Continue to scream your demands for a spoon for the next 20 minutes.

When I hold up the spoon that I provided and ask you what it is, insist that it is a fork.

After the whole "milk" extravaganza ends, wait about ten minutes, and then rhythmically chant "I need a glass of water. I need a glass of water. I need a glass of water. ..." at me. Do not say "please".

Fill small containers with loose bits of paper and other items that are essentially just garbage.

Pitch a fit when I tell you that garbage goes in the garbage can. Respond by clutching the garbage to your chest as though it were your most treasured possession.

Grab a plastic egg you got for Easter two years ago. Stuff small blocks in it.

When I tell you that small stuff goes on the craft table, and not in an egg, ask "Whhhhhyyyyy?" in your most plaintive whiny voice.

While we're on that subject, ask "Whhhhhyyyyy?" in response to everything that is said, no matter how ridiculous the question may be at that juncture.

Try to trap your little brother under a baby gym by placing its legs on his throat.

Try (and fail) to look innocent and naive when I tell you to stop trying to murder your little brother with a baby gym.

Insist that you must sit on my lap and scream into the phone while I try to talk to the incompetent postal employees who lost the university application that I sent out on Wednesday by Express Post with guaranteed next day delivery. (Incidentally, the postal employee has refused to track the lost package and has told me to call back on Monday to check on its delivery status, at which time they will agree to track the package. Fat lot of good that will do, though, since it has to be received by Monday in order for me to get in; but thanks!)

Pour a bowl of Cheerios over the freshly swept floor. Put Cheerios back in bowl. Repeat, ad infinitum.

Nurse the same bowl of Cheerios for three hours.

When I tell you it's 2 hours to lunch and that breakfast is now officially over, flip out and run upstairs with your half-eaten bowl of Cheerios.

Make me chase you up the stairs as my bad knee throbs.

Stomp on the baby's "My First Reader" set and nearly break it.

Hunt through the house and find a non-washable ink pad. Hide it somewhere on your craft table. The next time I'm in the kitchen, grab that ink pad and make a wall mural in the living room.

Pour a bunch of choking hazards over the floor where the baby plays.

When I tell you to put those small items back on your craft table, respond by dumping all of them in a box that's sitting on the floor, in direct defiance of my instructions.

Run to the bathroom and ask me to pause Bugs Bunny, the show that is currently on TV.

When I tell you that this cannot be done (it's on TV, not on video), cry about it.

Inquire from the bathroom as to whether Bugs Bunny has ended. And when I tell you that it has, continue to check with me, just for clarification. Like so:

J: Is it over?!
T: Yes.
J: No! Bugs Bunny!
T: Yes.
J: No! Is Bugs Bunny over?!
T: Yes, it's over.
J: No! I mean Bugs Bunny! Is Bugs Bunny over?!
T: Yes. Bugs Bunny is over.
J: No! Bugs Bunny!! Is Bugs Bunny over?! Is it over?!
T: YES!! YES!! BUGS BUNNY IS OVER!! BUGS BUNNY!!! BUGS BUNNY!!! YES! BUGS BUNNY IS OVER!!!!!

Ask to watch "The Tale of the Mighty Knights" repeatedly. When it's movie time, wait until I start "The Tale of the Mighty Knights". Then run over to the craft table and start playing with your play-doh.

Ask me to play play-doh with you. And no matter what I say, repeat. Like so:

J: Do you want to play play-doh with me?
T: I thought you wanted to watch The Tale of the Mighty Knights.
J: Do you want to play play-doh with me?
T: Don't you want to watch The Tale of the Mighty Knights?
J: Do you want to play play-doh with me?
T: It's movie time, though, isn't it?
J: Do you want to play play-doh with me?
T: J. You asked for The Tale of the Mighty Knights.
J: Do you want to play play-doh with me?
T: Don't you want to watch The Tale of the Mighty Knights anymore?
J: NO!!!
T: Awesome.

Rip the baby gym apart and insist that it is your "fire gun".

When I ask you to put the gym back together, refuse to do so and forcefully throw the pieces on the floor instead.

When I pick you up to place you in time out, hit me.

Spend the next several minutes screaming and throwing toys at your closed bedroom door as you continue to tantrum while in time out.

Intentionally pee on the carpet in your bedroom, just to vex me.

Wake the baby.

Me and my identity crisis

2009-01-29T08:28:00.006-07:00

I don't understand how I reached this point. I'm a musician, for crying out loud. I have a piano, a synthesizer and amp, guitar, violin, two flutes, and a few random percussion instruments in various parts of my house. I'm a pianist, but I dabble a bit. I have grade 9 Royal Conservatory and a college music diploma with a focus on jazz styles. There's a Real Book in my closet, where I also keep my score paper. I've been playing for 35 years, and writing for 25. And you just wouldn't think this kind of thing would happen. Why would it?

Going through college, things were good. And then, they weren't. Thoracic outlet syndrome. Cervical ribs, one on each side, cutting off the circulation to both arms. The ribs had to be removed. Scar tissue. Couldn't play for awhile. Couldn't lift, so my waitressing sideline was over. Minor nerve issues in the left hand impeded my playing. I'm a pianist, but for quite some time I lacked the necessary speed and agility to play professionally. I lack the patience required of a teacher. And there's even less calling for a composer than there is for a performer. Retraining became inevitable.

I worked in a collection agency for awhile. Debtors would hide. My job was to find them, locate their assets, and find a way to get the debt paid. I was good at it. Attention to detail helps. Got promoted to the legal department, and decided to retrain in that field. So I went to night school for paralegal certification. Worked in law firms for awhile, and it was all good. Until the day a lawyer told me that I didn't command a higher salary than average because, while I was smarter than average, my brains weren't required for my job. (Note for the future: Belittling staff is totally not the way to go.) And I decided to retrain again, to get past the financial glass ceiling and to command a bit more respect. Some paralegals go on to law school, but not me. In my time at the law firms, I'd learned that I didn't want to be a lawyer. I generally didn't like them very much.

I evaluated, considered my options, and settled on accounting. Music and math are highly inter-related. And the linguistic and problem solving skills I'd acquired as a paralegal would be transferrable. The training options matched with my lifestyle, so I could work while I learned. And I figured I'd probably enjoy it.

And I do. But still ... from music, to law, to accounting? It's an odd road I travel. But I'm traveling it and doing my best. I'm just over halfway done my designation now. I've gotten one scholarship thus far. Halfway through Level 4, and I've submitted my application for the integrated degree. When I'm done, I'll have an H.B.Com and a prestigious accounting designation. Pretty impressive, really.

But I'm a musician.

**********
This current class is in auditing. Dry as dirt in a summer drought. But it's required, so I plug along. Ten modules, five assignments, 12 weeks. As has become the norm of late, I am behind in my readings and playing catch up. I'm more behind than usual, however, and struggling to get through the past readings that I've missed. Not working out so well just yet. I'm sure I'll get there eventually. I always do.

Assignment #3 is due today. It includes a computer question, in which we're supposed to select a random sample of invoices using systematic dollar-unit sampling. (Yes, I now know what that is, much to my chagrin.) For systematic dollar-unit sampling, you take the cumulative population dollar total (P), divide it by the desired sample size (N), and set the interval (X). Then you select a random number (R) that's between the minimum (generally zero or one) and the maximum (usually P). And then you add X to R to find the next sample (R1), add X to R1 to find the next sample (R2), and so on until you've got N samples selected. No dollar value can exceed P, however, so interval X gets added until P is reached, and then it cycles back to the minimum number (generally zero or one) and starts over.

It's basically just really convoluted counting. See? Dry. Really, really dry. Drier than dry, actually. I need a beverage just thinking about it.

The computer question for Assignment #3 is to be completed in Excel, and both results and formulas are to be submitted for marking. The instructions say that random number R should be between zero and interval X. Takes a bit of time to set up, but then it all falls into place rather quickly. And no dollar value ever exceeds P, so there is no cycling back required.

Discussions in the student forum have revolved around whether or not a loopback provision should be built into the formula, even though no dollar value ever exceeds P. I say no; the dollar value never gets above the maximum, so we never have to start back at zero. Another student got all lofty on me and said that we should still provide the "correct" formula, even though in this case we never end up looping back. (The "correct" formula? You pretentious little snot ...) And I found myself actually typing this:

"In an audit, it is an inefficient use of time to build if-then loopback provisions into an Excel formula to deal with a situation that will never arise due to a mathematical impossibility. As long as R is set between zero and X, and as long as X is determined by dividing P by N, no number will ever be above P, even if R ends up being the maximum value of X.

Think about it:

The interval is P/N=X
R is a number between zero and X
N samples will be selected
Therefore, the maximum number that can ever be arrived at will be X*N=P

If it is mathematically impossible for a number to exceed P, no provisions will be required to deal with that non-existent contingency."

**********
I don't get how I just typed that. And I'm not sure why it makes complete sense to me. Because ... I'm a musician!!!

Wordful Wednesday

2009-01-28T08:42:00.006-07:00

Every time this comes on the TV, J stops whatever he is doing and runs like a maniac towards the music, screaming "My favourite show!!" I mean, it's cute and all, but over time the music does get a little annoying. And it's not exactly a "show".

*shrug* At least it's short.

Updated: More Random Tuesday Thoughts

2009-01-27T09:23:00.002-07:00

Update: It's 1:00 p.m., and marks have now been released. I got 90% in that course. Woohoo!!

Today is marks release day for my last course; the exam I wrote in early December. Marks aren't up yet. So I wait. Impatiently. And while I wait, I blog. Because N is awake, and making his usual noises, and so I can't work on my current course. In which I am ridiculously behind. I may have to defer the exam. Hopefully, I can at least qualify to write.

What to do ... What to do ...

Nothing is so surreal as going out for dinner with your husband and kids to a restaurant decorated for Valentine's Day and being seated at a table adorned with a big pink heart with the names of you and your ex-boyfriend prominently displayed thereon. Especially when neither of you have particularly common names. And then, to further enhance your dining experience, a member of the wait staff walks by and accidentally drops a big tub of salsa on your eldest child. And instead of offering to comp some part of the meal because of that little incident, they begrudgingly offer the child a free dessert, conveniently forgetting that the kids' meal he already ordered actually includes said dessert. The child, who is food adverse and hates all things tomato, is cleaned up to the best of your abilities. And then the child sits at the table with salsa tomato stains all over his favourite shirt refusing to eat, generally playing, and periodically pretend-crying about the salsa whenever he thinks about it. This, as much as anything, is why we don't eat out very often.

I watch Judge David Young. Not for entertainment value. I watch because I fully expect to see a bunch of people I used to know appear on that show eventually, complete with blackened teeth and over-exaggerated hillbilly accents, demanding DNA and polygraph tests from each other and screaming about how he's the daddy of her young'un, and she's an obsessive cheatin' filthy liar, and if he'd just stay outta prison fer longer'n a week he'd know his daughter, and his daughter's now 21 but she's never e'en let 'im seen 'er, and how she ain't never been with no other man (even though the polygraph and DNA tests clearly say otherwise), and how her mama's so ugly and she won't let 'im near the house, and ... There's a reason why I don't know these people anymore. And I feel pretty content to not know them.

I was supposed to have a cast clinic appointment today. But N is all out of sorts, and I just can't take him to the hospital like that and make him wait with me, while we sit there in chairs along with everyone else for most of the morning, and then go for the x-rays, and the consult, and all that. Can't happen. So I had to rebook. The knee is healing; just takes time. Physio will start in February.

N won't sleep. I don't know why. He used to be a pretty good sleeper, but now, he doesn't want to sleep. He just screams. Plus, he eats constantly! At times like these, I really wish I was back at the office, and I question my plan to return on a part-time basis. Maybe being away from the kids at a full-time job would be better for my sanity!

J gets hyper when he's tired. Yesterday was bad, because he and N both got up at 5:00 a.m. Hyper J and screamy N made for grumpy T. I'm feeling a bit better today. J is at school, so I only have screamy N to deal with. I'm over-tired and over-busy, though. But J has learned to pee standing up now, and did so for the first time yesterday. I am pleased with his accomplishment, and think it makes up for a lot. How pathetic am I?

H's sister is coming up for the weekend. She hasn't met N yet. It will be good to have a bit of a visit with her, even if it's short.

Behind in school. More behind than I have ever been before. I see no way to catch up. So I just keep plugging away, trying to get the "qualified to write" status for the class, and then I look at an exam deferral option. I think it's got to be that way. I've become seriously derailed of late, and I don't know how I'll ever fix the problem within the time constraints.

Marks still have not been released. I just checked.

The Spin Cycle: You know what I haven't done in a long time?

2009-01-23T09:45:00.000-07:00

I was going to write this anyway. But it fits, so I'm totally using it as this week's submission for The Spin Cycle.

***********
I haven't written a song in a really long time. Looking for coping mechanisms yesterday, I was reminded by my friend Liz that there are many possible outlets. I'm just not using them. Not surprisingly, my usual coping mechanism has always been music, but I'd temporarily benched it. Not sure why. And so my piano has sat in my living room for some time, untouched and gathering dust. This just won't do.

There's my baby. Isn't she pretty? She's a refinished early 20th century Heintzman, with original ivory keys and a nice rich sound.

She is not the piano I learned on, which was a family heirloom piece from the late 19th century that had belonged to my grandfather. A beautiful instrument in its day, Grandpa's piano was much worse for wear by the end of its life. It lived in my parents' basement. Originally purchased at a fire sale, Grandpa's piano had survived the fire, excessive moisture, childhood vandalism, and many DIY refinishing attempts. The ivories had burnt off and been replaced with plastic keys. Many original parts were missing. Pieces no longer fit together. The soundboard had been replaced with mahogany plywood, which was warping. The veneering was peeling off. Finally, when the sewers backed up in the basement and flood waters warped her beyond reason, she was pronounced unplayable. The expense to restore her would have been vast, and her inner workings were deemed unworthy. So she needed to be replaced. And that's how I came to have my Heintzman. Newer than Grandpa's piano and lacking the curved sides, she is nonetheless more playable. I'm pretty happy with her, though I miss the sentimentality of my old girl.

I'd be happier, though, if I could ever find time to play.

Between school, hubby, and the kids, days get pretty full pretty fast. The basement isn't finished yet, though that is in the works; until it's done, though, TV and piano are in the same room, which isn't conducive to music making. And N is a light sleeper, so I can't play unless he's awake; don't wake the baby, or he'll scream like pure evil. Have you ever tried sitting down for a musical interlude and/or to get some work done when the baby's awake? You see my dilemma, then!

But yesterday, I finally got some time in. I dusted her off, pulled J's toys out from under the bench (sigh), and sat down to play. Nothing got written down, but I managed to work out a general chord progression, basic melody, pounded out a few riffs, and just generally noodled around a lot. Form and structure are not in place yet. But I'm liking where it's going thus far. Seems I've developed a taste for resolved dissonance, where I used to lean toward mundanely melodic. Now, I like switching up timing, key, and tossing in avoid notes to spice things up; whatever I can get away with. Improvising around my instrument and getting all of my emotions out through my hands onto the keys was a really good feeling. I've missed it too much.

Still more work to do. But in time, I think a new song will likely be formed from the basic progression of yesterday's work. I wish I knew what it would be about. Lyrics are always a surprise for me; music comes first, and then the words follow when the time is right.

Today, I resolve to spend more time with my piano. She deserves to be played. And I deserve to play her. If I don't play, I get burnt out, and then I'm no good for anything. Bad musician!

Fun with Dick and J

2009-01-22T14:10:00.009-07:00

J got a small stuffed puppy dog toy with a happy meal a couple of weeks ago. He likes his puppy. Yesterday, J was drinking milk with a straw. He held his puppy up to the straw, and ...

J: Daddy, can you ask if my puppy is drinking my milk?
H: Ok. J, is your puppy drinking your milk?
J: No.
H: ...

Magic, I tell you! J is clearly destined for improv greatness.

**********
N, if you get so ticked off when your swing stops moving, perhaps you should stop grabbing its frame and manually stopping it. I do not enjoy being serenaded by the screams of rage that follow.

**********
In unrelated news, I find that I've lost another follower. That's two in the last couple of months. The first was after I'd posted a political diatribe, and I concluded I'd maybe caused some offense. I didn't mean to, but ... happens, I guess. (shrug)

Anyway, I'm not sure what happened this time. I'm pretty sure my last post wasn't offensive. Maybe our musical tastes differ? I'm just going to conclude that people use their readers for different purposes, and this isn't really that big a deal in the grand scheme of things. Even still, de-following a blog is a rather unfriendly gesture. I've never done it. But I figure, if it's done to me, I'll have to return the favour. Passive aggressive? Perhaps. But it seems fair and reasonable, so I'm going with it. ;)

'Kay. I'm over it. As we all know, I'm too busy to be terribly upset about this kind of thing. But I do like it when people choose to follow the blog. And I try to respond in kind. 'Cause that's how I roll. **

BTW - If you're following my blog and I haven't yet added you to my reader, it's probably just because you don't have the easy-click widget thingy displayed on your blog, and I have absolutely no idea how else to add you. Pathetic, I know, but still true. Add the easy-click widget thingy. You know you want to.

Updated to add:
I'm really not upset at all about the whole de-following thing. I know everybody's got their reasons for doing these things, and I'm mostly pretty laid-back about it. I just noted that I'm the third person in my little circle to have lost a follower in the last week, so I'm not quite sure what's up. That's why it feels unfriendly right now. We can't possibly follow everyone in bloggy land; must be selective in our reading. So ... no real issues here. :)

**********
** I try, but make no guarantees. Busy.

Wordful Wednesday

2009-01-21T08:41:00.003-07:00

Is it just me, or should these guys all be suing each other?

As a point of note: playing any one of these songs will transfix N and make him stop screaming. Kid's got taste. 'Cause even if they are basically all the same song, they're still pretty.

Randomosity

2009-01-20T10:03:00.006-07:00

J was such a good boy yesterday. It sure makes my life easier when he behaves himself, and I'm glad for those days. He helped me with cooking. He ate some meatloaf and carrots at supper. He didn't eat enough, but at least he ate something. And every time he voluntarily ingests food, we are grateful.

Conversely, N eats an unbelievable amount. I wish he was happy being held without being fed. But he is not. So whenever he awakens in the night and wants comfort, he gets a little snack. I wish he'd sleep through the night. But he won't. And so, neither do I. I'm always tired and unmotivated. I need to find my motivation, but I don't know how.

Caffeine is a good thing. I'm not a coffee drinker, but I have a Cola drink chilling. It's in the freezer, so it will get colder faster. Hopefully, when I pull it out of the freezer, it will be so cold that it will have yummy little ice crystals in it. Soooo good! Plus it will wake me up, and that will also be nice.

My friend, M, has the best pie crust recipe ever. Super flaky and delicious. She shares her recipe freely with others. Armed with recipes for M's crust and my mom's pie filling, I can now make the best apple pie ever. I have some left over in the fridge right now, calling me. I may cave and have some with my Cola. Healthy eating is not my forte.

My fridge needs cleaning. Old food must be disposed of. I hate cleaning the fridge. That and washing dishes. A skilled procrastinator, I'll do pretty well anything else before I take on either of those chores.

My living room irritates me just now. The basement is still not finished, and the main floor living room is packed full of stuff. The couch is in the middle of the room, the toys are piled in weird spots, the baby swing is inconveniently situated, there's still a single bed in here from when I busted my knee and couldn't make it up the stairs, and a friggin' jeep is parked in the corner! But at least the Christmas tree is gone. When the basement is finished, we'll have more space and be able to unclutter the living room. Just takes time. And, of course, cash. And I hate spending.

The cat has chewed through yet another blind cord, making it two blinds that now need to be repaired. I bet a fish would make a good pet. And they'd chew through fewer blind cords, which would also be a plus. Fewer repairs equals fewer things to pay for.

My mailbox continues to perplex me. Bills, bills, bills. I never get any regular mail; just bills. Finances still stress me out. The vehicle issues from the end of 2008 have carried over to create trouble in 2009, and that's totally crappy. I hope things even out here soon. Fortunately, I received an envelope in the mail the other day, and it appears I may already be a winner; that's something.

Financial stuff notwithstanding, I'm actually feeling quite positive today. Just need some caffeine and/or a nap. And maybe some focus on schoolwork. But cash would also be good just now, so I need to figure out how to get some. All things work themselves out in time, I know. Some days, I just forget.

I don't understand why some people are so determined to always be right in every single situation. I don't understand their obsession to prove others wrong. Sometimes, it just doesn't matter who's right and who's wrong. I'll probably post more about this later. But for now, just know that everyone has a democratic right to be wrong. If we disagree, even if you are certain that I am wrong, it really doesn't matter. If I wish to continue to be wrong, perhaps you should just leave me alone.

I'm behind in school again. I think this is becoming too much of a pattern. But I'm still feeling pretty positive about things. I've gotten my first two assignments in on time, even though I've not got a good handle on the readings. Once I finish this course, I'll only have one more class and a business case to complete to the end of Level 4. Can't wait. Once Level 4 is done, it's just university requirements and PACE, and then I'm designated. Still going to take a few years, though.

I've got to follow up on things now. My university application is due in two weeks. And the statute of limitations on that car accident thing is approaching, so I need to talk to the lawyer. J's eating isn't on track, so the nutritionists need to be contacted again. And I've got to arrange for physio on the knee. Too many things ... not enough time.

And I've just spent some of it blogging, so I'd best get back to work now.

Happy Tuesday!

The incredibly mediocre pretender

2009-01-17T21:12:00.021-07:00

J is growing up. I love it and hate it all at once. The boy who, a few short months ago, would always say "I were" is now not only saying "I was" but is actually correcting the poor grammar of random cartoon characters.

J: How come he says "I did saw a puddy tat" instead of "I did see ..."?

(My BAAAAAAABY!!!!! *sob*)

And N is getting bigger and bigger, too. Today, we packed up his old clothes. My last baby. This kind of thing makes me happy and sad all at once. I'm glad he's growing, but I miss my tiny baby. Is it good? Is it bad? It's a toss-up, really.

**********
We took the kids to the ice festival. It was only slightly affected by the uncharacteristically warm weather. A chunk of one melty ice sculpture fell to the ground with a large clunk as we walked by. But J still got to go down the ice slides. And see the ice maze. And the dragon and dinosaur sculptures, and of course the big castle which they guarded, which was quite spectacular. So he had lots of fun. Hard to push a stroller through slush and crowds, but all told a good experience.

When we left, J decided that he was going to pretend to be the ice dragon. And H was to be the dinosaur.

H: And what's mommy? Is she the castle? Or the slide?
J: No. Mommy is the Ice Princess.
H: Oh!
J: And the dragon and the dinosaur will fight each other.
H: Really?
J: Yes. But the dragon will protect the Ice Princess.
H: Okay.
J: The dragon says "ROAR"! And the dinosaur says "ROAR"!
H: Okay. ROAR!
J: ROAR! And the dragon and the dinosaur fight.
H: And what does the Ice Princess do?
J: Nothing. She doesn't do anything. She just sits there in the chair.
H: She just sits there and does nothing while we try to kill each other?
J: Yes.
T: I was totally cut out for this job.

**********
Clearly, J is really into imaginative play now. But he's not so good with improvisation. As a result, J's particular brand of imaginative play is a bit tough to take for any extended period. It goes something like this.

J: I'm going to be the Mommy Ghost. And you be the Baby Ghost.
T: Ok. I'm Baby Ghost.
J: Hi. I'm Mommy Ghost.
T: Hi Mommy.
J: No! Mommy Ghost!
T: Oh, sorry. Hi Mommy Ghost.
J: Hi Baby Ghost. (pause) Baby Ghost?
T: Yes, Mommy Ghost?
J: Can you say "Where's my Mommy Ghost"?
T: Where's my Mommy Ghost?
J: Now laugh at this!
T: Ha ha ha ha ha!!
J: Good Baby Ghost. Now you can go to preschool!

And it only gets worse from there.

J: Daddy. Can you pretend to be the wishing well with the big purple light?
H: Ok. I'm the wishing well with the big purple light.
J: No! Talk like the wishing well!
H: (in the standard very deep voice he uses for all things inanimate) I'm the wishing well with the big purple light.
J: Hi wishing well with the big purple light.
H: Hi J.
J: Wishing well with the big purple light?
H: Yes, J.
J: Why do you have a big purple light?
H: I don't know. I just do.
J: No! You say "Because I'm the wishing well"!
H: Oh. Ok. Because I'm the wishing well.
J: Oh! (pause) Wishing well with the big purple light?
H: J, can I please talk to Mommy for a minute?
J: No! Wishing well with the big purple light?

It is at this point that H and I generally consider searching for a wishing well with a big purple light so we can jump in and just really wish for it to kill us quickly. But clearer heads prevail and we continue to play. If under protest.

**********
J likes things of the same basic shape and colour to be together. Especially if they are different sizes. He groups these things together all the time. And if you try to put anything away, he will flip out about it. His logic is quite rational, really.

J: No! This is the mommy yellow ball, and this is the baby yellow ball! They have to stay together!!

**********
A kid who constantly looks for the loophole, you really have to be specific when giving J directions. It is not sufficient to just say, for example, "Don't wake up your brother" ... he will plead ignorance when he does so. He needs detail. Such as:

T: J, please don't wake your brother. Don't scream his name. Or anything else. Or raise your voice. Or smack him on the head. Or pat him on the head. In fact, smacking or patting him at all is generally not okay right now. Don't pinch his cheeks. Or his hand. Or any other part of him. Or pull on his clothes. Or his feet. Or his hands. Or his head. Or anything else somehow attached to him. And don't push his swing. Or stop his swing. Or hammer, or saw, or screw his swing. Or jump up and down in front of him and shake his swing. Or throw your toys at his swing. Or at him. Or in his general direction. Or down the stairs. Or into that tree. Or any other tree. Maybe just don't throw things in general, okay? Just. Please. Don't. Wake. Your. Brother.

But he still finds a way. Oh yes, he does.

**********
And so it goes. This is our life. It's a good life. Really.

And I guess the good thing about them growing up is that their quality of imaginative play and interpretation is bound to improve as they age. Right?

Right?

Please?

T has a baby

2009-01-15T11:26:00.003-07:00

T has a baby.
The baby has croup.
The baby coughs and coughs.
The coughing wakes T.
And the baby is held.

The baby is held.
Cuddled close.
The baby breathes in the cold night air.
His swollen air passages shrink a bit.
And the baby drifts back into fitful slumber.
Only to awaken at the next coughing fit.
Over and over.
This can't be good.
The croupy baby needs sleep.

The croupy baby needs sleep.
Rest will help.
If the baby will sleep, he will recover.
But the baby coughs and coughs.
And the baby wakes up.
Over and over again.
With a scary sounding barking cough.
And the baby needs a doctor.

The baby sees a doctor.
The doctor hears the croupy cough.
The doctor prescribes a steroid.
The steroid will help shrink the air passages.
But the steroid causes insomnia.
And the baby does not sleep.
Ever.
So neither does anyone else.
Because the baby is sick.

The baby is sick.
The baby wants his mommy.
And if the baby cannot see his mommy, he cries.
So T cannot lie down.
Because the baby will not permit it.
The baby wants to lie down and gaze at T.
Who must be sitting up.
If T lies down, the baby cries.
If the baby is not lying down, then the baby wants to be held upright.
And T complies.
Because she loves the croupy baby.

T loves the croupy baby.
But she has a migraine.
And she is very very tired.
T has been up for the past two nights with croupy baby.
And croupy baby awoke today at 4:00 a.m.
And cried.
And cried.
And T held the baby.

T holds the baby.
Stares deeply into his eyes.
And tells the baby how much she loves him.
And the baby smiles and coos.
Stuffed up and sickly, but no longer struggling for breath.
And life is good.

Life is good.
For the baby.
But if T doesn't get some sleep soon, her head will explode.
Migraines are like that.
And a babysitter is not an option.
Because the baby is sick.

The baby is sick.
So T sits upright.
Where the baby may gaze at her.
And she tries to make him feel better.
As her head throbs.
Someday, the baby will sleep.
And then, T will sleep also.
But for now, sleep will wait.
Because T has a baby.

T has a baby.

Who do you love?

2009-01-13T09:28:00.002-07:00

Okay. I've linked up to other bloggers for about a week now, and I feel pretty good about that. There may well be more to come, 'cause many of my favourite blogs weren't showcased there. But for now, I'm interested in hearing your thoughts and recommendations. What are your favourite blogs? Come on ... give me something to read! ('Cause God knows, I don't already spend more than enough time on the Internet.)

So, okay. You can tell me in the comments. Or you can post on your own site and just let me know about it here. But however you do it, I want to know all about your favourite reads. So tell me ... who do you love?

Gotta go. N is screaming again. One day, I'll try to record this sound for posterity. For now, just know that he sounds sort of like a cross between the attacking Velociraptors from the first Jurassic Park movie ... and Doris the Finkasaurus from The Flintstones' "Son of Rockzilla" episode. Only, you know, far louder and more annoying than either of those.

Everybody hurts. Everybody cries. Everybody spits on the windshield of a Ferrari. Sometimes.

2009-01-11T16:00:00.010-07:00

Sometimes, I forget that life with children is abnormal to those without kids. Sometimes, I fail to notice that things are a bit odd in our household. But then my bloggy friend Mrs. Mouthy comes along and reminds me that this is just not normal. In fact, it's comical. (Thanks, Ma'am; I'd temporarily forgotten to look for the humour in the situation.)

Mrs. Mouthy is a lovely person, with a wealth of patience. She has her bad weeks too, but always looks for and generally finds the humour in her life. Honestly, she's so brilliant that I can't even link to individual posts. There are just too many of them. Yup, she's that good. Go read her, and you'll see.

Anyway ...

**********
T has an assignment due this week.

T tries valiantly to get through her readings, or at least find the assignment answers and avoid a late fee. J and N work to see which can drive T crazier. N screams and refuses to have his morning nap. J insists that he is a Jack-in-the-Box ... trust me when I tell you that this sounds less disruptive than it really is. Every time N begins to nod off, J shrieks and wakes him again. H hollers at J to knock it off, which helps not in the least. J shrieks in delight. N screams, awake again. Finally, T has a mini-meltdown. She can't do this. Through tears, she tells H: "Either you guys go, or I go. I don't care which". And H goes out with the kids.

T works on her assignment. It is nearly 50% complete, when ...

H calls. He must return home. The van has a flat tire, and the winds have begun to gust. T needs to look after the kids while H changes the flat. They return. We eat. N is fed and put down for his nap. H goes out in the cold to change the flat.

J sobs because he can't help Daddy change the flat. Locks H out. Objects with violent screaming to the door being unlocked. Runs about like mad. Shrieks. Hits. Hollers "NNNNOOOOO!!" and continually awakens N. J receives a time out. And returns, not quite as subdued as one might hope.

J heads toward the door and turns on a light, as it is getting dark in the living room. Nervous that he is about to lock the door again:

T: What are you doing over there, J?
J: (turns light off) But I want it to be bright.
T: Oh. Then turn the light back on.
J: NO!
T: Just turn on the light and it will be bright.
J: NOOOO! Not the big one!!!
T: Fine. (reaches over and turns on the small light)
J: Turn the light off!
T: No. I need the light now.
J: But it's hurting my eyes!!
T: It is not.
J: YES IT IS!!
T: No, it's not.
J: YES IT IIIIIISSSSS!!!!!
T: (in a horrible, hissing whisper) Stop screaming! If you wake up N again, I will be forced to strangle you slowly, with a hairbrush or something!

And then my head spun completely around. I swear it. My chiropractor will have his work cut out for him when next I have time to see him. At this rate, I expect that will be in about 23,867,978 years.

A few moments pass:

T: Please put N's carseat back where you found it.
J: Okay. (climbing into carseat box) But first, I have to pretend to be a mail carrier.

Because all mail carriers live inside a carseat box. Didn't you know? Me neither!

**********
The light is still on. N is sleeping again. H has headed to Canadian Tire to try and get the flat repaired. J is very much alive and, as I type this, he is sitting beside me, licking the windshield of his remote controlled Ferrari like some kind of deranged cat and pretending his spit is wiper fluid as he forces the wiper back and forth and nearly breaks the thing right off. (Once when his attention was distracted, I removed the Ferrari from the couch and hid it. But when he pitched a fit, I decided one little Ferrari wiper just wasn't worth it. Seriously. It's not.)

All's right with the world. But there may well be a late assignment fee in my future.

**********
Update: Five minutes after his Ferrari was returned to the couch, at his insistence:

J: Mommy, can you please take the Ferrari off the couch?

I'm going to throw something. Possibly the Ferrari. Which J is licking again. And scrubbing. With a hairbrush. I'm not even kidding.

Send vodka.

Hamster Rap

2009-01-09T22:30:00.005-07:00

So, I posted a comment on another site a few days ago, and my word verification popped up as "hangstr". I speculate that this is supposed to be some rare breed of gangster-hamster. Only, you know, it's missing the "e", which I think is a sign that spelling words with missing vowels is all the rage these days. And also, that a silent "e" is really kind of an optional vowel anyway. Silent letters only complicate the world and ultimately, they lead to civil unrest. Really, we should spell all words phonetically and avoid all the heartache. And you know what word is totally not spelt phonetically? That's right: "phonetically", which, using my new and improved English, should be spelt more like "funnetiklee". But that just looks stupid and unrefined, so you just know it will never catch on even though it totally should.

And then I thought: You know who I bet could totally get behind this phonetic spelling idea? That's right ... Jenny, the Bloggess. And I'm pretty sure she could make use of a few gangster-hamsters, too. She could send them out to do her bidding. I bet a gangster-hamster could be pretty intimidating in the right circumstances. I mean, if it had an appropriate wardrobe and weaponry and such. Or maybe if it was hyped up on speed and infested with rabies or something. It could probably get some real results then.

Think about it. It could kill any snake that dares to come within 25 feet of her car. Make her many minions behave themselves appropriately. I bet it could off the Comics Curmudgeon for her and put her higher up in the running for Best Humour Blogger. At the very least, she could use its warmth to help operate her iPhone. Enough well-placed gangster-hamsters, and Jenny could rule the world!

Of course, her new puppy would probably just eat them. And then poor Mr. Pickles would die of rabies, or a speed overdose, or some such thing. And naturally, she'd sue me for giving her the idea. Yeah; she'd probably win too, given that she's wildly popular and totally influential ... I mean, she's like the world's 3,500th greatest grampa. And also, from what I understand, she's not above bribery or blackmail. Plus she can kill kittens using just her words. I like kittens. I really shouldn't get on her bad side. (Please don't kill any kittens, Jenny?)

So maybe we should just forget the whole thing. Leave the gangster-hamsters alone. In the lab. Being subjected to all those experiments. The animal testing, and all those injections of rabies and speed. Of course, that will totally be on Jenny's head and I don't know how she'll be able to live with herself. But that's the cross she'll have to bear.

Okay. Enough of this. Go visit Jenny, the Bloggess. (Just like everyone else!) 'Cause she's all kinds of awesome! *

* Fact: No kittens are killed when I say "awesome". That sort of thing is exclusive to Jenny. I don't know why.

It's in his kiss

2009-01-08T10:07:00.002-07:00

Last night, I had a dream that I flunked my first assignment in the current class. Apparently, my efforts were so abysmal that they didn't even bother to grade it. They were actually insulted by my low quality project and just wanted me to redo it in its entirety. (This is actually unheard of; in these courses, there are no do-overs ... if you fail, you fail.) Assignment marks should be released some time today.

Now, on to business ...

**********
Today's inspiration comes from Heinous over at Irregularly Periodic Ruminations, another fabulous writer with a most excellent imagination. Heinous works hard, but still takes time out of his busy schedule to periodically answer readership questions from the male perspective. He's a good samaritan and, in his spare time, enjoys visiting with his eccentric neighbours and helping them out with their gardening problems.

See? Saintly.

The other day, Heinous posted about, among other things, his first kiss. Which of course only served to make me think. And that kind of thing can be dangerous; I don't recommend it. (I know you like humour in your posts, Heinous. Hope you aren't too upset that you inspired this little diddy.)

**********
When I was a kid, I went to bible camp every summer. A true tomboy, I marched to the beat of a different drummer, and I really didn't fit in (not that I tried too hard). But the summer I turned 12, camp was different for two reasons. Firstly, there weren't enough junior or senior highs to make up two camps, so they combined the groups into one and held a junior/senior high camp. The second change? More boys. You see, normally the camp had three cabins of girls and three of boys. But this year, there were only enough girls to make up two cabins, while the boys filled up four. In years past, the camp was divided in half, with boys' quarters on one side and girls' on the other. But in the current year, one cabin on the girls' side was relegated to the boys, and we all got to hang out in closer proximity. As you might imagine, this would work out rather well for my 12-year old tomboy self. More comfortable with the new arrangement, I became a bit more outgoing and sociable than had been the case in other years. So I got noticed a bit more.

That summer, there were at least three new boys in attendance. Tyler, Gary, and Andy all hung out together. They were great guys, but they also didn't quite fit in at church camp, and they seemed to want to hang out with me. I was reclusive and had trust issues, so that took some work on their part. Persistent little buggers that they were, they really put themselves out there trying to get to know me.

Andy was shy and quiet; we didn't get to know each other well. Tyler and Gary were both hilariously competitive and a laugh riot to be around together. Gary was hyped up and unobservant; he never seemed to pick up on my cues, couldn't tell when I was serious or joking, and he'd keep picking until Tyler reined him in. That didn't go over well with me. So Andy, Gary, and I were chummy, but we never really became friends.

But Tyler and I hit it off. We were both quiet, sensitive, dreamy kids, and I liked him a lot. He was an intuitive sort, and he understood me. No easy feat, I assure you. So he and I spent a lot of time together that week, hunting for frogs in the swamp and hanging out in the back of the group at campfire. He was a really sweet boy, known for his red-brown hair that flopped in front of his face and the fact that he wore the same orange football jersey for the entire week.

We weren't dumb, and we knew that the other kids considered us to be a couple. But we were a young, shy pair; a 12-year old girl and a 13-year old boy. We enjoyed each other's company, had a bit of a crush, and called it a day. Nothing more. He was my friend. About the nicest, sweetest, most respectful little rednecky farm boy I'd ever known. At the end of camp, we exchanged addresses and phone numbers and promised to stay in touch. We wrote back and forth a couple of times, and he sent me a school picture, signed "With all my love". It made me smile; mostly because I noticed he was no longer wearing the famed orange jersey. And then, as too often happens, we just lost touch.

One day, I was cleaning out an old drawer, and I came across his picture and address. I decided to write him, to see what he'd been up to. For all I knew, he'd moved. It had been a few years; I was now 15. But I still had fond memories of him and thought it would be nice to renew acquaintances. I mailed the letter, thinking nothing would likely come of it anyway.

A few days later, he called. Said he thought of me often but wasn't sure how to reach me these days, and thought maybe I didn't want contact with him any longer anyway. I was happy to hear from him. It had been far too long. After we hung up, Tyler decided he really wanted to see me again. I still lived in the city, and he still lived on the farm. So he hitched a ride to town, called when he arrived, and made his way over to my house. I was surprised; still a pretty reclusive sort, I didn't get many visitors.

We hung out and talked. He was still the same sweet, sensitive boy I remembered. We decided to go for a walk, down to the community league playground and tennis courts. He stopped me while we were walking through the tennis courts and said: "Can I do something I've been wanting to do for the last three years?" (Even then, I thought that was a pretty cheesy line, but it was kind of cute coming from a 16-year old boy.) And when I naively said "What?", he leaned in and kissed me for the first time.

He spent about a week in town, staying with family and hanging out with me. And then a family obligation arose and he had to leave in a hurry. Once again, we lost touch. I never saw him again.

There are some people who always hold a special place in your heart. Who you will always feel connected to, no matter how much time passes. Tyler is one of those people. The sweet, sensitive, oddly intuitive 13-year old boy who befriended me one summer. He will always be special.

Every so often, I think of him, and I wonder what he's doing these days. I hope he's happy. He deserves a life filled with good times and great possibilities. I tried searching Facebook a few times, but he wasn't there. I wasn't too surprised; social networking wouldn't really be his thing.

And then, I read that post, and I thought of him again. So I googled. I figured nothing would turn up, but I'd just like to see how he's doing these days. He should be a well-adjusted adult by now, thriving and enjoying life.

But it was not to be. I learned that Tyler passed away Halloween of 2003. Over five years ago. I kept searching, hoping it was some sick joke; hoping to see different results. Denial is a beautiful thing when it happens. He's gone. It's real. And so I mourn that amazingly cool 13-year old kid I once knew. My old friend, taken too soon.

Which is all to say that sometimes, life just ain't fair. But at least we have our memories to carry with us. Treasures we keep always. And for that, I am thankful.

**********
Okay. So now, you probably need a good laugh. Go read Heinous and enjoy. You get a mixed bag of emotion over here, but Heinous is always hysterical!

You're the inspiration

2009-01-07T09:30:00.001-07:00

Yes, you are. All of you. You'll soon see why.

I'm glad I've got online bloggy friends. For when I get stuck for a topic, I can often find inspiration by reading others. And so it goes this week, when I have some writer's block issues. Check out the bloggers I link to for the next while, if you don't already. They're fabulous folk, I assure you!

**********
Today's post is inspired by the very awesome Goodfather. You know Goodfather, don't you? Oh, I think you do! But in case you are unfamiliar with his work, you should know that he's an excellent writer. He never welches on a bet. And he has the best blogging costume ever, which knowledge I am sure helps to keep him cheery these days while he brushes up the old resume.

The thing is, whatever life throws his way, Goodfather always rises to the challenge in search of hilarity. Plus he's just a really nice guy. Husband, dad, blogger ... pirate. If only he lived in Saskatchewan ...

Yes, Goodfather is indeed The Last Saskatchewan Pirate ... except, you know, not in Saskatchewan, which may impede his progress somewhat. They have rivers where you live, right Goodfather? You can still pillage and plunder?

Join me in wishing Goodfather well in his job quest. I'm sure he'll get something very soon. Because even in today's tight economy, companies are still eager to hire great people like him. He's all kinds of awesome!

A word on trolls

2009-01-06T15:39:00.012-07:00

Today, I am plugging The Redneck Mommy, who I love to pieces. I'd really like to call her "my friend Tanis", but she's really more like someone I passively stalk. She's very cool, though. And wildly popular. I mean, she probably gets thousands of visitors a day.

Tanis is a mommy blogger of the finest variety. She's truly hilarious, always looking for and writing about the humour in her life. She spins her stories beautifully, and she'll make you laugh (and sometimes cry) with her. Something you should know: Tanis lost her youngest son a few short years ago, and she misses him deeply. And so birthdays and anniversaries are marked as she works to handle her grief as best she can, writing through her pain in poignant posts. She's not always funny (though humour is her norm), but you'll always feel like you're right beside her on whatever ride she's on. Yeah. She's that good.

Anyway, she's up for some bloggy award. Best Canadian Blogger or some such thing. Head on over to her site. Read. Laugh. Love. And then go and vote for her, because (as I'm sure you'll agree) she totally deserves it.

But that isn't really the point of this post.

**********
Some creep had the audacity to troll Tanis. Not only did the person post disagreeable, anonymous, unjustifiable criticisms on Tanis's blog, but she did so on a post that commemorated Tanis's deceased son's birthday. As usual, Tanis handled herself with grace and dignity, and I applaud her for it. I chose not to get involved in the flame war in her comments section, because quite frankly, that would lend credence to the troll. Instead, I will post my thoughts over here. On my own blog. Where my thoughts belong.

We all have a right to our opinions. And we certainly have the right to express those opinions. But not in any forum of our choosing. So if you have something awful to say about a fellow blogger, please, by all means, say it. Trot on over to your own blog, write your terrible, derogatory post, slam that blogger as hard as you can, hit publish, and walk away. No one is going to take away your right to do so. But hurtful, spiteful, ridiculous comments do not belong in someone else's blog. Disagree with her if you like, but be respectful about it. (Also, if you're so ashamed of yourself that you have to post your diatribe anonymously, you probably shouldn't post it. Consider your embarassment to be an indicator.)

Hiding behind anonymity makes you a coward. Anonymously insulting a blogger on her own blog, on an emotionally charged entry, on a day that is clearly difficult for her, makes you an insensitive bully. Indicating in your comment that you know you will be attacked for saying what you are saying makes you foolhardy. Continuing to visit the offending blog makes you a glutton for punishment. Repeatedly checking the comments section to see the rebuttals to your offending comment makes you a publicity hound. Continuing to post more and more offensive comments in response to those rebuttals makes you a troublemaker. And, if you don't back-pedal with might and main when the errors of your ways are pointed out to you, preferring instead to try to use your own life experiences as some kind of twisted justification for your bad behaviour, that just makes you pathetic and sad (loser). No one is infallible. If you somehow believe you are, it is indicative of a lack of intelligence.

And on the subject of "a lack of intelligence", I present a few direct quotes from your comments on Tanis's post. Your greatest hits, if you will. These are my favourites!

"You remind us of your youngest son’s death, and then pimp for an award that will profit you even more than before."
(Note the phrase "pimp for an award". Remember it well.)

"If you don’t think anyone has the right to disagree then live the rest of your life without complaint to anyone - the gas station attendant, the dry cleaners, etc. because then no one has a right to complain or voice their opinion."
(Disagree all you like. But be diplomatic in voicing your opinion. And choose your forum appropriately. The words "know your audience" spring to mind.)

"I never implied pimping ..."
(True. No implication. You out and out said it. See your first comment. Oops.)

"This stepford wife is gone."
(But evidently not, because ...)

"It is stunning that I am labeled a troll after ONE dissenting comment on the web in my entire life. Welcome to Russia."
(Don't like the label? Don't troll. And ... RUSSIA?!)

Dear Troll, you owe Tanis an apology. Not for your opinion, which you have every right to express. But for the manner in which it was expressed, and for the forum in which it was expressed, and perhaps most importantly for expressing your (truly ridiculous) opinion in a comment on a post about her deceased son's birthday. That you refuse to apologize or even to acknowledge that an apology is owed, despite the numerous people who have pointed this out, makes you rude, obnoxious, and kind of an asshat. And perhaps that is the proper definition of an Internet troll anyway. In which case, I guess you're doing a great job.

Not me! Monday: In a perfect world

2009-01-05T16:40:00.011-07:00

Have you read My Charming Kids? If not, you really should. MckMama is a delight to read. And every week, she runs "Not Me! Monday". I wish to participate this week, 'cause ... well ...

Seriously. It's been a heckuva day.

**********
Today, J, N, and I all lived in perfect harmony. There were no interruptions in the form of multiple phone calls to various parties discussing a number of vehicle issues. And there will not be a number of expensive repairs to the van. (But even if there were, we have enough money to deal with it, so no problems there. Isn't it great that the economy is thriving these days?) In any event, the van is, and has always been, in perfect working order; therefore, we have not required a rental vehicle for the past week and a bit.

The car that we own is actually the perfect size for a family of four and is also, as it has always been, in perfect working order. It has not been in the shop twice in recent months and is not currently in need of a bit more work. We do not need to upsize one vehicle, and then do some repairs to and sell our existing car.

Because we have had no vehicle issues of late, our finances are in perfect working order. (Especially since there have been no reductions to our income.) We certainly did not have to spend several hours poring over a bunch of papers, financial calculator working overtime, trying to figure out our best financing options. (And had we done so, I would have figured it out immediately with no false starts whatsoever, just as any good accountant would.)

The Christmas tree was taken down on the weekend, as we had planned. And because that was done, J did not fall headlong into its bottom branches this morning, where he lay on his back with his feet sticking up in the air shouting "I need help!" while I briefly considered whether to provide immediate assistance or really just grab the camera. (You will note the lack of pictures, so guess which option won out.) He also did not fall off the back of the couch. Or his kitchen stool. Nor did he find a stickpin under the couch this morning, because the floors were vacuumed today. And so, J didn't hurt his foot, or head, or leg, or hand, or neck, or knee, or elbow, or shin. Nope. Not even once. He ate all of his breakfast, and all of his lunch, without any coaxing whatsoever, and made no mess at all in the process. Therefore, there is not a half-eaten peanut butter and banana sandwich that I have all but forgotten about currently in the microwave. He put all of his toys away before having a nice long nap, from which he did not awaken over an hour early.

N too was angelic. He barely cried at all, and certainly did not spend the majority of his time today screaming frantically regardless of what I did to placate him. And because both my sons were calm and sweet and quiet today, I was very productive and got lots of work done on my course. I ate a balanced diet with no junkfood. I did not spend the 15 minutes of freedom I had stuffing my face with a bag of Doritos while I vaguely attempted to read my course notes and failed to absorb anything at all. Score!

Later this afternoon, J and I baked an apple pie for dessert tonight. N did not awaken partway through the process and, if he had, I would not have left him in his crib making vaguely dissatisfied noises until I was done chopping the apples for the pie. The pie is baked to a lovely golden brown and is sitting on the counter, cooling. It is not in a state of partial doneness, filling sitting in a bowl in the (very cool) oven while we wait for H to arrive with more flour so that we can make the pastry. Actually, we had plenty of flour in the house and, when I opened the new bag that was sitting on the pantry floor, I did not find bugs crawling around in it and have to put it outside for trash day. And you see, because that never happened, I did not spend a moment contemplating whether I could just kind of sift the bugs out and still use the flour. Nope. Not me.

I am presently making dinner for the family, so I did not ask H to please just pick up a pre-roasted chicken from the deli counter at the grocery. The living room is clean, and there are no toys on the floor. And I am now sitting in my perfectly clean and organized living room, waiting for H to come home from work, as I enjoy quiet time with my boys. (Incidentally, none of us are still in our pajamas.) N is playing happily in his swing, making no noises that may or may not indicate that he is displeased with being in his swing at present. J and I are sitting calmly together, cuddled up on the couch, watching the Backyardigans, his favourite age-appropriate educational program on TV. And so, we can safely say that there is not a rerun of Two and a Half Men entitled "A Kosher Slaughterhouse out in Fontana" playing in the background as I blog this entry while J stands on a chair forcefully throwing an assortment of craft supplies behind the couch. If he were doing that, though, I would certainly stop him, as I am not exhausted and I care deeply about these behaviours just at the moment.

Updated to add:
The pie turned out beautifully. I did not have trouble with the crust, for the first time since I got the no-fail recipe. I was able to roll out two beautiful 9-inch crusts with ease, and did not continually have to add more flour to keep the dough from sticking to the surface, then more water to hold the dough together. Ultimately, I did not just give up and throw the ball of dough into the fridge to see if I might have better luck with chilled dough later. I also did not refer to the whole mess as "the freaking pie crust" in the hearing of my impressionable 3-year old; therefore, H did not reprimand me for using what he feels is an unacceptable term for our 3-year old to repeat at preschool.

I'd like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony

2009-01-04T23:09:00.004-07:00

'Cause as much as this makes me laugh, it also makes my ears bleed a tiny bit. (Listen to the entire recording, if you can take it ... it's well worth it, I assure you.)

Do you know where you're going to?

2008-12-30T10:02:00.005-07:00

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!

2008-12-28T21:39:00.002-07:00

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

2008-12-22T22:06:00.003-07:00

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

2008-12-19T23:55:00.001-07:00

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

2008-12-16T23:44:00.003-07:00

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

2008-12-15T19:15:00.002-07:00

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

2008-12-12T15:57:00.007-07:00

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

2008-12-11T15:39:00.006-07:00

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

2008-12-08T22:21:00.006-07:00

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

2008-12-07T21:34:00.013-07:00

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

2008-12-04T17:00:00.003-07:00

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

2008-12-01T07:58:00.003-07:00

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

2008-11-27T23:22:00.008-07:00

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

2008-11-25T22:24:00.009-07:00

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!

2008-11-24T13:10:00.001-07:00

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

2008-11-22T23:35:00.010-07:00

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

2008-11-21T01:57:00.007-07:00

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

2008-11-20T11:34:00.008-07:00

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

2008-11-19T23:02:00.011-07:00

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

2008-11-18T13:45:00.008-07:00

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

2008-11-17T13:02:00.008-07:00

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

2008-11-16T08:14:00.011-07:00

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

2008-11-14T22:00:00.004-07:00

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!

2008-11-13T12:43:00.006-07:00

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

2008-11-13T00:05:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-11-12T00:35:00.004-07:00

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 ...

2008-11-09T22:38:00.011-07:00

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?!

2008-11-06T15:43:00.014-07:00

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

2008-11-05T22:00:00.010-07:00

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

2008-11-04T17:48:00.008-07:00

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

2008-11-03T00:13:00.004-07:00

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

2008-11-02T19:06:00.003-07:00

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

2008-11-01T22:35:00.003-06:00

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

2008-10-31T22:54:00.004-06:00

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

2008-10-30T22:05:00.004-06:00

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!!

Another day for you and me in paradise

2008-10-30T00:15:00.006-06:00

I warn you. This post is a little darker than our norm. I blame Mama Kat. It's her assignment, after all.

**********
Bound by professional ethics, I am not permitted to screw with your taxes. Much as I would like to. And that is the cross I bear.

**********
I was an unpopular kid. A bookworm and a tomboy who enjoyed classical music and excelled at math and creative writing. A late bloomer with crooked teeth, big glasses, and unfashionable clothing. I didn't make friends easily. At one time friendly and outgoing, I ended up withdrawn and shy.

Trust no one. Don't try to fit in. If you put yourself out there, you only get it worse. Just duck and cover.

Some days, it feels like a war zone. But with fewer guns.

**********
I had a couple of close friends. We'd met when I was about 4 years old. They were at all my birthday parties growing up. We played together on an almost daily basis. We sat together in classes. We were inseparable. My two best friends. I loved them, and I trusted them. But they were boys, and I was an awkward and gawky girl. Suddenly, we were teenagers. Suddenly, all bets were off. Suddenly, they didn't want to know me. And more to the point, they joined the others. But they were even worse. Crushing insults and cruel violence. Thanks for the memories.

Betrayed. I trusted you. I believed in you. I had higher expectations of you.

**********
I was not an athlete. But I remember spending a lot of time running. Trying to get away. Hiding in bathrooms. Tears. Feigning illness so I wouldn't have to go. I couldn't face it. I couldn't. Please. No more.

Oddly enough, the mental anguish stands out more than the physical abuse.

**********
Oh, how you would laugh. No opportunity was ever wasted.

"She's ugly and has funny teeth."
"Are you pregnant?"
"Hey sweetheart, anyone ever tell you you're flat?"

Teachers couldn't protect me. They tried, but they couldn't. Bullies are creative, and they find a way to get you. If insults don't work, they escalate. And escalate, and escalate, and escalate. First, they're tossing barbs, telling you you're stupid and ugly and untalented. Next, they're excluding you from participation in group projects and suggesting you can't sing and must have slept with an instructor to get into choir. Soon, they're vandalizing your artwork. Now, they're chasing you down at the annex and hitting you, just to see if they can make you cry.

Yes, you were all just lovely. Good times. Thanks for that.

**********
But it's just a typical day. A part of growing up. It's just junior high. Forever burned in my memory.

And you.

**********
Many years have passed, and I think of you often. I wonder what's become of you. I look you up, but when I see your name, my eyes burn. It appears that karma has not yet caught you. You are wealthy. Admired. Respected. And I wonder if you beat your wife or kids, as you did me. It seems something you might be capable of. I hope not.

I see your name on a file, and I have it sequestered. I cannot work on your file. I can't even see it. I recognize that I am not unbiased, cannot be unbiased, and I am always a professional. So I grit my teeth, and I protect you. Because I know that this is the right thing to do.

This is the right thing to do. And apparently, I will always do the right thing. I did it then, and I do it now. It's who I am.

I never gave you reason to mistrust me. I never gave you reason to fear me. Why should today be any different?

**********
Yes, I know this post has a sad, heavy kind of tone. Don't blame me. It's the fault of Mama Kat over at Mama's Losin' It. She picked the prompts.

So head on over and check out this week's writing assignment. What speaks to you? And for heaven's sake, try and have some fun with it!!

How much is that doggie costume in the window?

2008-10-29T09:37:00.017-06:00

I've got a couple of photographer friends. They have a great eye, and sometimes they get some really beautiful shots. Oriana Bella, for example, has several pictures that I would just love to have framed and hung on my wall. My favourite to date is this amazing shot she took of three pigeons perched on an electrical wire. The lighting is perfect; birds and wire in glorious silhouette against an overcast sky. I've never seen anything quite like it. (I don't really want to link to it here because of, you know, copyrights and stuff. So you'll just have to trust me that it is gorgeous.)

Oriana also really loves taking abstract shots, which can be quite breathtaking. And sometimes, she photographs amazing oddities.

She recently managed to nab this picture (reproduced here with her permission). Apparently, she got in trouble for taking a picture of an item for sale in a store. But seriously. How could she possibly have resisted this?

This crazy Halloween costume, designed to be worn by a dog, is clearly geared toward proponents of overkill. For many people dress their dogs up as hotdogs. And pumpkins are, of course, a traditional Halloween costume. So someone evidently thought ... why not combine two great ideas into one, and dress your dog up as both?

Now, I know that Cute Overload and Martha Stewart have teamed up to run a Pet Halloween Costume Contest. But seriously? Would you put this crazy outfit on your dog? Even for Cute Overload and Martha?

"This Halloween, Bowser is going as a pumpkin wearing a hotdog costume."

The pumpkin wasn't Halloweenish enough all by itself? The pumpkin needed its own costume, did it? Does this seem like a realistic costume choice? Does anyone ever make a point of getting a special Halloween costume made, just for their pumpkin to wear? And if so, how did such a person end up with a great abundance of cash to spend on outfitting a pumpkin, when said person clearly has absolutely no common sense whatsoever? And since this person has such a great abundance of cash and lack of common sense, do you think he or she might lend me five bucks? How 'bout fifty?

Your thoughts?

Smashing pumpkins - part deux

2008-10-28T00:14:00.009-06:00

Yesterday, I carved a Jack-o-lantern. It was my very first attempt at carving a Jack-o-lantern, and I think it turned out rather well. I posted about the experience here.

We took no photos of the carving being undertaken, because ... well, read about it and you'll see why. But some people will accept no such excuses. Some people demand that photos be posted. *

Yes, I am speaking of you, Georgie.

Georgie is a total sweetheart. She writes Decisionally Challenged. She is presently organizing a bloggers Secret Santa exchange (I can't participate, being a foreigner and all, but still). And she specifically requested pictures of my masterpiece.

So here you go, Georgie. I hope you enjoy the pictures. :)

Here is the Jack-o-lantern.

He was so darned cute, we had to see what he would look like all lit up. So here he is.

J loves the Jack-o-lantern, and treats him like a new friend. He insists on giving the Jack-o-lantern hugs and kisses. And he wants the Jack-o-lantern to sit on the living room floor and play with him. J is eager to share all of his toys and stuffed animals with his new friend.

Sure, it's cute now. But J will be heartbroken when his friend gets all mushy, as veggies are wont to do in time. And we'll hear about it for months.

J: Where's my Jack-o-lantern?
H/T: We had to throw him away, J. He's at the dump.
J: Oh noooooo! (sob) What will I dooooooo?

We are getting used to these kinds of discussions. Sadly, they occur all too frequently. J seems to get quite attached to inanimate objects, and he has trouble letting go when it is time to part.

* Okay. In all fairness, Georgie didn't so much "demand" as "politely request". And I did say I'd probably post photos. And I totally would have done it anyway, because the pictures are cool. But I wanted to link to Georgie, and this approach worked well.

Smashing those damned pumpkins

2008-10-26T23:20:00.015-06:00

First, let me just say this.

That's right. We were featured on Good Mom/Bad Mom today for BS Sunday.

Okay, fine. I submitted the dark, heavy post in question myself. But they read it and decided to include it. I think. Unless Jenny was really busy this week and just grabbed any and all links. Which I suppose is equally possible. But hopefully they read it. I believe they did. And now, we have a lovely badge that we can wear with pride. And really, isn't that what counts? Of course it is!

Now, down to business.

**********
One of my favourite blogs is Steenky Bee. If you haven't read her yet, you've obviously just climbed out of a Biosphere. A crappy, out of touch Biosphere. One with no Internet access whatsoever.

Seriously. Head over there. You must read Steenky Bee. She's fabulous. A wonderful mother, a gifted dancer, and she always has perfect hair. I'd link to individual posts that I love, but then I'd just be linking to every page, and that's kind of weird.

**********
So earlier this month, Steenky Bee posted about undertaking a fun family activity. Inspired by her genius and creative prowess, we decided today to participate in a fun family activity ourselves. But sharp scissors and hot irons seemed like a bad idea for our 3-year old. He might get hurt.

So we used knives.

Pumpkin carving! Perfect! Halloween is just around the corner. Why not?

Not having pumpkin patches this far north, H and J had earlier trotted off to a garden centre to pick out the ~~sorriest, most deflated and lopsided looking excuse of a~~ perfect pumpkin, which we would carve together, as a family.

I pulled out the pumpkin carving kit. J was very excited. I put the pumpkin on the kitchen table. J was totally enthused. I let J pick out the design for his Jack-o-lantern. Happily, J picked out "The Angry Face". (It should be noted that there were two "Angry" faces, of which J wanted "The Really Angry One"! Which is also the hardest face to carve. But whatever.)

As J finished dinner, I cut the lid off the pumpkin. And then, when he was done eating, I gave him a little scoop, so that he could help me clean out the pumpkin innards. He quickly branded this activity "icky", and opted instead to hold the garbage bag for me. For about five seconds. Before he decided to abandon me entirely in favour of pretending to be a doctor who needed to give everyone needles. And how convenient that the little stencil marker tool beside me looked sort of like a needle! J promptly stole it and ran through the house, leaving me to scoop out the pumpkin guts myself. H cleaned off J's plate and put the food away.

Meanwhile, the previously contentedly sleeping N awoke. H went to rescue him. H returned to the kitchen and sat at the island holding baby N, and J climbed up in H's lap to give H and N each a "needle". Buried under children, H watched me, sitting at the table by myself scooping pumpkin innards into a garbage bag, and said:

H: Honey, this really wasn't what I had in mind when I thought about a fun family activity.

I told J that I needed his help and that, if he wouldn't help me, I would have to carve the whole pumpkin all by myself. His response?

J: Okay. Do that.

And then, J shouted out that he was "The Sock Stealer". And he ran around the house in search of socks to "steal". All socks, once found, had to be worn on his left foot. In layers. So J ended up with one bare foot and one foot that appeared to be sporting a very unusual thick cast made entirely of socks.

It was then that I took a ~~hammer and smashed the stupid pumpkin to smithereens~~ small break to feed N and make him all nice and happy. J used this opportunity to fight with H about bedtime and sleepwear. H wanted J to sleep in his blue pajamas. J wanted to sleep in his dragon costume. Or at the very least, the dragon head. Kicking and screaming, the headless J was dragged upstairs. (Not really, but I couldn't resist that last sentence.)

As H got J ready for bed, I taped the stencil to the pumpkin. J ran down at one point to provide me with some assistance. Tearing off large amounts of tape and attaching them to various parts of his face and body was most helpful, I assure you. H watched, gritting his teeth, and then gave J a glass of milk.

Once the stencil was taped in place, I got J to make a couple of pokes in the black area with the little stencil marker that J thought was a needle. And then H put J to bed while I outlined the rest of the stencil design, removed the stencil from the pumpkin, and cut out the face.

No pictures were taken of the progress. Sorry. No one had a free hand to spare for operating the camera.

So anyway, after I had completed our fun family activity by myself, H and I discussed the outcome. And we concluded that it would probably be a better idea to just buy a pre-cut Jack-o-lantern in future years.

We may post a picture of ~~our~~ my creation eventually. But for now, let me just say this.

It's my Jack-o-lantern! Mine! Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine!! I made it, and I'm keeping it!!!

Yeah. Whatever. Mine.

And I cannot handle pressure

2008-10-25T22:58:00.004-06:00

I should probably have just dropped the class when my world began to implode. But I didn't.

I had a drop deadline. Can't remember what it was just now. Didn't want to use it. Dropping the class costs a bit of cash. And I'm somewhat miserly. And stubborn. There was a possibility that I could still cope. I can't admit defeat when there is still a possibility of success, however slight.

I had until October 23 to decide to take an elect to re-enroll. But an ETR costs a sizeable amount of cash, and I wasn't willing to part with it. So I didn't take that option either. Instead, I opted to plough forward in a course that I am not understanding, for which I have no time, and in which I am woefully behind.

In short, I decided that my sanity was worth less than the course drop fee. So now I'm stuck with it.

What do they say again? There are none so blind as those who will not see?

J keeps stealing my post-it notes. How am I supposed to study effectively with no post-it notes, I ask you?

That's entertainment

2008-10-24T23:37:00.011-06:00

Edited: Saturday, October 25, 2008 @ 9:25 a.m. **

I am a person with varied interests. Music, darts, theatre, children, computer programming, animals, pool, law, pinball, math, ... My tastes are eclectic.

T: Do you have Captain Tractor? Or Offspring?
Used Records Employee: Who listens to Captain Tractor and Offspring?
T: Well, me ... and the people who stole my car ...
URE: ... or at least they do now ...

When it comes to entertainment, I like mindless comedy. I also really enjoy drama. And musical. Action is okay too. Horror is one genre I frankly don't much appreciate. Basically, it's good if it makes me think. Or laugh. Or cry. It can be based in reality, if it is tastefully done. Tragedy is okay, if I am in the mood for tears. Gory messes do not appeal to me. Harm cannot befall a child, or an animal, and it would be best if things ended on some sort of positive note. If I want anything too real, I'll watch the News, thanks anyway. (I should note that I do not watch the News for entertainment value; it's for information purposes ... it's for education ... learning what to do, what not to do, and shaping opinion.)

Really, I like a little bit of almost everything. Almost ...

My idea of the worst kind of entertainment? Violent, graphic, gory, tragic fiction that could really have happened (but didn't; hence, "fiction"). I don't understand these kinds of shows. I don't grasp their entertainment value. Why would I want to watch graphic depictions of horrible things happening to reasonably decent fictional characters while at the same time learning nothing? I don't get it.

But H, who is like me in many ways, dramatically differs from me in this one area. H actually really enjoys what are, in my view, awful programs.

This, as much as anything, is why we have two TVs.

Now, I can watch reruns of "Friends" and "Seinfeld", or new episodes of "The Big Bang Theory" and "Two and a Half Men", or whatever else appeals to my teensy little brain. And at the same time, H can retire to a different room to watch "Life", "24", and "The Shield", and presumably take pleasure in the fictional suffering of others. He really seems to enjoy it. I am mildly disturbed by this.

Tonight, H decided to attempt to watch "Life" with me sitting nearby. An ex-con whose 10-year old son had been murdered by a newly escaped felon was then himself graphically murdered by said newly escaped felon in front of the police, who were trying to protect everyone. They showed all the blood and everything. It was way cool.

Here we have practically everything I hate ... violent, graphic, gory, tragic fiction that could really have happened (but didn't; hence, "fiction"). And a child being harmed to boot. Fabulous! And as they cut to commercial:

T: How can you watch this?
H: I didn't know that was going to happen!
T: It happens every single week!
H: No, it doesn't.
T: Okay. Not that exact thing. But something very similar.
H: But ...
T: Seriously! How can you enjoy this?
H: ...
T: Watching some poor likeable guy get shot in the head.
H: ...
T: Well?
H: Would you like me to watch it upstairs?
T: ...
H: Fine! (grumble, grumble, mutter, mutter) *

(Ordinarily, I might have just left the room. But the knee isn't fully healed and I still don't do stairs so well, so there aren't many places I can go just now without considerable effort. And it's his stupid show anyway, so ...)

I'm going to sleep now. With visions of sugar plum fairies and violent showers of gunfire dancing in my head. And I hope to not dream about some fictional dead guy and his equally fictional, equally dead 10-year old son.

But I sure hope H enjoyed his remaining 50 minutes of mass destruction.

* It should be noted that H didn't really grumble. Much.

** Edited to add: I have just learned that H actually slept through the disturbing scene in "Life". And that, even though he was exhausted and sleeping through the show anyway, he still left the room to watch the rest of the show, rather than just letting me change the channel to something we both would enjoy. And he stayed up an extra hour after "Life" was over to watch an equally disturbing episode of "The Shield"!!!

My husband has no sense whatsoever. Could somebody please organize an intervention?