Thursday, December 24, 2009

Countdown, Part Two...

I am in a state of shock.

We actually have every gift purchased, wrapped and waiting to be placed under the tree...

In 13 years, this has never happened...

Ok, that's not quite true...since Christmas 2001, this has not happened...which means that since Ian was one and a half years old, we have been up until long past midnight wrapping gifts for children, for each other and for various family members...

And since we have four young children, that has meant that every Christmas morning, we have dragged ourselves down the stairs while our children tear down to the living room to see if Santa actually made it to our house...

But this is Christmas Eve...and technically, it's not even "Eve" yet; it's only 4:20 pm and we have everything done...

I didn't even know this was possible for the Lilley household...

Wow...a Merry Christmas indeed!

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

The Countdown Starts...

Turkey defrosting? Check...

Rolls done? Check...

Cookies baked and decorated? Check...

Fudge? Check...

Nut bars? Check...

Cheesecake? Check...

Fruitcake? Check...

Christmas cards mailed? Check...

Gifts bought? Check...(note I did not say wrapped)

House cleaned? Check...

Ready to pass out and/or drink heavily?

Check...

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

It's Beginning To Feel A Lot Like Christmas...

...which means Mama freaked out today...

I am a neat freak.

There. I've said it.

I need my space (and by my space, I mean every corner of my house) to be neat and tidy...no clutter whatsoever...to feel cool and calm...

As you can imagine, with four children, three pets and a husband, this is something that is rather difficult to achieve...

It is now two days before Christmas Eve, the children are home on vacation, as is Brian and the house seems to have exploded...there are bits of crap everywhere I look...toys that have been left wherever some child has dropped them...leftover Christmas cards (from our mad dash to make sure everyone on our list gets one-which is something we never used to do, but somehow have fallen prey in the last few years to the Christmas card mania/pressure to send them out)...little bits and pieces that seem to have accumulated on the dishwasher, the kitchen counters, the top of the piano...

Added to the mess is the knowledge that there are presents that still need to be wrapped, baking that I promised for Christmas dinner and a puppy who pees on the carpet every time he's about to hit a growth spurt (did I mention he's about to grow? Again?) and you end up with my head spinning like a top while steam streams from my nostrils (picture a pressure cooker about to blow and you get the idea)...

Brian took the kids out to the sorting station to mail their letters to Santa today...firstly so their letters will get there on time and more importantly, to save their little lives...

While they were gone, I hung the pictures I wanted, cleaned the main level of the house and started wrapping some of those gifts...but not before I screamed, yelled and cried because I felt so much stress that I told the dogs I was going to cancel Christmas at the Lilley household (they didn't answer, so I figured they didn't care one way or the other)...I ran from one room to the other, not knowing what to do first and finally ended up stopping in the dining room, crying, utterly exhausted...that was when I finally looked up to the heavens and asked for some help...and found out once again that God is pretty good at coming to my rescue...that one little prayer helped take my stress away...and by the time the five of them got home, Mama was a sane person once again...

I sat calmly and quietly on the couch for a few minutes with Brian, describing the freak out I'd had while he was gone (I even yelled at him - while he was gone and couldn't hear me and didn't know I was doing it - for failing to make the bed when he got up this morning...the fact that I was the last one in it didn't matter at that point)...and as we sat there, I realized that as I gazed around the room, I felt peaceful and relaxed because everything was neat and tidy (we won't even talk about the kitchen or our bedroom which have yet to be tidied up)...

It's a sickness...I know...

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Brrr....

Considering today it was -16 with a windchill factor making it seem more like minus 30, all I can say is I'm glad today wasn't a training run day...

Really, really hoping that it warms up just a wee bit for Saturday morning's long run...

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

I Can't Believe I Saw What I Saw...

Driving down the street this afternoon, a car in front of me suddenly slowed down...

The reason?

His left front tire came off the car and started down the road by itself!

Buddy pulled off to the side of the road, got out of his car and chased his wayward tire down the street...

If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes...

Sunday, December 13, 2009

The Update That Is W-a-a-y Overdue...

It is December 13 and it has been a month and a half since I have posted anything here...

I don't even have my sister's excuse of just having had a baby...

My excuse is that I spent November trying to get my iron levels raised...for those of you who may not know, I was so tired the entire month of October that I did things that are nearly unprecedented for me...I took naps. I could barely get out of bed in the morning and once I did finally drag myself out, I ended up lying down on the couch, pitifully and plaintively begging Brian to bring me a cup of industrial strength coffee in the vain hope that it would help me get moving...

For a few weeks, I thought it was mainly the aftereffects of having swine flu, but when I finally did get in to see my doctor (not because he wasn't available, but because I stubbornly refused to believe that my lethargy was due to anything other than my own weakness-yes, I am that hard on myself), he ordered blood tests and lo, and behold, my ferritin levels were at 9. They should have been at 80. A touch anemic, shall we say?

Oy vey...

So Doc informs me that I should start taking a certain iron supplement, twice a day for at least six months, at which point, we'll re-do the bloodwork...which was great news, except for one minor detail. Said supplement was like trying to find a needle in a friggin' haystack...

When I finally found the stuff, I happily started taking the little green pills (little might be a tad of a stretch...they are about a half inch long!), my energy levels started coming up (miracle of miracles!) and then I found out that I couldn't get another bottle...why? Because the manufacturer hadn't expected such a huge demand and they were on a two month backorder/waiting list for the stuff! Which meant that for two glorious weeks, I started feeling better and then spent another three on a slow backward slide towards the land of zero energy...

On the upside, I went to my pharmacy one day to pick up insulin for myself, happened to enquire about the iron, and discovered that just that morning, a fresh supply had arrived...I quickly bought a bottle and started taking the pills again...only, in an effort to save money (and the possibility that there will be another wait for the stuff), I'm only taking one a day...sorry Dr. Barry!...however, my energy levels have started coming up again and it's nice to start feeling human this close to Christmas...

Which brings me to my latest...

I am insane.

Why?

Because I have decided to run a marathon.

About 15 years ago, I started running. Ten years ago, I was pregnant with my first child and wasn't running at all...about a year after Ian was born, I decided to try running again...at which point, I found out that having a baby had left me with the inability to run without peeing myself...of course, I thought I was doing something wrong and ranted and raved at myself for days (ok, probably weeks) on end for being a failure...

Yeah, yeah, I know, not being able to run does not make me (or anyone else) a loser...but I did say that I was hard on myself, did I not?

Two years later, I tried again (after baby #2 had made her appearance), with the same effect...

More ranting and name calling ensued...

In the spring of 2007, I decided that enough was enough and I was ready to try strapping on the shoes again...and ran in my very first race that July...a 5km race that was just for fun (and to prove to myself that I could do it)...once the race was over, I decided to enter a 10k race. I ran that race in September 2007, but about 8 km into it, my right knee felt like someone was taking a hot poker to it and I had to walk a chunk of the race (I finished running, but I was down on myself for not being able to run the entire thing...but I finished, I kept telling myself)...for the next few weeks after the race, I hobbled around, wondering if I would ever be able to run again...

Which I couldn't, not really, because on top of the knee issues, I also ended up peeing myself every time I went out for a run...the after effect of having four babies in just under four years...

I had sort of resigned myself to the fact that I would never be a runner again...which bothered me, because I love it...

And then a few weeks ago, I was watching "The Biggest Loser" on a Tuesday night...I watch it because I find it inspiring...it drives me to want to work out longer, stronger...and frankly, seeing how big some of those contestants are makes me feel teeny, tiny (which some days I need, especially if I'm feeling particularly blah)...and these people, who all outweighed me by at least 50 pounds, were running a marathon...their knees were screaming at them and they weren't running very fast, but they were running and they just kept going, no matter how much they wanted to stop...

Now, part of not stopping may have been the camera crew in their faces and not wanting to look bad on tv, but I happen to think that the real reason they kept pounding the pavement was to prove to themselves that they could do it...

And I want to prove to me that I can do it too...

So last week, I started running again...just for 15 minutes at a time...and I only went out three days...but I did it...and by Wednesday, I was on the phone with my sister (the one who just had a baby two months ago), asking her if she wanted to run it with me...she's not sure (she does have this weird foot problem that no one seems to be able to figure out-it's been swollen for something like 7 years now), but whether she joins me or not, I am doing this.

On May 30, 2010, at 7 am, I am going to be standing with thousands of other runners, waiting for the starting gun...I won't win any speed records, but I will prove to myself that I can finish the race and when I do, that little nasty voice inside my head that tells me I can't do it, whatever it is...will be shut up forever...

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Boo!


So last night was Halloween and I can truthfully say that I am glad it's over. I am one of the few people I know who doesn't like the yearly ghoul fest that takes over the month of October.

Now don't get me wrong, I like seeing little children in cute costumes come traipsing up my walk...I like hearing their little voices trilling out "Trick or treat"...and I like seeing the brief confusion on the older ones when I say "Trick!"...but I don't like being scared, I don't like creepy costumes, books or music, or the emphasis on the evil undead and despite my neighbour's best efforts to convince me that the "House on Haunted Hill" (1959) is a classic, I do not now, never have and never will like scary movies...

And right now I am exhausted (as is my husband) because we have four young children who love go out trick or treating (really? is that a verb?)...which means four costumes to either buy, or in our case, make...

Around mid-September, my boys came to me and holding the Christmas edition of the Sears catalogue aloft, informed me that for Halloween (yes, Halloween costumes in the Christmas catalogue) they wanted to be Obi-Wan Kenobi (from Star Wars Episode 1-that would be Ewan McGregor-for those of you who may have been living on another planet for the last 30 some odd years) and Batman.

Now, the Obi-Wan costume I could understand, since it was Ian making the request and the boy loves Star Wars...but Jamie wanted to be Batman, which I found an odd choice, since he's never seen Batman, other than a commercial or two and in the Sears catalogue...what I really couldn't understand though, was the cost of the costumes...$60 each...and doing the mental math, I realized that if we were to buy all four kids costumes for Halloween, we would be spending over $240 (don't forget there's tax on top of everything)...and that doesn't even include the cost of candy to hand out to other kids...

As September rolled into October and Halloween inched ever closer, I kept hoping the boys would change their minds and maybe want to go as the Transformers they were last year, since they still had the costumes and had worn them periodically over the last 12 months...but, no such luck. Obi-Wan and Batman were what they wanted and they were not changing their minds for nuttin'...luckily the girls wanted to be fairy princesses, which meant they could wear their Easter dresses (purchased for Easter 2007, obviously way bigger than they needed at the time) yet again and would only need some (dollar store) wands, tiaras and wings...

The problem of what to do for the boys remained, though, until earlier this week, when inspiration struck...my sister had emptied her closets a few months ago (her son had outgrown some of his things and so she handed them off to my boys) and included in the pile of pants and shirts was the very large piece of dark brown fabric with which she had used to cover her old dining room chairs...

Eureka! Enter Obi-Wan's cloak...followed by a pair of khaki coloured pants, a white tunic (which is my beach cover up), strips of brown cloth wrapped around Ian's waist and legs, one toy light saber (a Christmas gift from last year) and the worried look on Ian's face was replaced by smiles of joy...

As for Jamie's Batman costume? Well, someone had given the child a Darth Vader costume last year at Christmas (I can't remember who it came from) and we tried and tried to convince Jamie to go out as Vader, so he and Ian could "battle" for their candy...but no, Batman was what he wanted and Batman is what he got...because we turned the Vader costume inside out, put Ian's yellow belt from karate around his waist, and were given a Batman mask (from last year's Halloween bonanza) from our friends and neighbours, Shelby and Ian...and poof! One Dark Knight at your service...

(A little note about the mask...before Shelby found the Batman mask, we were a little stumped about how to make one for Jamie-I had the idea of cutting his Bumblebee mask from last year-it was ripped anyway-and putting black electrical tape on it and Brian made the actual mask...it looked really close to the Batman one, but once Jamie saw the mask from Shelby and Ian, that was the one he wanted)

The kids, dressed in their Halloween glory and in layers (Canadian tradition states the costume must be able to fit over snowsuits and/or sweaters and jackets), grabbed reuseable grocery bags (they weren't the only ones carrying them, I noticed) and headed out the door with Brian, while I sat on the front step handing out candy to the wandering masses...

So although I remain a somewhat less than entralled fan of Halloween, and am glad that it's over (other than the 50 pounds of candy the children are now trying to wade through), I am willing to put up with it all, just to see the happiness on my kids' faces...

Happy Halloween!

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

A Rant...

When it comes to this blog, I have generally kept the topics fairly light and easy going...talking about the kids, my recent obsession with Julia Child, discussing thirty years of living with diabetes...I have kept my opinions on certain topics (read: politics) to myself, not wanting to offend anyone with what I might happen to say here...

Well today, I have reached my breaking point and I don't flipping care if I offend anyone...

Like most people I know, I am on Facebook. A social network where I routinely read the political leanings of friends (most of whom I haven't seen in years, but who I still am interested in knowing and in hearing about their lives)...

For the past year or so, I have been very aware that my views are not shared by very many people who are listed as my "friends"...most of them (not all, but a lot of them) appear to be very left leaning when it comes to anything having to do with politics...

The following revelation will no doubt shock a few people who knew me years ago, and be a no-brainer for those who know me now...

I am a Conservative. Big f'in' C.

And frankly, I'm sick and tired of listening to the garbage that spews forth from the mouths of people who are on the left.

Our Prime Minister did a very cool thing on Saturday (October 3, 2009) and I have heard more shit about Stephen Harper playing the piano than even I thought possible. Are you jealous that you can't do it? Or are you so blinded by hatred for someone who hasn't done a thing to deserve the absolute venom spewed at him that you can't just say, hey, good one?

People on the left accuse people like me of being small minded, mean spirited, homophobic, anti-women, anti-immigrant...you name it, I'm it...because I happen to be a social and fiscal Conservative. Oh, I'm probably also against gun control and likely don't like apple pie or hummus...

Bullshit. All of it.

What I am, is fed up with this attitude that I am not entitled to hold the opinions I do because they disagree with yours. What I am, is fed up with a media that falls all over itself if Barack Obama smiles at a small child, continues to vilify George Bush, and yet somehow manages to fail to grasp the fact that Obama has left many of Bush's policies intact. (See the video below if you don't believe me)

I am fed up with the disrespect given to Canada's leader, because even if you didn't vote for Stephen Harper or his party, even if you can't stand the fact that the Conservatives are in power, you should damn well have respect for the fact that the man is leading your country.

And mostly, I am sick and tired of rude, obnoxious behaviour masquerading as political comment.

To quote Bon Jovi..."Have a nice day."

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Aack! Oink, Oink...

Friday, September 18, 2009...

The last day I felt truly well...

We had friends over for dinner that night and by the time they went home for the evening, my nose and throat had that itchy, scratchy, uh-oh I'm coming down with something feel to them...

By the next morning, I was definitely sick...

And have been for two weeks straight...

I kept hoping that I would wake up one morning and miraculously feel better, but alas, no such luck...

Brian forced me to go to the doctor on Thursday (ok, it wasn't that I was refusing to, I just hadn't been able to get in, but somehow Brian not only got through to the receptionist, he also managed to snag the last open appointment for me)...anyway, Thursday morning saw me sitting with our doctor, telling him my symptoms...low grade fever, aches, pains, chills, runny nose, stuffed up nose, cough (oh the coughing!), nausea...and guess what?

I have the flu...

The flu...

The one that everyone is afraid to say out loud because they think a hasmat team is going to come swooping down and quarantine entire neighbourhoods to try to save us all from the dreaded (ssh!) swine flu...

Now first off, I refuse to call it that bunch of numbers and letters that the media is calling it...everyone I know calls it swine flu (although I do have a nurse friend who says that at the hospital she works at, the staff is referring to it as "heiney"-which I like and have now used a few times myself)...and I know the reason for changing the name was because pig farmers were getting upset because people weren't buying as much pork (but hey, that meant cheaper meat for the rest of us who are smart enough to figure out that Canadian pigs were/are not to blame for this)...

Secondly, a few people have called up to make sure that I'm ok (I am) and wanting to discuss what it's like having swine flu...

It's like having the flu.

Brian, my husband, who is a reporter here in Ottawa, has had to cover swine flu extensively since this whole thing started up and so I believe him (over other media reports) when he tells me that the Chief Medical Officer of Canada says that swine flu killed less people than the seasonal flu last year and that it is no more severe than regular flu this year for most people...which is true every year. If you have an underlying medical condition, you are at a higher risk for getting it (which, being diabetic, means that I am in that category). The bigger problem comes if you develop pneumonia along with the flu (again, I had pneumonia last spring, so I'm more likely to get it again-but so far, my lungs are clear, something for which I am grateful) because you can go from being ok to very ill pretty quickly...but that is something that can happen with plain old flu too...

So. The moral of the story is: #1: Don't freak out if you hear the words "swine flu". Get as much rest as possible (not so easy in this house, but I'm trying) and #2: Don't listen to any other reporter but Brian Lilley. Seriously...

And now I'm going back to bed...

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Sometimes It Takes Me A Little While To Get It...

It has been over a month since I've updated this blog and in that time, school has started, Brian and I celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary, I have cleaned up more dog poop than I ever thought possible, I've wrangled with the kids about homework and have somehow managed to come down with another round of pneumonia...at least, I'm hoping it's pneumonia and not swine flu...

After nearly two weeks or recurring fever, persistent cough, aches, pains and chills, a nose that can't make up its mind whether to run profusely or to stay so plugged up I feel like my head is stuffed with cotton, my husband has decided that I am going to see our doctor tomorrow...

I am neither a good nurse nor a good patient...

I have also been grappling with the idea of what I want to do when I grow up...which may seem odd to some of you, since I am, by my own admission, past the 40-mark...and yet, I still wonder from time to time if I've made the right choices...

When I was 10 years old, I started a story about a soldier in World War I. I graphically described the muddy trench and the itchy wool uniform that the soldier wore, which was an interesting choice, because at the age of 10, I had absolutely no clue what I was talking about (technically, I still don't, never having been a soldier in WWI). I showed the story to my visiting grandmother, who told me that I should be a writer.

In high school english classes, I had teachers who told me that I had a good voice, that I told stories beautifully and that I should consider being a writer.

In university drama classes, I had a professor who insisted that I and my classmates keep journals...in one entry (I still have the journal from that time), I ranted about not being cast in a play. I was very upset at the time and demanded (albeit only of the journal) to know if writing my own plays would be the only way I would ever get cast in something (it wasn't). The note I got back from the prof? "You should be a writer."

I ignored all of the advice and got married, had four kids and found that the life I had chosen for myself was pretty good and made me very happy...the only thing I ever wrote was a couple of stories for my kids and emails to friends and family, and maybe a few thank you notes and Christmas cards along the way...

So last week, with all four kids settled back into a routine at school, I decided to take some time and figure out what I was meant to do with my life/talents. I sat down at the computer, typed "what career should I have" into the Google search bar and found page after page of online questionnaires all designed to give me insight into my personality...questions to help me figure out if I should be going back to school...maybe I should be a doctor? A lawyer? Teacher? What, oh what, is my true calling?

Three tests later, the answer was the same from all three...

You should be a writer.

Sigh...

You know, the novel might be done by now if I'd listened to Gram in the first place...

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

I May Be Going A Tad Overboard...

...but like I said last week, I have been completely inspired by the movie "Julie & Julia"...



Now see, I normally do the cooking around here, not because Brian doesn't want to, doesn't like to or is incapable of cooking (in fact, he's pretty good, if I may say so)...no, the problem is me. I have always thought of myself as a fairly non-picky eater, but that, alas, is not true. I'm also pretty bad at hiding my emotions, so when I put something in my mouth and I don't immediately think, WOW, whoever has done the cooking is bound to notice my less than appreciative response (this despite 25 some odd years of theatre training and experience)...

That person is, of course, Brian...and my sorry reactions to some of the things he has cooked has led him to avoiding the kitchen most of the time, at least when it comes to food prep...

This is not just my (very) public apology to my husband,...but my confession too, because, as has been mentioned (just a few times), we went to see "Julie&Julia" last week and since then I have become a wee bit obsessed with learning the proper way to poach an egg, make hollandaise sauce (no blenders, thank you very much), and discover the difference between shallots, green onions and yellow onions (I was under the impression, for some reason, that shallots were more like green onions than yellow ones, but it turns out it's the other way around) and I have spent a chunk of every day attempting to expand my repertoire of recipes...I have my usual lasagna (that the kids and Brian rave about) and ice cream cakes and meatloaf (ground red peppers added to it for extra moisture and flavor)...but like most people, I have the same few meals that I make over and over, especially the ones I know the kids will eat without too much fuss (and yes, they do have to try the food, even if they look at it and pronounce it "the most disgusting thing that has ever existed on the planet Earth"-thank you Ian)...

This week, however, has found me with my nose buried in more than a few cookbooks, mainly the Martha Stewart Original Classics that has been on my shelf for over half a year, but whose spine has barely been cracked...Brian, who gave me the book (and has picked up at least four more cookbooks from the library), has not complained about how much time I've spent cooking, mainly because he has been the willing and eager recipient of my experiments (even a few that I've made up myself!)...

The strange thing about all of this has been that I actually feel like sharing all of this with my husband...not just the eating part of the food, but the actual cooking of it...

Our only problem now lies in the fact that our kitchen is so small two people cannot possibly cook comfortably in there (unless bumping into one another and doing the "pardon-me-excuse-me-you're-in-my-way-dance" is your idea of cooking heaven)...but maybe, just maybe, I can ease up on my control freak tendencies enough to let Brian regain his joy of cooking too...

And all of this from one little movie...

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

I Made...


...MAYONNAISE!!

Yes, I know I'm yelling...but hey, I MADE MAYONNAISE!

From scratch people...

I told you I was inspired...

In case you're wondering, I used Julia Child's recipe...but since I really like Martha Stewart (I don't care what anyone says), I'm going to try her recipe next...that way we can do a side-by-side taste comparison...but let me tell you, the homemade stuff is fantastic...

With all due respect to Hellman's and Kraft, I am never buying the stuff again...

Monday, August 24, 2009

Mummy In A Modern World...aka...My Sister...

My sister...ok, I should qualify that...one of my sisters (because I have two) has her own blog...I read it today and have to say thank you to her. Shelley wrote about feeling guilty about sitting in front of the computer while her three year old watched some tv, and I want to say thank you for something she wrote...

I'm saying thank you, because she used the phrase "work outside the home" mother to describe herself and others who hold jobs outside the house.

I love it.

I love that particular phrase because the usual term is "working mother"...and I take issue with that...ask any stay home mother if she works and the answer is, damned right I do...in fact, my husband has told me on more than one occasion that he couldn't do my job (and sometimes he tells me this even when I haven't been nagging him to help out a bit more!)...

"Working mother" implies that those women who go off to jobs are working hard, while those of us who, for whatever reason, have decided to stay home with our kids are sitting around on our behinds all day doing nothing but watching Oprah and eating bonbons...and I think that the term does a huge disservice to women, because then suddenly the work outside the home mothers are pitted against the stay home mothers and everyone ends up with their feelings hurt and feeling defensive about which choices they've made...

So kudos to my sister...and go check out her blog...mummyinamodernworld

Friday, August 21, 2009

Julie & Julia vs. Martha...

I went to see "Julie & Julia" this week with my husband and came out of the theatre feeling inspired to get back into the kitchen. Although I usually do most of the cooking around here, mainly because I'm a pretty picky eater, in summer, I generally develop an aversion to slaving over a hot stove and we end up eating endless amounts of salads and anything - and I do mean anything - that can be grilled on the bbq...

And so, with Julie Powell (she of the "Julie" in the title of the movie, book and original blog) in mind, I started hunting around for my own copy of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking"...and in the process picked up the Martha Stewart book that Brian had given me for Christmas last year...

As I perused the pages of Martha's tome (The Martha Stewart Living Cookbook - The Original Classics), I came to a conclusion...

Julie Powell was a wimp.

Her story is pretty well known now, what with Nora Ephron and Amy Adams bringing it to life. She decided, back in 2002, to attempt every single recipe in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year. That would be 536 recipes in 365 days.

Martha's book?

Over 1100 recipes.

More than double what Julie Powell did.

I thought about trying every recipe in The Original Classics, but I don't think I'm really that crazy.

Yet...

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Inspiration Strikes At The Movies...


Last night Brian and I went to see "Julie & Julia", the new Meryl Streep/Amy Adams movie and absolutely loved it...the only problem was that we went to a 10 pm showing and when the movie let out at 12:15 am, we were both hungry (all that food!) and wanted to rush home and start cooking something, anything! Brian also thought a glass of wine would be nice (french cooking and wine on display...do you think we're maybe a little prone to the power of suggestion?), but alas, we had no wine in the house and I thought cooking up a large meal at that time of the night bordered a little on crazy, so we let the dogs out and then went to bed...



This morning, however, I am still itching to get into the kitchen and so I am heading off to Chapters (apologies to die hard fans of the small, local bookstore, we have no such beast in my end of town) to scope out "Mastering the Art of French Cooking"...I don't think I'll go as crazy as Julie Powell did and try to cook every single recipe in the book in a year (I still have four very picky eaters to feed here), but who knows?

So, if you haven't seen the movie, I highly recommend it...it's one of the few movies I've seen where I want to go back and see it a second time...come to think of it, that was last summer when I went to see "Mamma Mia" (another Streep movie) with my sister ...maybe there's a reason that woman has won so many Oscars, hmm?

Trust me, go see it...you'll either want to move to Paris, cook up a storm, drink a glass of wine, eat or all of the above...

Bon Appétit!

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Is Hell Freezing Over?...

...because we are going on a date...an actual-just-the-two-of-us-no-children-anywhere-in-sight-date...

Ok, it's just a movie, but it's one that is not animated, does not require four backhoes worth of popcorn to get through and is one where we won't have to answer fifty million questions about what that guy said and why that girl is holding a stick...

It will be a very strange experience, to say the least...

I wonder if I'll still be awake at the end of the previews?

Monday, August 17, 2009

Meet Max...


...the latest member of the Lilley clan who joined us Sunday afternoon...

For a few years now, Brian and I have talked about getting a second dog. Murphy, our rottweiler/border collie cross, has been with us since November 1997. She will be 12 years old next month and we thought (ok, I thought and eventually Brian came around to my way of thinking) that a second dog would be a good idea to ease the pain of separation from Murphy that is coming sooner rather than later...

Last week Avery, who turns seven on Saturday, came to me and said, "Mommy the only thing I want for my birthday is a puppy..."...spoken very winningly and with sad, puppy dog eyes I might add...

So I spent last week looking around and trying to convince Avery that getting an older dog might be a better way to go. Without going into the gory details of what happens to dogs who don't find homes, I told her that quite often older dogs don't get new families because everyone always wants puppies.

She didn't buy it.

On Saturday morning, Brian was talking with a neighbour and jokingly told her that if she knew of anyone who had puppies for sale to let us know...

Joke's on him...she did know someone. And gave him the phone number. Which he called. And told the guy on the phone that he would like the last puppy he had. (See, he tells everyone that the reason we have Murphy is because of me, things I said...he's not pinning this one on me, people!)

So yesterday we piled the kids into the car and told them we were going out. "Where?" they all wanted to know. "It's a surprise," we said.

Just over an hour later, we pulled into a driveway, got out of the car and met the most adorable little black lab puppy and fell instantly in love...

Look into those eyes...come on, you're falling for him too, aren't you?

On the drive home we tossed around a bunch of names (including street names as we passed under their signs) and finally settled on Max. (Jamie wanted to give him the middle name of "Pablo", but the others quickly nixed that idea)

Murphy has accepted the pup with all the grace of the grand ol' dame she is...and it's very cute to watch little Max following along behind Murphy and copying everything she does. And I've never met such a quiet little dog...we actually slept through the night and didn't hear him whimper once...he slept right through the night...

Maybe he can train the kids to do that...

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Why There's Been Nothing New For Two Weeks...

So it's been nearly two weeks since my last post and to the six followers I have, I would like to apologize. Brian got home Saturday, August 1, and since then we have been trying to make up for the "worst summer vacation ever" (as proclaimed by our oldest, Ian)...to be fair, the weather has played a huge part in this summer's lack of activities that the kids want or can do...going swimming being the highest priority for all four of them. Call me crazy, but I still hold to the belief that you shouldn't be anywhere near water while lightening cracks and thunder rolls across the sky...my children do not agree with me.

Yesterday, the sun was not only shining, it was actually hot here in Ottawa...something that has not occurred since the end of June...and so we took the kids over to the wading pool by the public library to enjoy some summertime fun. Well, Brian took the kids, I dropped the five of them off and went to pick up a few groceries without having a constant tug on my arm or shirt and listening to one of four kids tell me why we absolutely have to have Dunkaroos (which, by the way, I have tasted and find truly disgusting) or any other form of junk food (don't get me wrong, we're not some sort of fanatical-we-only-eat-100%-pure-preservative-free-make-sure-no-one-was-harmed-in-the-making-of-this-food-people...I personally think that Cheetos are just fine on a Saturday night while we watch a family movie, I just don't happen to think kids need junk every day of their lives)...

On top of this, we spent the day Saturday at my sister and brother-in-law's cottage and have now been listening to lots and lots of requests for us to buy our own summer home (read: Ian, especially, won't stop asking, "Can we buy a cottage too?")...and now Avery is asking for a puppy for her upcoming birthday ("It's the only thing I want for my birthday...")...

And in the next week or so, despite Ian's very vocal objections, I am going to have to start shopping for back-to-school supplies. Our school board here in Ottawa has decided that school should start on August 31, instead of one week later, and Ian is absolutely beside himself with the knowledge that summer vacation is rapidly coming to an end...

I've also spent the last few days writing an article for Mercatornet.com, which will be posted next week. My editor (ahem, Brian) nagged me, I mean, asked me, to finish the article for this week...only to find out that the big boss wants it for next week's edition...anyway, the thing's done and when it's posted, I'll post a link for it here...ooh, look at me, being all fancy writer-like...ha!

So there's your update, folks...now I'm going out to enjoy some of that sunshine...at least until it starts raining again...

Thursday, July 30, 2009

But Wait...There's More...

I forgot to add to my list of things that have happened since Brian left for Scotland were a major, computer destroying virus (panicked texting to Scotland ensued - Brian's sister helped me fix it - thank you Karen!) and plugged to nearly overflowing toilets (how does one 5 year old boy manage to do that so many times? Seriously?)...

Two more days. Just two more days...

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Calgon, Take Me Away...


Since Brian left for Scotland a week ago, this is what I have had to deal with:

- painters, hired by the condo board, destroyed my vegetable garden
- the kitchen was flooded by the children seeking to fill water guns
- Jamie woke up at 1am Sunday morning, only to stay awake until 9 pm that night
- the following night, both girls were up in shifts for the entire night
- in the pouring rain, standing in Costco's parking lot, the children and I found the keys to the van - locked inside
- there is a dent in the dining room wall - from where it was kicked
- the same children who desperately needed to play with water guns in the hour and a half of sunshine we've had in the last two weeks, and who got so wet with said guns their clothes had to be wrung out before going in the laundry hamper, played outside under a cloudy sky for 20 minutes and then began yelling at the top of their lungs that it was raining and they were getting wet
- I have seriously considered changing the front door to a revolving one so I don't have to listen to it slam shut one more time
- and finally, the near constant to-the-death-I-hate-you-I'm-going-to-kill-you!- fighting amongst the children...Ian vs Jamie, Jamie vs Avery, Avery vs Emma, Emma vs Jamie, Ian vs Avery, etc...

All I'm gonna say is, there had better be a damned good gift coming back from Scotland...

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Your Menu, Madame...


Avery decided she wanted to run her own restaurant this morning, so she wrote up her own menu for the occasion...the spelling is all hers...

breakfast (ok, she asked how to spell that one)

-cerele
-tost
-bananas (I didn't help her spell this)
-watermole
-oranges (help was provided here)

lunch

-peanut butter sanwijs
-Hot Dogs
-Hambguers
-chese sanwijs
-butter sanwjs

Duiks

-milke (is she suddenly German?)
-water
-Jooos

Dusers

-Cookies

Eubonics lives on...

And for the record, I had tost and watermole...

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

How Many More Sleeps?

Brian is in Scotland for a week or so, visiting relatives and gearing up for his Gran's 100th birthday party on Saturday...and since it would cost close to $10,000 for all six of us to fly over, and we do not have that kind of cash just sitting around, that means I am home alone with four children on summer vacation.

It's only been two days since Brian left, but I know the kids are missing him (so am I, for the record), as can be witnessed from the following exchange...

Emma: "Is Daddy coming home today?"

Me: "No, honey, not today."

Emma: "What is the name of today?"

Me: "Um, Wednesday."

Emma: "Is Daddy coming home on a day called Wednesday?"

Me: "No, Emma, Daddy won't be home today. It'll be at least 5 more days before he comes home."

The big sigh that comes from her little mouth says it all...

Friday, July 10, 2009

What Every Dad Wants To Hear From His Daughter...


Last night after dinner, Avery was playing a game on Brian's laptop, when for some reason, it stopped working. She called out, asking for help. Brian headed down the hall to the living room, and as he got to the entrance to the room, he heard words that melted his heart:

"The hero that set me up is coming to fix it."

I admit to getting a little teary-eyed myself....

Cue Bette Midler...

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Happy Anniversary, Happy Anniversary, Happy Anniversary, H-a-p-p-y Anniversary...


Thirty years ago today, I sat in a doctor's office waiting to hear the results of the blood tests I had had done weeks earlier. After a two hour wait with my mother, I was more than a little cranky and only wanted to go home. The doctor spoke the words that would change my life forever:

"Now I know someone who was just diagnosed with diabetes, and she leads a perfectly normal life."

I was eleven years old at the time, but even then I knew that living with diabetes meant I was far from normal.

I was in the hospital for two weeks that July, while I learned the ins and outs of testing my urine for sugar and ketones (home blood testing was at least four years away then) and how to give myself insulin shots.

One afternoon, while I sat on my bed killing time until I could take a quick walk around the hospital's duck pond, a nurse came into my room, sat on the end of my bed and told me in her faltering English that I would not live to an old age.

For years, when recounting the story, I gave that nurse the benefit of the doubt: I always told people that if her English had been better (or my French better), that she would have finished her sentence with words along the lines of "...if you don't look after yourself..."

But, she didn't and I spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of panic. I didn't tell my parents or the attending physicians about my fears. But for an 11 year old, 20 seemed like the eipitome of old age...and so I spent my adolescence knowing that I was going to die some day...and some day soon. I never had that teenage I'm-going-to-live-forever-nothing-can-touch-me-I'm-invincible attitude that many of my peers had. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, just how short my time on earth was.

And then in April of 1988, I turned 20. I spent months wondering just when the end was going to come. I never shared my fears with anyone, because I knew they would never understand that I was preparing for my death, just when I was supposed to be starting my life.

Five years later I turned 25. I have a journal from that time, and the entry for my birthday that year starts off like this: "Today I am 25. I never thought I would live this long."

At 28, I met the man who is now my husband. He was (well, is) three and a half years younger than I am, and I thought it unfair to plan a future with him, because by then I figured I was living on borrowed time and that 30 would be the year that I died. In the meantime, he wanted to get married and have children (something that I had been told while still a teenager would probably not be possible for me...oh, sure, I could try to get pregnant, but the odds of me delivering a healthy baby and living myself were not very good...apparently this is why we have a dog today-I told my then-boyfriend that I would probably never be able to have kids and so we should get a dog to compensate. I do not remember ever making this statement, but it is Brian's story too, and that's the line he's sticking with...).

In March of 1998, I started to freak out about the fact that I was turning 30. Many friends and family thought it was because of the year itself. What none of them knew, including the boyfriend who had by then become the fiance, was that my fears about my demise began to consume my thoughts. I was in the middle of planning a wedding and felt like a fraud, because I was sure that, having been given the grace of an extra ten years, the ride was about to end, and how could I subject my soon to be new husband to that pain? I should just end it with him, let him off the hook easy...rather than make him have to plan a funeral.

By the time my 30th year was up and I was celebrating the fact that I was 31, I had decided to stop worrying about it. Pregnant with our first child, despite the doomsday predictions of 20 years earlier, I finally decided to stop fighting diabetes. For two decades I had tried to ignore it and punish my body for its betrayal of me. I drank my way through my 20's just like everyone else I knew. I smoked pot and cigarettes (briefly) and not only inhaled, revelled in the fact that I was doing something that would speed up the process of death. I took no notice of my blood sugar and ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

And yet, despite all the abuse I heaped upon myself, my body somehow managed to survive me. It gave my husband and I four beautiful children. It has laughed and loved for over four decades and even though it does not look like some supermodel's body, it is a beautiful thing and I am still learning what it is capable of doing.

Diabetes is a serious disease. The list of complications that can arise from having it is as long as my arm. But diabetes is not a cross for me. It is not a death sentence. Rather, for me, especially in the last ten years, it has become an affirmation of life...my life. Because of diabetes, I have actually stopped while walking down the street to smell the roses; I have lifted my face to the sky, just to feel the mist upon it; I have gazed in awe at the setting sun and realized just how small I am in the vastness of this wonderful world I live in...diabetes has made me appreciate the simple things in life...

The disease that was supposed to be my enemy and shorten my life has allowed me to live more fully than I ever thought possible and for that, I am eternally grateful.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Another phrase for the record book...


Last night after dinner, Jamie wanted me to play a round of "Snakes & Ladders". We still needed to clean up, so I told Jamie to go see Brian and tell him that if he would clean up the kitchen, then I would be able to play the game with Jamie.

Jamie came back and dutifully reported his father's response...

"Mama," he said. "Daddy says to stop using your children as barbecue chips."

Friday, June 26, 2009

I Am Curious...


...about who taught my 6-years-old-just-finished-grade-1-daughter to belt out Alice Cooper songs?

"School's out for summer!" is all we've heard from Avery since she got home yesterday...and I know it wasn't me or Brian...

I'm also pretty sure she thinks Alice is just a nice young lady who wrote a song about being on summer vacation...

Friday, June 12, 2009

Oh me, oh my...

So after the "marriage" talk in the car last night, I went out to pick up a few groceries while Brian put the kids to bed.

There was a bit of a kerfuffle when Jamie realized that I wasn't there, because he had wanted to tell me something.

"Well, why don't you tell me?" Brian asked.

"Because you're not Mama," Jamie answered (quite logically, I thought, when the story was retold to me). "I wanted to tell Mommy something."

"Well, I'm just like Mama," said Brian, trying to convince our youngest son that he was a good substitute for me. "Aren't I?"

"No!" Both boys answered their father...and then proceeded to give him a list of the reasons why he was not me.

"First," said Ian. "You're a man, not a woman."

"Number two," added Jamie. "You have a beard here," pointing to Brian's five o'clock shadow.

"And you don't have these thing-a-ma-jigs," said Ian, pointing to his chest.

"Thing-a-ma-jigs?" Brian was breathless, trying to choke back his laughter.

"And," said Ian, with a finality that ended the conversation, "You have a willy, not a line here." (pointing to his own front)

We're still trying to pick Brian up off the floor.

Here Comes The Bride...


My daughter Avery is getting married.

Bear in mind that she is only six and a half years old.

Last night on the way home from soccer, Avery put her soccer ball under her shirt, and laughingly told the rest of us that she was having a baby.

Then she said "I'm 20 and I'm having a baby!"

"You'd better not be 20 and having a baby," I warned her.

"Why not?" Avery asked.

"Uh, because 20 is a bit young to be having babies. Daddy and I would like you to be a wee bit older than that," I answered her. "Plus, we'd like you to be married first, too."

(Don't anyone get their knickers in a knot here, we make no bones about the fact that we are practicing Catholics and we're not going to change our preferences to be more politically correct-yes, we know that people get pregnant before they get married...I am a product of one such union, so let's move along, shall we?)

"I am going to be married," announced my daughter. "To Matthew."

"Fillman?" I croaked. (Matthew is our next door neighbor.)

I said the first thing that popped into my head.

"But he's not Catholic," I told Avery. (see note above for any of you getting hot under the collar-besides, I was joking-we are not going to disown our kids if they marry non-Catholics-for crying out loud, I've only been one for 4 years...)

"That's ok," said Avery, smiling serenely. "He can become one."

"Um, does Matthew know about this plan?" I asked.

"No," answered Avery.

"Well, are you going to let him in on it?" I asked, trying not to laugh out loud.

"I'll let him know when I'm 7," Avery informed me.

"Ah, I see," I said. "And have you set a date for this momentous occasion?"

"September 1," Avery answered. "Some year."

And that is when I did laugh.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

The Saga Continues...

So after dealing with pneumonia for the last three weeks, I went to the dentist yesterday morning with my daughters. They both got a thumbs-up, as neither of them had any cavities or any problems with their teeth. I too, got a good report as far as having cavities, but when my dentist took a look at the two top teeth (I have no idea what their technical name is), she gave me a horrified glance and said, "Ok, we need to take an x-ray of that tooth!"

Now the thing is this...a few years ago, one of my children (I think it might have been Jamie) head butted me while sitting on my lap. At the time, I went to see my dentist because the top teeth felt a bit loose to me. And in fact, they had been slightly loosened from the blow. During that visit, Dr. Telang told me that she had seen a lot of mothers who came in with chipped teeth or missing them altogether...the cause? Their children. (Fathers apparently don't suffer the same fate as mothers and I'm not sure why this is...maybe they don't hold their kids as often? Or maybe it's because they are more aware of the potential for danger and keep their heads well away from the aforementioned children?)...

The teeth in question healed just fine.

A few weeks ago, another child managed to throw her head back (yes, this time it was Emma), and hit me square in the mouth. She cried, I yelled, all seemed to be fine.

And then I noticed (around the time I was dealing with the pneumonia) that my top teeth seemed to be a bit looser than the surrounding teeth. I decided to wait until my dentist's appointment to bring the matter up...which led to the x-ray taken yesterday morning.

And then I learned that not only was I not imagining the teeth being looser than usual, but I would have to exist on a soft food diet. No biting into anything. Not even a sandwich. For ten days. After the ten days are up, I am to check the teeth again, and if there is no improvement, then I have to go back to the dentist, whereupon I may be sent to a root canal specialist.

I took the girls to school and then went home and complained loudly to my husband about the diagnosis and the diet prescription. Brian suggested that I should try Boost (a meal replacement drink thingy).

Last night for dinner, while trying to eat a hamburger (On a bun. Cut into tiny pieces. With a knife and fork.), I casually asked my husband what exactly was involved in a root canal. He put down his fork and pointing to his front tooth, he began, "Well, they drill up through..."

That was as far as he got before I yelled something incoherent and jumped up out of my chair.

"Now are you on board with the soft food diet?" he asked me calmly.

Yes...yes, I am...

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

What A Month...

I haven't posted a thing here in three weeks, and this time I cannot blame the children for it. Nope, this time, I place the blame squarely on the pneumonia that I somehow came down with at the end of April.

For two weeks, I ran a low-grade fever, had a cough, had no appetite and felt such low energy that it was difficult to climb out of bed every morning. During this time, Brian was at constant swine-flu updates. By the end of the first week, he started telling me to go to the doctor. Neither one of us believed that the H1N1 virus (as it came to be known by the media, due to fears that pigs were somehow going to be offended that a disease was named after one of their bretheren), but we knew something was up...or rather, Brian felt that something wasn't quite normal; I kept insisting that it was just a normal cold and that it was running the same way that any cold I have developed over the last three or four years had gone.

About ten days in, just to make my husband happy (read: get him to stop nagging me), I went to a walk-in clinic near our house. I had to take Emma and Jamie with me, and we sat in the waiting room for an hour, while I hacked into my sleeve and the other patients eyed me warily. The twins were none to happy to have to sit and do nothing, and kept demanding that we leave because "they're not even calling you in, Mama!"...I was just about to give in to their demands (and was thinking up ways to explain my leaving to Brian) when my name was called.

Emma, Jamie and I walked into the examining room, and I had them wait there while I made a two minute run to the bathroom (8 glasses of water in less than 6 hours will do that to you)...when I got back to the room, we waited for another five minutes or so and then the doctor came in. I explained to her about the fever, the weird sensation in my left ear, about how I didn't think it was swine flu, and that while neither my husband (the reporter, for those of you new here) nor I thought it was the virus, I thought I should get checked out (especially since I am also a type 1 diabetic).

I was asked if I had come in contact with anyone who had it, and I said, truthfully, "I don't know."

"Well," said the doctor. "Then you don't have it."

Which is lovely to hear, but how on earth would she know? I mean, if I didn't know if I'd been in contact with anyone who had swine flu, and the media was rampant with reports of how easy it was to catch it, how the hell would she be able to say definitively, no?

Moving right along, she listened to the top part of my lungs and told me that I had a cold. She gave me a prescription for a puffer (not sure if there's a more technical term for it) and that was it.

I saw her for less time than it took me to go pee.

She didn't look in my ears, check my temperature, take blood, do a swab...nothing but the puffer prescription.

I left, Emma and Jamie in tow, thinking, man, I should just have gone to see Dr. Barry. (He being our family physician, where there is also a walk-in clinic, but they had said they were extremely busy that particular day, and Barry wasn't in anyway)

That was on Tuesday.

By Friday morning, I still wasn't feeling any better, despite the puffer. (And in fact, I think I may have been slightly allergic to it, since every time I took the prescribed dose, I ended up feeling so dizzy I couldn't stand straight) I had an appointment with a different doctor at our regular doctor's office, and so when I got there, I asked about the walk-in clinic and found out that since I was the first one in the office that morning, I would be able to see someone without having to wait for hours on end.

After my first appointment, I sat in the waiting room for five minutes and then saw a lovely young lady (who I thought looked way too young to be a doctor, until she generously showed me the many grey hairs sprouting from the top of her head)...she looked in my ears, checked my temperature, and listened to my entire lungs...and lo, and behold, what she discovered was that I had fluid in my ears (hence the strange sensation there), a low grade fever (nearly two full weeks after the original onset of symptoms) and fluid in the lower regions of my lungs.

The diagnosis?

Atypical pneumonia...aka "walking pneumonia".

I was given a prescription for antibiotics (which worked very well, thank you very much) and told to keep using the puffer.

Without being told, I also learned that I should #1: trust my husband when he tells me something's wrong, and B: never go to that other walk-in clinic again.

There's tons more that's gone on this month that has kept me from updating here...but I'll let you in on that tomorrow...

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Somehow It's Hard to Retort...



Emma: "When will it be summer vacation?"

Me: "In about a month and a half."

Emma: "Well I don't want to go to school anymore."

Me: "Well you have to go...you have to...learn things..."

Emma: "I already learned everything!"

Oh to have the self-confidence of a 5 year old...

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Things That Send Me Over The Edge...


...that whining you keep doing because you want to go to the train museum, after being told that today is not the day we are going...

...making me follow through on the ridiculous punishment that came out of my mouth when you stuck your tongue out at me, after refusing to do what you were told...

...having to repeat the same thing at progressively louder volume because you seem to have miraculously turned stone deaf...

...watching you spin around the room, arms wide, dancing to the Barbie music...

...sigh...my girls are killin' me...

Friday, May 1, 2009

"Don't Stop Believin'...

...hold on to that feelin'!"

Nothin' funnier than watching four kids jump around the room, shaking their bums to Journey...

God bless Adam Sandler, that's all I have to say...

Friday, April 24, 2009

Happy Birthday to Me...


I am 41 years old today.

For the last few years, many people have asked me when I'm going to start lying about my age. Last year it seemed a lot of my friends and family thought I would be celebrating my second "39th" birthday, and seemed surprised when I told them emphatically, "Oh no! I am turning 40! I've been telling Brian for ten years that I expect a blowout for my 40th and if I don't actually turn 40, how can I get a big party?"

This year again, several people have asked if I am going to fudge the truth of my years and again I feel as though I am some sort of maverick when I state that I am proud of my 41 years and feel no need to hide from the turning of the calendar pages.

My children can't believe that I'm as old as I am, but then none of them have even hit double digits yet, so they have a hard time trying to imagine what it must mean to be my age (and while I may not be afraid or ashamed of my age, at least the kids no longer ask if the dinosaurs were still walking the earth when I was a child).

My parents called this morning to wish me a happy birthday and even they seemed surprised when I told them that I did not feel 41.

"You don't?" my mother asked, almost incredulously, I thought.

"No," I replied, and then we went on with the rest of our conversation.

But after I had hung up the phone, I started wondering, what is 41 supposed to look and feel like? When I was a kid (and even into my early 20s), 41 seemed as ancient as the hills in the valley I grew up in. By 41, humans were starting to fall apart. Grunting to sit down or get up out of a chair, needing glasses to read the paper, grey hair, wrinkles, sensible shoes and old lady hair styles...this is what I thought being past the age of 40 was supposed to look like.

Thankfully, other than needing glasses (and I'll blame genetics, not age for that one), none of those things have come to pass. I don't feel old, and I suppose that goes a long way toward helping me feel like I'm just getting started on this crazy journey we call life. Quite often I get comments like, "Wow! You don't look like you're that old!"...and while the comments are nice, it proves to me that none of us really knows what this age is supposed to look like.

As far as my looks go, I can thank good genes for that one too...and for the fact that because I'm so pasty white (in fact, my husband has told me that he could read without a lamp if I was to sit next to him), I have usually tried to keep my face covered (when you can get a sun burn just by thinking about going outside, it's a good idea to not only wear the spf lotion, but a hat too)...and other than about a month or so in my youth, I am not a smoker...all of which, according to the experts, will help me retain my "youthful" appearance...

But see, the thing is this, and I don't think I'm alone when I say this...I would not go back to my 20's if someone offered me all the money in the world. I still have one or two of the old insecurities that pop out from time to time, but they show up less and less as time goes by. Overall though, I am much happier now than I was then. I am stronger, not because some bad things happened and I survived them, but because of those things, I thrived. I have learned that sometimes I do not have to convince someone else that my opinion is the right one (and trust me, that lesson was, and is, a really hard lesson to learn). I have learned that I am beautiful, not because my husband or children or my family and friends tell me so, but because I can look in the mirror and see my beauty and accept it for myself. And I have learned that what the world tells me I should do and be and think is not nearly as important as what I hold to be true.

And that is a birthday gift worth unwrapping...

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

A Moment in the Day...


I went to get Jamie and Emma off the bus today and had the following conversation...

Me: "So how was school today, guys?"

Jamie: "It was good. I got to play."

Emma: "I didn't get to play, so it was bad."

Me: "Why didn't you get to play?"

Emma: "Because I was singing with Mr. Hamer."

Me: "You didn't get to play because you were singing with Mr. Hamer?"

Emma: "Yeah. Mr. Hamer is the singing guy."

Me: "So you got to sing with Mr. Hamer and the other kids? That must have been fun. You like to sing and you have a beautiful voice."

Emma: "I didn't get to use my beautiful voice because all the other kids were singing so I didn't get to use my beautiful voice."

Me: "You didn't get to use your 'beautiful voice'?"

Emma: "No. But we're a team."

Me: "Who's a team?"

Emma: "We are."

Me: "You mean you and me? We're a team?"

Emma: "Yeah, you and me, we're a team. Can Jamie sing?"

Me: "Oh yes, Jamie can sing. He has a beautiful voice too you know. He can be on our team too."

Emma: "Yeah, he can be on our team too, but he has to sing with his beautiful voice when I sing with my beautiful voice too."

If only she was always that sweet and accommodating...

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Colors of the Rainbow...

Today is a magenta day.

This is a term my sisters and I came up with many moons ago (read: when we were still very young and foolish aka teenagers) to describe the mood I am in today.

Magenta is a combination of colors...I'm not really depressed, so I'm not black; I'm not really sad, so I'm not blue; not jealous, so I'm not green; not angry, so not red; I'm not happy, so not yellow...just kind of a mixture of all of it...

It could be the weather...the cold, wet rain does nothing except make me want to stay in bed with the covers wrapped tightly around me...it could be the expense of having to fix the car, it could be that it's only Tuesday and I wish that it was the end of the week...

Whatever the reason, I am magenta today.

I hate magenta moods.

And then five year old Jamie and Emma came home from school and asked me how old I am.

"I will be 41 on Friday," I told them.

"What? 41?! That's too old to be you Mama!" they exclaimed.

So either they think I look much younger than I am or they just cannot conceive of anyone being that old...

I'm going to go with the first choice...because, bless their little hearts, they help turn magenta into yellow...

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Why?

Why won't the kids play outside, now that the sun is finally shining and it is warm?

Why are my children complaining that it is too hot outside to play?

Why is my front door never kept closed?

Why are all the parents in my neighborhood standing at their kitchen windows with the same look of panic?

Summer vacation is closer than we think, people...

Monday, April 6, 2009

Long Drives and Children...


This weekend we had to travel from Ottawa, Ontario to Hamilton, Ontario (please note, for those of you not from Canada, that Ottawa and Hamilton are located in the same province-you will understand why in a few moments) to attend a funeral.

Usually, the trip from Ottawa to Hamilton can be made in approximately 5 1/2 hours, slightly more or less time depending on how the driver is feeling on that particular day.

It took us eight hours.

Now, to be fair, the weather was not the greatest for driving...pouring rain started about 45 minutes or so into the drive, and did not stop until well after we had landed in Hamilton. And for some reason, the harder the rain came down, the faster (and stupider-is stupider a word? It is now...) the other drivers went. Do trucks really need to be passing each other doing over 120 km an hour in rain so thick you can barely see them? Really?

Weather aside, there were four children trapped in the van with us. Three of those children were happy to be out of school for at least an extra day. Avery was most definitely not happy about missing her chance to count to 100 in french in front of her class. Ian was not happy to have to share the back seat with his younger brother. Emma was not happy to be awake before noon. Jamie was not happy to have to sit still for longer than five minutes. And Brian and I were not happy that we had to listen to the four of them complain. A lot. And answer numerous questions about whether Hamilton was in Canada too, just like Ottawa (as previously mentioned, it is).

By Saturday morning, the weather had cleared. It was cold, but at least the rain had stopped. We went to the funeral in the morning, where I'm proud to say that my children were on their best behavior. They seemed to actually get the gravity of the situation, even if they did not fully understand why we were at the funeral. Later, we joined the rest of Brian's family as they gathered together to remember Barry and share a few laughs and tears over things he had said and done during his life.

There was a buffet and a large number of people in one room, where my boys, after having proved they could be quiet, decided the time had come shake things up a little bit. They weren't really that bad, but I felt that trying to strangle one another and yelling, "I'm going to kill you!" just after a funeral was a tad inappropriate.

Brian gave his father and stepmum a ride home, and since they had very generously (or foolishly, depending on how you look at things) offered to look after the kids for us for a bit, the four lovely Lilley children left with Daddy, Grandda and Granny to give Mama a bit of breathing room.

Now for those of you who don't know, Hamilton is situated on Lake Ontario. While Lake Ontario is the second smallest of the five great lakes in North America, it is still a very big body of water. Coming down the mountain in Hamilton, the sun was shining, making the lake look very blue. My children (who have seen Lake Ontario more than a few times), all exclaimed excitedly, and loudly, "Look, Daddy! I see the ocean!"

Brian tried several times to explain that what they were looking at was not the ocean, but in fact just a lake, a big one, yes, but a lake nonetheless.

They refused to believe him.

On Sunday as we were leaving Hamilton, Jamie excitedly told me again that he could see the ocean. As I told him that it was not an ocean, it was a lake, he told me, quite adamantly that it was not a lake, it was an ocean. Avery joined in the conversation, claiming she could see Ottawa from where she was (the same Ottawa that was/is a minimum of 5 hours away and much further north)...

As we drove from Hamilton towards Toronto, Brian pointed out the CN Tower, standing strong and proud on the horizon. Jamie asked me how I had managed to drive so fast back to Canada. And no matter how many times we told him otherwise, he just couldn't seem to get that we had never once left Canada.

Either he doesn't believe we would tell him the truth, or his teachers are in for a big shock when they try to teach him geography in a few years...

Monday, March 30, 2009

When Pulling The Covers Over Your Head Is The Only Viable Option...

My brain is fried.

I am exhausted.

It's the middle of the afternoon.

And it's only Monday...

Man, it's gonna be a long week...

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Question...


Is it considered poor parenting if you think about dropping one (or four) of your children off a cliff?

Not actually doing it, of course, but having the thought run through your head?

Sigh...

I love them...

Really, I do...

Monday, March 23, 2009

It Must Be Monday...


My children hate me.

Not really, but some days it seems as though they have formed a club whose sole mandate is to drive me around the bend.

These people have been off school for over a week (if you count the first weekend of March break-and I do, since they were at home for those days), have had brilliant weather for most of it (yes, it's been a tad chilly for the last four days, but the sun has been out even then), and Jamie has asked me every single morning, "Is today a school day?" and has then repeated the question before climbing into bed at night, "Will tomorrow be a school day?"...each time leading me to believe that he actually wanted to go to school...

So why did Brian have to pick the child up, carry him out the front door and onto to the school bus this morning, while the young charmer yelled at the top of his lungs the entire way, "I don't want to go to school!"?

I'm surprised the neighbors still talk to us with the amount of noise that comes from our house...

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

March Break Is Not Really A "Break" At All...


It has been over a week since I posted anything...and once again, I am going to place complete blame on my children.

I know, I know, bad mommy...which is what Emma has been saying to me over and over for weeks on end...my daughter has yet to leave the baby jaguar routine behind, but she is (thankfully) sleeping through the night again...

We are on March break here (aka spring break), and Brian has taken this week for vacation as well...and I was looking forward to a nice, quiet week with the kids and my husband. We would celebrate Emma and Jamie's 5th birthday (which came yesterday, on St. Patrick's Day), go to the library or a movie or two, and clean out the basement, which has turned into a self-regenerating junk pile.

By now I should know better than to plan anything around here.

Every single day has been filled with something that was not on my list of "to-do's"...and while I really shouldn't complain about the weather, I'm about to...since the weather is yet another reason why I haven't gotten around to crossing things off my list...it's been absolutely beautiful here since Sunday afternoon (can't remember further back than that, so Saturday may have been nice too and I've just blocked it out)...and who wants to trudge around in the dungeon when the sun is shining and the temperature has been above freezing for the first time since October?

We've also been smack dab in the middle of one of those crazy weeks where there is one obligation or another every single day...between Brian, me and the kids, the only day this week for the six of us to relax together is Sunday...the day before March break ends and they are all off to work and/or school again...

I'm going to need a break from my break...

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

He Might Be Ready...I'm Not...


My son Ian, who is eight years old, has his first crush.

Altogether now...awwwww...

For the last week and a half, Ian has been "meeting" his friend Skylar on Club Penguin (if you don't know what Club Penguin is, count your blessings, or check out my post about it, filed under Kids-titled "Some Days You Just Won't Win...). Skylar is in Ian's class at school, and having met the girl, I can see why my boy is smitten. Skylar is a very pretty, if a bit taller than Ian, young lady.

I'm not quite sure how Ian and Skylar came to know that they both like to frequent the Club Penguin website, since Ian likes to keep to himself most of the time. However it came about, my son has been on the phone talking to a girl, while meeting her in a frozen penguin town in cyberspace.

This morning I finally asked the question I had been avoiding for the last few days.

"Ian," I queried as he was putting his boots on to head out the door to school. "Do you like Skylar?"

The goofy grin and ducking his head down into his chest kind of gave him away, but he answered, "I don't know..."

"Ian, it's ok to like girls you know," I told my blushing 8 year old. "You're at the age when it starts."

"Oh," he said. "I didn't know that."

"Well, maybe you can talk to Daddy about it too," I said. "He used to be a little boy like you."

"Oh, yeah," Brian said, coming into the conversation. "I had my first crush on a girl when I was in grade 3 too."

The two of them went out the door to the bus, and so I didn't hear the rest of the conversation, but as I watched them through the window, my heart did little flip flops...first, because I thought, my baby has a crush on a girl. And then I thought, my baby has his first crush on a girl...

The little hussy better treat him right, that's all I'm saying...

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Every Day One of Them Says Something...


Any time that Ian sees Brian and I display any form of affection for one another, like the times we give each other a kiss (and I'm not talking about any big, wet, sloppy, inappropriate-for-the-children-to-see kisses here - just a quick joining of lips), he scrunches up his nose and yells at the top of his lungs, "E-e-e-w-w-w!"...which is probably normal for an almost-nine year old boy who still thinks that girls have cooties...

This morning Brian and I stood in the kitchen, sharing a few precious seconds together. Arms wrapped around one another, we gave each other a kiss. Through the pass-through window to the dining room, Avery watched us from where she sat at the table drawing.

"Avery," I asked. "Does this gross you out?" (thinking of Ian's usual reaction).

"No," she replied. "It beauties me out."

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

I Was Wrong....

...I really, really hate doing taxes.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Blech.

I hate doing taxes.

'Nuff said...

Sunday, March 1, 2009

I Was Only Kidding...


For the past two weeks, Avery has been asking us if she can take dance classes. First it was hip hop, then it was Irish and/or Scottish dancing, then it was ballet. Ballet was the one she really seemed to stick with, so we started looking around to see what kind of classes (read: how much will it cost us?)there are here in town.

On Friday, she came home from school, and excitedly announced that what she really wanted was to play soccer. The following conversation occurred that night during dinner...

Brian: "So Avery, you want to play soccer now?"
Avery: "Uh-huh."
Me: "I thought you wanted ballet classes?"
Avery: "I changed my mind."
Brian: "What changed your mind?"
Avery: "Well, my friend Madison plays soccer and besides, ballet dancers are always hungry..."
Brian (trying not to choke on his dinner while laughing) "What? Who told you that?"
Avery (pointing at her mother who was having difficulty swallowing her own food): "Mama did...and I don't want to be hungry. So I want to play soccer. Soccer players aren't hungry all the time..."

Brian looked over at me, laughing and said, "You told her that?"

"Avery," I finally sputtered. "I was only kidding..."

Avery: "Ooooh...I didn't know that..."

Which just goes to show that 6 year olds don't always get the joke...

Friday, February 27, 2009

It's Going to be a Long 40 Days and Nights...

This week saw the beginning of Lent...that time of year when some of us take a few moments to ponder what it is we will give up in the name of Jesus to somehow make ourselves a little holier. For some people, every Ash Wednesday brings the annual chocolate, coffee or wine break...for others it's choosing to spend 40 days trying to be more God-like through prayer or fasting.

And me? This year I decided to give up yelling at the kids for forty days and nights. I figured if Jesus could go without food and sleep in the desert for that long, I should be able to do something this simple, right?

I can hear you laughing, you know...

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

It's Awfully Quiet In Here...

Emma woke up around 2:45 am this morning and crawled into bed with us. Although she has been sleeping through the night since we switched her medication last week, for some reason she was awake for about two hours today.

She woke up with no problems and went off to school quite happily with her brothers and sister.

At some point this morning, that cheerful little girl left the building and was replaced by a frightful creature who prefers spitting and hitting to hugs and kisses. I realized that my daughter was exhausted and sent her off to bed for a wee nap (this after she tried to physically remove Jamie's head from his body because he was playing on Club Penguin and Emma wanted her turn...)...

And as I sit her typing, I realize that it is eerily quiet in this house...and that this peaceful moment is merely a foretaste of what every day will be like in a couple of years, when all four children are in school all day long...

I'm not really sure I'm going to like it...

Thursday, February 19, 2009

My Kingdom for a Good Night's Sleep...


It's been a few days since my last post, and the only excuse I have is that my darling youngest daughter, Emma, has turned into a snarling, hitting, spitting baby jaguar...one that I am ready to return to the jungle...

Emma is not sleeping at night, due to the new medication she is on for ADHD. Please do not yell at me that I shouldn't have her on meds, or that they will cause brain cancer. They don't. And as someone who has ADHD, I can tell you that the difference between being on the drugs and not being on them is like the difference between dial-up and high-speed internet connections.

Emma's twin brother, Jamie, is also on ADHD meds, and the difference between Jamie before and Jamie after is like night and day...he is not drugged out of his mind, but he can now sit at the dinner table and have a conversation with the rest of us, without having to be told over and over (usually at increasing decibels) to sit down. Jamie, however, is not having any problems whatsoever sleeping. In fact, he seems to be sleeping better than usual.

Emma, on the other hand, appears to have taken after her older brother, Ian, who, when he first started taking meds, was awake for three to four hours every. single. night. for six months. Once he was finally able to swallow a pill whole, Ian switched over to a different medication, and started sleeping through the night again. Emma now seems to be following the same pattern.

The difference this time is that I am not prepared to spend six months not sleeping. When she first started taking the meds two weeks ago, she had no problem on the lesser dosage. Her problems started when we increased the dose after the first week (as prescribed by her doctor)...and so today we are trying her on her original dosage to see if that somehow helps her get through the night...which would mean that we would get more than three and a half hours of sleep too.

I'm really hoping that it is the meds that are causing the problem, and that her lack of sleep is the reason why she keeps sticking her tongue out at me...why she keeps trying to punch me...why she has been completely obstinate when I tell her to do anything...

Then again, maybe her behavior is simply her being four and a half years old and trying to assert her independence.

Please let it be the meds, because if this is an indication of her true personality, puberty ain't gonna be pretty...