Don't Stand On The Watermelon

Time, She Flies...

2011-08-06T07:52:00.000-04:00

It's the beginning of August. The last time I posted here was in February. I stopped writing because I figured, what's the point? No one is that interested in my ramblings...

Truth be told, it had nothing to do with that...it had to do with the fact that I sat down in prayer one day, asked what (other than being a wife and mother) I should be doing with my time/talents/life and received an answer I didn't want to hear...

"You should be writing," is what came to me.

Which of course meant that that was the last thing I would do.

My husband writes. I have several friends who write. Me? I like colour, I told God. I want to draw and paint.

"No reason you can't do both," I was gently reminded.

No, no, no, I replied. I can't do that. That would be too simple. How 'bout I just run away from the whole idea for a time and I'll get back to you on this whole writing thing?

Problem is, no matter how far (or fast) I run, I can never really escape...and eventually, I come back to Him, head hanging down, asking for forgiveness (which is always given) and help in doing what He suggested in the first place...

It would be much easier if I just accepted His word in the first place, no?

Sigh...

In the meantime, we've had to put our Murphy down (she would have been 14 next month), been to one funeral, gone to Vegas (just us! No kids! First time we've been away/alone together for that length of time since our honeymoon-nearly 13 years ago), Brian's working on his book (his tv show - and the Sun News Network - launched in April), the kids are trying to ignore the fact that school starts in four short weeks and I've missed too many karate classes (what with kids home for the summer and the continued re-injuring of my right deltoid-something-or-other)...

It's life, ya know?

Know What Else Drives Me Nuts?...

2011-02-02T09:21:00.000-05:00

...me...

Yes, that's what I said...me. I drive me crazy. And not in a good way...

I am almost 43 years old and I am still fighting the demons that tell me I'm not good enough...wait, no...not that I'm not good enough...that I'm not thin enough...fit enough...not perfect...

After my karate class Saturday morning, I was talking with a friend of mine...I admire her a lot...she's a second degree black belt, knows how to shoot an AK-47, is smart, funny, beautiful, happily married...she has written I don't know how many books, has a law degree and is just an amazing woman...and she seems to be perfectly comfortable with her body...

She is exactly the kind of woman I want to be when I grow up...

Anyway, I was telling her that I had asked Brian to draw my outline on a huge piece of paper...

"Why?" she wanted to know.

Good question.

The answer is that I have an inability to see my body the way it actually looks. I trace it back to my childhood (and I am not one to blame all of my problems on what happened when I was a kid), but in this case, I spent years hearing how I was built like a football player and that I wasn't thin enough and how I would be "so pretty if I just lost a little weight" (looking back on pictures, I don't think I would ever have been categorized as fat, other than the baby fat in (on?) my face, which would have been there no matter how thin I was)...and despite my husband telling me (pretty much every day) how beautiful he thinks I am, I still doubt him...I mean, what else is he going to say? "Ya know honey, you'd be real purty if you lost some o' that fat!"? Any man with an ounce of self-preservation knows better than to say such a thing to his wife...

After Brian had taken pen to paper around my figure (all the while thinking his wife had completely lost it, I'm sure)...I stared at the picture and then said, "That can't be right. It's too small."

My husband looked at me like I was crazy. So did my friend when I told her.

This morning I got on the scale (and don't tell me I'm not supposed to weigh myself, that I should go by the feel of my clothes or the numbers on the tape measure...I already know that...applying it to myself has never worked)...and the number there did not make me happy...

And I got mad...not just angry or frustrated...mad...

At the scale and at myself...

And I declared angrily, "That's it! No food (except the ones that make my stomach blow up-like gluten) is off limits! I'm tired of this crap!"

My thinking is that if no food is off limits, it will no longer hold some sort of power over me (be it gorging on or denying myself said food)...that I will be like my friend...who eats to sustain her body and keep herself healthy...while at the same time not denying herself the small pleasures in life like a nice glass of Merlot if she feels like it...

What I want, more than anything, is to be done with this constant battle...I do not want to send the message to my girls (or to my sons) that there is something wrong with their bodies if they don't look like fitness models...I want to be strong and healthy...physically and mentally...

Just like my friend...

Know What Drives Me Nuts?...

2011-01-31T11:40:00.000-05:00

...when I say I want to do something or go somewhere and someone (usually someone older) says, "Oh, you don't want to do that!"

Well, actually, yes, I do. Because, you see, if I didn't want to do something a certain way or go to a certain place, I wouldn't have said, "I want to do this" (insert desire here)...

And while I appreciate that whoever has claimed to know me better than I know myself has my best interest at heart and wishes to impart his or her experience to me, really? I'm old enough to decide for myself what I do or don't want to do...

So when I want your advice on how to live my life, I'll ask you for it...until then, remember, you've lived your life your way and done it the way you wanted...it's my turn to do the same...

An Update...

2011-01-19T15:34:00.000-05:00

It's been a couple of days since my last post, and based on the phone calls, emails and comments I've received since I wrote about Murphy, I thought I should probably give you an update...

To quote Mark Twain, "The report of (her) death was an exaggeration."

Murphy appears to have recovered from Monday's death knell quite nicely, thank you very much...

In fact, she appears to be somewhat annoyed with all the hoopla surrounding her...especially the attention that Ian is now giving her...he gets a little concerned (ok, that's an understatement of epic proportions)that she is not jumping up and down in excitement when we walk through the door or get up in the morning...like any old lady, she takes her time rising from her position of comfort, but in the end, she does get up...

On Monday night, Brian slept downstairs on the couch to keep an ear out in case anything happened to Murphy during the night and to keep her from trying to climb the stairs to her usual sleeping spot...

Last night before dinner, Murphy had had enough with not being able to move beyond the main floor and shoved the chair (the one blocking her passage) out of the way, slowly climbed the stairs, then lay down on the landing, wheezing and coughing, but looking at me with the most gleeful, defiant look I've ever seen on a dog...it was like she was telling me, "Try and keep me from doing what I want, will you? Ha!"

And so the wait continues...because even though she seems to have gathered a second (third? hundredth?) wind, we know the time is still coming in the not-so-distant future that she will be leaving us for good...

Until then, we are taking things one day at a time...getting in as many hugs, kisses and loving as we can and taking picture after picture of this grand old lady...

Murphy...

2011-01-17T15:30:00.000-05:00

I'm not even sure how to start this post.

Murphy, our 13 1/2 year old rottweiler border collie cross, is dying.

We've known for a while that she was long past middle age and well into her sunset years and each time she seemed a little slower getting up or took longer get up the stairs, we'd look at each other and sigh unhappily...because we knew that the day was coming, sooner rather than later, that we would have to say goodbye...

This morning when I woke up, Murphy was on the landing to our second floor, lying in her own urine. The poor girl couldn't get up...her back legs simply would not support her.

Brian and I sat with her for a long time, crying, petting her, wondering what we were going to do...every pet owner we know would tell us that the humane thing to do would be to take her to the vet and put her down..."It's what we do for our pets when they're old," is the refrain I've heard from many friends and family...

Ian, who had come upstairs, lay on the floor next to Murphy, crying...begging us not to put her down..."You promised me you would let her die of old age!" he told me...

Which I had...some time in the last year, Ian had come to me, visibly upset and asked me if I was sorry that I had killed Casey (a cat I had owned long before I met Brian, and who had been put down in the spring of 2005)...he then begged me to never do such a thing again...I promised him I wouldn't...

Because, you see, I am a practising Catholic...one who actually believes in the Church and her teachings...my faith is a central part of what makes me me...and I try to teach my children their faith every day...we are not Catholics at Christmas and Easter only...not even only on Sundays...we try to live out our faith every single day...and my faith teaches me that killing is wrong...whether it be abortion, euthanasia or premeditated murder...killing is wrong. And I do not want to be a hypocrite in my children's eyes...saying that it's ok to kill a dog, but not a human...not when we've made it clear to them from the day they were born that Murphy is a member of our family...

There are many people who disagree with how we raise our kids...I can already hear Brian's mother, my family and most of my friends telling me I'm crazy not to put the dog down...that it's not killing Murphy, it's the humane thing to do...

But none of them live with Ian. They love him, they understand that he's different from others...they know that he sees the world in black and white. There is no grey for my son. You are either on the side of right or you are not. Period. Putting Murphy down is not humane to Ian. It is killing a member of our family. "Would you do that to me if I was sick?" he asked me that day.

"No," I answered, knowing what he would say next.

"Then why would you do it to one of our pets? It's no different," he reasoned. "Killing is killing. Isn't it?"

And how could I argue with that? No matter what kind of pretty words you use....abortion, euthanasia...it's still killing.

And so I promised I would let our pets die of old age...and here we are, wondering when Murphy is going to leave us...

I'm listening to her drink from her water bowl as I sit here and I can feel the tears starting to prick the back of my eyes...because I don't know how many more days I will have to be with this beautiful creature who has never asked for anything from any of us, but who has given nothing but unconditional love and loyalty for over 13 years...

But I do know this...Murphy will go when she's ready and she will not be lying on a cold table in the vet's exam room...she will die at home, surrounded by those of us who have known and loved her her entire life...that, to me, is dying with dignity...and Murphy deserves that, because, as Emma put it this morning, "Murphy is the best dog in the whole world. Ever."

Well, That Was Strange...

2011-01-13T16:33:00.000-05:00

Getting out of the shower today, I had an experience I've never had before.

Jamie, my six year old, knocked on the bathroom door and said, "Mommy, can I see your boobs?"

"Uh, no," was my first reaction. "Why?" was my second (now let's get it clear that I don't actually have a problem with my son seeing me naked...I've just started getting used to the idea of not walking around my room in the nude because it freaks out Ian, who is 10 and has decided that seeing his mother without clothes is not something he cares for - a normal, 10 year old boy reaction, Brian assures me)...

But back to Jamie...

"I just want to see them," he replied. And then proceeded to push open the bathroom door...

He grinned and said, "Oh man! They're awesome!"

And then he slammed the door shut and ran down the stairs, yelling to his brother, "Ian! I just saw Mommy's boobs!"

Ian's response?

"Ewwww..."

I'm not sure how I feel about either of their reactions...

Day 2...And The Joys of Parenting...

2011-01-11T15:06:00.000-05:00

Last night after dinner, Emma, who was supposed to be putting on her pajamas, came downstairs bare arsed...

When I asked her why she was half-naked, she informed me, "I thought I had to fart, but when I farted, it wasn't a fart that came out. It was poop."

Excuse me?

"It was poop."

Yep. That's what it was. Poop. Runny poop. As in diarrhea. On the floor. Specifically, the bedroom carpet.

Thankfully we have a steam cleaner (very handy to own, with four kids and a dog who for the last year had too many accidents to count on the living room floor)...

And Pepto-Bismol...

She seems to be fine...in fact, there were no further incidents after the one I just wrote about...

But it does makes me wonder when, if ever, there will come a day when I don't feel like I'm living inside a tv script...

The Challenge...

2011-01-10T11:43:00.001-05:00

My husband has challenged me to write for one hour per day, in an effort to hone my skills. Mainly, I think it's because he's tired of listening to me moan about how I don't know what to do with my life...but he seems to think that I am actually a fairly good writer and that I should be actively pursuing what he sees as God-given talent...

My grandmother told me the same thing when I was ten...this after starting a story about being a soldier in World War I...a story that I never finished, because with her praise, I became paralyzed by the thought of continuing...what if the rest of the story wasn't as good as the beginning?

And so I sit here, staring at the screen, waiting for some sort of inspiration to hit me...after delaying the start of my "hour" for about as long as possible...I got the kids off to school, Brian off to work, the dog walked, the kitchen cleaned, laundry taken care of...each time the thought started to cross my mind, "um, you should probably head to the computer now", I found another small task that needed to be completed...

Brian thinks I'm afraid of failure. And of success.

Which kind of makes me crazy, don't you think?

How can you be afraid of both at the same time?

It's not like I've never written anything before...page after page of bad (and sometimes outright depressing) poetry while I dealt with many issues from my childhood, short little stories for the kids...journal after journal since I was a kid myself...and then there's this blog...I've been doing this for a couple of years now...I've written articles for on-line magazines...technically, I'm a published author...

But the weight of "what-if-I'm-not-good-enough?" sends me into enough of an emotional tail spin that it's just easier to sit and play Bejeweled Blitz on the computer...

And when your husband and several of your friends are really good writers, it makes the pressure (at least in my own mind) even worse...

So the question is, do I have what it takes to actually see this thing through? I know that many people in my life, both past and present, have this idea that I'm a take-no-prisoners-don't-get-in-my-effing-way kind of person, but in reality? It's an act. I'm more likely to curl into a ball and beat myself up until I believe that I'm not any good at anything and that I never will be...that ugly voice has been with me since I was six years old and no matter how many times I've tried to shut her up and out, she keeps finding a way back into my head...

I keep telling my girls to "find their power" when they come to me whining about something that one of their brothers did (usually kicking them off the computer or the television)...I'm trying to take my own advice...because just for once, I want to finish what I start and finally kick that nasty bitch inside my head out so that she's never able to come back in...

Well, Of Course It Does...

2010-12-23T13:38:00.000-05:00

My husband called a short while ago, just to say hello (all together now: "Awwww...")...and while on the phone with him, I updated him about Ian's trip to the clinic this morning (turns out that while the boy does not, thankfully, have either pneumonia nor bronchitis, he does need to use a puffer for the next two to three weeks to help with the nasty cough he's developed)...

I also mentioned, while staring at the disaster that is our house two days before Christmas, that I had no idea where to start cleaning because there was so much to do...

His soothing words of wisdom?

"Don't worry about it, it always gets done..."

Well, of course it does!...I'm the one who does it!

Yeesh....

Short and Sweet...

2010-12-17T23:27:00.003-05:00

Gluten free beer.

I like it.

Just sayin'...

At The Moment I Am Definitely Not Feeling The Spirit...

2010-12-09T20:07:00.000-05:00

It's December 9, which means its 16 days to Christmas, but the last thing I feel right now is jolly or holly or filled with the Spirit of Christmas...

Why, you may ask?

Because I came home from a quick trip to the grocery store tonight and found someone parked right in front of my parking spot (we have assigned spots here in our condo), and illegally, to boot (she was parked directly under the No Parking sign...the one that is designated for emergency vehicles only? Yeah, that spot...)

When I indicated that she needed to move so that I could get my car into my spot (and let's be clear, I don't drive some little mini "smart" car that can fit into a spot the size of a milk carton...I drive a VAN. We need room to manoever.), she shook her head "no" at me. I sat behind her, waiting for her to get the hint. She moved. A foot. I still sat behind her. I rolled down my window as she got out of her car and called to her, "You can't park there, it's a no parking zone and I have to get into my spot!" She said, "I'm just unloading my stuff..." to which I replied, "Doesn't matter, it's a no parking zone and I can't get in with you there," thinking that logic should prevail and she would move her vehicle.

She did.

One foot.

By that time I was annoyed and even Mariah Carey belting out "All I Want For Christmas" (which has been my happy-feel-good-song this season) didn't help...and so I waited behind her car, pointing at the spot I wanted.

She moved another half foot.

I managed to get into my spot, but because of the angle at which I had to enter, ended up having to reverse the van so I could straighten the thing out. I saw my headlights shining on the side of her car, which was when I put the brakes on, despite the fact that I wanted to hit her car.

I got out of my van at the same time that she jumped out of her car, screaming at me that I had hit her car. (I didn't, for the record) She grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down my license plate number, spewing f-bombs at me faster than I've ever heard before (and believe me, I've been f-you'd more than a few times in my life)...when I told her she didn't need to swear at me, she barked off another f-you at me..."I'm calling my insurance company!"

"Go ahead," I told her, maintaining the appearance of calm (even if it was the last thing I felt). "You were parked illegally. Besides, if I'd hit you, I would have felt it."

And I walked toward my front door, glad it was dark out and she couldn't see me shaking. She screamed at me one more time, "You backed into my car!" to which I replied, oh so maturely, "Whatever..."

Once safely inside my own house, I told Brian, who was trying to finish his last two articles of the day, about what had happened. He listened to me, and then at my request, he went out to talk to the woman. See, as a rule, my husband is way more diplomatic than me, and he has the ability to not only assess a situation accurately, but is also capable of thinking of things instantly that most others (okay, me) don't think about until long after the fact. And so I sent him out into the fray (to defend my honor?). He came back and his words of wisdom and support were, "Don't worry about it."

Wh-a-a-t?

An hour or so after the fact, I can see why he said it...there really isn't anything I can do to prevent her from making a claim and the only recourse I have is to tell the truth and hope that I am the one who is believed.

Unlike my husband, however, I do not have the ability to just "let it go until tomorrow"...I have always chewed and stewed over things, wishing that I had handled the situation differently or that I could have said something wittier, more biting, nastier...something that would have hurt that obnoxious witch to the quick...in short, something written by someone else...this whole "let it be" stuff is just not my style (not that Brian hasn't been trying to teach me for the last 14 or so years)...

My friend Ian came over to loan me a cat crate for tomorrow (our kitten is being neutered, thank goodness, tomorrow morning-more on that at a later date), and Brian and I asked him what he knew about the woman who lived next door to him. She's a lovely lady, he informed us. Really? We told him what had happened and he replied, "Oh, that's not Helen, that's her daughter."

Ian told Brian and I that the neighbor has two daughters...one who is perfectly lovely and the one I had a run in with. The word "bitch" was a nice way of describing her, based on Ian's observations.

Clearly this woman is the one with the problem, not me.

But for now, I am dealing with the aftereffects of the adrenaline dump and not feeling so ho-ho-ho...I am going to hope and pray that the insurance companies believe me, not her...

The kids are starting to watch "Shrek The Halls"...so I'm going to go join them and use my babies as my feel good tonic tonight...cuddling up with four people who love me unconditionally (5 if you count Brian) sounds like the right medicine to me...

It's December Already?

2010-12-02T10:55:00.000-05:00

How the heck did that happen?

And where is all the snow Ottawa is supposed to get?

Brian's cousins in Glasgow (that would be Scotland, for those who know of other Glasgows) keep posting on Facebook about how much snow they've been getting...which is kind of weird for them, I will admit...

Meanwhile in the snow capital of the world (Ottawa is the second coldest capital in the whole world...we found that out a few years back-which means we usually have tons of the white stuff by now), we've just spent two days dealing with a "heavy rainfall warning" put out by Environment Canada...something that has made my four children a wee bit cranky...cranky might be an understatement...to Ian, the lack of snow translates into the end of the world as we know it (you should have seen the look on his face when I told him about the year it rained on December 25 and we had a green Christmas...

To be fair, I'm a little tired of the constant gray clouds and the sad state of the landscape...there's something a little depressing about seeing the naked trees and rotting grass...even if I get tired of dealing with the four sets of snowsuits, umpteen boots, hats and mittens, at least the snow makes things look pretty...

Well, until March anyway...by then, I'll be pining for the fresh scent of spring and the end of dirty, slushy snow...

But for now, I'm dreaming of a white Christmas...just like the ones I used to know...oh sing along, it's coming whether you like it or not...get in the spirit...with every Christmas card I write...

Oh That Emma...

2010-11-08T18:30:00.000-05:00

This weekend, my in-laws came for a visit before their annual avoid-the-winter-at-all-costs pilgrimage to Florida.

They originally hail from Glasgow, Scotland and my mother-in-law (after nearly 42 years in this country) still has a fairly strong accent...

During dinner Saturday night, the kids were trying to imitate my mil's accent...to which she finally replied, "You want to talk like me? I'd like to talk like you!"

Emma's response?

"What? You want to scream and yell?"

Well, at least she hears herself...

The Difference That Three Little Letters Can Make...

2010-11-04T16:22:00.000-04:00

This morning's gem from Emma:

Emma: "You know, my teacher Mrs. O'Toole is very forgettable."
Me: "Do you mean 'forgetful'?"
Emma: "Dat's what I said...she's very forgettable...she says she's always forgetting things..."

Have You Ever Had That Feeling...

2010-10-27T14:22:00.000-04:00

...Like you're supposed to be doing something, but can't quite remember what it is?

Yeah, that's how I feel right now...

Maybe it's because for the last two weeks, I have been constantly moving...whether it's housework, or driving all over the city running errands for my husband and kids...making cupcakes, fixing veggies for the Brownie/Sparks Halloween party and the Grade 1 "Friendship Lunch"...

What is a "friendship" lunch you might ask? Damned if I know...best I can figure out is that the kids tell their parents what food to bring in, we set it up for them in the hallway (no cafeteria in a Catholic school built in the 1950's before full funding), help feed them and then leave again while the kids go outside to play...maybe it's to help us adults make new friends?

I dunno...what I do know is that there was a ton of food there...and whoever thought so many vegetables were going to be needed for a group of kids when there was a full table of sugary goodies either has children who like veggies (I've heard they actually exist, although to my knowledge I haven't met any who prefer carrots to cupcakes) or doesn't live in the real world...

I also know that the other parents looked at me like I was some kind of lunatic as I passed by the buns, crackers, sushi and deli meats and loaded my plate with veggies (see? There was a reason for forty pounds of them after all...) and fruit...dang celiac disease strikes again...

I never did feel like I fit in anywhere when I was in school...today was no exception...but at least I'm old enough to not care anymore...

Look at me, I'm growing...

How Time Flies...

2010-09-28T14:33:00.006-04:00

It has been six months since I have written anything here...and really, how many people are there actually reading the ramblings I post here? Other than that one guy at my church, who told me three weeks ago that he loves reading my blog...and when I told him that I hadn't posted anything since April, he mentioned that he hasn't actually read my blog since January...you shall remain nameless, to protect your privacy, but you know who you are...

The homeschooling experiement is over. All four children are back in school. Avery and Emma had asked repeatedly over the summer if they could go back to St. Bernard's, because they missed their teachers, the school and their friends. Finally, at the end of August, I caved. I had intended to continue homeschooling the boys, but a few things led to them returning to the hallowed halls of education...the biggest thing was the Constant. Never-ending. Fighting. If they hadn't killed each other by the end of August, I was going to finish the job for them. I had to ask Brian a few times if their behaviour was normal, because I sure never beat the snot out of my younger sisters and brother...for the most part, he assured me that Ian and Jamie were behaving the way most brothers do...which was more than a little disconcerting, let me tell you...

For weeks, I felt as though I had failed somehow...I imagined that people were snickering behind my back and telling each other (and probably random strangers) that they just knew I would never make it work...of course, that was my own paranoia at work and most people probably never gave it a second thought...still, the idea that I had tried something and failed at it stuck in my craw...until I realized that I hadn't actually failed...the kids did do well while they were being homeschooled...they learned stuff, we had a good time (for the most part)...but the fact is, my kids had spent years in the school system and knew what they were missing and wanted to be a part of it again...and, if the truth be known, I realized that while I love my children dearly and would kill and die for them, I need to be apart from them for part of the day.

I know that makes me selfish. I know there are tons of mothers who spend all day with their children and never think twice about the fact that they can't even pee without someone needing something...but I am not one of those mothers. I came to that conclusion around the second week in August when I was on the verge of throwing the children from the second story window (for the record, I did not do it). I realized that after ten years of being "on-call" for my children nearly 24 hours a day, I deserved a wee bit of time each day for myself...

But that realization didn't make me feel any better about myself, and so I chewed on that feeling of failure for a few weeks too...until I came to understand that I am doing the best I can...and if doing my best means letting someone else have my children for a few hours a day, so that I am not a screaming banshee while trying to get them to understand fractions, then so be it...

And so the children were registered back at school and I have spent the last two months running myself ragged with all of the extra "me" time...driving the kids to school and the husband to work, running errands (it's unbelievable how much food these people eat and they haven't even hit their teenage years yet...I'm sure we'll need a second mortgage just to feed the boys alone!), vacuuming, dusting, laundry, more errands, oh Mama, I need this for school today (information given to me around 8 in the morning-about 30 minutes before they walk out the door for school)...most days I'm lucky if I get to sit down for 20 minutes (today being an exception to type this up)...

People have wondered what I spend all day doing, now that I have all this extra time...I'll let you know...soon...right now I have to go get the kids from school...then stop to vote...then come back to help with homework, make dinner, finish folding the clothes...

Feel Free To Call Me An Idiot...

2010-04-22T14:54:00.005-04:00

...these are the words I said to my husband earlier today...

Why?

Because I ate the damned pizza, that's why.

I've been diagnosed with celiac disease (with the added special touch of being lactose intolerant, thank you very much)...and for the most part I haven't missed bread and pasta all that much...

Until today.

I ordered pizza for the kids for lunch as a treat and even decided to splurge on delivery (mainly so I wouldn't have to leave my nice warm house and go out into the damp, cold April morning) and when the thing arrived, I started to salivate...

Setting the pizza on the counter to cool for a bit, I told myself over and over (mantra-like, you know?), "Bad for you, bad for you...painful bloating, bad gas...don't do it, don't do it nononono...."

And then the little voice inside my head went to work, telling me that there was and is no way possible that I have celiac disease...that I must have made up the whole thing in my head...I mean, really, no one else in my family has this problem...maybe whatever was the matter with me before has gone away...

And the smell of the pizza filled the kitchen with its tantalizing aroma and the crust...it was so...soft...and so I succumbed to temptation and ate an entire triangle...and then I watched my stomach begin to bloat out like someone was filling a balloon inside my gut...

Then I lay groaning on the bed, curled into as much of the fetal position as I could get and whined about all the things I would have to give up...

My birthday is Saturday and there will be no birthday cake. Sniff...

I can't ever eat ice cream again. Sniff, sniff...

No beer. Sniff, snort, sniff...

No more Buffalo Chicken at Denny's on the kids' birthdays. Moan...

No more pizza. Wail...

And just when I was about to start feeling really sorry for myself, another thought crossed my mind...

Suck it up, princess...and figure out a way to make these things so they taste good...

Because I am not living without pizza or birthday cake for the rest of my life...

Farmer in the dell...

2010-03-22T10:38:00.015-04:00

Brian and I have just finished reading Alisa Smith and James MacKinnon's The 100 Mile Diet, A Year of Local Eating (ok, I finished reading it...Brian skimmed through the bits he thought were the most intersting) and I have to say that we have been further inspired to try this for ourselves.

I say "further inspired" because this idea of eating foods that have been grown in and around the Ottawa area is something that has been a growing concern/interest for us in the last few years. Last summer's copious rain through the month of July did not help our small backyard garden grow into the cornucopia of fresh vegetables that we had hoped for, but we did get a few tomatoes and some green peppers, a whole lot of salad and some fresh basil and cilantro out of our little plot of dirt. Our tiny garden was nothing like the massive gardens that used to feed my family growing up (or the even bigger garden that my aunt and uncle had out at their place-that thing seemed to go for miles...or at least it seemed that way when you were out there weeding for hours), but the Lilley family garden made me want more...more land, more garden, more sky...just...more.

I want to wake up to the sound of birds and the rooster crowing, not the deafening roar of dozens of planes taking off overhead (which by the way, is how we go to sleep some nights too). I want my own horses. I want to smell the sun warmed grass and feel just how small and insignificant I am as I stand under clear blue skies.

I want to grow my own food and eat it, knowing exactly where it came from and what wasn't sprayed over it or forced into it to make it grow three times larger than normal.

I want to eat eggs from my chickens. I want to eat my own chickens, not ones that have been forced to grow bigger and faster than God and nature ever intended and whose skeletal structures cannot support their own body weight...

I want a goat.

Since I can no longer eat anything containing gluten, nor any dairy products, without my stomach ballooning out very painfully to the size it was when I was 6 months pregnant with the twins, I want to be in complete and utter control of everything that goes into my gullet.

Three of the four children keep telling us they want to move to a farm too (mainly so the dogs will have more than enough room to run free)...Jamie is the holdout, although Brian and I think that he is the one who would end up having the most fun...like the dogs, Jamie likes and needs space to run...

Crap. We're turning into those hippies Brian likes to mock. In our nearly 14 years together, my husband has mocked minivans and their drivers (we now drive one), ADHD (we have 3 of 4 kids and one wife diagnosed with it), celiac disease (um, got that now too), food allergies (check on that one) and people who homeschool their kids...

Maybe he could start mocking the rich and that farm will become more than a dream...

*Photo reprinted with permission from Ad Meskens, Wikemedia Commons

So What's New With You?

2010-03-11T06:25:00.010-05:00

I am probably the world's worst blogger.

I'm guessing that most people who do this update every day, but either A) they have far more interesting lives than I do and/or B) they do not have four children who are now home all the time.

Nope, it's not March/Spring break here yet.

We are homeschoolers.

Yep, you read right...homeschoolers.

We decided to take the plunge one month ago...telling the kids that this is an experiment (and one that can end at any time if they or I decide that things are not going well and we can no longer stand the sight of each other)...but so far, things have been going remarkably well...my biggest fears were that the four of them would be so sick of being around one another that there would be massive fights and screaming that could be heard from Ottawa to Toronto...or that I would be curled into the fetal position by the end of the day, hiding from them, Brian and the pets...

There have been a few moments where the boys have tried to beat each other about the head, but I put that up to them being boys (and brothers)...but the weird (and wonderful) thing has been the stunning lack of fighting, screaming and temper tantrums (from them too)...

Being home with the children all day means a few things for me...things that I was aware of, but hadn't really focussed on...like the fact that there is very little "me" time (not that there was a whole hell of a lot of it to begin with, mind you)...but that marathon I was training for? Yeah, that's going to have to wait...and updating this blog? Well, I'm a little slow on that too...

And along with home schooling, there have, of course, been new health issues to deal with...specifically, celiac disease.

I've known for quite some time now that something was up with me; I just didn't know what...and no, it's not official yet, but since I went gluten free a few days ago and last night ate one (one) piece of garlic toast with my (gluten free) dinner and my stomach blew up five inches larger than it had been before I ate the toast and was so painful I wanted to scream and because of the ten most common symptoms of the disease I have six of them and fall into the two major groups of people who have celiac disease (Type 1 diabetics and those of European descent - Scotland and Ireland are included in that - damn Viking raiders)...I'm placing my money on celiac disease...I'm actually pretty good at self-diagnosis and don't jump on any bandwagon, but yes, before you say anything, I do have a doctor's appointment on Monday and will be bringing this up with him...

By the way, the brown rice bread I bought on the weekend tastes like mdf...going gluten free is NOT something I would do if I felt I had a choice...well, I do have a choice, I suppose...I could keep eating gluten loaded stuff and suffer excruciating pain and eventually become malnourished, but I elect not to do that...

Want to know what else has been going on that has prevented me from posting here as frequently? Well, the puppy keeps eating our floors, for starters...

Yes. Eating. the. floors.

Seems Max has some separation anxiety issues and to deal with things, he has destroyed shoes (mainly mine, although Brian did lose one pair a few months ago), furniture, toys, pencils, books, boots, mittens, hats and now the linoleum floor in the hallway...

Max now has a cage...which he actually seems to enjoy, although he apparently might have to share it with Emma, who told me several times yesterday that she wanted to be in the cage too (locked in)...and when I told her it was against the law for parents to lock their children in cages, she pointed a finger at me and told me accusingly, "You never let me do anything!"

My life may be crazy, but it's good...

I Have Succumbed...

2010-02-03T09:19:00.004-05:00

...I am a twit.

I have joined the ranks of Twitterers...

And I already have 9 whole followers...

Who cares if they are mostly people I know whose names I clicked on and followed first...

This whole thing is strange to me...Twitter, Facebook, blogs...the fact that I can find out what Sherri Shepherd (from The View) is thinking as she sits at a party with Beyonce and Jay-Z (and what kind of name is Jay-Z anyway? Who came up with that?) is weird...

The fact that I am writing about Sherri Shepherd writing about being at a party with other celebrities is weird...

I do have bigger things on my plate right now...

Like whether we are pulling the kids out of their school to homeschool them because the school is going to switch over to a so-called "balanced day schedule"-which, for those of you who may not have heard the screams of rage coming from our house, is not something Brian and I think is a good idea (and don't any of you give me any crap about how your kids/school is following this kind of schedule and it's working just fine...the reports claiming how well the balanced day schedule works are mixed, at best, and by the way, the kids are the ones not happy with it...and frankly, that's more important to me than whether the principal and teachers are skipping through the halls because they like the bsd...on top of which, I have three of four kids with ADHD, and this kind of schedule will not work for them...so there.)...

The concerns about pulling the kids out of school to teach them here has less to do with my abilities to spend all day long every day with my children than with the fact they won't get to see their friends as often...Avery, being the school nut/fan that she is (she was upset that she had to stay home two days this week because she had a sore throat), was one I worried about...in fact, she told me yesterday when I asked her what she thought about the idea of being homeschooled that she didn't like it because she wouldn't get to see her friends...when I told her that arrangements could be made for her to see them, she still wasn't convinced, because, as she told me, she doesn't know where they all live...after being told that we could find out that information, she still wasn't sure...until I told her that being homeschooled meant that we could take a three week vacation in the middle of winter if we wanted...then she exclaimed,

"A three week vacation in the middle of winter? I'm there!"

Jamie doesn't like going to school anyway...neither does Ian (especially since he deals daily with other kids picking on him-and yes, we have gone to the teachers, resource teacher and prinicpal about it...which is fine and what we are supposed to do, because they talk to the kids in class, tell them what they can and cannot say to other students, the children politely agree and then they go out into the hallways and onto the playground and revert back to the snotty brats they were...which is what kids do, I know, but that doesn't make it any easier to keep your temper when it's your kid being picked on)...Emma, after taking nearly a year to get into school, finally decided in the last week of school last June, that she did like it and wants to keep going...unless everybody else is complaining about how much they don't want to go to school (Avery aside) and then she joins in the chorus...

So really, there is a lot more to think about other than Twitter or Facebook or...well, maybe just one more quick peek...

Noooooo!!!

2010-02-01T11:06:00.003-05:00

I have successfully stayed away from Twitter...Brian regularly "tweets" (and I regularly ask him if that makes him a "twit"...then I laugh uproariously while my beloved husband rolls his eyes,makes derogatory comments about my family's background and hums the banjo music from "Deliverance" under his breath)...however, I will say this, it is his boss who wants him on Twitter...

But now, after a year of teasing Brian, he has suggested that I join the twits of the world and sign up for a Twitter account...why? Because it may help direct traffic to my Examiner page (and the more traffic I get, the more I get paid)...

With Facebook, this blog and now an Examiner page, how much more does anyone really want to hear from me?

And does anyone really need to know or want to know what I am doing every minute of the day?

Sometimes even I get too much information about myself...

All The News That's Fit to Print...

2010-01-29T21:17:00.005-05:00

It has been over a month since I posted (which seems to be something I say regularly)...

Ian is dealing with being bullied at school...

Avery is officially a Brownie...

Emma has lost her two bottom teeth and received the requisite payment from the Tooth Fairy...

Jamie has become the world's foremost authority on Wii bowling...

Brian has learned to survive (and just barely) on three to four hours of sleep a night due to his workload...

Max the puppy is now the size of a small pony...

Murphy has decided that Max is allowed to chew on her ears, but only for so long before she tries to bite his face off...

Taffy the cat remains as disdainful as ever...

And me?

I am now officially an Examiner...

My area of "expertise"?

Parenting.

Go figure...

Countdown, Part Two...

2009-12-24T16:13:00.003-05:00

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!

The Countdown Starts...

2009-12-23T20:58:00.003-05:00

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...

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

2009-12-22T18:20:00.005-05:00

...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...

Brrr....

2009-12-17T18:33:00.007-05:00

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...

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

2009-12-15T20:29:00.003-05:00

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...

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

2009-12-13T08:29:00.006-05:00

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...

Boo!

2009-11-01T08:55:00.006-05:00

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!

A Rant...

2009-10-07T17:22:00.014-04:00

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."

Aack! Oink, Oink...

2009-10-04T07:18:00.011-04:00

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...

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

2009-09-30T15:32:00.011-04:00

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...

I May Be Going A Tad Overboard...

2009-08-26T19:12:00.011-04:00

...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...

I Made...

2009-08-25T09:30:00.005-04:00

...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...

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

2009-08-24T13:53:00.018-04:00

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

Julie & Julia vs. Martha...

2009-08-21T17:00:00.008-04:00

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...

Inspiration Strikes At The Movies...

2009-08-19T09:16:00.006-04:00

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!

Is Hell Freezing Over?...

2009-08-18T21:06:00.009-04:00

...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?

Meet Max...

2009-08-17T16:46:00.010-04:00

...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...

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

2009-08-11T11:06:00.006-04:00

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...

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

2009-07-30T15:58:00.003-04:00

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...

Calgon, Take Me Away...

2009-07-28T10:27:00.008-04:00

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...

Your Menu, Madame...

2009-07-23T10:17:00.007-04:00

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...

How Many More Sleeps?

2009-07-22T09:30:00.006-04:00

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...

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

2009-07-10T16:52:00.006-04:00

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...

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

2009-07-09T13:38:00.014-04:00

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.

Another phrase for the record book...

2009-07-01T18:51:00.004-04:00

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."

I Am Curious...

2009-06-26T11:32:00.006-04:00

...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...

Oh me, oh my...

2009-06-12T15:46:00.006-04:00

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...

2009-06-12T15:23:00.005-04:00

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.

The Saga Continues...

2009-05-21T15:02:00.007-04:00

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...

What A Month...

2009-05-19T13:53:00.008-04:00

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...

Somehow It's Hard to Retort...

2009-05-06T15:53:00.005-04:00

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...

Things That Send Me Over The Edge...

2009-05-02T14:29:00.004-04:00

...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...

"Don't Stop Believin'...

2009-05-01T21:36:00.003-04:00

...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...

Happy Birthday to Me...

2009-04-24T13:36:00.009-04:00

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...

A Moment in the Day...

2009-04-22T15:02:00.006-04:00

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...

Colors of the Rainbow...

2009-04-21T14:14:00.009-04:00

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...

Why?

2009-04-14T15:15:00.004-04:00

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...

Long Drives and Children...

2009-04-06T10:52:00.010-04:00

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...

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

2009-03-30T15:46:00.003-04:00

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...

Question...

2009-03-24T21:10:00.002-04:00

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...

It Must Be Monday...

2009-03-23T11:24:00.012-04:00

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...

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

2009-03-18T18:06:00.006-04:00

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...

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

2009-03-10T22:35:00.008-04:00

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...

Every Day One of Them Says Something...

2009-03-05T08:11:00.008-05:00

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."

I Was Wrong....

2009-03-04T14:59:00.000-05:00

...I really, really hate doing taxes.

Blech.

2009-03-03T22:47:00.000-05:00

I hate doing taxes.

'Nuff said...

I Was Only Kidding...

2009-03-01T20:37:00.007-05:00

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...

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

2009-02-27T14:58:00.006-05:00

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...

It's Awfully Quiet In Here...

2009-02-25T14:35:00.006-05:00

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...

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

2009-02-19T13:11:00.007-05:00

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...

It's Family Day....

2009-02-16T15:31:00.002-05:00

...and my prayer is this:

"Lord, please save me from p.d. days..."

Some Days You Just Won't Win...

2009-02-15T17:35:00.006-05:00

Yesterday my kids were "meeting" each other on Club Penguin. For those of you that don't know, Club Penguin is an online kids community created by a group of parents in British Columbia who wanted to make sure their kids had a safe, online venue.

The kids each get their own penguin, and roam around the "town", meeting each other or playing various games to win coins, which they then use to either buy things for their penguins or their puffles. Puffles are pets to the penguins, and you have to feed them every day, or they will run away, and then you have to play more games to get more coins to get another puffle to feed it and keep it happy and so on and so on...

One of the places the penguins can meet is the dojo. (Yep, apparently there are ninja penguins in the Antarctic...don't see that on the Discovery channel, now do you?) My kids, using my laptop, my husband's laptop and their computer, like to go to the dojo together, where they try to advance from one belt level to the next.

However, Brian and I have to keep telling them how to pronounce the word, "dojo". They keep calling it a "doo-jo". We tell them again and again that the proper pronounciation is "doe-jo". They do not believe us. This is a conversation between me and Jamie from yesterday morning...

Jamie: "Ian! (Jamie also pronounces Ian's name as 'Eon', another habit we're trying to break) Meet me at the doojo!"
Me: "Jamie, it's called a 'doe-joe'."
Jamie: "No, it's not, it's called a doo-jo!"
Me: "No, Jamie, it's called a doe-jo..."
Jamie: "No, it's not, Mama! It's a doo-jo!"
Me: "Doe-jo!"
Jamie: "Doo-jo!"
Me: "Jamie, will you please just accept that I am your mother and I know a few things that you don't? It's a doe-joe."
Jamie: "Mama, it hasn't been called that for centuries!"

I couldn't say anything else.

Transformers...more than meets the eye...

2009-02-12T15:03:00.006-05:00

My boys, getting ready for Sunday night...

And yes, that's Avery screaming in the background that they are about to miss the start of their show...

I'm a what now?

2009-02-12T13:59:00.011-05:00

For almost nine years, I have been a stay-home mother. This has caused some consternation among some people I know who think that I am wasting my time and talents or that I should be out in the workforce contributing to society and to our family income. (My husband will argue that I am helping out financially, since we don't have to pay for daycare and the government sends us a little cash every month just for having procreated)...

Many times I have felt that I am invisible to others-especially on those occasions when someone I've only just met (usually through Brian's fairly high profile job-he's a reporter on Parliament Hill) asks me what I do for a living. The anticipation in their faces quickly dims when I reply, "I stay home and look after our four children." It's as though I suddenly start fading from sight right before their eyes. I even had one guy turn his back on me (really!) after finding out that I don't go out of the house to work.

Most days I don't regret my decision to stay home with the kids, but I will admit that there are times when I feel as though I am Brian's shadow. It happens when I hear about the accomplishments of people I know, sometimes of people I've never even met; it happens when I've spent the day doing load after load of laundry or have been constantly picking up after the kids (and sometimes Brian); it happens when I've got pms and I don't like what I see in the mirror.

I started this blog because for as long as I can remember, I've had the urge to write. I've written little stories for the kids; I've started screenplays; I've written poetry (most of it embarrassingly bad)...my grandmother told me when I was 10 years old that I should be a writer-this after reading the start of a story I did about a soldier in the trenches during World War I...my sisters have encouraged me to write, so has my husband. I even had a drama teacher tell me during my university days that I should consider writing as a profession.

I ignored all of them.

Now, at the age of 40, I'm a published author. Granted, it's only been four articles, but nonetheless, they have been published. That those four little pieces have been accepted by someone who isn't related to me (and therefore has to be nice to me), means that maybe, just maybe, I need to rethink the labels I've created for myself...I am a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend...

And now, I am a writer.

A Big Thank You...

2009-02-11T22:24:00.006-05:00

...to Deborah Gyapong and Brigitte Pellerin...who both not only read the piece I wrote for Mercatornet, but very kindly posted links to both the article and this blog and said some very nice things about my writing...

Brigitte didn't agree with me (well, not all points anyway), so check out her blo g , not just to see her rebuttal of my article, but to read more of this engaging, intelligent and (I think) brilliant writer.

You can see one of Deborah's blogs here... check it out and see the lovely compliments she paid to me...and to read more of her ongoing and courageous struggle to fight for free speech in Canada.

(PS...Deborah's pdb too...and for those that don't know Scottish vernacular, that means "pure dead brilliant" - don't forget to use a Scottish accent when you say it...)

And the winner is...

2009-02-11T20:30:00.008-05:00

An update to the battle between Emma and I over whether she would eat her dinner...

I won.

Without having to bribe, force feed her or tie her to a chair.

Although I may have scared the other three a wee bit when I told Emma that if she kept refusing to eat, eventually she would end up in the hospital with a feeding tube down her throat and an iv in her arm...

Emma didn't seem to care.

Ian, Avery and Jamie, however, may have developed a sudden, although not irrational, fear of hospitals and may need therapy a few years from now...

In This Corner...

2009-02-10T16:46:00.027-05:00

In a battle of wills betwen an adult and a four year old, who will emerge victorious?

At this point, if you're guessing the four year old, I'm thinking you might be right.

Emma refused to eat her dinner last night. Absolutely refused to open her mouth. Since I don't believe in forcefully shoving food down her throat (and just how would one do that anyway? I mean, you could get it into her mouth, I suppose, but how could you make her swallow?), that meant no dinner. (And no, I did not offer her anything other than what was on the table; I am not setting that as a precedent)

This morning she had a bowl of cereal for breakfast. She had a pumpkin muffin a bit later, and has eaten nothing since.

Did I mention that it is now close to dinner?

I did offer her the plate from last night (reheated, of course) while her brothers and sister enjoyed their lunch.

Again she refused.

At snack time, she attempted to block me from giving the others their food (she was unsucessful), and told me (several times over) that she wanted a "snack food that is not the food from last night".

I informed her that if she wanted something to eat, she was more than welcome to finish her dinner from last night.

You can guess how that idea went over.

So here we are, nearly twenty four hours later, and my youngest daughter has barely eaten. I'm sure she won't starve, but I am not looking forward to dinner tonight. Emma's dinner will once again be her "disgusting" (this adjective for food she hadn't even tasted) dinner from last night. This ain't gonna be pretty folks...

The question is this: just how many times can a plate of food be reheated before it turns into a science experiment?

I guess we'll find out tonight...

Welcome Mercatornet readers!

2009-02-09T11:20:00.009-05:00

If you've read my latest at Mercatornet and found your way here, welcome.

If you haven't read it, click on the link above, next to the picture of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt to read about Hollywood's Red Carpet Morality.

This blog is still fairly new and deals mostly with family and culture. Poke around a little and please don’t forget to come back.

Some of my writing that you may want to check-out

From the Blog

The Reason For The Name
Four Year Old Logic...
A Brief List That Explains Why No One Understands My Children...
Introducing Emma...

Some of my past writing over at Mercatornet

Not your father’s Levi’s
Coddling kindergartners

So It's Not Just Me...

2009-02-03T16:28:00.015-05:00

I was reading Dawn Meehan's blog Because I Said So, and I can completely relate...because as I sit here, I have four children coming at me with four different requests...

Emma wants me to warm her feet up. She refuses to put socks on (the easiest way to warm her tootsies). Oh, no. She wants to sit with her feet under my legs, humming a rather strange little tune in her own language.

Avery insists on doing her homework, despite the fact that it's not due until Friday, the little keener. But this means that she must constantly ask me how to spell things, since she won't wait until after dinner to start her work. And yelling at her younger brother and sister because she needs quiet.

Ian, who has been home sick from school, wants to know if he should play on the computer. If he should, not if he can...

And Jamie wants to finish the letter to Santa that he started last night. Note that today is February 3.

Emma says she thinks she's going to throw up tonight.

No one wants to leave the laptap alone so that I can type.

"Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday..." sings Emma.

"How do you spell late, Mummy?" asks Avery.

"Turn the tv off!" that would be me, yelling at them.

And this is a calm five minutes around here...

A PostScript...I have been trying (unsuccessfully, I might add and am ready to throw this piece of trash laptop through a window) to add a link to Dawn's website at the start of this post...you know, where I mentioned her blog...I thought it would be appropriate there...anyway, it's not working, so here is the link...this had better work....grrr...

Ok, for some reason, unknown to me in all my non-techno abilities, this link is not working...so you can just click on it in the right hand column of my blog...

Am I The Only One Who Actually Looks At The Calendar?

2009-02-03T14:09:00.006-05:00

So yesterday was Groundhog Day, and on radio stations across the continent, in newspapers and television newscasts, everyone seemed absolutely shocked that whichever groundhog was doing the forecasting, they all said the same thing...six more weeks of winter.

Which led me to yell, "Of course it's six more weeks of winter you morons! It's always six more weeks of winter! Spring doesn't come until March 20!"

Sometimes I think I'm the only one with any common sense.

Whaaat?...

2009-01-28T13:31:00.003-05:00

I must be crazy. Jamie has asked if he can color with markers and I've agreed.

Surely hell must be getting a tad chilly right now.

The Best Job On Earth...

2009-01-20T19:34:00.008-05:00

Today was one of those days when I wonder why on earth God made me a mother. I'd like to believe that the kids are the ones to blame, but really, are they? I mean, just because things started off this morning with both boys screaming outside the bedroom door as they chased one another up the stairs (from the basement), jerking me out of a sound sleep that only came after being awake for three hours with Emma during the night, does not necessarily mean that Ian and Jamie are to blame for the tone of today.

And just because four children seemed to forget how to put on four sets of snowsuits and misplace eight mittens, four hats, four scarves and eight boots just as they were getting ready to leave for the school bus doesn't mean they are solely responsible for the pounding headache that began around 8:30 this morning.

Let's also make it clear that Emma and Jamie fighting (to the point of pushing and punching each other) to determine who would get to go to the bathroom first when they got home at noon (despite the fact that we have two bathrooms-yes, I said, two bathrooms...two bathrooms, two children, you'd think it would be simple, no?) did not put me in a bad mood all on its own.

Nor did the constant screaming, fighting, whining and complaining (especially about dinner) in any way, shape or form cause me to blame them for my crankiness.

Oh, wait a minute...yes, it did. And that is why I feel this crushing guilt, now that they are all quietly drifting off to la-la-land...because no matter how crazy the day is, at the end of it, I see Carol Brady and Mrs. Partridge in my head and think, "They would never have yelled like that...", and then I wonder just what kind of mother I am and whether my children will still love me in the morning. After a few minutes of self-pity, I realize that, of course they will, and that today is just one of those days that every parent has to deal with from time to time.

It's too bad that insight didn't come earlier in the day...

2009-01-14T21:41:00.002-05:00

"Why? Why are they doing this to me?" wailed Avery. She put her head in her hands as she stared at the paper in front of her. "What are they trying to do to me?"

Grade 1 math can be very rough, you know.

Can You Say Brrr...?

2009-01-14T20:36:00.005-05:00

So today was one of those frigid Canadian winter days when all you want to do is stay curled up under the covers, only coming out to grab a nice, hot cup of cocoa or maybe a wee snack to keep you from gnawing your arm off. Today was not a day I wanted to haul my kiester out of the house, and yet, the children still had to go to school, so crawl out of my cozy nest is what I did.

Sometime around 8:15 or so in the morning, Ian decided that wearing a short sleeved shirt to school would be a good idea. Brian tried to convince him that this was in fact a very bad idea. Ian, being 8 years old and absolutely convinced that his father was simply trying to exert some sort of parental control, would not believe that it could possibly be that cold outside.

So I decided to prove him wrong. "Ian," I said (quite calmly, I might add). "C'mere for a moment, would you?"

I opened the front door and the frigid blast of cold air nearly froze our breath as we stood in the front hall.

"AAAUUUGGGGHHHH!" screamed Ian,standing barefoot and bare armed. "Shut the door! It's freezing out there!"

After carefully closing the door, I turned to my son. "Now will you wear a sweater?" I asked.

"Uh, yes, yes I will," came the response.

See? It's all about speaking to them in a language they can understand.

The Aforementioned Jamie...

2009-01-13T17:03:00.002-05:00

Jamie is Emma's twin brother. He is younger by 46 minutes. Yes, that's what I said, 46 minutes. In the land of twin births, my understanding is that most twins are born within minutes of each other. As just mentioned, however, this did not occur while my kids were making their way through the birth canal to the outside world.

Emma was born first, she being head down and ready to shove her way out any way she could. Which is kind of like Emma today. Who knew? James was in a full on breach position. The doctors were waiting to see if he would turn himself and make his way out on his own. He didn't. In the end, the attending physician had to reach up and pull Jamie out by his feet. Which is also appropriate, given the child's personality today. No one can make Jamie do something until he's good and ready to do it.

My little boy is an adorable (if I do say so myself), not quite blond little boy with big, sky-blue colored eyes. When he was still a baby, I would look at him and think, "he looks like an angel".

But angel he ain't. Oh no, this kid can be hell on wheels. We're fairly certain the child has ADHD (and what with his mother, father, older brother and possibly twin sister also having it, the likelihood that he doesn't have the condition is fairly low), but this knowledge does not necessarily make it any easier to deal with a mexican jumping bean at the dinner table.

Many people have tried to tell me that he's "just an active boy"...but the fact is, even very active boys are capable of sitting quietly once in a while. James (or Jamie, as he's known to me and the girls-and to his older brother when Ian's ticked off at him) makes Ty Pennington look calm. He's a boy who throws himself head first (literally!) into anything and everything, secure in the knowledge that he "can do it Mama!". He seems to have no fear (other than spiders in the downstairs bathroom), and that amazes me while scaring the crap out of me at the same time. I keep wondering if he will be the child to call me from the top of the bridge just before he bungee jumps off it.

But while he keeps me on my toes, my favorite moments with him are when he first wakes up, before his adrealine has had a chance to kick in. He'll find me, no matter where I am in the house, rush headlong into my arms and want to sit and cuddle with me.

It may only be for a few minutes, but in those precious moments, my baby is still there, still needing my arms and I soak it up for all its worth. And then he's off and running, ready to take on the world, with that little half smile of his that is going to break some girl's heart one day, along with mine.

Four Year Old Logic...

2009-01-07T14:24:00.006-05:00

"Mama, I don't want you to be holding Jamie in dat picture, I want you to be holding me," said Emma, while staring at a four year old family photo.

"Uh, Emma," I began. "I can't just stop holding Jamie in that picture. It's a picture. It's not like I can just change the way it looks."

"Well, I don't want you to hold Jamie in dat picture. I want you to hold me in dat picture! Just erase Jamie out and den you can put me in it..."

This conversation occured just after she complained that she wanted me to fix her hair, but she didn't want it to look like Avery's hair. And when said hair was fixed, she got very upset because it wasn't a braid. When I pointed out that she hadn't told me she wanted a braid, she informed me, "I didn't want you to know dat I wanted a braid."

Maybe it's just me...

A Brief List That Explains Why No One Understands My Children...

2009-01-07T08:44:00.012-05:00

One rare night, not too long ago, my husband and I were out. Alone. The children had been left at home with a babysitter, and we had escaped to spend some quality time alone (read: no one interrupting every 30 seconds to demand anything or squeal on one's sibling/s). We hadn't been gone very long when we received a panicked phone call from the intrepid young lady looking after the kids.

"Help!" she cried. "The kids want circles and kikis...I have no idea what they're talking about!"

Laughing, my husband translated for our confused sitter. "English muffins and their blankets," he told her.

I'm sure most families have their own unique language and slang that makes it hard for those outside the circle to understand what they are talking about. And so, here is a brief list of the terms that my children use...and explains why no one but Brian and I seem to understand them...

circles - as previously mentioned, english muffins to the outside world, circles to us (you can understand right? Their shape? Obviously, they are circles.)

chicken cereal - aka Corn Flakes; a name given to the illustrious cereal when Ian was about 2 years old...because of the big green chicken on the box

kazoo - ski doo - last Easter at my sister's house, my then 5 year old daughter came into the house telling me that "Auntie Shelley wants to take you for a ride on the kazoo"; when I asked what a "kazoo" was, she informed me, "You know, the thing-a-ma-jig!"

honey nut cheerios - Jamie's name for all Cheerios, regardless of brand name or flavor

kikis - Emma and Jamie's blankets...we think the name derives from them hearing Avery calling for her "blankie"...but kiki is what they call them...interestingly, Emma's kiki is a girl and Jamie's is a boy...I personally never knew blankets had a gender, but what do I know?

binny - pronounced "be-nay" - kind of like an Italian mobster from one of the "Godfather" movies...also known as Ian's blanket (and what he started calling it at the age of 2, and no, he's never seen a mob movie, so where the accent came from, I do not know)

heart cereal - Avery's favorite cereal. Most people know it as Bran Flakes; to Avery it is heart cereal because of the heart check symbol on the box

hanitizer - hand sanitizer... Ian couldn't say the word when he had to use it starting in grade 1, and so it is now "hanitizer" to all of us ...

pooter - computer...I'm sure we're not the only ones who use this term, but it is funny when it's a pair of four year olds using it...

orngin - oranges..."Orngin" is what Emma and Jamie call them, and no matter how many times I try to tell them the right way to say it, they are still "orngins"...although frankly, it's a little too close to the old slang word "injuns" for my liking...

So there you have it...my children in all their unique and highly amusing glory. I'm sure that as the years go by, more and more terms will be added to the list, but for now, I think I'll step away from the pooter, pick up kikis and go grab an orngin to eat.

Stop complaining, just do it!

2009-01-06T15:11:00.003-05:00

I was watching tv yesterday morning for a few minutes (yes, only a few minutes, because most shows just annoy the crap out of me and I want to throw the remote at the television, which would just upset Brian to no end, what with it being a new set and all)...anyhow, the show I turned on was called, "The Doctors".

Now maybe you've heard of this show, maybe not. For those of you who haven't, it is produced by Dr. Phil's son, Jay (at least I think it's Jay; he's the only one I ever hear anyone talk about). The premise is that five real doctors deal with every day health issues and answer questions from viewers and audience members.

Yesterday's show was about being a "better you" in 2009. While I am all for learning about new ways to work out so I don't get bored, there is one topic that drives me insane every time I hear it. And that is the cry of "I-don't-have-enough-time-to-work-out-so-I-will-stay-fat-forever-and-just-learn-to-live-with-it". The doctors received a video from one of their viewers claiming she didn't have enough time to work out because she was too busy looking after her ONE child.

One! They showed the woman getting out of bed and complaining about changing diapers five times a day, having to do laundry, vacuuming and making dinner. Now, maybe I'm just jealous, because I had FOUR freaking babies whose diapers needed changing; two of them at the same time (twins'll do that to ya). But how freakin' long does it take that woman to change the kid's diaper?

And let's not forget that the kid takes a nap at least once a day...so why on earth is she complaining about not having any time to herself? Maybe she'd like to switch places with me, and then she can see what not having time to look after herself really feels like? Maybe she'd like to see what sort of mountain of laundry four small children can make, and then compare it to her one kid?

Yes, yes, I realize that I sound a wee bit harsh here, but give me a break. If I, with four children, a dog, a cat, a husband, ususally two neighborhood kids and a house to run can manage to get in a workout, so could this woman.

And she at least gets a full night's sleep.

And now, Ian...

2009-01-05T13:33:00.004-05:00

One morning late last spring, just after Ian had turned eight, he asked me a question while getting dressed for school.

"Mama," he queried. "Did your boobs have milk in them?"

"Yes," I replied. "But not anymore."

"I know," he said. "Because you don't have babies anymore. Your nickels are closed."

"My...nickels?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied. "I don't have boobs. I have nickels."

And then he pointed to his nipples.

Ahhh...

2009-01-05T10:17:00.004-05:00

Christmas vacation is over and the children have gone back to school. The house is so quiet, my ears are having a difficult time adjusting to the lack of noise. I keep expecting someone to start wailing from the basement, "St-o-p!" or hear the sounds of small children pummeling each other as they jockey for space at the computer.

Two weeks in a house where four children were sick did not make for the happiest of vacations. They did not go outside to play. They barely cracked the spine on any of the books lying all over the house. (Ian, when asked if he'd read any books, informed me that he didn't have to do any homework on his vacation. Apparently, he doesn't yet see reading as profitable for its own sake...). They did, however manage to gorge themselves on candy and cookies and on all the other treats that are ever present over the Christmas holidays.

Yesterday, the tree and all the decorations throughout the house came down. Since Brian and I were the only ones originally involved in "striking the set" (ah, good, old theater days), I suggested we should inform the kids about what we were doing, because if they came up the stairs and saw everything gone, they would go into conniption fits the like of which has not been seen since we left the terrible twos behind.

Emma decided she wanted to help take the balls off the Christmas tree and put them in the plastic storage bin, informing us that she could do "three at a time, Daddy", and Avery and Jamie both came to help pull a few things off the tree. I called Ian to join us, and he adamantly refused to help the rest of us. "Why?" I asked.

"This place looks so boring without Christmas decorations. I can't take it!"

If only this would be the worst problem he will ever face...

He's right, though. The house does look a little sad right now, denuded of all its glorious Christmas finery.

Luckily, Valentine's Day is just around the corner...which means hearts and cupids and chocolate, oh my...

Is it too soon to start decorating?

Introducing Emma...

2009-01-03T20:19:00.002-05:00

One night at dinner, our 8 year old son was being a trifle rude to his parents. I looked him sternly in the eye and demanded, "Ian, are you this disrespectful to your teacher at school?"

"What's that?" he asked.

After a brief discussion of what respect is, I levelled another question at him.

"Does your teacher cook your meals?"

"Ah, no," he replied.

"Does she clean your clothes? Make your bed? Help you with your homework? Read you stories before bed?"

To each question Ian answered no, while his younger brother and sisters looked on.

"Who does all that for you?" I asked.

Looking back and forth between his father and myself, Ian answered, "You do, and Daddy too, I guess."

"Yes, Daddy and I do that, and do you know why?" I questioned.

Ian shook his head no.

Thinking myself very clever, I delivered my coup-de-grace.

"We do it because we are your parents and we love you. So your parents deserve more respect than anyone else on this planet."

From the other end of the table, Emma piped up.

"I want to live on anudder planet."

Bedtime, shmedtime...

2008-12-30T11:02:00.000-05:00

So I read an online article from "Today's Parent", a Canadian parenting magazine that I stopped reading somewhere around the time the first kid was six months old, because I found it to be filled with idiotic suggestions on how to raise children. It also made me feel somewhat inadequate, since I was quite obviously not parenting the way the magazine and its panel of experts thought I should.

However, once in a while, I would pick up a copy (usually the free one from the doctor's office), open it up to peruse its pages, only to fling it back down again in disgust.

This morning I thought I'd try again.

And once again, I find myself wanting to hurl the magazine through a window (I didn't, what with it being the online version I was reading and not really wanting to damage the laptop).

"Today's Parent" offered up ideas on how to have a calm bedtime routine for families with crazy schedules. The suggestions were things like play for an hour after dinner, bath time, reading with each child for at least half an hour to an hour before turning out the lights and letting the little darlings drift gently into dreamland.

The problem I have with this? They interviewed two families. That's right, two. Deux. Dos. One family had two children, the other? One. Two families witha grand total of three children. The first family's complaint was that it sometimes took two hours to get the children to bed after dinner. The second family was a single mom (whose ex also follows the bedtime routine) of a four year old who doesn't go to sleep until 8:30 or 9 pm.

There are a few things here that make my blood boil. First of all, this article is designed to help make bedtime simple for families where the maximum number of children is two. I have four children. If I was to follow this hare-brained scheme, my children wouldn't be turning the lights out until 10 pm. And what four year old still needs to be awake at 9 pm? I wasn't allowed to stay up that late until I was 16 years old.

The parents of the two children in the article have different parenting styles (so who doesn't?)...the mother likes to have a fashion show with the kids, the dad likes to jump on a trampoline with them to "burn off energy after dinner". Huh? Any exercise expert will tell you that getting your heart rate up doesn't calm you down, it revs you up. And does so for hours afterwards, and that you should not exercise within three hours of going to bed. How on earth does jumping around help calm this guy's kids?

We call after - dinner time around here the "crazy hour". It does not matter whether or not we play calm games with the children (and with four of them between the ages of 4 and 8, no game is ever quiet and gentle), dance 'til our buns fall off or read for two solid hours, after dinner is when the children go nuts.

We accept this. We do not look for solutions to try and change our children. We just look at the clock, mutter a slow countdown under our breath (only 45 more minutes, only 30 more minutes, only...), close their bedroom doors and by 7:30 pm, breathe a giant sigh of relief that we have made it through another day without eating our young.

I blame the children...

2008-12-28T10:53:00.000-05:00

So in trying to find my brand new blog this morning, I discovered to my shock that someone else had "stolen" my website! Someone by the name of Melissa (which coincidentally is the name of one of my sisters) had somehow managed to get my "watermelon" name and created her very own blog.

I sat on the couch, blinded with fury. The beginnings of a major temper tantrum began to manifest itself. "How dare she?" I fumed. "It's MY name! She can't just take it!" A few other choice names began to percolate in my brain (I didn't actually spew any of them out, what with a four year old boy sitting peacefully on the couch with me, I do have some semblance of parental judgement).

And then my husband came downstairs and calmly removed the computer from my lap. He stared at the screen for about thirty seconds, then handed the thing back to me and told me to look very carefully at the domain bar (or whatever you call that thing-y)...

It would seem that no one had stolen the "watermelon" site from me. I spelled it wrong when I registered the website.

I have heard many times that women lose brain cells from the moment of conception and continue to do so for two full years (yep, that means until the kid is past his or her first birthday)...since I had four kids in less than four years, I make the claim that I am only now starting to recover a few of those lost cells.

So first, I apologize to this poor girl "Melissa" for accusing her of heinous crimes, and for my inability to type in a simple word correctly, I'm going to blame the children...

2008-12-28T10:50:00.000-05:00

The Reason For The Name
"Don't stand on the watermelon."

"I'm not your friend, I'm your mother."

"Tell your therapist when you're older."

"If you wake up dead in the morning, you'll know it was no good."

"You can shoot me later; right now, make your bed."

All things that I have said to my four children at one time or another (although I will admit to the waking up dead thing as having originated from my mother, and completely stealing it for my own purposes).

Yes, I said four. As in double the average number of children per North American family. As in constant chaos and noise. As in being asked whether or not I run a daycare. As in bugged out eyes when I answer that they are all mine. As in having eight arms wrapped around my neck to give me hugs. Four separate little beings who seem to love me no matter what sort of craziness comes from their mother's mouth, or how she strives to maintain some sense of tidiness and order in a house where she is vastly outnumbered by people who don't really care whether or not the floor is clean enough to eat off or if the towels in the bathroom are hanging perfectly on the rack.

Four small humans to whom I have actually had to say, "Don't stand on the watermelon."