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

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?

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...

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...

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...

...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...

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...

...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...