Earlier this evening, when changing yet another roll of toilet paper, it dawned on me where all the TP is going.
They're on to me and my Jessica Seinfeld cookbook.
And are eating toilet paper instead.
It explains the ability to exist on a marshmallow and a juice box for days on end - even though served with lovingly prepared, nutritious meals.
Ha! They just think they've won! Wait till I make my own toilet paper with vegetables... nyahahahaha!
(Do you think I might be taking this whole healthy eating thing too far? Or maybe that I just need to go to bed?)
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Cracking
I am blogging for my sanity at this moment in time.
Marc left for Fort Lauderdale at 5:30 on Sunday morning. Right now I still have 46.5 hours until he gets back.
Julia has been sick all week. Not the kind of sick where she does something productive like SLEEP, but the kind where I know she feels like crap. Hard not to when she's stuck on whine/cry/produce vast quantities of snot/whine/cry setting.
How's Stu you ask? Well he's taking his future career as a police informer very seriously. He tells on EVERYTHING. I get to hear every minute detail of her every infraction. While I was typing this he opened the basement door and shouted "Mum SHE..." to which I bellowed "GO UPSTAIRS!! I WILL BE UP IN TWO MINUTES!" Je continued to talk, just louder. Because that will change my mind.
Julia just opened the door to tell me Stuart desperately needs me. Yeesh. I would count how many hours it has been since I had a moment of SILENCE, but it would depress me. Night-time? you ask, Surely you must get a break.
Oh no. Nights are for coughing, waking up and screaming the house down because we didn't have desert 8 hours before (Julia) and nightmares (Stu) that mean we have to sleep on our mother.
I was fine until this aft... coasting along through this lo-o-o-o-o-ng week, thinking we were doing fine.
Then BOOM - I hit pissed off. Fed up.
I would tell you more but my son is apparently writing in pain. And my daughter has told me so 3 times.
I'm going to have to add a donate button for their future therapy
Marc left for Fort Lauderdale at 5:30 on Sunday morning. Right now I still have 46.5 hours until he gets back.
Julia has been sick all week. Not the kind of sick where she does something productive like SLEEP, but the kind where I know she feels like crap. Hard not to when she's stuck on whine/cry/produce vast quantities of snot/whine/cry setting.
How's Stu you ask? Well he's taking his future career as a police informer very seriously. He tells on EVERYTHING. I get to hear every minute detail of her every infraction. While I was typing this he opened the basement door and shouted "Mum SHE..." to which I bellowed "GO UPSTAIRS!! I WILL BE UP IN TWO MINUTES!" Je continued to talk, just louder. Because that will change my mind.
Julia just opened the door to tell me Stuart desperately needs me. Yeesh. I would count how many hours it has been since I had a moment of SILENCE, but it would depress me. Night-time? you ask, Surely you must get a break.
Oh no. Nights are for coughing, waking up and screaming the house down because we didn't have desert 8 hours before (Julia) and nightmares (Stu) that mean we have to sleep on our mother.
I was fine until this aft... coasting along through this lo-o-o-o-o-ng week, thinking we were doing fine.
Then BOOM - I hit pissed off. Fed up.
I would tell you more but my son is apparently writing in pain. And my daughter has told me so 3 times.
I'm going to have to add a donate button for their future therapy
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Maybe in the driveway?
Since we moved home I have gained weight at an alarming rate. I've been pretty much one weight since I met my husband - with the exception of two pregnancies and that weird period after I stopped nursing Stu and gained a ton of weight.
About a month or so ago I got on the scale and realized that I was a pound under the weight I was the day I gave birth to Stu. I took a deep breath. And thought that I had a kilo and a half to go before I hit the weight I was when I gave birth to Julia.
Tonight, spurred on by my mother's comment last week that I had lost weight (which I probably gained back late last week eating my way through a cold), I got out the scale while the kids were in the tub.
And gasped.
I had gained 1/2 a kilo. A pound. I was getting close to breaking my all time high.
A few hours later I was lying here in bed, trying to go to sleep. The gerbil in my brain - the one that runs around keeping me awake at night - brought up the very good point (or so I thought) that the scale has always been a bit funny and that maybe I should try weighing myself somewhere else.
So I tried my bedroom floor. Lost 1.2 kilos - instantly. Hmm. Maybe it was all clothes?
Tried the bathroom again. I'd gained 1/2 a kilo in 2 hours...?
On to the carpet in the hallway. Nope, there was an extra 1/2 kilo there too! I was up to a whole kilo over my previous reading.
Then the gerbil said "Well, it was on ceramic tile in Luxembourg - go try the ceramic tile!"
Now, the only place in our house with ceramic tile is by the front door. That has a window next to it. So there I was, standing in my teeny tiny pj's, trying not to touch the freezing cold tile and hoping none of the neighbours were out walking their dogs to witness my antics.
Oh wait! I bet they can't see over our 8 foot snow banks!
The ceramic tile brought me back to 1/2 a kilo over my first weigh-in. Sigh. I turned the scale 90 degrees - no change.
So I tried the kitchen. Nope, same reading. Turned it around - same thing.
What about the hallway? YEAH! I just got down 1.3 kilos from my first reading of the night!
So - if you ever come to my house and find the scale in the hallway by the kitchen... hop on, it seems to be the optimum places to weigh yourself.
And if you see the gerbil that runs around in my head, shoot the little monster.
(Can you tell I am tired? My insomnia is really bad the last few days.)
About a month or so ago I got on the scale and realized that I was a pound under the weight I was the day I gave birth to Stu. I took a deep breath. And thought that I had a kilo and a half to go before I hit the weight I was when I gave birth to Julia.
Tonight, spurred on by my mother's comment last week that I had lost weight (which I probably gained back late last week eating my way through a cold), I got out the scale while the kids were in the tub.
And gasped.
I had gained 1/2 a kilo. A pound. I was getting close to breaking my all time high.
A few hours later I was lying here in bed, trying to go to sleep. The gerbil in my brain - the one that runs around keeping me awake at night - brought up the very good point (or so I thought) that the scale has always been a bit funny and that maybe I should try weighing myself somewhere else.
So I tried my bedroom floor. Lost 1.2 kilos - instantly. Hmm. Maybe it was all clothes?
Tried the bathroom again. I'd gained 1/2 a kilo in 2 hours...?
On to the carpet in the hallway. Nope, there was an extra 1/2 kilo there too! I was up to a whole kilo over my previous reading.
Then the gerbil said "Well, it was on ceramic tile in Luxembourg - go try the ceramic tile!"
Now, the only place in our house with ceramic tile is by the front door. That has a window next to it. So there I was, standing in my teeny tiny pj's, trying not to touch the freezing cold tile and hoping none of the neighbours were out walking their dogs to witness my antics.
Oh wait! I bet they can't see over our 8 foot snow banks!
The ceramic tile brought me back to 1/2 a kilo over my first weigh-in. Sigh. I turned the scale 90 degrees - no change.
So I tried the kitchen. Nope, same reading. Turned it around - same thing.
What about the hallway? YEAH! I just got down 1.3 kilos from my first reading of the night!
So - if you ever come to my house and find the scale in the hallway by the kitchen... hop on, it seems to be the optimum places to weigh yourself.
And if you see the gerbil that runs around in my head, shoot the little monster.
(Can you tell I am tired? My insomnia is really bad the last few days.)
Monday, February 25, 2008
cake
Today we baked a chocolate cake. To celebrate my father's birthday, though I didn't tell the kids that.
They were quite perplexed as to why I stuck a sparkler in it. Apparently that was all that piqued their curiosity - don't get the wrong idea, I rarely bake cakes.
Anyhow - it was my little way of celebrating my father. Last year I was overcome by his birthday - one of the few times I used to call him. And rarely got him. I baked a cake last year, out of feeling awful, and I suppose out of grief.
I felt fine all day, until the sparkler went out on the cake. And I started to think about how my dad would have been 65 today. Dying at 63 sounds so young. It is so young. And so sad, especially because so much of it was self-inflicted. I see the sad life he led, now that I don't have to protect myself with anger.
I mentioned to my best friend yesterday that today was my dad's birthday (we've been friends for 30 years, she is one of my few friends who knew my dad) and she asked if I was okay.
"Yeah," I said, "I'm going to bake a cake."
She looked at me very strangely. Then said "I've never heard of that."
Her father died when she was 12. He was so young, it was such a shock, it was 4 days before Christmas. (I clearly remember when we got the call, that I was eating peas, and for once my father was home for dinner. I remember sitting on his lap and crying. I think that might be the last time I ever sat on his lap. I was 11.)
She said she usually focusses on the day he died. Marking it in some way. But that it is a sad thing, and hard to do amidst all the holiday cheer.
She's going to celebrate his birthday from now on. And bake him a cake.
After we'd had our cake tonight I sent Stu to both our sets of neighbours with a huge piece of cake. He was so proud of himself for delivering it. And now I won't eat it all...
They were quite perplexed as to why I stuck a sparkler in it. Apparently that was all that piqued their curiosity - don't get the wrong idea, I rarely bake cakes.
Anyhow - it was my little way of celebrating my father. Last year I was overcome by his birthday - one of the few times I used to call him. And rarely got him. I baked a cake last year, out of feeling awful, and I suppose out of grief.
I felt fine all day, until the sparkler went out on the cake. And I started to think about how my dad would have been 65 today. Dying at 63 sounds so young. It is so young. And so sad, especially because so much of it was self-inflicted. I see the sad life he led, now that I don't have to protect myself with anger.
I mentioned to my best friend yesterday that today was my dad's birthday (we've been friends for 30 years, she is one of my few friends who knew my dad) and she asked if I was okay.
"Yeah," I said, "I'm going to bake a cake."
She looked at me very strangely. Then said "I've never heard of that."
Her father died when she was 12. He was so young, it was such a shock, it was 4 days before Christmas. (I clearly remember when we got the call, that I was eating peas, and for once my father was home for dinner. I remember sitting on his lap and crying. I think that might be the last time I ever sat on his lap. I was 11.)
She said she usually focusses on the day he died. Marking it in some way. But that it is a sad thing, and hard to do amidst all the holiday cheer.
She's going to celebrate his birthday from now on. And bake him a cake.
After we'd had our cake tonight I sent Stu to both our sets of neighbours with a huge piece of cake. He was so proud of himself for delivering it. And now I won't eat it all...
6 months
6 months ago today we arrived back in Ottawa.
It was our second day in Canada - well not even second really as we had arrived late afternoon the day before. A long and emotional day - long with flights (though a nice stop over in Amsterdam), but emotional leaving Luxembourg. I can still remember the incredulous feeling of being on the bus to the airport with all our suitcases as we drove through the Grund.
But I don't want to go there tonight.
What I do want to do is try and figure out if we feel established. We had it from some very good sources that it takes 6 months to settle, and feel back at home in your own country.
At the time it seemed an insurmountable feet - to feel out of place for 6 months??? Geez. But back then everything felt wrong - and a lot of things were going wrong. Mostly contracting stuff with the house (oh the stories) and it felt like we were struggling day to day - 6 months was a hideously long time.
And now it is here. And it has gone so quickly.
I don't know how settled I feel. I wish there were a test I could take that would give me a percentage based on my answers. My usual wish about most things - give me a test, tell me the numbers... a constant reminder that I am the daughter of an actuary, and that everything in life should come down to a mathematical equation ("Ah!" you say, "now I understand").
There are parts of me that are thrilled to be home. Last week, it must have been Wednesday, I was leaving our community centre/library and I caught myself thinking how happy I was to be home, and to be able to be a stay at home mother. Really - I had that moment.
I love that the kids are taking swimming lessons - and that it's easy to do here. I love the community centre and their programs. I love the free reading groups at the library (that I would willingly pay for). I love Julia's nursery school. I love our neighbours, and the great bond we have developed with them. I love having my best friend a 20 minute drive away, and that my kids love her. I love being able to hop in the car and go to my mum's for a day (and I live in eternal hope that spring will one day arrive, so every time we plan something with my mother it's not "tentative, let's see if it snows")
And there are things I don't love. Shovelling has lost it's cachet. I miss the culture of Europe - but that is partly my fault, I live a very narrow life in some ways at the moment, tied to my Mom Schedule. I miss silly things, like coffee. We had some Nespresso at my neighbour's birthday party last weekend and I thought "oh yeah, that's what it's supposed to taste like."
I desperately miss the olives from Del Haize. Yes, they deserve their own little paragraph. They were delicious.
I miss being an ex-pat. I don't really know how to explain what I mean by that. I miss being able to be somewhere else and knowing if I didn't like it I could always come home. Sounds ridiculous, I know. And I think I miss being a bit "different". Canadians in Luxembourg are not run of the mill - here I am just another Canadian. Somehow I felt more national pride there than I do here.
And of course there are the people I miss, but I will be in tears if I go down that road.
I think one of the big factors in not feeling settled is that Marc's employment future is still unclear. I didn't expect that 6 months into this adventure. He has a few things that look good, and now I am wondering if it's going to be a case of not raining but pouring. But it does have both of us feeling uneasy at the moment. And just kind of not permanent. Though in retrospect we did the same things for the first 18 months in Luxembourg, going 6 month contract to 6 month contract. I seem to remember hating it then too.
So - 6 months in. I am not settled. I don't think I know what would make feel settled though. I do know that every day takes me farther away from what our lives were. I try not to focus on that, because that life was far from perfect - at least for us.
Maybe I should just let my brain rest on this one. I'll check in again on myself at 9 months.
It was our second day in Canada - well not even second really as we had arrived late afternoon the day before. A long and emotional day - long with flights (though a nice stop over in Amsterdam), but emotional leaving Luxembourg. I can still remember the incredulous feeling of being on the bus to the airport with all our suitcases as we drove through the Grund.
But I don't want to go there tonight.
What I do want to do is try and figure out if we feel established. We had it from some very good sources that it takes 6 months to settle, and feel back at home in your own country.
At the time it seemed an insurmountable feet - to feel out of place for 6 months??? Geez. But back then everything felt wrong - and a lot of things were going wrong. Mostly contracting stuff with the house (oh the stories) and it felt like we were struggling day to day - 6 months was a hideously long time.
And now it is here. And it has gone so quickly.
I don't know how settled I feel. I wish there were a test I could take that would give me a percentage based on my answers. My usual wish about most things - give me a test, tell me the numbers... a constant reminder that I am the daughter of an actuary, and that everything in life should come down to a mathematical equation ("Ah!" you say, "now I understand").
There are parts of me that are thrilled to be home. Last week, it must have been Wednesday, I was leaving our community centre/library and I caught myself thinking how happy I was to be home, and to be able to be a stay at home mother. Really - I had that moment.
I love that the kids are taking swimming lessons - and that it's easy to do here. I love the community centre and their programs. I love the free reading groups at the library (that I would willingly pay for). I love Julia's nursery school. I love our neighbours, and the great bond we have developed with them. I love having my best friend a 20 minute drive away, and that my kids love her. I love being able to hop in the car and go to my mum's for a day (and I live in eternal hope that spring will one day arrive, so every time we plan something with my mother it's not "tentative, let's see if it snows")
And there are things I don't love. Shovelling has lost it's cachet. I miss the culture of Europe - but that is partly my fault, I live a very narrow life in some ways at the moment, tied to my Mom Schedule. I miss silly things, like coffee. We had some Nespresso at my neighbour's birthday party last weekend and I thought "oh yeah, that's what it's supposed to taste like."
I desperately miss the olives from Del Haize. Yes, they deserve their own little paragraph. They were delicious.
I miss being an ex-pat. I don't really know how to explain what I mean by that. I miss being able to be somewhere else and knowing if I didn't like it I could always come home. Sounds ridiculous, I know. And I think I miss being a bit "different". Canadians in Luxembourg are not run of the mill - here I am just another Canadian. Somehow I felt more national pride there than I do here.
And of course there are the people I miss, but I will be in tears if I go down that road.
I think one of the big factors in not feeling settled is that Marc's employment future is still unclear. I didn't expect that 6 months into this adventure. He has a few things that look good, and now I am wondering if it's going to be a case of not raining but pouring. But it does have both of us feeling uneasy at the moment. And just kind of not permanent. Though in retrospect we did the same things for the first 18 months in Luxembourg, going 6 month contract to 6 month contract. I seem to remember hating it then too.
So - 6 months in. I am not settled. I don't think I know what would make feel settled though. I do know that every day takes me farther away from what our lives were. I try not to focus on that, because that life was far from perfect - at least for us.
Maybe I should just let my brain rest on this one. I'll check in again on myself at 9 months.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Zen...
My husband is amazing. For Valentine's Day he got me a 1/2 day at the salon where I got my new "do" a few weeks back. They had a special running - manicure, pedicure, aromatherapy facial and hour-long relaxation body massage.
I've just come home and I am so zen I made about 5 typos in the above sentences.
At first I wasn't sure how it was all going to turn out (I had called to add on some waxing so we started with that - ouch!). The girl was very young, very sweet and very... vocal? I know a little bit too much about her home life and things like how you can catch herpes even if you use a condom (tried desperately to steer the conversation back from there... how on earth did we get there???)
But once my waxing, hands and feet were done (and she did a great job!!) the facial started. In the quiet, and mostly in the dark. It was pretty darn cool. She spritzed me with some wonderful smelling stuff and rubbed in cream and put pads on my eyes that cooled them (and shrunk my dark circles...) And then the massage... sigh.
I think I might be too zen to write. Words... not... coming... easily... typos... galore...
Marc also let me go back to bed for two hours this morning... I'm gonna keep him.
Not that there was any doubt.
I've just come home and I am so zen I made about 5 typos in the above sentences.
At first I wasn't sure how it was all going to turn out (I had called to add on some waxing so we started with that - ouch!). The girl was very young, very sweet and very... vocal? I know a little bit too much about her home life and things like how you can catch herpes even if you use a condom (tried desperately to steer the conversation back from there... how on earth did we get there???)
But once my waxing, hands and feet were done (and she did a great job!!) the facial started. In the quiet, and mostly in the dark. It was pretty darn cool. She spritzed me with some wonderful smelling stuff and rubbed in cream and put pads on my eyes that cooled them (and shrunk my dark circles...) And then the massage... sigh.
I think I might be too zen to write. Words... not... coming... easily... typos... galore...
Marc also let me go back to bed for two hours this morning... I'm gonna keep him.
Not that there was any doubt.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Spargel
The other day they had some bunches of asparagus at the store. I served mine for dinner tonight.
In Europe, or at least the part we lived in, asparagus is a huge thing - almost as big as "Les Moules sont arrives!" (the mussels have arrived).
Last year for my birthday we went to Baden-Baden for the weekend. During "spargel" season. There was asparagus on pretty much every menu we saw. We drove by road-side stall after road-side stall selling bunches for 5 euros.
On the way there we laughed at the signs - I mean, it's just asparagus right?
We had a great weekend... it was beautiful and sunny, warm for April. The trees were all in full bloom - oh how I will miss European spring this year!
With the exception of Marc's girlfriend Betty (his GPS) trying to direct us through a fountain onto a pedestrian street, nothing went wrong. We ate well, saw a beautiful town, did a bit of shopping (my Thomas Sabo charm bracelet... sigh).
On the Sunday we went to the Lowenbrau Biergarten for lunch. It was my first visit to a beer garden (I don't need to tell you it wasn't Marc's - do I?). Our waiter wore Leidehosen.We sat out in the beautiful sun, under a blue and white striped umbrella. We nibbled on salty Bretzels (big doughy pretzels) while we waited for our lunch.
Mine was : asparagus. The best asparagus I have EVER had. It was served rolled up in a very light egg-y crepe and smothered in a buttery bechamel sauce (so good it was worth the dairy intolerance!!).
My mouth waters just thinking about that meal. All the way home we looked out for a SPARGEL sign to lead us to a stall. But they were all closed - not much goes on Sundays in those parts.
Anyone heading to Baden-Baden? Can you go eat some Spargel for me? (Cathie - I'm looking at you!!)
In Europe, or at least the part we lived in, asparagus is a huge thing - almost as big as "Les Moules sont arrives!" (the mussels have arrived).
Last year for my birthday we went to Baden-Baden for the weekend. During "spargel" season. There was asparagus on pretty much every menu we saw. We drove by road-side stall after road-side stall selling bunches for 5 euros.
On the way there we laughed at the signs - I mean, it's just asparagus right?
We had a great weekend... it was beautiful and sunny, warm for April. The trees were all in full bloom - oh how I will miss European spring this year!
With the exception of Marc's girlfriend Betty (his GPS) trying to direct us through a fountain onto a pedestrian street, nothing went wrong. We ate well, saw a beautiful town, did a bit of shopping (my Thomas Sabo charm bracelet... sigh).
On the Sunday we went to the Lowenbrau Biergarten for lunch. It was my first visit to a beer garden (I don't need to tell you it wasn't Marc's - do I?). Our waiter wore Leidehosen.We sat out in the beautiful sun, under a blue and white striped umbrella. We nibbled on salty Bretzels (big doughy pretzels) while we waited for our lunch.
Mine was : asparagus. The best asparagus I have EVER had. It was served rolled up in a very light egg-y crepe and smothered in a buttery bechamel sauce (so good it was worth the dairy intolerance!!).
My mouth waters just thinking about that meal. All the way home we looked out for a SPARGEL sign to lead us to a stall. But they were all closed - not much goes on Sundays in those parts.
Anyone heading to Baden-Baden? Can you go eat some Spargel for me? (Cathie - I'm looking at you!!)
Thursday, February 21, 2008
mea culpa
Stuart has been having bad dreams all week. And getting into bed with us, which leaves us all tired and cranky.
I thought it was the snakes that he had seen at the Ecomuseum on Monday. Turns out I was wrong.
This morning he came and got back into his bed (where I fled to at some point in the night) and told me he hadn't slept ALL NIGHT.
Eventually - quite possibly due to my own exhaustion - I decided that missing a morning of Grade 1 would not end his academic career.
To my shock he stayed in bed. He did not get out. He seemed to be lying there trying to sleep (although on closer examination I found a Senators program and a little board game under his pillow). He didn't even venture downstairs until after 10:30 when I was talking to my mum on the phone.
She spoke to him to try and figure out what was bothering him.
He got back in bed. I went in and checked again for signs of a fever, poked and prodded his stomach a bit. Asked again if something was wrong at school. There isn't. But...
He started talking about Meet the Robinsons that we watched on Saturday night. Turns out that he is worried that will happen to him. "What?" you ask?
That his mother will leave him at an orphanage because she can't take care of him. And that he will be adopted by someone nasty.
It gets better. He is coming into our bed at night to see if I am still there and because he is worried that I will carry him out of his bed and drop him at an orphanage while he sleeps. Without waking him.
I didn't tell him he was being ridiculous. I didn't make light of this accusations, which would have helped deflect the sting of his fears. I told him that I love him. That I promise I can take care of him, and that when I say "I can't do this anymore!" that I am referring to things like dragging him out of the house morning after morning, cleaning up his room or refereeing the daily sibling bickering.
I also pointed out that if, and that's a big IF people, I couldn't take care of him - well he's got an awesome Dad. And two sets of Grandparents who love him. And and Aunt and Uncle... and various godparents... that he's not going to end up in an orphanage, he is too loved and wanted for that.
Let's hope it sticks. Otherwise I will have to start pulling out logic, like if I wanted to get rid of him I wouldn't be doing things like pureeing veggies to hide in his food in hopes that he is getting enough nutrients when he won't eat well. Or that when I beg him to go to sleep at night it's so that he grows up healthy and strong.
Not to mention that IF I was going to get rid of him I would probably try and get some cash for him to finance a nice Carribean cruise.
That was a joke. A sick joke. But I guess I better stop with the jokes about selling them on ebay.
I thought it was the snakes that he had seen at the Ecomuseum on Monday. Turns out I was wrong.
This morning he came and got back into his bed (where I fled to at some point in the night) and told me he hadn't slept ALL NIGHT.
Eventually - quite possibly due to my own exhaustion - I decided that missing a morning of Grade 1 would not end his academic career.
To my shock he stayed in bed. He did not get out. He seemed to be lying there trying to sleep (although on closer examination I found a Senators program and a little board game under his pillow). He didn't even venture downstairs until after 10:30 when I was talking to my mum on the phone.
She spoke to him to try and figure out what was bothering him.
He got back in bed. I went in and checked again for signs of a fever, poked and prodded his stomach a bit. Asked again if something was wrong at school. There isn't. But...
He started talking about Meet the Robinsons that we watched on Saturday night. Turns out that he is worried that will happen to him. "What?" you ask?
That his mother will leave him at an orphanage because she can't take care of him. And that he will be adopted by someone nasty.
It gets better. He is coming into our bed at night to see if I am still there and because he is worried that I will carry him out of his bed and drop him at an orphanage while he sleeps. Without waking him.
I didn't tell him he was being ridiculous. I didn't make light of this accusations, which would have helped deflect the sting of his fears. I told him that I love him. That I promise I can take care of him, and that when I say "I can't do this anymore!" that I am referring to things like dragging him out of the house morning after morning, cleaning up his room or refereeing the daily sibling bickering.
I also pointed out that if, and that's a big IF people, I couldn't take care of him - well he's got an awesome Dad. And two sets of Grandparents who love him. And and Aunt and Uncle... and various godparents... that he's not going to end up in an orphanage, he is too loved and wanted for that.
Let's hope it sticks. Otherwise I will have to start pulling out logic, like if I wanted to get rid of him I wouldn't be doing things like pureeing veggies to hide in his food in hopes that he is getting enough nutrients when he won't eat well. Or that when I beg him to go to sleep at night it's so that he grows up healthy and strong.
Not to mention that IF I was going to get rid of him I would probably try and get some cash for him to finance a nice Carribean cruise.
That was a joke. A sick joke. But I guess I better stop with the jokes about selling them on ebay.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Dilemma, dilemma...
So... my daughter is quite the social butterfly for a little girl who has lived in this country a little under 6 months.
She has been invited to two birthday parties on March 1st. At pretty much the same time.
And now I have a dilemma. Which is this:
The first invitation is for a little girl A. A's older brother is a friend of Stuart's and is in his class. He came to Stu's birthday, they hang out, they are starting to go to Beavers together. A is becoming friends with Julia, they made each other sweet valentines and I had to change Julia's registration for JK to mornings (we had chosen afternoons) because A is going in the morning. And she HAS to go to school with A.
I accepted invitation 1 this afternoon after school.
The second invitation came picking up Julia from nursery school. It was not a formal one, though the cards are on their way tomorrow apparently. And it's for M's birthday. Now M is Julia's BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE WORLD. She loves her. M loves Julia. They have great playdates. Party 2 is going to be (if they have stuck to the plan that was vaguely referred to about 6 weeks ago) about 1/2 hour out of town in the country. With a horse. Because M loves horses.
Hmmm. You may be asking what my problem is. Well, as usual I am over thinking the entire thing.
On one hand I want Julia to go to party #1 because - wait for it, here comes the slew of reasons, in no particular order - Stu has been invited to come along if he wants (he does), I think it would be good for Julia to meet other little ones from our neighbourhood, the mother of this child had Julia over for a play-date on a weeknight so I could go to Parents night at Beavers with Stu (Marc was away) - all of these are things I want to cultivate. The fact is I can see us having a lot to do with this family over the next few years.
And yet... I feel badly if Julia misses her best friend's party. At the same time realizing that M is starting full day JK next year and I am not sure if we will be able to get together much.
I know. Too much thought. I am sure my parents never deliberated this much over my social life when I was going on 4!
(P.S. - this isn't going to keep me up, I'm not taking it THAT seriously!!)
She has been invited to two birthday parties on March 1st. At pretty much the same time.
And now I have a dilemma. Which is this:
The first invitation is for a little girl A. A's older brother is a friend of Stuart's and is in his class. He came to Stu's birthday, they hang out, they are starting to go to Beavers together. A is becoming friends with Julia, they made each other sweet valentines and I had to change Julia's registration for JK to mornings (we had chosen afternoons) because A is going in the morning. And she HAS to go to school with A.
I accepted invitation 1 this afternoon after school.
The second invitation came picking up Julia from nursery school. It was not a formal one, though the cards are on their way tomorrow apparently. And it's for M's birthday. Now M is Julia's BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE WORLD. She loves her. M loves Julia. They have great playdates. Party 2 is going to be (if they have stuck to the plan that was vaguely referred to about 6 weeks ago) about 1/2 hour out of town in the country. With a horse. Because M loves horses.
Hmmm. You may be asking what my problem is. Well, as usual I am over thinking the entire thing.
On one hand I want Julia to go to party #1 because - wait for it, here comes the slew of reasons, in no particular order - Stu has been invited to come along if he wants (he does), I think it would be good for Julia to meet other little ones from our neighbourhood, the mother of this child had Julia over for a play-date on a weeknight so I could go to Parents night at Beavers with Stu (Marc was away) - all of these are things I want to cultivate. The fact is I can see us having a lot to do with this family over the next few years.
And yet... I feel badly if Julia misses her best friend's party. At the same time realizing that M is starting full day JK next year and I am not sure if we will be able to get together much.
I know. Too much thought. I am sure my parents never deliberated this much over my social life when I was going on 4!
(P.S. - this isn't going to keep me up, I'm not taking it THAT seriously!!)
Monday, February 18, 2008
Family Day
We have a new holiday in Ontario - Family Day, the 3rd Monday in February.
This was the first one - they still have to work out some kinks in the system. A healthy portion of Ottawa and the surrounding area works for the federal government and was not off - but all schools and daycares (and day care providers) had the day off.
As you can imagine there was a lot of grumbling (what? from federal employees? Never!).
Marc did not have the day off (though he ended staying home in the end with a terrible cold). So I decided that I would take the kids to Montreal to hang out with - FAMILY. Kind of fitting for Family Day, no?
We left yesterday just before lunch because of the freezing rain that was forecast for the afternoon. We made it in plenty of time, with time to spare to go to the mall (Fairview for those of you in the know) to hit the H&M.
Yes, H&M, I was in heaven. I love H&M. I spent an indecent amount of money on clothes we probably don't need. But I love their kids clothes - how could I resist buying Stu a shirt that looks like a knight's chain mail (spelling? I am too tired to dictionary that) with coats of arms?
H&M fix finished (well, as finished as I could get) we rented movies, hung out at my mum's, had dinner, had another knitting lesson, watched Pride & Prejudice on Masterpiece Theatre. It was great.
This morning when Julia got up at 5:40 (???) I got up with her but went back to bed around 7 for an hour or so - hearing her playing with my Mum's Matroushka dolls and talking to my mum. I heard my mum take them down for breakfast and then come back up with a cup of tea for me. Sometimes all you need is your mum to take care of you.
After a visit to the notary (my father's never ending estate) we went to the European Bakery, picked up treats and went to visit my Opa. I see how much he ages between every visit - even Stuart commented today that Opa seemed older than at Christmas. At almost 91 he is in good shape, but so frail. I make sure to tell him I love him before I leave - I am dreading the day when we can't visit anymore, even if he can't really hear us too well, or is losing track of some things (though he can tell you all about Brian Mulroney's latest legal problems!!)
We had a quick lunch at my Mum's and headed out to the Ecomuseum that is part of MacDonald College. Ran the kids a bit in the fresh air, admired the beautiful arctic fox and some other animals and finally piled in the car to come home.
We put Family Day to good use.
This was the first one - they still have to work out some kinks in the system. A healthy portion of Ottawa and the surrounding area works for the federal government and was not off - but all schools and daycares (and day care providers) had the day off.
As you can imagine there was a lot of grumbling (what? from federal employees? Never!).
Marc did not have the day off (though he ended staying home in the end with a terrible cold). So I decided that I would take the kids to Montreal to hang out with - FAMILY. Kind of fitting for Family Day, no?
We left yesterday just before lunch because of the freezing rain that was forecast for the afternoon. We made it in plenty of time, with time to spare to go to the mall (Fairview for those of you in the know) to hit the H&M.
Yes, H&M, I was in heaven. I love H&M. I spent an indecent amount of money on clothes we probably don't need. But I love their kids clothes - how could I resist buying Stu a shirt that looks like a knight's chain mail (spelling? I am too tired to dictionary that) with coats of arms?
H&M fix finished (well, as finished as I could get) we rented movies, hung out at my mum's, had dinner, had another knitting lesson, watched Pride & Prejudice on Masterpiece Theatre. It was great.
This morning when Julia got up at 5:40 (???) I got up with her but went back to bed around 7 for an hour or so - hearing her playing with my Mum's Matroushka dolls and talking to my mum. I heard my mum take them down for breakfast and then come back up with a cup of tea for me. Sometimes all you need is your mum to take care of you.
After a visit to the notary (my father's never ending estate) we went to the European Bakery, picked up treats and went to visit my Opa. I see how much he ages between every visit - even Stuart commented today that Opa seemed older than at Christmas. At almost 91 he is in good shape, but so frail. I make sure to tell him I love him before I leave - I am dreading the day when we can't visit anymore, even if he can't really hear us too well, or is losing track of some things (though he can tell you all about Brian Mulroney's latest legal problems!!)
We had a quick lunch at my Mum's and headed out to the Ecomuseum that is part of MacDonald College. Ran the kids a bit in the fresh air, admired the beautiful arctic fox and some other animals and finally piled in the car to come home.
We put Family Day to good use.
Clarification
I am not going to rush through a post in 12 minutes again - or at least not a long one like that. I really don't like how whiny I sounded (though I was definitely feeling that whiny).
Last week was one of THOSE weeks. It was hectic. It seemed like there was something going on every day. I am starting to feel over-scheduled, though I know that it is all my doing, and that most of our events are things I want to be doing or at least things I think the kids should (and want) to do.
So what I failed to "complain" about in my last post was our healthy social life last week. Which was really nice, but that I just felt overwhelmed by a bit. When my Thursday morning plans fell through I was sorry to postpone for a week, but also heaved a small sigh of relief.
I have been diagnosed with something called PMDD. Or what I like to refer to as PMS's bigger, uglier, nastier sister. I am working through it - the part of me that is so critical of myself is berating me for suffering from something that is related to the butt of so many jokes, such a "high-maintenance" kind of problem. You know, the kind of thing I should just be able to just get over.
Then there's the part of me that can't deal with only sleeping 3-4 hours 14-16 days a month. The debilitating sleep deprivation that is driving me nuts (possibly literally). The fact that a normal day can seem like a mountain to climb on the wrong week. So for now I am going to try and be nice to myself and just let myself have this problem. And feel blessed that it is nothing I can't fix or cure.
And take my doctor's advice and plan "light" when need be.
Last week was one of THOSE weeks. It was hectic. It seemed like there was something going on every day. I am starting to feel over-scheduled, though I know that it is all my doing, and that most of our events are things I want to be doing or at least things I think the kids should (and want) to do.
So what I failed to "complain" about in my last post was our healthy social life last week. Which was really nice, but that I just felt overwhelmed by a bit. When my Thursday morning plans fell through I was sorry to postpone for a week, but also heaved a small sigh of relief.
I have been diagnosed with something called PMDD. Or what I like to refer to as PMS's bigger, uglier, nastier sister. I am working through it - the part of me that is so critical of myself is berating me for suffering from something that is related to the butt of so many jokes, such a "high-maintenance" kind of problem. You know, the kind of thing I should just be able to just get over.
Then there's the part of me that can't deal with only sleeping 3-4 hours 14-16 days a month. The debilitating sleep deprivation that is driving me nuts (possibly literally). The fact that a normal day can seem like a mountain to climb on the wrong week. So for now I am going to try and be nice to myself and just let myself have this problem. And feel blessed that it is nothing I can't fix or cure.
And take my doctor's advice and plan "light" when need be.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
For Cathie
Stuart was wandering around upstairs with is treasured Maple Leafs blanket over his head, howling like a ghost.
"Marc! Look! It's the Ghost of Stanley Cups Past!"
hee hee.... (and apologies to any Leafs fans... I couldn't resist...)
"Marc! Look! It's the Ghost of Stanley Cups Past!"
hee hee.... (and apologies to any Leafs fans... I couldn't resist...)
Stop the insanity
I have 12 minutes until I have to hop in the car, go pick up the boy, go pick up the girl, come home, hammer out homework, get food in them (please let me remember to put the shepherd's pie I picked up at Loblaws IN the oven when I come back) and head out to Jacques Cartier Park on the Quebec side to take my children sledding down ice slides from 6-7 pm with Stu's class. Then try to get them to make a few Valentines cards they have been putting off before hearding them to bed.
Welcome to Winterlude people.
We had managed to avoid Winterlude - I know, I need to take a long hard look at my resistance to partake in organized events that I perceive to be mass gatherings where I will inevitably end up either shrieking at one of my children, or more likely, using language (mostly in my head) to curse the thronging idiots who seem to have annoying me as #1 priority on their list of things to get done before they die.
Man. I need to chill out. Oh wait, that's what I've been doing in this -4 billion degree weather (oh, sorry, that's just the windchill).
I am not happy with Mother Nature. I've been going along, shoveling my driveway and not complaining (too much), and chirpily stating to anyone who complains about the never ending falling snow that at least it's not COLD.
And then it got COLD. After it snowed for about 6 days. And then? This morning? It wasn't so COLD. Why? BECAUSE IT WAS SNOWING AGAIN.
I respect a girl's right to change her mind but OI! Enough already.
See? I've digressed.
What I really wanted to complain about was - what was it? OH YES! I don't like unforseen things happening. Like this trip to the park tonight that was sprung on us Monday after school. We had PLANS for this evening. Stu's first Beaver Campfire. He was SO excited - until he heard about ICE SLIDES. There's no talking him out of it, and seeing as his friend from Beaver's mum agreed to go to the ice slides instead... well how am I supposed to say no?
Not that she isn't a little put out too... and then I feel TERRIBLE, because Stu has this wonderful teacher who is willing to organize this. She could care less than nothing and do worse, and here I am being annoyed because now I have to drive downtown, pick up Marc, find this park, park the car and hope Julia doesn't have too much of a fit.
What was I going on about my kids not knowing how to be grateful? Apples and trees anyone?
Welcome to Winterlude people.
We had managed to avoid Winterlude - I know, I need to take a long hard look at my resistance to partake in organized events that I perceive to be mass gatherings where I will inevitably end up either shrieking at one of my children, or more likely, using language (mostly in my head) to curse the thronging idiots who seem to have annoying me as #1 priority on their list of things to get done before they die.
Man. I need to chill out. Oh wait, that's what I've been doing in this -4 billion degree weather (oh, sorry, that's just the windchill).
I am not happy with Mother Nature. I've been going along, shoveling my driveway and not complaining (too much), and chirpily stating to anyone who complains about the never ending falling snow that at least it's not COLD.
And then it got COLD. After it snowed for about 6 days. And then? This morning? It wasn't so COLD. Why? BECAUSE IT WAS SNOWING AGAIN.
I respect a girl's right to change her mind but OI! Enough already.
See? I've digressed.
What I really wanted to complain about was - what was it? OH YES! I don't like unforseen things happening. Like this trip to the park tonight that was sprung on us Monday after school. We had PLANS for this evening. Stu's first Beaver Campfire. He was SO excited - until he heard about ICE SLIDES. There's no talking him out of it, and seeing as his friend from Beaver's mum agreed to go to the ice slides instead... well how am I supposed to say no?
Not that she isn't a little put out too... and then I feel TERRIBLE, because Stu has this wonderful teacher who is willing to organize this. She could care less than nothing and do worse, and here I am being annoyed because now I have to drive downtown, pick up Marc, find this park, park the car and hope Julia doesn't have too much of a fit.
What was I going on about my kids not knowing how to be grateful? Apples and trees anyone?
Friday, February 08, 2008
Reality sets in
Prequel
The setting : car on our way to and from picking Julia up from nursery school
The characters: Stu the "sick" boy (yeah, not so much once we'd called the school to say he was staying home)
Tracy (who is also sick, and ready for Marc to be back from San Diego)
Julia (also sick all week but getting better, but is still... um... vocal?)
"Mum can we please go to the Quickie and get me something special since I am ssssiiiiiiiiicccccckkkkkkkkk?
"no, you stayed home because you were sick - that is your something special."
On the topic of what Marc might have brought them as a gift from his trip...
"Maybe it's a Wolverine!"
"Nope, it's not a Wolverine, but you're going to like it!" (for those of you who are curious - it's a pair of Camo Webkinz pants)
"But MUM... I've always wanted a Wolverine..." (voice trembles) "Remember when you got me Cyclops?" (on my trip to Montreal in October 2006 - his friend had Wolverine, so I got him Cyclops so they could play together. Apparently a Huge Error on my part).
"And remember they always had them at Bittburg (US Air Force base in Germany) and Dad s-s-s-aid" (real trembling now" "I could have one another time, but you guys NEVER bought me one... wwwww-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-hhhhh"
And the sobbing begins.
"Stu" I say, "it's been barely 2 months since your birthday and Christmas."
We go into the mall to mail a few things. Under duress by children. I take them to the dollar store to buy bags for Valentines treats for school. They play for a few minutes on the rides - Mum does not have any dollar coins.
Stu pipes up "Mum! GET two dollar coins and GIVE them to us and we can make the rides work!"
Excuse me? Get and Give? Should I heel and sit too? Phrasing suggested to have this idea stand a chance of ever coming to fruition (something along the lines of : "Mummy, if you happen to get two loonies that you don't need, it would be really nice if Julia and I could each have one for a ride."
The Main Event
We are baking homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen at 7pm for Dad's return.
"Muuuummm... can I have (insert something, anything, because I can not for the life of me remember what he asked for, only that it was one thing too many yesterday)"
"Stuart. You wanted Mummy to stay home right? You wanted Mummy to stop working, right?"
"Uh-huh....?!" (Big eyes, Mum's not yelling, but she's gonna trick him - he knows it...)
"Well, I think you'd better decide what is really important to you."
"Ohhh-kay...?"
"You have to decide if you want Mummy home and baking cookies, or you want Mummy at work."
"Uh (in the DUH voice I hate) At HOME!"
"okay then - let's get something straight. If you want Mummy home, then that means we stop asking for things all the time. If you need all the things you say you do, then Mummy has to go back to work. And then we will have lots of money for all the toys you want, and a bigger house to put them all in. And you will go to daycare and eat lunch at school every day."
Silence (yeah!! I love it when I can shock them into silence)
"Mum - can I help with the cookies? Can I put them on the cookie sheet?" (smile on Mum's face)
I don't seem to know how to teach my children gratitude it would seem. I have to shock them into it. Sigh.
The setting : car on our way to and from picking Julia up from nursery school
The characters: Stu the "sick" boy (yeah, not so much once we'd called the school to say he was staying home)
Tracy (who is also sick, and ready for Marc to be back from San Diego)
Julia (also sick all week but getting better, but is still... um... vocal?)
"Mum can we please go to the Quickie and get me something special since I am ssssiiiiiiiiicccccckkkkkkkkk?
"no, you stayed home because you were sick - that is your something special."
On the topic of what Marc might have brought them as a gift from his trip...
"Maybe it's a Wolverine!"
"Nope, it's not a Wolverine, but you're going to like it!" (for those of you who are curious - it's a pair of Camo Webkinz pants)
"But MUM... I've always wanted a Wolverine..." (voice trembles) "Remember when you got me Cyclops?" (on my trip to Montreal in October 2006 - his friend had Wolverine, so I got him Cyclops so they could play together. Apparently a Huge Error on my part).
"And remember they always had them at Bittburg (US Air Force base in Germany) and Dad s-s-s-aid" (real trembling now" "I could have one another time, but you guys NEVER bought me one... wwwww-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-hhhhh"
And the sobbing begins.
"Stu" I say, "it's been barely 2 months since your birthday and Christmas."
We go into the mall to mail a few things. Under duress by children. I take them to the dollar store to buy bags for Valentines treats for school. They play for a few minutes on the rides - Mum does not have any dollar coins.
Stu pipes up "Mum! GET two dollar coins and GIVE them to us and we can make the rides work!"
Excuse me? Get and Give? Should I heel and sit too? Phrasing suggested to have this idea stand a chance of ever coming to fruition (something along the lines of : "Mummy, if you happen to get two loonies that you don't need, it would be really nice if Julia and I could each have one for a ride."
The Main Event
We are baking homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen at 7pm for Dad's return.
"Muuuummm... can I have (insert something, anything, because I can not for the life of me remember what he asked for, only that it was one thing too many yesterday)"
"Stuart. You wanted Mummy to stay home right? You wanted Mummy to stop working, right?"
"Uh-huh....?!" (Big eyes, Mum's not yelling, but she's gonna trick him - he knows it...)
"Well, I think you'd better decide what is really important to you."
"Ohhh-kay...?"
"You have to decide if you want Mummy home and baking cookies, or you want Mummy at work."
"Uh (in the DUH voice I hate) At HOME!"
"okay then - let's get something straight. If you want Mummy home, then that means we stop asking for things all the time. If you need all the things you say you do, then Mummy has to go back to work. And then we will have lots of money for all the toys you want, and a bigger house to put them all in. And you will go to daycare and eat lunch at school every day."
Silence (yeah!! I love it when I can shock them into silence)
"Mum - can I help with the cookies? Can I put them on the cookie sheet?" (smile on Mum's face)
I don't seem to know how to teach my children gratitude it would seem. I have to shock them into it. Sigh.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
no no no no no no
This can't be happening.
Last year, in the middle of January I came down with a sinus infection that would stick with me until - Oh, I think it was July. It brought with it a horrible hacking cough that landed me in more specialists offices than I care to think about, breathing into more contraptions than I can even begin to name. The last specialist - the lung specialist - was a lovely man who told me my illness was all in my head, I must be homesick for Canada.
Seeing as we were already in the process of selling our house (had sold it I think, it's all such a blur) in order to move back to Canada I figured he was full of it (he was so nasty, little Luxembourgish man who obviously disliked ex-pats).
We left our house and - miraculously - I started to get better. Since I had been sick for the 2 years we were in the house, we figured it was the house.
And, with the exception of a sinus infection in September, the flu in October - I haven't been doing too bad.
Until Saturday when I was ironing Marc's shirts for his trip to San Diego. And I sneezed.
It's all been downhill from there. I got a horrid cold. I consumed large quantities of vitamin c and Cold-FX.
It's not working, I feel awful. Which in itself I could deal with. EXCEPT - the bloody cough is back.
Welcome to the Hack-a-minute fest with Tracy. She's the one over in the corner gasping for air. Turning blue. With the 3 pack a day smoker's voice (well, that might bean improvement on my usual squeak).
Yes, I am feeling sorry for myself. I am hoping this doesn't stick around for another 6 months (especially since you can't get a doctor in the town...)
And then I feel bad because there are people with real problems.
And I feel bad for yelling at Julia for unravelling an inch of the doll's leg I finally managed to knit for her (and the web of knots she made in the wool that took an hour to get out). My mother was a saint teaching me last night.
Bleah. Can I have a do over on this week?
On a positive note (there is one - woo hoo!) I took Stu to Beavers for the first time tonight. It was also Parents night - and I managed to rise above (for the most part) the hacking and ran around like the crazy woman I am with him. We had a blast.
And now I will go ingest some codeine in hopes of sleep.
Because there's only so much sorry for myself I can take.
Last year, in the middle of January I came down with a sinus infection that would stick with me until - Oh, I think it was July. It brought with it a horrible hacking cough that landed me in more specialists offices than I care to think about, breathing into more contraptions than I can even begin to name. The last specialist - the lung specialist - was a lovely man who told me my illness was all in my head, I must be homesick for Canada.
Seeing as we were already in the process of selling our house (had sold it I think, it's all such a blur) in order to move back to Canada I figured he was full of it (he was so nasty, little Luxembourgish man who obviously disliked ex-pats).
We left our house and - miraculously - I started to get better. Since I had been sick for the 2 years we were in the house, we figured it was the house.
And, with the exception of a sinus infection in September, the flu in October - I haven't been doing too bad.
Until Saturday when I was ironing Marc's shirts for his trip to San Diego. And I sneezed.
It's all been downhill from there. I got a horrid cold. I consumed large quantities of vitamin c and Cold-FX.
It's not working, I feel awful. Which in itself I could deal with. EXCEPT - the bloody cough is back.
Welcome to the Hack-a-minute fest with Tracy. She's the one over in the corner gasping for air. Turning blue. With the 3 pack a day smoker's voice (well, that might bean improvement on my usual squeak).
Yes, I am feeling sorry for myself. I am hoping this doesn't stick around for another 6 months (especially since you can't get a doctor in the town...)
And then I feel bad because there are people with real problems.
And I feel bad for yelling at Julia for unravelling an inch of the doll's leg I finally managed to knit for her (and the web of knots she made in the wool that took an hour to get out). My mother was a saint teaching me last night.
Bleah. Can I have a do over on this week?
On a positive note (there is one - woo hoo!) I took Stu to Beavers for the first time tonight. It was also Parents night - and I managed to rise above (for the most part) the hacking and ran around like the crazy woman I am with him. We had a blast.
And now I will go ingest some codeine in hopes of sleep.
Because there's only so much sorry for myself I can take.
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