The Christmas Party and other traditions...

This time of year brings things like Christmas concerts, school plays, cookie exchanges, shopping line ups, and card writing to those relatives you don't talk to the rest of the year. But among all our traditions there is one that I look forward to each and every year: The annual Christmas party.Carpenter's Boss- Dude, reserved a banquet room, ordered a beautiful spread of food for 50 plus spouses, gave out gifts, and provided a live band for our entertainment. A wonderful gesture when you consider at the end of the day, all a boss ever owes his employees, is a paycheck.
I ditched my comfortable jeans for a little black party dress, and traded my clunky hiking boots for sleek "sex-on-a-stick" red shoes. For the first time in ages it seemed, I spent a lengthy time curling my hair, and applying make- up. All for one evening where I could feel and look like a Diva, instead of a housewife. After all it was a party.
When we arrived, Carpenter's crew and few other men were dressed in dress- pants and nice dress shirts, the rest, well, let's just say that for some, their clothes were questionably clean. I felt over dressed when I saw some of the other women. I was one of three who actually wore a dress. The rest came in pants, some in their jeans, and some it seemed could care less what they looked like. Carpenter loved the way I looked even though he didn't like my shoes. He said they reminded him of the cabinets he wanted to buy for our kitchen. Huh?
Since it is not very often we are dressed to the nine's and out at a party, I asked D.R. ( a crew member) sitting across form us to take a picture of Carpenter and I, and handed him the camera. Big mistake. This is the picture he took:


Now, I suppose my ego should swell, with the knowledge that a 21-year-old handsome boy found my bosom not only oogle worthy but photo worthy. I mean seriously ladies, how often do we catch some yummy young man staring at our chests, and then have irrefutable proof that they did? Unfortunately, that little thing called reality, kicked in, and reminded me that this bloke was just joking around in a way only young men do, with a large amount of courage juice in their system. It was not about my bosom, but rather an attempt to make my husband laugh- which he did.
By the end of Saturday night, I was tired, and realized that such parties, were only jean worthy. Suddenly, I wished I had spent the night curled up with a glass of wine and a chick flick. I decided not to be disappointed, after all, what was I expecting? It was a beautiful gesture, on the part of Dude and his company, that was all that mattered. But I was looking forward to Sunday.

Sunday, Carpenter put up the Christmas lights around the house, while the girls and I made cookies and decorated them. They were snowman cookies, we make them every year, and the girls love them. It has become a family tradition, among the Christmas concerts, card writing, and the decorating of our home. And this year, Carpenter hung the stockings on the mantel with care:Merry Red-Neck Christmas !

Be Remembered.

I have recently joined the ranks of those who dabble on Facebook. The website where you can find old friends, roommates, ex's, long lost cousins, and other relatives. It is a quick and easy way to stay updated with these people, post photos of your loved ones, and let everyone know within a minute just how you're doing. Isn't technology wonderful?
Unlike this blog.Here, I remain anonymous, to some degree. I have readers from around the world, some I know who they are, and some I haven't a clue. There is a certain amount of peace in that, because I can say pretty much anything here, and to a certain degree no one will take it personally, because y'all don't know me really. You have no idea what I look like or where I live or who my friends are. I find it funny that the guy I passed on the street, earlier today, who was picking his nose, or the girl chatting on her cell, could be reading this, and I would never know.

But in Facebook, you can find all that out and more with a few simple clicks of the mouse. If I add you to my friends list, then you get to see my face, see other info on me, you can find my friends, and my friends' friends.I can poke them(what ever that means), send a message, a drink, a gift, take a compatibility quiz , post a note on their wall, or scare the living daylights out of someone. (For those of you who know who I'm talking about, it's all fine now... hee hee) I admit it was fun finding people I hadn't heard from in a while. Old classmates, and even old flames. For a long time I never thought I would see or talk to these people again. And once I found them, in that moment, I had a choice. I could restart a relationship, or not. With one simple click. My world and circle of friends just got bigger.

It took a simple phone call this morning, that made me feel small. A man in my home town died yesterday of a farming accident. I had gone to high school with his brothers, he dated a friend of mine for a short while. About 9 years ago, was the last time I had spoken to him.
He had come to the ranch to speak to my father.
When I opened the door, he was shocked to see me, for he had not seen me since high school.

"Hi, wow..you're fat.... uh..uh.. you're ah, you're... I mean, you.. you ...you've changed..", he stammered.
I took a small amount of pleasure watching him squirm. "I'll take you to see my father now."
I hopped in the old farm truck and drove him out to the field. We chatted about simple things and then he said "Thanks for the tour", and slammed the door of the truck.

In subsequent years, if we ever crossed paths, there were no more than polite nods , or simple pleasantries exchanged. Not that I ever wanted a friendship with this guy, I was just an acquaintance. And I was okay with that. We traveled in different circles.
And now he's gone. Of course to his wife, ex-wife and 6 kids, he left different memories. He had relationships with them. He was a father, brother, husband and friend to them. The farming community within which he lived, he was a rancher, friend, and businessman. I remember him as the guy who paid me an ass-backward compliment, which kind of sucks.

We have opportunities everyday to make memories for someone, those we love and cherish, and those we are barely acquainted with. We can give a smile, hold a door open. With a few clicks on Facebook we can reconnect with old friends, make new ones, or tell an old flame you're sorry. Even the guy I pass every morning, I know him as the guy who picks his nose. The girl I pass everymorning, is talking on her cell, wearing far too much make up, and walking in flip flops. What we say and do, can leave a lasting impression on a person. Even just one small compliment, might be all, that someone remembers you for.

Playground advice and great expectations.

On any given weekday kids beg their parents for a few minutes on the school playground before heading home after the bell has rung. Parents gather at the picnic tables and begin sifting through uneaten lunches, teacher notices, and spelling sheets, while they talk amongst themselves. They hardly make eye contact, while watching the kids, one earis open specifically towards the kids, in case a fights or ow -wies .
It's during these conversations, the topic inevitably swings to"How is your child doing with his/her teacher, and what are they like". This information becomes invaluable, for some parents because they feel the need to choose, by writing a request letter, of the teacher their Child is placed with next year.
I fell victim to relying on this information myself, at the end of last school year. Though I never wrote a letter, I certainly listened. I did not know the teachers my daughter could possibly end up with, much less their teaching styles and who would best help my child develop in Grade 2. There was certainly enough talk on the playground. Mrs.C, MrsO. were the two you wanted your child to have. But Mrs O - more so. She was the cat's pajamas as far as any parent I've talked to is concerned. But Mrs. C. and Mrs O. worked together lots and had quite a few of the same values. So either Mrs.C or Mrs. O would do really.

However, Mrs S. , according to the playground rumblings, was the one you didn't want. She is an old school philosophy, disorganized, pill pushing, should-have-retired-long-ago old goat. Who, according to some children, is mean and will make you cry.

My Gem ended up with the much coveted Mrs. O. She has the reputation of making school fun, and striving above and beyond the call of duty, to make kids love school and learning. She is the one who will see the potential in your child and encourage them. Sounds too good to be true, doesn't it?
With all the praise floating around, I entered this new school year with some trepidation. This teacher had some big shoes to fill, and as a parent, I could not be caught up in this hoopla.The funny thing was, if I expressed some caution towards Mrs. O., there were 5 or more parents ready to defend her. Righteously.
At the first parent/teacher interview at the end of September, I had with her, Mrs. O. expressed what a good student my daughter was. The home reading program was about to start and, she had some concern that Gem was only at a level 15. She should be at a Level 19, by the end of November. But Gem had scored very high on her fluency and comprehension, which translated that she should be at a higher reading level than what she was. Even after I explained that Gem had finished Grade 1 at level 16, Mrs. O felt it best to leave her at level15, for now.

During the first 2 weeks of the program Gem was re-reading some stories she'd read in Gr. 1, and seemed to whiz through them, finding these stories very easy. After school, one day I expressed a concern to Mrs O. that Gem should be moved up a level, and she said that all the children are at an easier level so that they can practice fluency and comprehension.

The very next day I received a notice from Mrs. O. explaining upcoming Halloween Festivities. The notice requested donations of craft supplies for the party that was to take up most of the morning, and also, just to forewarn all parents she planned to "Fill them up with .. SUGAR" She welcomed treats for the party, but was also having a cookie station where kids were to decorate cookies, so if someone was willing to bake 2 doz. cookies... you get the picture.
Over the next 5 days Halloween festivity updates were sent home regularly until all the supplies were collected.
By the Halloween party itself , Gem had not moved up a level in her reading. One night while reading a book that came home a second time, Gem said, "Mommy, this is too easy, and I'm bored."
My kid normally loves to read. Loves to read out loud, to me and Carpenter, and will sit with a book and quietly read to herself. Now she was bored. My daughter had less than a month to reach the minimum requirement of level 19 before report cards came out, And she was bored.
I was Pissed.

I wrote a quick note to Mrs. O. I asked her again to please move Gem up a level. The next afternoon Gem returned home with a note from Mrs. O. saying that she had assessed Gem that day.She would be moving her to level 19. She went on to say that it is not about speed, or ability to read, its about comprehension, and fluency and sometimes we can be frustrated with the process, and I need to be patient.
Let me get this straight. My daughter starts the reading program at a level she finds easy, but for comprehension and fluency sake, she is forced to stay there for a month. While hoopla is stirred up for a Halloween party. After a second request, she is re-assessed and found to move up not one , but 4 levels in one day? And I'm the one who needs to allow the Process to take it's sweet ass time... ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Mrs. O is off to a bad start filling those shoes....

Do you get it yet?

Hunting season is now over for us and the whirlwind has settled down a little. This past weekend was the first in 6 that we, as a family, were all together. We were at home. No plans. No road trips. Just quiet.
It's not that the chaos wasn't fun, there was always something going on and somewhere to be . We even broke with Thanksgiving tradition this year and headed out to "The Rest of your Life" aka The Hunting Cabin. We went with Dude, Dudette and their family. We shared grocery duty, but that did not stop a discussion between Carpenter and I on the necessity to have Eggs Benny for breakfast, and at least one steak and seafood dinner during the stay. He would say, "Even though Dudette has packed eggs , English muffins, and bacon, you need to pack some too. Trust me,"
Now, to me this hardly seemed helpful , when Dudette and I are trying to watch our figure having lost 20 and 40 pounds respectively over the last three years. I was encouraged by Dudette to pack veggies and fruit to help us abstain from eating the chips and candies. During the long 6 hour drive, where Gem refused to sleep, Carpenter and I discussed once again what I had packed in the way of food, and should we stop along the way. After a couple of hours of debate and banter, he said, "Whatever. You just don't get it."
We arrived in darkness, to the cabin which was as cold as the night air. I crawled between the sleeping bags on the foldout sofa, and tried desperately to catch some zz's Carpenter woke at 5am with an adrenaline rush.He and Dude stoked the fire and headed out for a morning hunt.When I awoke for the second time, I looked out the picture window. I thought to myself,"I certainly could get used to this. i sat up snuggled in the sleeping bags, and stared at the open space. I fell in love with what I saw.
Carpenter and Dude came back not quite empty handed. Along their trek they had stopped and picked shaggy mushrooms. Now it was time to fry them up and serve them with the breakfast of choice"Eggs Benedict". Again I broached the subject of the "eggs Benny breakfast" and was told "Because, that's the way it is.It's what you eat when you're at the cabin." Once again I still didn't get it.
I still didn't get why we had to drive so far just for hunting either. Besides the spectacular view. I mean seriously, what was the attraction? I tried discussing it with Carpenter. He said I wouldn't "get it" til I actually went with him. Okay. It's not that I wouldn't enjoy a hike in the great wide woods, and maybe see some deer, moose or elk. It's that if we did, I'd like him not to shoot it in my presence, which would negate the whole hunting process. Weird huh?I know. I grew up on a farm. I've seen things die. I've shot rifles. I've shot gophers. Lots of them. But I could not shoot a bigger animal, much less watch it. And so Carpenter and I were at wits end.
I still didn't get it.
So he tossed me a Sept/October2004 copy of Bugle: The Journal of the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation. Inside on page 72 is an article written by John Madson called Why Men Hunt.
He writes:

[They hunt] for many reasons, any one of which may be enough. A common one of course, is the meat reason The woods are full of people who claim to be hunting for prime meat, although I've a hunch that this is a standard alibi for busting the first deer that comes along. yet there are some real meat hunters-men who are pretty good at judging meat on the hoof, and who have the patience and experience to carefully pick and choose, and who take pride in the quality of their venison. [There is] the trophy reason. In it's shallowest context , it is simply an exhibitionist effort to display prowess and status. In a deeper context it goes beyond that. Aldo Leopold once observed that "Poets sing and hunters scale the mountains primarily for one and the same reason- the thrill to beauty.Critics write and hunters outwit their game for one and the same reason-to reduce that beauty to possession." Those trophy antlers on the wall may not be only a hunter's efforts to posses beauty, but also to keep something important to him from slipping away and being forgotten. And if the trophy testifies that here is a strong and skillful hunter- well,what's the use in denying it?... Companionship can be a strong element in hunting. For as long as men have hunted, they have banded into special hunting packs with their own taboos, traditions and rituals.And sometimes the companionship and the rituals become more important than the hunt itself, and sometimes the greatest pleasure is in anticipation and recollection, with the hunt only serving to bond the two. [If you were to watch a group of hunters one night] dress their deer, while their companions offered unsolicited advice, listening to the good laughter and easy talk [suddenly you would comprehend, that these men are free.]
Pascal once observed that the virtue of hunting is not in possessing game, but in the pursuit of it. By being absorbed in looking outward for game,"the hunter is absolved of the really insupportable task of looking inward upon himself." And so the hunter's eyes are directed outward instead of inward, and myriad nagging,worrisome concerns are overlain with the illusion of being part of an older, freer world.

He went on to talk about "awareness of other presences" in a very elegant and poetic way. I found myself completely immersed in his article. So much so , that I decided to bring it home and read it again. Carpenter could not have explained it quite like this.I may never fully comprehend the depth and breadth of the of it, but it was a start.
On the drive home "I'm still a guy" blared on the truck stereo, and Carpenter turned to me and said, "Do you get it now?"
Do I get that he's a guy? Yes. Do I get that he's a guy who loves to be outdoors?Yes. Do I get that over the years this world has done is share of emasculating the male species, and the every day pressure of work, and mortgage payments is enough to drive a man to the brink of insanity if he didn't have some place to go and "be a man"? In the words of my dear friend Ferf:
Abso-frickin-lutely.

Letting go...

I was out this past weekend at the ranch, riding my Dad's new horse Ten. Yes, that's his name , obviously inspired by the Bo Derek movie of the same name. Although most agree he looks more like a moose than anything. Friday evening I went upstairs to the closet and brought out a dusty box, in search of something that I knew would fit him perfectly. I had put this box away almost 11 years ago. As I dusted off the box and began searching through the mass of lead ropes and head gear, memories came flooding back to me like an ocean wave crashing on the shoreline.

Almost twenty five years ago I was given a horse as a birthday gift. He was a six year old gelding with a good personality and a strong will. He wasn't very pretty, he had no pretty white markings like, stars or blazes, on his face. He had no pretty white socks on his legs.
He had a really big head, and a big fat butt - quarter horse style. He had really big feet and a thick neck, and all kinds of muscle.
. He was just a horse, I didn't care. He was mine and that's all that mattered. I rode him as often as I could, brought him treats brushed him and, during the summer months, when it was too hot, I'd find him sleeping under the shade of a tree. I'd prop myself up under the crook of his neck and read a book or just enjoy sitting there with him. It was like a movie with a horse and a girl. And that girl was me.
Dad and I would herd the cows together and spent lots of time trail riding. We would fill the saddle bags with our lunch and I'd fill my back pack with carrots and apples to give to the horses.
One summer morning I was out riding through the alfalfa fields, when I fell of of him suffered a concussion, and broken wrist. The cast put a damper on my summer, when it came to swimming but I still rode.

My parents decided at that time to put me in an organization called 4_H which teaches kids about animal husbandry, public speaking, record keeping, and riding. After my first year of riding lessons, pubic speaking and an Achievement day, which was basically a horse show where you showed a judge what you were capable of. I got the drift. Of what needed to be done, lots of work.
During a riding clinic in my second year, my riding instructor, who knew of my horse's past , let us in onitt: He had been a stallion at one point, because his first owner couldn't make up her mind just what she wanted to do with him.He and mare had been flipped in a trailering accedent. And he fell through the ice of a lake one winter, and therefore had a fear of going near pools of water. I also saw the true stubbornness of my horse's character. At the end of our lessons on our first day of the clinic, we went on a treasure hunt, on horseback , we were to find 10 specific objects as we went riding through the bush.
We came to a clearing , and we all decided to run. I knew that I had to hang on, because when Kip got excited, while being with other horses, he would put on a show. And as always, he did not disappoint. We galloped up a hill, Kip began to buck, and he bucked all the way up. Everyone laughed. One of the Mom's who was riding with us, just shook her head, and asked if I was "ok". Of course I was. Kip did this all the time, whenever we were in a group. I just knew how to hang on, I was completely oblivious at the age of 11 that it was bad horse behavior, not to mention totally unsafe!
The next day, we once again worked on side passing, correct leads and flying lead changes. It was hot, and to help with the heat we all stood under the only shade in the corral, and one by one walked out and practiced the exercise. Except Kip and I. Every time I took him away from the group, and began to lope, he would run right back, no matter how hard I pulled on those reins. My instructor asked me to do it again. Again I took him out of the group, I asked him to lope. Again Kip went were he wanted. Back to the group. Again I tried. Again I failed. I was becoming frustrated. So was my instructor.
She stopped me. "GET Off!" she snapped. " Everyone else can do this simple exercise? What is the matter with YOU!", she yelled, "If you can't figure out how to do this, I will show you.You need to make him do what you want. You are the boss. Quit being so gentle with him!""

She mounted and began the exercise with Kip. Again Kip went back with the group. She took the end of the reins and slapped him. Again she tried to do the exercise. Again he went back to the group. The fight was on. The other girls stood with their well-behaved horses, quietly in the corner under the shade, their jaws dropped in horror as the fight unfolded before them.
For 10 minutes I watched as my beloved horse received a much needed attitude adjustment. It was the longest and most embarrassing 10 minutes I had ever experienced.
She finally got off. She walked towards me. I fought back hot tears of humiliation. She handed me the reins.
"I owe you an apology", she said. "You deserve a @#$%# medal for even getting on him, and staying there."
I promised myself at that moment, this would never happen again. Over the next month, I spent three to four hours every day practicing. Ground work, riding, side passing, correct leads, and flying-lead changes. There were days Kip flatly refused to do what I asked. I would become so frustrated, and tired. I'd start over. Again. I would become frustrated. Again I would try. I would fail. I would start over. I would try. He refused and refused.
MY mom would be watching from the kitchen window. She would come to the corrals edge. She'd say,"it's time to take a break honey. Come inside, and have some ice cream and chocolate chips." I would tie Kip to the post and just cry.
It is truly amazing how mother's know when their kid needs a break. And nothing tasted better in those days, than ice cream and chocolate chips. I ate lots of ice cream and chocolate chips that summer.
I bathed Kipper in preparation for Achievement day. The day I had to come before a judge and make my horse do the required riding pattern. I washed the blankets , and shined up my show halter, bridle and saddle. I braided his tail and wrapped a tensor bandage around it to keep all the hairs tucked in neat. I polished his hooves, shaved his bridle path, fetlocks and whiskers.
When it was time, in that show ring, he didn't move unless I told him to. We executed the requirements flawlessly, and even the judge thought he had a soft mouth. My instructor told her - "he does as long as you don't take him out to the back 40". Kip and I walked away with Junior grand Champion that year, a show blanket, a show bridle, and of course the Most Improved horse award. We did it.
Kip became one of the best horses to ever be on the ranch. I loved riding him. I rode him everywhere, up and down the mountain, across the river, through the fields. Never again did I ever fall off of him, and never again did he refuse to do something I asked.
Ten years later he was diagnosed with ring bone in his right foreleg. It's where a bone-like growth occurs between the hoof and ankle, and becomes incredibly painful. Sometimes the growth will fuse itself to the hoof and then he'll be fine. But that wasn't the prognosis in this case.The vet said if I wanted to ride him anymore, I'd have to shoot him up with tranquilizers first. He was finished. I cried a lot that summer.
I packed up all of his bridles, halters bits, leads, and packed it away after Kip was gone, and stayed away from the tack shed. Until now.
I pulled out the show bridle that I had won, and ran my fingers over the familiar leather, and the silver plated buckles. I wiped back a few tears, okay, maybe there were more than just a few. Then I handed it to Dad. We began taking it apart to clean it, and then attach Ten's new snaffle bit to it.
"When did you get this?" he asked.
"The year I won Junior Grand Champion." I said, "It was my show bridle, at every show, competition and Fall Fair afterwards."
"Are you sure you want to do this? You don't want to keep it for show?"
"I'm not going to be showing any horse any time soon, it's okay."
And it is.

What fall brings

It is that time of year again.
The time when the camouflage clothing comes out of its hiding place, and is inspected. Each pair pants, gloves, jacket, shirt, vest, and balaclava, are carefully searched for rips and tears which are repaired by me and my sewing machine, or is just replaced with the latests and greatest new stuff. Then washed in de- scenting, phosphate eliminating, freaking expensive laundry soap. It is carefully hung outside to dry, not put into the dryer, and repacked in a rubber maid tub with outdoor scent discs, bark, pine needles and tree branches. The branches, leaves and needles are selected so as not to create any moisture and thus leave a mildew smell behind. But only that of the outdoors.

Limited entry draws that were purchased and sent away, months ago in hopes of receiving a chance for an exclusive hunt, are now published on the web with the results. All is needed is a hunters number to confirm a win or loss. A hard copy is also received in the mail. The hunting license is renewed and tags are purchased in accordance with the entry results and a few others just in case.
The compound bow is brought from its case and lovingly polished. Time is spent at the local gun range, sighting in the bow after work and on weekends. Broken arrows from the previous season are re tipped and once again practiced with.The binoculars, spotting scope, and tripod are found and tested to endure accuracy or replaced if necessary. The optics are polished and the legs of the tripod are tested for stability. Knives, and scalpels find their way out of sheathes and pouches to be sharpened with care., then packed alongside the rest of the hunting gear.
Cow calls, and bull calls are purchased and used with much fervor and passion as to annoy the neighbors as much as it is to practice the appropriate calls.
The 2007-08 Hunting Synopsis is memorized, then time is spent on Google earth mapping out possible areas of hunting, and my desktop image looses the smiling faces of my girls and becomes that of a large, bugling, trophy elk. Time is spent looking at the calender booking weekends after the full moon , before the full moon, and in between family commitments to spend time out hunting.
Red bull, canned soup, some fruit, tail mix, granola bars, bread, coffee, bratwurst sausages and a small camp stove are packed for a hunting trip.The first aid kit is replenished, and other necessities are packed, along with sleeping bags, and extra clothing.
Time is taken off work to leave early and drive 6 hours to prime elk country, and still only arrive at1 am. Then hours and hours are spent from light until dark on horseback and foot trudging through the bush, over mountains, old cut blocks, small valleys, searching for sign of a herd of elk. Surviving on camp food, long naps on the forest floor, and a strong adrenaline rush, (that I admit, I will never fully understand) in the hopes of tracking and shooting a trophy, and thus filling our freezer with meat. That in itself, is the major reason Carpenter hunts.
Now, I know that my Carpenter needs his time away to be with other men in the out doors, hunting and camping. And I know that he loves it. There is a gleam in his eye that only happens during this time of year, from when the season opens, to when the season closes. Weather he is successful or not, it doesn't matter, it is the being out there in the wilderness that counts- or so he says.
If I ever sat down and took the time to add up his hobby, I think I know the outcome. If I added up the dollars spent on hunting paraphernalia; Then put a price on the hours spent cleaning, practicing, packing, and driving; Added wages lost due to leaving early; Plus the cost of fuel to drive, and calculated the wear and tear on the vehicle, then added the cost of the food eaten; The cost of cutting and wrapping the meat, if a success occurs; Then I would have to conclude, beyond a reasonable doubt, that any elk my husband bags, has to be the most FREAKING EXPENSIVE meat, bar none, that I will ever have the privilege to serve my family at the supper table. And for that, I am grateful.

On Holidays

I first met my second cousin on my Dad's side when I was six and he was sixteen. I was living in Vancouver and we took him to Stanley park and various other places to show him around. At the time I could have cared less who he was, I mean seriously, I was six.
The next time I saw him, was about seventeen years later. I had a stop over in London, on my way home from Greece, and we became fast friends during a light speed, crazy tour of London sites in less than 6 hours, before I had to be on a plane to fly over a big ocean and come home to the farm.
Shortly there after, he came for another visit to Canada, and once again we crammed as much sight seeing as humanly possible before he left for Vancouver.

Ten years after that trip he once again flew over the big Atlantic ocean, this time with his family, to arrive at my door step almost two weeks ago.

It was in anticipation of his arrival that my house had a serious makeover where Carpenter and I worked our asses off. There is truly nothing like the arrival of company and a deadline to give you motivation. Also during this time, I saw a whole other side to my Grandmother, who at the age of 80 has quite a bit of energy, but a definite routine. The very idea of company seemed to irritate her and she would comment,
"The way I see it, they are a few days with me, a few days on the ranch, and then they're gone."
She spent the entire time they were here, worrying about food, and served ham and lasagna together. Odd combination for entres, I know, and then came the saying" We could have ham..."

We spent a day out at the ranch visiting with my folks, we took the kids on horse rides, and hiked to the top of Goat Look- out, just before dark. When we returned home I received a phone message from a friend.
She informed me that her two daughters had head lice, and not knowing they had contracted it,or when, so my girls, having had a play date with one of them, could now be infected. She said, " So you may want to run up to the drug sore and get one of those kits...we're off to Disneyland, so see you!"
Having been apart of the head lice checking team for Gem's school, I know that it does not take just one treatment. In fact, it's a few times, then you have to comb all the nits out. It's not a fun process.
I sat both the girls down and did a check, then I phoned my neighbor Jo to come and check my hair. Thankfully we were all clean.
The last thing I wanted to say to my English company, "Umm, you may want to have a look through your daughter's hair, and yours, and then run to the store and buy a kit.... and then we'll sit down and I'll show you how to look for nits." Yeah, let's pretend we're monkeys.

After 7 days here in K-town, we drove the Coq to Vancouver. We had a DVD payer in the Van we rented. The kids were entertained, and mine didn't get sick. I'll have to buy one of those for the truck. Part way though the drive Gem decided to impress the rels by burping the alphabet. A talent she learned from my neighbours' grandsons.Their daughter laughed and laughed and kept saying "Again, again".
We took a detour and stopped off to check out the sand castles at Harrison Hot Springs. Very impressive, especially for being made of just sand and water. After the kids played by the beach and had an ice cream, we hopped back in the van and finished our trek, at our hotel rooms, downtown on Robson St.

We spent the next three days at Granville Island, Capilano Suspension Bridge, and Third Beach at Stanley Park. At Granville Island they were impressed with the huge public market and we found an amazing coffee shop that served the richest and best latte my cousin had ever tasted. He was served by a young man wearing a flower in his hair, who was very flirtatious. I told my cousin later that he should have winked at the server, he would have gotten more whipped cream. Apparently, that's what he was afraid of.
The next day Carpenter had joined us and we were off to Capilano Suspension Bridge.
Along the way we thought we could do a drive-by of a few sites.
At one point we took a quick turn, landing us directly in front of the docks, and the smell emanating was so foul and disgusting, it was enough to make one physically ill. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's etched on our brains for life. The turn was my fault, I had thought it would land us up in Gastown, and it did, just a few blocks too soon. Ooops!
On their last day we spent the morning in Stanly park on he beach. The girls collected shells, splashed in the surf, and found starfish. The seagulls ate all the chips, and before we knew it, it was time to take them to the airport. Once again, we had crammed as much sight seeing as possible during their stay.

We left them at the airport, rather early, and quickly said our good-byes, before I "got all mushy". Carpenter and I decided to return to Granville Island, and spend a bit more time at the Kids market, and walking around.
I took Jules to the bathroom, and held the door closed for her, as the lock was broken. Just then a huge fart ripped out loud. Julianne spurted out a laugh followed by a little "tee hee". At first I was rather impressed by the volume my daughter created, for she is only four, and then I felt I should chastise her for not being polite and said,"Jules, what do you say after you toot? Honey, we don't laugh, it's not appropriate." After all, we were in public, and there was a line up of women.
"But Mommy, it wasn't me, it was the lady..."
FLUSH. The woman's identity was safe, but still leaving every one in the line up chuckling, just a little.
After the girls played, Carpenter and I had a mocha, and I purchased flowers for my aunt Jo-Jo, we found our way to her house for the last leg of our trip. We spent the evening talking and laughing into the wee hours of the morning.
We spent the night and the next day began our journey home, and stopped at the Vancouver Zoo. Even though it rained, the girls were still happy to see all the animals.

Now we are home, and I am very aware that school starts next week. The girls and I have caught colds. I'm sure it's because we had way too much fun!

The House that Carpenter Built

I am, as ever in bewildered awe of the talent Carpenter possesses when it comes to wood working. He believes in doing the job right, and whole heartedly, the first time. Otherwise, Why do it? Every time he thinks of a project, he focuses his passion , and turns it into something amazing.
In trade school, he made me a beautiful buffet, while everyone else completed night tables. For Christmas Last year, he built a new dining room table for me, finished just in time for New Year's dinner. He made it no less, out of odds, ends , wrong cuts of wood, and a couple of laminated beams that had the wrong "arc" to them. They were scraps from previous job sites, he took his creativity and made a table, not only solid wood(literally) but a unique masterpiece.
It was obvious then, that he would apply that same passion, to his latest project: The Tree-house.
He collected scraps of wood from reno sites, and other construction sites, poured the foundation - which by the way, was two semi circles, one weekend and then began framing.
The deck was covered with torch on, so that it would not leak during the rain, because the bottom will house his tools until we can cover in the carport. Then a trap door will be installed. According to Carpenter, a tree-house isn't a tree-house without a trap door. Carpenter custom made the doors for the tree house one weekend with the help of Tex. They first took planed wood left over from old palates, and then laminated the pieces together. Once dry, Carpenter used the router to make decorative groves over the front.
The roof has shingles that were left over from roofing our home in 2005. There are actual windows by Jeldwen that open and close. They are nicer than the windows than what's in my house. The common phrase heard around here is "It's just a tree-house", but my Carpenter, had to have it done right.
Before the girls and I knew it, the shingles were being nailed on, and the railing was up.

Now it is done. What started as an idea scratched on a piece of paper over 3 years ago,(the likes of which I haven't seen since) has turned into a reality.Carpenter kept the idea in his head. The idea kept growing, and changing, but he wanted one thing to stay the same: The girls were to have a beautiful, tree house, and he would not settle for anything less. I guarantee it's the only one like it in K-Town. My husband is one amazing guy. This is one sweet kick-ass tree-house.
Who wants a play date?

Beyond stress

There is nothing like the impending arrival of house guests to suddenly bring on a boost of energy to do major home renovations. I know that if there was no pressure, things just wouldn't be done. Therefore why not take the 10 week notice and turn it into an opportunity to work our asses off. Mind you that 10 weeks has actually turned into the 4 week scramble, starting off with last weekend when Carpenter and I ripped apart our one and only bathroom. You guessed it. There were some interesting challenges for 36 hours until we reinstalled the toilet. We were graciously allowed to use the neighbors', then, during the night it was a toss up for the kitchen sink or the back lawn. Seriously folks, I do not recommend ever ripping apart one bathroom, unless you have another to use. But it can be done, and I have to gloat;I love my marble tiles and my new deep soaker tub. Even while we were still grouting around tub and floor I would sneak in and lay in my tub, and just lay there. I love my tub, almost as much as my coffee mug. Yes, that bathroom door is about to have a sign on it saying "Mom's room".
There were times though during this process that it tested our marriage, I handed him the wrong tool and drill bit, 3 times. I was utterly "Painful to watch" while grouting. But I know better than to ever question the Carpenter when it comes to building, I just stay out of his way and crack open the odd Corona with Lime and Tabasco sauce for him, depending on the time of day.
Now in less than 3 weeks, we have to build a new vanity, paint, finish the tree house, clean the yard and house. Apparently Gran views these relatives as kin to the freakin' queen, because she's on my ass almost daily to come over and clean my cupboards. Of course because they are coming to see them. The countdown has begun. Where did I put that broom and dustpan?

My cousin and his family fly over a big blue ocean and arrive here for a10 day holiday. They will be spending time with us, and then we are all off to Vancouver for a few days. I am in charge of booking a van, tours, a means to Vancouver, and hotel accommodations.The hotel has to be somewhat central to all the places they would like to see. I'm having trouble finding a place that is central to all the sights on their wish list. All I know is, I'm stressed, I promised my self I wouldn't be, but I am. It has been almost 10 years since I have seen him last. He is my cousin, actually he is my second cousin, but we are pretty close. I want it their vacation to be perfect and wonderful. They are only here for 10 days and I want to enjoy that time to the fullest. I know that it doesn't matter that the treehouse isn't done- just a safety rail would do, I really don't care about new paint or a vanity. Just clean and tidy. That's all I need. I think. I don't know how I should cope. I'm starting to feel like the rabbit in Wonderland!
So I have a question for all you readers out there , How do you cope with stress?
Do you sit in Starbucks and people watch, wondering what her life is like behind the til?
Do you grab your favorite copy of Old English lit, say Chaucer's Canterbury tales and sit in the middle of an open field and read it out loud?
Or, like me, do you wake up at 4:45 am, because you can't sleep, strap on your water bottle, tie up your favourite runners, and hit the pavement, for a long run. No kids. No Phone. No Computer. No Ipod. No talking. No traffic. Just me. Just my legs. Just my feet hitting the pavement until I can't run any more. And it feels good.
Later in the morning, over coffee I literally fall apart explaining to Ferf why it is that I NEED to wear waterproof Mascara. Go figure. Guess I didn't need a good run. I needed a good cry.

Things neighbours do.

I have neighbours who are retired and spend quite a bit of time on their yard. Yes, its beautiful. The grass is meticulously cut exactly every three days. I'm sure I've seen Mr. G out there with a pair of nail clippers and a ruler. Thea's flower boxes on her deck are filled with huge flowers, I've asked her if she spikes her water with Miracle Gro, but she insists that its just water. Right. Part way through the summer she hands over cukes and other veggies that they don't want anymore. It sometimes makes me wonder why I should plant a a garden of my own. The years I did have one , Thea would look out from her balcony and remark on how something was growing particularly well almost everyday. Most recently, she has been remarking on how beautiful my petunias are looking.
My petunia bed borders the lane that separates Thea's house from ours. When we first moved to the house , it was just a strip of lawn with enough of a mound, that teenage boys could perfectly catapult their bikes through our carport and down the driveway and back down the lane. After catching them, Carpenter and I decided it was high time we re-landscaped that part of our yard. It was a slow process, and everyday or so Thea would remark on how it was coming , or asked when would it be finished. I had decided to plant tulips in it for the spring, acquired 140 bulbs and planted them. That was an excruciating job, after I was done, Thea said,"Did, you remember to plant them all tips up? Because they won't come up otherwise."
Thea spent the spring watching for the tulips to come up and every few days counted them. One day, as I came home from walking Gem school she said, "I stopped counting at 79."
Thea and Mr. G. are pretty good neighbours for the most part,they are friendly, and watch over our place when we leave on holidays. In fact they will give us the make and model of every car that comes to my driveway, if they think its necessary. Once a couple of summers ago, we had the blinds up and windows open because it was hot. The next day Thea comes up to me and says," I see you had your sewing machine out last night, what were you sewing?" Carpenter and I decided we would one night leave all the blinds up, windows open, and have an orgie on the dining room table, to really give them something to talk about.
Most recently however, they have pushed the boundary of "friendly neighbour". My petunia bed was filling with weeds and I really didn't have the time to weed it. Let's face it, who really likes to weed anything? I am not a Green Thumb by any means, in fact, my entire philosophy on gardening is "If I happen to forget to water or fertilize a plant, it just shrivels and dies quietly." Ironically, most of my flowers do quite well, and so do the weeds. While I was away, last weekend, Thea and Mr. G. took it upon themselves to be my "weed fairy" and weeded my entire petunia bed. When I returned home, Thea was standing on her balcony, and said, "I see you had a visit from the weed fairy."
I thanked her for doing the job, but, I became irked by the whole thing when I saw weeds dying in the grass I had planted next to the petunia beds. The evidence was clear that they had not only weeded the petunias, but had sprayed the lawn with "killex ".

It's a Mug thing.

About a year ago I was having lunch with my Aunt and my Mom when the subject of "favorite" mugs came up. I understand that everyone has favorite things. Julie Andrews sang a song about it in Sound of Music. I just didn't realize that it included the realm of coffee mugs. My Mom and Aunt went on about how they were perturbed if someone took their mug out of the cupboard, family member or house guest, and used it. Not that they would say anything to the one who stole their mug. They would just stew about it, and let it grate under their skin, and then breath a sigh of relief when they were finished with it. I was thinking "are you kidding me? "
My mom has a favorite mug, a pottery one, that fits perfect in her hand and holds just the right amount of coffee, because she only has one cup per day. In fact she's pretty particular about her coffee as well. She has an Actual saying on the kitchen wall that reads "hand over the coffee and no one gets hurt."
Once when I was visiting I put a little Cinnamon in the coffee grounds when I was asked to make it, just for something different. That went over like a lead balloon.When my Mom tried it , her immediate reaction was "What did you do to the coffee? " My Dad informed me that you don't mess with the coffee. Ever.
So at that I had learned two valuable lessons, which shall ever keep me safe and alive while visiting my parents: Don't mess with the coffee, and by all things sacred, and holy, Do not under any circumstance touch the favorite mug.
So while out at the ranch last weekend, I came down for breakfast and went to pour myself a cup of coffee. I said to my mom," Where's your mug?"
Just to cover myself from grabbing the wrong one, and she said, "Here, you are." she had handed me an identical pottery mug. "I really like this one, she continued, "that's why I have 3 of the same." I began teasing her about her favorite mug.
But then I had to confess something. "I have a favorite mug too." I said.
This mug, my Mom bought me when I finally had my own apartment and we had been out shopping together. It was on a sale rack, the store was closing out and was discounting most of their stuff. I use it all the time, because it reminds me of that day, 10 years ago. I love the way it fits in my hand. It holds just the right amount of coffee, or other hot liquid, and probably most importantly, It gives me a gauge as to how much milk to sir in to make the coffee the way I like it. It's the first mug I grab, no matter its location in the cupboard. Its the mug Carpenter brings me coffee in bed.It's my mug.
But I didn't realize how important this mug was to me until one day when a guest was in my house and used it. I couldn't believe how perturbed I was. My mug was being used, and it wasn't by me. It was like an itch I couldn't scratch. I could handle it okay if it was broken by me, but certainly not someone else. But I would never say anything to a guest in my home. I would never, ever, make my guest feel uncomfortable by any means. I would sacrifice my mug before that happened.
As my Mom listened, a knowing smile spread across her face. She handed me the egg flipper and told me to watch the pancakes. She disappeared and when she came back she held a box in her hand and gave it to me.
Inside was another mug that matched my mug. She had bought two that day.
"I meant to give this to you when you moved into your house," she said,"Now you have two."
I was surprised, shocked and delighted. I couldn't believe it. She had bought another mug and had kept it all this time.
And, then it hit me like a ton of bricks: When it comes to coffee and mugs,
I'm like my Mom?????

Days that make you...

Sunday morning I said Good-bye to Carpenter and Gem as they packed up the truck and headed off to shoot targets in the bush with a Bow and arrow for practice. I had a lazy Sunday morning planned; sipping my Cinnamon Dulche Latte, quietly looking at a magazine and cuddling with Jules as she watched Tree house TV.
The phone rang and it was my Gran who requested I take her freshly picked bucket of strawberries to my Brother and sister in law, Betty, who were at their church about to watch their eldest daughter be baptized. I realized that I was a complete tool in having forgotten what day it was. I phoned my Mother to confirm, and indeed today, was the day, and I was about to miss it. So I phoned my Gran and asked to borrow her car. I literally threw a skirt on and changed Jules out of her now jellied jammas, whipped back her hair and ran a comb through mine. When Gran arrived she began to tear a strip off me that there was a perfectly good vehicle sitting in my driveway and my "buggar" of a husband had once again left me vehicle less. (Dancer had carpooled and they were going to meet Dude there.) I apparently needed to smarten up and stand up for my self and If I didn't stand up to him and say something, she was going to give him what for the next time she saw him.
I wasn't about to explain that IF I had remembered to write the event on the calendar, and IF Carpenter had known, And IF I had actually remembered before he left, then indeed the truck, would have been mine, or better yet the bow shoot would have taken second priority, and we would have gone as a family. (Keeping in mind for those of you who know Carpenter, the latter part of that happening was pretty slim) Instead I told Gran, I didn't need her venting at that moment- Thanks, today wasn't about me, it was about my niece and I wanted to get there. So off I went, dropping Gran off at home.
I looked at the time, the sermon would be ending soon and as I pressed my lead foot to the gas pedal, I remembered that this pastor can be long winded and my Mom reminded me earlier that they never do anything until the end.
When I arrived the small Church parking lot filled with 18 minivans. The Church is a small one and 18 minivans equaled the 18 families that attended the church. There are far more Children that attend this church because the average is 5 kids. The vans were parked in such a way that there was not quite enough room to squeeze one more car in, but more then enough room so they would not ever-( even if they tried) hit the next person's car door. I sat in the middle of the lot and pondered my parking predicament for about 20 seconds. I looked at the time once more and then muttering under my breath, I put the car in park. I wasn't about to miss my niece's baptism because I couldn't find a parking spot. As I unlocked Jules from her seat, I surveyed the parking lot. Not one of the 18 vehicles so carefully parked would be able to back up, turn around or leave without hitting my Gran's car car. I ran up the church steps with Jules and burst through the door. Everyone turned and looked at me. Simultaneously. (How freaky is that?)A man in a suit stopped me and I asked If I had missed the baptism. "You're here for the baptism?" He repeated. "Yes," I said and almost added, who else would drive like a mad woman, park so none of you can leave, and burst through the door with 90% of the service over? As he informed me that indeed, it had not, he ushered me to the back where I would stand.
A young woman hanging on to a baby motioned me to come and sit with her. "You are Coyote's sister aren't you?" I smiles and said yes. "I thought I recognized you," she said.
I sat and listened to the preacher rant, yell, and pound his fist on the pulpit as he finished up his sermon on salvation. He always finished every sermon with talking about it. I don't think I have ever been to a service where he didn't end a sermon without it. Not that that's a bad thing. He is a passionate preacher I'll give him that. And every once in a while he really hammer's his message home by repeating himself quite forcefully. Once I almost yelled "I GOT IT!" while the rest of the congregation was saying "amen!"
As he brought the sermon to a close , he prayed, and his wife came to the piano and began playing softly. We sang "Amazing Grace" and suddenly I really missed church.
I watched my young niece and another young girl be baptized in very cold water, apparently the heaters were broken in the tub. But it was still a very cool moment and I was glad I made it.
Betty and Coyote had planned a small picnic with Betty's parents and I followed them to a near-by park.

After lunch Betty and her parents took off to visit friend in the hospital, and Coyote and I were left with the kids. It gave us some time to talk. And not just the "Hey, how's it going?" idle chit chat, but the "How are you?" kind and we delved into having a great conversation like we used to have many years ago, when we were really close. We talked about several things including Mom and Dad, and it felt like us and them again only not in a high school manner, but an adult view where we were open and honest to each other's feelings, and views.

When I returned home I was glad that I had gone, had an opportunity to talk to my brother and it had turned into a very nice day. Carpenter had a great day too, and then we decided to eat at out at a Chinese smorg place.
As we ate our dinner a rowdy group entered with one man in particular, saying" If you can barely fit in that seat Bob, I don't know how You expect me to fit in that seat- Bob"
Bob turned as he walked and laughed at his friend. I could hear the friend coming, His steps rumbling. Jules, who was sitting at the end of the table looked up in awe and her eyes grew big and round as saucers. The friend passed our table with slow steps reflective of the friendly Giant. Jules turned her head as he lumbered by. He was quite tall, with a mass of unruly curly hair tied down by a bandanna.He wore a black leather jacket with Harley Davidson stitched across the back did nothing to diminish his size,Jules, putting down her fork so she could point, and in her loudest child-like voice said "HEEE'S FAATT!"
Carpenter and I were both shocked and quickly scolded our honest and rather brazen child. We explained that it was inappropriate to say such things, in front of strangers. And the whole time we tried desperately to keep strait faces.
But in all honesty folks, we're still laughing ...

Sticks,stones, and Secrets...

Thursday my daughter came home in tears. Her best friend didn't want to be her best friend anymore. And she broke down in crying twice between homework time and bed time. I could only comfort her. I knew how she felt, I have been there. Kids can be cruel, and for once I couldn't fix this. I couldn't fix her broken heart. But I tried anyways. I randomly went through the other15 kid in her class that she could spend time with during lunch and recess, because she's apparently spending it alone. The three girls she hung out with the most don't want to play with her.
There is a rule at school that if someone comes up to them and says "I would like to play with you," That child has to play with them. They are not allowed to say "I don't want to play with you." It is supposed to stop the bullying process, and kids being ostracized and picked on. It would appear that it happens anyway.
I sent her to school Friday and told her that if her "friends" were mean to her again today, to let me know I'm her Mom and its my job to look after her.
When I picked her up, it was just the two of us to walk home together, allowing some mother/daughter time. My eyes and ears completely focused on her. When she came out of the school she was standing beside her "former" best friend and they chatted for a few minutes. Everything seemed to be okay.
So as we crossed the big field I asked her if she and Emily had patched things up. And she said,
"No not really, but I found out why Emily was being mean to me. Calla and Sierra told her that if she played with me, they weren't going to play with her or talk to her anymore. Now I understand." The girls still didn't allow Gem to play with them today.
As I listened to her talk how Calla and Sierra had secretly talked Emily into a "Promise she couldn't keep" I was furious. These girls are 7! They were invited to Gem's birthday party! Gem was invited to theirs, and they are treating her like this? This was the second day. The teacher would be hearing from me when I reached home.
The teacher Mrs. R. was stunned to hear " that these girls who are polite, kind, and helpful in the classroom, were behaving so badly on the playground." She is not involved with stuff that happens on the playground , the school has monitors for that. (The monitors in my opinion, are completely useless and a total waste of skin. But let's not go there...) Mrs.R. went on to say that she could be no more stunned if a different mother had phoned to say that Gem had behaving similarly. She assured me she would look into it and have a talk with all the kids on Monday. If that didn't work, the principal would be hearing from me too.
I decided at that point to phone Emily's mom. We talk quite a bit, and our kids generally get along and have play dates. I figured that she would probably appreciate hearing from me, before she heard from the school, which could occur, if this wasn't resolved.
We talked and then we talked to our kids again. Then we talked on the phone once more. According to Emily, Gem had done a few things that had made Emily upset, but nothing out of the ordinary, and Calla and Sierra had told Emily not to play with Gem, or the girls wouldn't play with her. They were "cornering her" on the play ground; not letting her go down the slide or hovering over the fire pole. Emily's mom and I agreed that we would see what the outcome was once Monday had passed, and the teacher had a time to address the situation.
Monday afternoon it seemed, everything was back to normal. I asked Gem on the way home what happened at school and if the teacher did address the situation. She had infact pulled the four girls aside and had a talk with them.
"Calla, Sierra, and Emily told me that I was confused, that I just didn't hear the rules of the game right, because it was too loud on the playground." Gem said.
I asked her if anything was mentioned about Calla and Sierra telling Emily a secret not to play with her.
And she replied, "That was apart of the rules."

Did I mention these girls are 7?

I've been tagged...

Tex over at the Maru was tagged and is now tagging me. This appears to be very similar to those pesky"Let's find out more about you" forwards that land in my in-box. And those I tend to delete immediately. But because I was one of the few that Tex has "tagged", I'll play along.

1: People who are tagged, write a blog post about their own 8 random things, and post these rules.
2: At the end of your post you need to tag 8 people and include their names.
3: You may need to leave them a comment and tell them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

I'm not sure what I want to share with you, but I'll see what happens as I begin to type. So here goes...

1. The one actor who I will watch him in anything , just because He's in it is Colin Firth. I love Pride and Prejudice- the A&E Version, I could watch Mr. Darcy all day. I told Carpenter it was Nicolas Cage because he won't watch anything with Colin Firth in it, with the exception of Nanny McPhee. Others on the I would watch him in anything list include: Viggo Mortensen, (Lord of the Rings)Matthew Maconahey (U-571) and Owen Wilson (Wedding Crashers).

2. Carpenter and I first met in Grade 9 and had crushes on each other. After I moved away it would be almost 10 years before we saw each other again. It was less than one year after we were reunited, that we tied the knot one September afternoon. I was offered a brand new car if I didn't walk down that isle. It is our tenth anniversary this year. Carpenter says if he knew about it, he would have told me to get the car and then we'd elope...

3. I love Running. Seriously. I love feeling the burn in my muscles and then I reach a certain point and the only thing I hear is the pounding of my feet, the rhythm of my heart. I feel like I can run for ever. I would like to train for something like the Boston Marathon one day. But until then I will be satisfied with conquering Hartman Hill.

4.The hardest thing I've ever had to do was lose 40lbs. I didn't do it because I had to do it. I did it because I wanted to. I had had enough. I was ready. And when I reached that point, I didn't even tell Carpenter. I started phoning weight loss programs, and then signed up. The support was there, and Carpenter and the kids were right along side me. Of course there were days when I cheated and the scale didn't move.It was so disheartening. But I am so glad I did. My life changed, my personality changed,and antidepressants were thrown out the window. I believe that anyone can do it, if they are ready, willing, and have that support, and if the support isn't there, call me, I'll be your cheering crowd.

5. There is not a day that goes by that I don't regret having my tubes tied. My dream for having kids was 4. Then with a colicky second baby, I began changing that dream. There are days that are great and one s that I feel like I have to lock myself in the bathroom for a moments peace(refer to my Mother's Day post) but at the end of the day, I would have liked one more.
6. The best parenting book I've read so far is She's gonna Blow! by Julie Ann Barnhill. Granted I haven't read that many, and despite the odd title, it's about dealing with anger when it comes to your kids. to quote Becky Freeman- "To every mother who's ever blown it, yelled when she should have sent herself for a time out, and wants to believe she can change." Yes, I had a hard time. Jules was a difficult baby. For all those of you out there who have experienced a colicky baby you know how tough it can be. And was a huge factor in deciding to have my tubes tied.
7. My scariest moment was staring down the loaded and cocked barrel of a rifle. Carpenter, Patriarch, and I were looking for cattle on range when we came across a drug operation. The guy pointed and cocked the rifle at our heads. I will never forget that barrel, and how he had lined me up in his sites. We fled, called the cops and they confiscated the grow. To this day there have been no arrests.
8.I know the worth of a hard days work. I have had some crappy jobs in my life, I have shoveled cowshit- litterally. I have cleaned up after a construction crew whre the guys didn't use the provided Johnny -on- the- spot. I have peeled logs in the heat of the day and come home with blisters covering my hands. I was even offered a dollar more a sq.ft. if I peeled them in my Bikini. My dignity is worth more than a dollar.

9. I believe there is nothing better than Sunday mornings under the covers with the love of my life. And then of course spending the rest of the day with my kids. Of course I believe in other things too. But that one is up therein my list of "nothing better than.." Although I don't have a list, really. So for Great Norweigian Stuff, Lady Laundry, My Cluttered Desk, Architect, and Montreal Sarah, I can think of nothing better than for you to be TAGGED!

The Adventure Continues...

The situation I was about to find myself in would be highly entertaining for everyone except me, hence the reason for the "Gong show" comment on my last post. After spending an hour or so in front of a warm campfire sipping on Bailey's , we crawled into our nest and fell asleep, on an ever deflating air mattress, then as the temperature dropped, condensation filled the inside of he canopy. Jules rolled off the "bunk bed" and landed on my head. Somewhere around 4am the temperature seemed to drop even more, with intermittent rain and hail. At this point I was wide awake with a desperate urge to go. I did not want to leave the warmth of the sleeping bag, but it became ultra clear to me that I wasn't becoming warmer, and would stay that way unless I found my way outside, and to the outhouse. I struggled to find my jeans and wiggled them up to my thighs. Carpenter then opened the canopy and I struggled over the tailgate while desperately trying to avoid whacking my head. With a few tugs, jerks, muscle spasms and a serious lack of gracefulness I managed to land on my feet and find my shoes, all the while Carpenter howled with laughter and the girls giggled. Alright, I thought, I'll just erase that from my mind , (but I am certain that little show will remain in my kids memory for quite some time.) Focus, in a little while I will be sitting by a warm campfire and sipping a coffee.

And then, I questioned my packing skills. Yes, the coffee grounds were packed, the coffee cream, sugar, spoons, and of course the pot. Yes, everything was packed, until I realized the part that holds the coffee grounds was missing. Luckily, Carpenter's friend Mr. Dancer was camping next to us, and had made us a pot of coffee.Mr. Dancer is a co-worker of Carpenter's and enjoys hunting and fishing. He had brought his quad and two hound dogs with him. I refer to him as Mr. Dancer because at one point in his life he was an exotic dancer. He had also brought his girlfriend Sheila. Anyway, it was a crazy start to a bizarre day and the events that were about to unfold were interesting, to say the least.
Dancer, and Shela had come to the area to help Dude and Dudette work on their cabin, that is jointly owned by Super DAVE and his wife. I was lectured by Dancer, how if we worked and helped with the cabin, it was reciprocal, and we would receive the keys when we wanted to.
I politely informed Dancer that Carpenter and I did not pack a second household and drive for 6 hours with two small children for Carpenter to strap on his tool belt. That in of itself was grounds for a permanent stay in the dog house.Or in our case the tree house.
Dude and Dudette's cabin is nestled perfectly between a few mountains and is a very nice cabin. The guys worked tirelessly on the roof while the kids rode around on quads. Gem was very excited as she actually drove one for a little while. Sheila took off on Dancer's quad, exercising the hound dogs and swearing at them. At one point, Dudette's little dog growled at the female hound until she pinned the little dog to the ground by the neck. The kids began screaming and crying, everyone was in an uproar and the guys had to come down off the roof.
The tin roof was eventually finished, Carpenter had found his belt and strapped it on to help finish up. We were all to have dinner together that night.
The deer, elk and moose steaks lined the BBQ, (did I mention these guys all hunt?) and salads were made. It was a dinner made for kings, eaten on Royal Chinet, and once the last bone was thrown to the dogs, the guitar came out and Dude began singing ballads with his kids. The fire popped and cracked, the rain had stopped and you could hear the crickets, until Sheila joined in, which made the dogs howl.
After a song or two, Super Dave brought out the fireworks he had bought to celebrate the roof being finished. With the first band the Male hound dog took off like a shot, and disappeared into the night. Apparently, loud bangs freak the dog out, to the point that not even a leash or Dancer holding him, will stop him from taking off. After seven bangs Dancer hopped on his quad and went looking for the dog.
It had become clear that the night was winding down, Carpenter and I packed up the kids. I watched the outside thermometer in our truck drop as we climbed the forestry access road to our camp.
The next morning we invited Dancer to join us for breakfast if he brought the coffee, and he did. We sat around the fire and enjoyed light chit chat. Dancer then decided he would head back to the cabin and help Dude and Dudette finish up. He made us a second pot of coffee and told us to knock on the trailer door in about twenty minutes.
After the allotted time I knocked on the door and Sheila, asked me to come back in about 10 minutes, it wasn't quite ready, when I asked her to join us at the campfire, she said that she was in a bad mood. "Bitchy" was the word she used.
When I came back, She said "Well, it was nice meeting you, but I have to say good-bye because I don't think I'm going to see you again. It's over." And began to cry. Through teary eyes she unloaded the emotional baggage that had transpired over the last two days. I stood there in shock. I did not know her,and I did not want to know anything about them, but, I could not bring myself to say "Wow, yeah, that sucks, but all I really want is the coffee..."

The beginning of an adventure

Carpenter and I have camping adventures. At least that's what I like to call them.Something always happens to question why I agreed to the trip in the first place. This last camping trip over the Victoria Day long weekend was no exception.
We were to leave on Friday at noon. Carpenter was to leave work early and pick up Gem from school. But his boss had the same idea and forced him to work the full day with the promise of Tuesday off.
I began the arduous task of washing all clothing bedding and dishes we planned to take. I found the coolers, the campfire coffee maker, the lawn chairs. I had 3 packing lists: one was stuff I packed, one was stuff I had yet to pack and the third was a list of things we needed to purchase before we left, or on the way. The last list was mostly food. Jules helped me to pack and every second she reminded me to pack the hot dogs, and marshmallows, because we all know that a campfire without those things is simply sacrilegious. After 3 boxes, suitcases, and two bags , Carpenter arrived home and we hooked up the trailer, and loaded up all the gear plus the boat, motor, life jackets, and fishing gear. I am now truly amazed at how much stuff you end up by taking camping. It is almost like packing a second household.
We woke Saturday morning at the crack of dawn and were on the road by 5 am. It was at this time that Carpenter and I discovered there are no Starbucks open in this town and surrounding areas earlier than 6:30. So we found a Tim Hortons. I was not impressed at having to settle for a English Toffee cappuccino over my favorite cinnamon Dulce Latte. I was even less impressed that the kids were hyper instead of falling back asleep for a couple of hours. And thus began our 6 hour trip into the Kootnays. We saw some amazing scenery, some fantastic wildlife and then we arrived at our destination, pictured here.

This is Whitetail lake. A very scenic spot nestled in between picturesque mountains above the little town of Canal Flats, in the heart of the Kootnays. It was a small campground with a meandering creek flowing through the camp sites and plenty of room for the kids to roam about while Carpenter started the campfire, and I searched for something warm we could make for supper. It would not have been a typical Victoria Day Long weekend without a little rain, or in this case, lots of it.
We built a big fire any way, brought out the tarps and ran back to town and quickly purchased a few more. We had them stretched over the eating and sitting area, so we could enjoy the fire without the drizzle. The girls roasted marshmallows until they were sick to their stomachs while I made up their beds in the back of the canopy(that's right, we camped in the back of the truck) and inflated the air mattress we were to sleep on. When darkness finally arrived and the temperature dropped to a balmy 5 degrees, I packed the girls off to bed and Carpenter and I huddled close to the campfire sipping on some Baileys. I was bound and determined to enjoy this weekend no matter what, because it was about to become a bit of a gong show.....

Happy Identity Theft Day

It's never any fun to have your identity stolen, your credit card taken and used, or someone root through your trash to find out who you are. I have fortunately never had that happen to me, but I am talking about something that is far more gradual, and there is nothing I can do about it.
As a teenager I was known as the nerdy geek type, and had few friends in school. I never went to any big parties, because I was never invited and was not apart of the cool crowd.
When I reached college I studied the arts and became known as "Beloved Alcoholic Beverage" to some of my colleagues, and a trip to Greece reinforced it- but that's another story. Then I met Carpenter, and the rest is history.
Once we had kids, everything changed. I became an Olympic athlete. The lighting speed with which I could catch power puke before it hit our hosts' carpet was phenomenal, and who ever Knew my hands cupped together could hold so much regurgitated dinner?
I am amazed that I can still grab and tuck any child under my arm and dash to the bathroom and expertly navigate a maze of forgotten toys lying in the hall when one of them yells, "I have to PEEEEEEE!" I am even more impressed with myself when I actually make it.
I have been so frustrated at times that I have locked myself in the bathroom so that I could cry, count to ten, or just breathe, without a little one hanging on my leg
I have caught falling objects, and removed dangerous ones in the nick of time, all while doing an ever growing mass of laundry, cooking three healthy meals, and baking chocolate chip cookies for a school fundraiser or party.
But I never realized that I was truly defined in a specific way. I was walking with my friend Jo one night when we passed a little boy, his brother and Dad who were riding bikes.
"Hello Billy" I said as I recognized the boy from Gem's class.
"Say Hi to Cher, for me" I said to the Dad as Jo and I passed. He gave me the strangest look.
I turned to Jo and said" Guess it would have helped if I had said from Gem's Mom!"
She laughed and said that once kids hit school you now are identified by who's Mom you are. Forget being recognized by what I wear, or what I do, that has certainly changed. It is very true. I am now Gem and Jules' Mom, and will probably remain so at least until they are done school.

On this day, there are no cupcakes to bake, no school work to help with, no cleaning to be done, and the washer and dryer are silent. Carpenter brought me Starbucks in bed, Gem gave me a broach she made in school, and I wore it all day. Jules crawled into my lap and handed me a little framed hand print and a poem that read:
Sometimes you get discouraged
because I am so small
And always leave my hand prints on furniture and walls.
But every day I am growing up
and soon I'll be so tall
That all those little hand prints
will be hard to recall.
So here's a special hand print
Just so that you can say
This is how my fingers looked
When I pressed them here today.

It is moments like these that the messes made and the tears cried seem insignificant. I'm so glad I am a Mom, role model, friend and hopefully hero, to my two little girls.
My identity may have changed, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
So for all of you Moms out there
Happy Mother's Day.

A work in progress.

I apologize to everyone who has been checking my blog for updates, but its spring, it almost feels like summer and yard work is now on the priority list,which is now my job because Carpenter has a more pressing issue.
A few years ago, when that TV show, Extreme Make-over Home edition came out, we saw an episode where they hallowed out an actual tree trunk and turned it into a tree fort. Inspired, my husband promptly grabbed the graph paper and began designing a special tree fort for the girls.

I have since stopped watching that show, because I become a crying idiot within the first 15 minutes, and of course that just makes my husband laugh and make fun of me. Apparently God found it necessary to create me with an ultra sensitive side. But back to the tree house.

There are no trees in our back yard strong enough or big enough to hold a tree fort or build it around it, so Carpenter built the tree first, and then a deck will be added and finally a little house.There will be a ladder, slide and rock climbing wall, at least that's the plan. Hopefully it will be finished before the end of summer.
This is when I realized the power my girls have over their Father, especially Jules. She has been begging and pleading him, and of course offering to help. The tree fort is being built before my bathroom is redone, or baseboard are in my house. I still can't believed Carpenter succumbed to the pressure from a four year old, guess I know where I stand.
So I will post shots of the tree house progress, and when its done we'll invite ya'll who have kids over for a tree warming BBQ. And if you don't have kids, guess you're out of luck. Unless of course you get BUSY between now and then...