A Thousand Square Feet

It Can Happen.

2008-12-03T08:11:00.000-08:00

If I had been mistaken for a celebrity, it would have been cool. If someone thought that I looked like say, Angelina Jolie, what a boost to my ego! I was a victim of mistaken identity, not once but twice within 2 hours. It was not who I was mistaken for but , what I was mistaken for, that made an interesting afternoon.
Last Sunday,the girls and I were off to church. While getting ready, I chose to wear my black jeans, with my favorite white blouse. It is a wrap around blouse, with a double collar and ties at the side. It was freshly ironed, and because I don't iron often, that in itself, I felt constituted wearing it.I threw on my favorite black shoes. I found my favorite earrings, and grabbed a necklace I thought would complete the outfit. My hair was still somewhat wet from the shower, so I quickly twisted it into a bun and fastened it with a pin. I felt I looked a little "professional " perhaps, but I looked good, and thin. Good enough. I then helped the girls with their dresses and sorted out a shoe fight between them. It's hard having two girls with the same size feet. They don't like to share. When the shoe drama was under control, we headed out the door.

We were late arriving, of course, and I quickly took Gem to her class, and then Jules and I found a seat in the balcony of the really big church. Jules normally attends the Sunday School, like Gem, but opted to watch the service with me instead. It was no ordinary service. Seventeen people were baptized that morning. Among them, Bobbee, the youngest daughter of our dear friends, Dude and Dudette. Even though Jules has watched three baptisms, she still finds them fascinating. I have explained to her the baptism process, why people are baptized, and what it all means. She realizes it's a special day, and she likes watching "the people get dunked, and other people pray for them." It is an emotional moment too, and I felt myself tearing up as I watched the pastor talk to Bobee about her commitment to Christ, and baptize her.

Once Bobbee was baptized, the rest of the service had no interest to Jules, and all she wanted to do was sit with Bobee, Dude, Dudette and their friends. She made the rest of the sermon hard to sit through. She wouldn't sit still. When the service was finally over, I took her down to where our friends were sitting. I gave Bobbee a big hug, left Jules with them and ran off to retrieve Gem.
We decided to head over to Kelsey's for a celebratory lunch because that's where Bobbee wanted to go. The girls wanted the buffet for lunch ,and because they were still offering breakfast dishes, I opted for something from the menu. As I waited for my food I went to wash my hands.
The restaurant was fairly full, we had our table of 12, and I found my self weaving out and around tables to find my way.
On my way back, I was about to reach my table when, one woman, pushed herself out from her table. She had deliberately blocked my path. She reached and grabbed my forearm with a grip that let me know she wanted my attention , NOW.
I plastered a big smile across my face as I bent, looked into her face, fully expecting to hear a compliment on my jewelry, my favorite blouse, or my shoes. Then the following question, "Where on earth did you get it?" (For those of you who don't know me- ebay, ebay, ebay)
For there is nothing more flattering than being stopped by a complete stranger in a public place to be complimented on how you look. But I was about to be seriously disappointed.

Instead of hearing I love that blouse where did you get it?, She turned to me and said," When you head back to the kitchen, tell my waitress that, I am waiting for my toast, he would like some toast with his meal, she would like some more hot water for her tea, we've been waiting for that too, and the rest of us, would like some more coffee, and we need some more creams, please. Did you get all that?"
What the hell happened to my compliment? It's a nice blouse, great even, and I got it for a steal.
It deserved a compliment. She must be blind.
In that split second, I realized two things- She thought I was a waitress. So I said, " I'm going back to sit down at my table now, but If I see my waitress, I'll tell her to check on you."

I sat back down wit Dude and Dudette and told them the story, that's when I realized the second thing. I missed my calling as a waitress, because I not only repeated the entire request to my friends, but I am able to blog for you now.
The meal finally came and the conversation was great. We hadn't been out with them in a while and so it was nice to reconnect. The girls enjoyed the buffet and Gem and Jules ate as many strawberries and whipped cream they could get their hands on.After the meal, I once again excused myself from my company.
On the way back to the table, I was walking towards the entrance to the restaurant, when a nicely dressed woman walked in. She appeared to be n a hurry. She looked around for someone to help her. When she spotted me, her face lit up and she said, "Oh good, " and beckoned to me with her finger. I should have walked over to her and said, "Sit wherever you like. And because you're the 1000th customer through our doors- your meal is on us."

What?
It could happen!

Pizza Drama

2008-11-25T23:18:00.000-08:00

I knew I should not have done it. The minute I did, I felt a pang of regret. I had volunteered to take over a position within the PAC. (Parent Advisory Council). I had my hand raised, and suddenly I was given the job. The job of Hot Lunch coordinator.

It was a job I felt confident enough to do. Seriously, how hard is it to make up monthly menus, add up the orders on a spreadsheet, contact our Vendors, and place the orders? I figured it would take just a few hours, my time.Then, on any given Monday or Wednesday 150 kids or so would have a hot meal. There were other people in charge of buying drinks and fruit, and organizing volunteers to help serve the food from the school’s kitchen, and as long as I remembered to specify delivery times to our vendors everything should be fine. There are a core of dedicated women who show up precisely at 11:30 am on Hot Lunch days, and within 30 minutes, most, if not all hot lunch has been served to the correct class, desk, and student. It is a well oiled machine. Rather impressive if it runs smoothly.

And it has, relatively speaking. I had a few phone calls about orders being misplaced, (according to the past co-ordinator , not unusual). There was a delivery mix up where the milk was delivered too early, and some students helped themselves, making us short on hot lunch day. Then the tacos arrived coolish- I say this loosely, because I wasn’t there. One of the volunteers absolutely freaked and went on about how if the health authorities happen to show up that we’d be shut down because they were not the right serving temperature.

I almost laughed out loud as I watched her face turn red with fury. I could not tell if she was upset about that, or the fact that the Vendor forgot the hot sauce. The health inspector has yet to show up, and didn’t on that day. Besides, the tacos were eaten without much ado. Still, it was enough drama for one Monday.

Our school has hot lunch twice a week. Mondays, and Wednesdays. On Wednesdays we always serve pizza. Three kinds: Ham and Pineapple, Pepperoni, and Veggie. It comes with a drink and some fruit. On Mondays it varies, Lasagna, Sub sandwiches, tacos and hot dogs. Our hot lunch program is a fund raiser for our school. It has in the past generated quite a bit of money. But since the new legislation for Food in BC Schools, there have been weeks where it is more like providing a service. Adhering to these new guidelines is not optional, and we do our best. It was the job of the previous coordinator to figure out what vendors were willing to work with us within the guidelines, and still make money for the school. It came down to the choices that were offered on our menu. Pizza, for example became a whole wheat crust, and toppings. The serving size is one slice, smaller than what we used to serve, and therefore we’ve added some fruit and a yogurt tube to round off the meal. It’s not the greatest according to some kids, but within the guidelines, it works.

For most of the kids and the parents, they enjoy hot lunch. The kids enjoy a break from the same old sandwiches, and the parents have a break from making lunches. I have often received notes on the bottom or an order form from a parent or two: Thanks for making mornings a little less hectic, or Thank you for all you do. They are notes of appreciation which make me thankful I put up my hand and took on this job.

While compiling the orders for December I came across a note scrawled across the bottom of a form, and I knew once again that not everyone was pleased. It read:

[My Daughter ] used to enjoy the pizza but she finds it is only one piece and is usually cold by the time she gets it. So she doesn’t want it anymore. Just thought you’d like to feel bad. Thanks for the service!

On behalf of myself and the other dedicated volunteers: Get your hand up. Get your ass

to the school at 11:30 and help out. We will not feel bad for one second, so suck it up Princess!

About Thanksgiving

2008-11-17T20:01:00.000-08:00

With the Thanksgiving in the US happening next week, it made me think of our Thanksgiving this year. Thanksgiving makes me think of the Holly Hunter movie “Home For the Holidays” I love that movie. It reminds me of my family, or rather my Mom’s family, the dysfunction of it. And it makes me laugh, and just a little bit sad. Yes, they know how to part-ay, Especially when there’s wine. Come to think of it, they manage to have mall security called when there is no alcohol involved. And still it makes me glad to know that I have never sat down to a thanksgiving Turkey with the likes of any of them.

I realize I could be taken out just for writing that, my Mom has been known to lurk here and one of my aunts. But I’m willing to take the risk. It’s family drama. Everyone who has a family, and heads home for that Turkey dinner knows , that something will play out somewhere between the saying of grace, and the clearing of the table. It’s almost inevitable. And all you can do is laugh or keep quiet.

Even with Carpenter’s family the drama is there. We decided to spend the long weekend up north this year. Papa had his second hip replacement in September, and needed a few things done around the farmyard. We thought we’d give him a hand. We spent time with Ann, Ann’s daughter Andi, and her fiancé Grouse. I have to call him that cuz he’d never shot anything until that weekend. Carpenter and I went for a drive through the back roads, he was hunting, or that’s what he called it, I was no help of course, I slammed the truck door, and talked in anything but a whisper. It was nice watching the sunset, and we happened to see a few mulies. Does, to be precise. And I was thankful that they weren’t bucks. Then I wouldn’t have to watch the killing /cleaning.

We arrived back when dinner was done. Poor Ann was certain the stove wouldn’t cook the turkey. They’ve been having problems with the oven. It was probably a good thing we were an hour late.

Carpenter’s brother, his girlfriend, Tina, and her kids were there. The conversation flowed easily across the table, as long as we nodded blindly and somewhat ignored Wayne, Carpenter’s brother. I swear everything coming out of that guy’s mouth was nothing short of pure Bullshit. I could not believe that Tina, could have put up with it all this long. Every once in a while Papa would interject with his opinion, and Wayne would roll his eyes, ignore him. He asked politely what we were up to, and as Carpenter explained our plans, his eyes would glaze over and rebuke us with a plan of his own, trying to engage us in a classic game of one-upping. When we refused to play, he turned to our girls and said, “ Sophie has her own horse.”

It took me taking a deep breath and counting to ten to refrain from saying “WTF, Are you still in high School?”

The meal however, was stellar. The stuffing and gravy fantastic, and my mouth watered as I filled the girls’ plates and my own. I had hoped that Carpenter would crack the bottle of wine we brought. It would have made the meal fantastic. Unfortunately, it would take more than a glass of wine for me to handle what was coming next.

I watched the girls sitting at their table, complimented Ann on the wonderful meal, when I realized Seven, the old yellow lab, was under the table, inches from my feet. I tried ignoring him as I ate my food. Tina, was finished, complemented Ann on the food. She then remarked that she ate it all except for the piece of gristle on her plate.

“Do you mind if I feed it to Seven?” she asked.

“No, of course not go ahead.” Ann replied.

At this point I thought Tina would have taken her plate from the table, and scraped the remnants into the dog dish, to later be given to Seven.

I was wrong. She called to Seven and scooped up the greasy gristle from her plate into her fingers and shoved them under the table.

Seven, awaking to the call of his name, rose to his feet and stretched. His butt now in line with me, he let one rip.

I gagged on my mouthful of food and could not rise from my chair fast enough. I ran to the kitchen and found the Mike’s hard Lemonade in the fridge. I opened it and gulped it back. I stood there long enough to regain my composure. And cracked open another.

I found my way back to the table and asked Andi to encourage Seven out form under the table. I could not bring myself to finish my food. I turned to Carpenter and said, “You’re driving right?”

When he nodded, I helped myself to a very strong Rum and coke.

It was Thanksgiving, a time when we gather around the table the people that we love but don’t spend much time with. We toss a little dysfunction in the mix and see what happens. For me, I always end up with a blog worthy story. It’s inevitable. So I laugh, I say nothing, and I do what Holly Hunter’s character says, “Let’s just go out there and stuff ourselves.”

Yum.

When the past comes back.

2008-10-08T12:33:00.000-07:00

There is an old saying "Your past will come back to haunt you." Or maybe it's "Your past will always come back to bite you in the ass". Or, in my case, it did neither of those things, but rather sat behind me in a restaurant. Right when I least expected it.

I can honestly say, I didn't believe I'd ever see him again. Arron was my first serious boyfriend in college, where the relationship amounted to nearly eighteen months, if you don't count the break ups, and long distance parts. We had some good times and he gave me a promise ring. (Which I learned very quickly that it means absolutely nothing!) Then Arron witnessed the first seizure I ever had, that led to my diagnosis of epilepsy. A week later, he returned from work, drove me home after a movie and said "I can't do this. I just can't." He turned and walked out of my apartment, down the stairs, got into his car and drove away. He never once looked back. I know because I watched from my window. I knew I'd never see him again.

Until now. Fifteen years later.
Carpenter and I took the girls out for supper one Friday night a few weeks back, to a local family restaurant. During the meal I went with Gem to the ladies room, on our way back, I heard a very familiar voice, and then laugh. I looked up. I looked into a familiar face. I know that guy.
He recognized me.He avoided my gaze. He snapped his head back towards his friends, and lifted his hand as if to scratch the side of his face, but rather hide it. It was Aaron. He was sitting with three friends, perpendicular to our table.
Gem and I sat back down. I leaned forward and whispered to Carpenter, "Do I look good?"
"What?"
I quietly repeated my question. It somehow became important to me that not only was there no food on my face, or broccoli in my teeth since last checking all of those things in the bathroom mirror, but that I looked good, fabulous even. And I just needed him to say it.
"What?" he repeated.
Jules, sensing Carpenter couldn't hear me, piped up,"Mommy wants to know if she looks hot."

I felt my skin turn three shades of red. Carpenter looked at me quizzically. I leaned forward and quietly explained just who was sitting behind and to the left of us.
"You look fine. "He said.
Fine? Are you kidding me? Fine ? That's it? Deciding at the moment to drop it, before causing a scene, I encouraged the girls to finish up.

The girls finished their supper, and we left the restaurant. Once outside Carpenter said,"Why did you need to know if you looked good?"
"Because its important when one runs into an ex, that you look good, it's like giving them the finger without actually giving them the finger."
"Well, you could have gone up to him and said, Hi, nice to see you, oh, by the way, you were the worst lay EVER. Right in front of his friends, now that would have been funny."

I paused and actually let that scenario play in my head. I smiled. Yes, the statement was not only true, but it would have been hilarious; if I had the guts to pull something like that off, if my children weren't there, and if the place hadn't been filled with other families just like mine. But the look on Arron's face would have almost been worth it.

"I couldn't have done that hon," I said, "If we'd run into Jane, wouldn't you be concerned about how you looked?"

"No, I could care less what I looked like. I'd be more concerned about how YOU looked. I'd want her to know that I traded in an old broken down Datsun for a Cadillac." He said and smiled that smile that warms my heart.
That's my Carpenter. The love of my life. Our journey together has been one helluva ride. Come to think of it... I feel like a drive.

Will that be Cash, Beer or Deer?

2008-10-06T08:19:00.000-07:00

Renovations. They are never ending. There is always something to be done on my house. This year was no exception. There was no company coming. Still there was work to be done. I am starting to think, that my home, as warm, cozy and wonderful as it is, was becoming more like a money pit.
Let me rephrase that. It would be a money pit, IF we had to pay for all of the improvements. No, we do not ever wave a mystical magical wand, and all of our work is done and paid for. ( I have credit card bills for proof of that) However, Carpenter knows how to accomplish all of the tasks, and do them well. We save an incredible amount of money having him be the labour. This weekend for example, he installed all our new windows. They were all installed, by Sunday at suppertime. Now there is some finishing work to be done on them, but I am very happy and looking forward to ice-free windows this winter, and maybe a smaller heating bill.

There are other ways we have been able to save money on fixing our house. Our "outdoor living space" was no exception. Little did I realize, "Out door living space" is just real-estate talk for"Make your back yard look so damn good, you never want to move". We had put off landscaping our back yard simply because Carpenter was always so busy working for other people. Finally this summer, we made the time, and we had the materials, which were -you guessed it FREE.
Carpenter designed the lay-out, and formed up our patio and path, ready for concrete. On a Friday, he had three of his guys show up at our house at 8am, the pump truck came, and in 45 minutes they had the patio and walk way poured, screeted and finished. They are good! We then took them all out for breakfast.
With the patio finished, Carpenter wanted a water feature of some sort. Now, this can conjure up all sorts of ideas in one's head. But Carpenter, has a certain way he likes things done, because it is important to stay on the critical path, while completing a job. He has three basic rules:
1) Do it right the first time, or you will be doing it again.
2) Listen to him, and do it his way, because he knows what he's talking about. Or you will be doing it again.
3) - this one mostly pertains to our house: Go big, Or GO HOME.
It was really no surprise to me then, when exceptionally large rocks began appearing on my lawn, when Carpenter came home from work. He simply asked the blasting crew to keep their eyes out for "interesting looking" rocks, and when they had some, to put them into the back of our truck, instead of hauling them away.
I have become accustomed to left over, wrong cut materials, tossed aside renovation cupboards , sinks and even a toilet landing up on my lawn. Although it was a neighbourhood eyesore for a while, and I was sorely tempted to plant pansies in that toilet, The odds and ends have served us well. The tree house, my dining room table, and now my beautiful living space.

It is in the last few weeks especially, that I have come to not only understand, but fully appreciate, the FRIENDLY INTER-TRADES CURRENCY: Case o' beer. You thought it was CASH, didn't you? Yes, cash does have its place.Revenue Canada shudders at the word and has afield day with it. It works, and you can have quite a bit done for cash. But do not underestimate "Case o' beer."
Case o' Beer falls under the friendly- favour job category. This category is used after the guys have worked with each other for a while. The jobs are for the most part, small and should be no more than a couple of hours work. It is important to recognize that each tradesperson is different, and although it seems to me that the majority of them enjoy Budwiser, or Canadian beer, you should be aware of what they drink, to ensure their help again next time.

However there are exceptions to every rule. Last week, Carpenter had a stucco guy come by while we were away and stucco the concrete retaining wall in my back yard, the length of our property. His choice method of payment? Not Cash. Not Beer. ALL the wild deer,moose and elk meat left in my freezer. I like this guy. I wonder how many deer it would take to re-stucco my house?

Here are some photos of our out door living space.
Sand: left over from a jobsite:FREE
Huge rocks(normally min$1/pound) FREE.
Zoom Boom: To put huge 3'x7'x10inches rock in place $30 permit to borrow from jobsite.
Rocks for pond: Free
Pond liner, pump, plastic hoses: $350
Designing, moving rocks, and working our butts off: Our Time
Having a gorgeous backyard, creating neighbourhood envy:PRICELESS

A little bit of hot water, doesn't hurt.

2008-07-21T20:07:00.000-07:00

There is nothing quite like working in my back yard, fixing it up to look and be the way that we want it : An outside living space to compliment our cozy little house.
Though the weekends are long and hot and most K-town folks are off to the beach, we are here working out butts off; Moving rock, shifting pond-liners, digging a big hole in the ground, and being burned by the sun.
So when Dude and Dudette invited us over for a dip in their pool, and a late Sunday afternoon BBQ, how could we refuse. We packed up the marinating ribs that were in the fridge, stopped by the cold beer and wine store, and set off.
We were delighted to see that they had invited Superman and Lois as well. I joined the ladies at the poolside, while the girls ran to change into their swimsuits, and Carpenter, Dude and Superman discussed the limited entry results, oh yeah, because they were in.
The girls came running back, Gem immediately jumped in. Jules was suited up in a life jacket, and then began a hesitant descent into the water, she clung to the side of the pool, with in arms reach, not wanting to be completely submerged, but not wanting to be pulled out either. One of the older girls jumped in the pool and then helped Jules around . She was much happier after that.
I kept a close watch on my girls while I chatted with Lois. We talked about the upcoming changes facing our family.It seems to be the hot topic no matter where we go. For most of my dear friends out there, you know what I'm referring to. However, I am not ready to disclose everything on this blog just yet, because we are still in limbo, and no firm plans can be made. So for those of you who don't know about the new adventure, it'll give you a reason to come back and visit. In the mean time the conversation begins like this: If this happens..... or IF that takes place.... and it becomes almost a frustrating experience, because you just can't plan around "IF''s.
I explained to Lois that as much as I found this process to be an adventure, I wasn't ready to move , In light of our new landscaping work, the tree house, and my home starting to take the shape of something I truly love.
By the time supper hit the grill we were all taking about the men's love of hunting and how September/ October are two months when we barely see our husbands, because they are gone chasing that elusive elk. We feasted on pork, chicken and beef,( the freezers are dwindling low now on that most expensive wild meat. We'll have to wait til hunting season for more I suppose. But I'd just prefer to leave good ol' Babmbi in the forest.) and, there was stories of how Birthdays, and in my case, an anniversary is missed because of hunting season. It was a hot topic and caused more than a couple of waves. Lois, too felt my pain, and we laughed at men's "priorities".
Jules began to choke, and cry. The bigger kids had been making a wave pool. She was swallowing too much water. I rushed to the edge of the pool. I gripped the shoulders of the life jacket, and hoisted her up in one swoop.
She stood there, on the deck, in the twilight air shivering, and catching her breath. She turned to me.
"Oh, Mommy! I'm so sorry! I just couldn't hold it !" She gasped and sputtered.
Then I noticed that with the dripping pool water she began to pee.
"I'm so sorry Mommy! It was an accident, I just couldn't hold it!" She repeated, this time with a quiver in her voice that told me she was embarrassed and about to cry.
It's okay, Sweetheart." I told her, "Accidents happen. At least it wasn't in the pool."

Just then, Jules , looked up at me and exclaimed, "WOW, MOM! PEE IS HOT!"
"I never knew that pee was hot!" She continued, in awe, as she watched it flow down her leg.
Laughter roared from the pool , the other kids no no longer able to contain their giggles, and I smiled at my little Jules and said, "Yes it is, now lets find a hose to rinse you off!"
The deck was rinsed and so was Jules, who wanted back in the pool.
I walked back to my seat, cracked open a cider, and relayed the hot water story. Conversation turned from hunting season, and flowed with ease and laughter. I was thankful to be away from the hot water topic, at least until September.

THe Matriarch reaches a Milestone

2008-07-03T06:51:00.000-07:00

Today is just an ordinary day. For most people they are still recovering from the Long weekend Parties, or preparing to party with the neighbours south of the border. Today, Carpenter awoke at 5:15 am and was gone in 15 minutes to pick up his crew and take them to work.
But for me, aside from looking after my household and running off to work, I must, pick up the phone and call someone today.
She is a very special person, who brought me into this world, taught me countless lessons over the years, and has given loads of advice, some of which I embraced whole heartedly, and some I threw right out the window.
Sorry Mom, but it's true. Then you know that, because Moms just know.
So here is what I know about my MOM:
She enjoys a cup of coffee in the morning in her favorite mug, made her way. Don't ever muck with the coffee. She likes things that are leather or wood. She favours her jeans and turtleneck sweaters, except when she's off to the Cattlemen's ball, then hand her the dancing shoes.
She enjoys a good laugh, a beer with her steak, and has a love- hate relationship with cats that I will never understand.
She has been the right hand -man on the Family Ranch along side my father. And still is. She has put in many long hours with field work, calving,and haying. They used to say that the ranch at one time could employ 50 men. My father does the work of 2 and my Mom, the other 48.
Still,at the end of the day, she is my biggest fan. And I am hers.
So after you climb down from that John Deere, Mom, Have Dad take you out for supper.
Happy Birthday. I love you.

P.S. Tell Dad he can wash the truck tomorrow.

A little loss of Magic

2008-07-02T12:05:00.000-07:00

The Tooth Fairy. My daughter could not wait for her visit from the Tooth fairy last night, and spent most of the night anxiously waiting. Waiting and not sleeping.

She has been trying to wiggle her front teeth ever since she saw her big sister do it , and now my baby, Jules, has lost her first tooth.

When I lost my teeth at the ripe young age of 5-6 years, I enjoyed wiggling them. It would gross my mom out, and my Dad, well, all he wanted to do was pull it out for me. As the tooth became loose, He would say, “Here, let me pull it out for you, Oh please, let me pull it out, you won’t feel anything.”

I looked at his big thumb and index finger and quickly thought of this logically Big fingers in my little mouth. Not feel a thing? Right.

“C’mon, it’s just hanging by a thread; It’ll just be a second.”

I wiggled my tooth. I looked at my Dad, anxious to rid me of it, and thought about the thick coin that would be under my pillow in the morning that I could use to score serious penny candy from the corner store. And gave in. There was some pressure, a small crunch, and then a gush of blood and saliva filled my mouth. Dad replaced his fingers with a wad of tissue, my Mom looked as if she’d hurl at any second. I still remember the taste of that wet wad, and it makes me ill.

So when Gem was about to loose her first tooth, I was bound and determined that Carpenter would deal with it at the appropriate time. I’d never pull it out for her. I didn’t have the stomach for it.

When the little tooth began to wiggle, Gem wiggled it furiously. Then one night with our neighbours over for supper, the boy, Dec, decided to help it along. He carefully wrapped his fingers in paper towel, commanded Gem to “Open Wide” and proceeded to try to pull the tooth out. When he did not succeed, he asked if he could try again. Gem nodded. After all ,she wanted that tooth out , so she could collect on that Tooth Fairy. Once again, he commanded “Open Wide” and struggled with the stubborn tooth.

From my dining room table I watched in horror , this continue for a few minutes. I downed my near full glass of wine in one gulp and decided to intervene. Carpenter asked if I wanted a refill and I nodded. I would need something to quell the sick feeling growing in the pit of my stomach.

Dec caught my eye as I crossed the room, and confessed, “It just won’t come out, I don’t think it’s ready.”

Gem said, “But it’s loose, Mummy, I can wiggle it, I want it out. I can’t pull it out by myself.”

“I don’t think it’s ready. But it will come out when it’s ready to. I promise.”

And it did. When it was loose enough, Gem pulled it out all by herself. And proudly showed it to me while holding a blood soaked tissue in her mouth. My stomach churned. And I kissed my sweet little girl. “You are so brave,” I told her, “Mommy could never do that.”

It’s true, I couldn’t.

So when it was Jules’ turn, she proudly showed me her new wiggly tooth, the morning she discovered it. And the pride continued at school, showing everyone.

This weekend she showed her cousins, and then Grandpa, who said, “Oh, Jules, let me pull that out for you, It’s hanging by a thread, you won’t feel anything.”

But the tooth was not quite ready. Then, while she played with the neighborhood kids last night, she pulled the tooth out her self. She came running home, seven other children in tow. Screaming, “MOMMY, MOMMY, I JUST PULLED OUT MY OWN TOOTH! LOOK! SEE!”

I was impressed, very impressed. I hugged her and took the little tooth from her, placed it in a safe place for later. It was at this moment, I saw the definite trait of my husband in my girl, who still loved being a princess. There is no way, I’d ever pull out my own tooth. I’d have fainted first.

Jules carefully wrapped and re-wrapped her tooth for the Tooth Fairy. She was so excited. She boasted to her sister how the Tooth Fairy would leave her money.

Gem just rolled her eyes. Then she pulled me aside, and said, “Mommy, I have to ask you a question, and I want you to tell me the truth. Are you the Tooth Fairy?”

I looked in my daughter’s big brown eyes, and the seriousness of her face. She had earlier this year, figured out the truth about Santa, thanks to the recycling bag. I decided to come clean. Although apart of me didn’t want to. I had one girl, who was smart enough to figure out the physical impossibilities of reindeer flying, due in part to all the hunting videos she’s watched with her Dad, and thus making the link, to the Tooth Fairy. My other daughter was still willing to believe in that little bit of magic. For how long, I don’t know, but I do know that her smile, like her older sister’s, is changing forever, from a cute little baby smile, to a little girls’, and now onward to a young lady’s.

Time for an Adventure

2008-06-19T10:22:00.000-07:00

As you all know, Carpenter and I love adventures. Every camping trip has turned into one and even some regular days have turned into adventures, just buy chance. Some of those have been blog worthy and have been posted here. Some are still very much blog worthy, and will one day be posted here as well, that is if I ever find the time.

There are those that will never be posted, because my Mom reads this blog, and, there is some dirty laundry that I just can’t air here, knowing that she will be reading it . I have given her fair warning that her stories are very much indeed “Blog worthy”. Still, I value my life.

Now, just because these stories are not displayed here for all the world to read, do not assume that we wouldn't share them with you over a meal ,or a glass of wine. No, I’m not fishing for an invite, I’m just saying.

We find ourselves on the cusp of yet another adventure that has less to do with an adventurous camping trip, and more to do with the gut-wrenching, life altering decisions we have to make. And as in our adventures in the past, this too hold some life lessons I’m sure.There are many life lessons to be learned and in fact, I am sure we are by no means finished learning them. I watch my kids learn these little things everyday.

Just a few weeks ago both the girls experienced little lessons that will stay with themfor quite some time , and left an impression on me.

For Gem, it came when we went to a gravel pit area, to shovel some gravel into the truck. While Carpenter and I were hard at work, Gem was desperately trying to climb the steep gravel slope up to the tree line. Each time she attempted to start climbing she would go only a short distance and slide back down. She climbed. The gravel gave way. She slid back down. She would take a deep breath. Climb. Climb. Climb. The gravel gave way. She slid back down. Climb. Climb. Climb. She slid back down. She was frustrated. And angry. And crying. Carpenter and I told her to try walking on an angle across the slope and that she would have more success. She tried that for a few minutes and it seemed to work . Until she went back to climbing vertically again. But this time, she was on a steeper part of the slope. She climbed. She slid. She took one step. She slid. Step. Slide. Step . Slide. Step. Slide. She gave it one last big effort.She took three quick steps. Lost her balance. She slid almost all the way back down. Tears streamed down her now dirty cheeks as she screamed and wailed. She throwing a temper tantrum, the likes of which I have not seen since she was 3. Carpenter and I shoveling away , gravel into the truck, could not contain our amusement. Which made her scream even louder, an cry even harder. She demanded that Carpenter come and rescue her NOW. She was not in any danger. So we told her to figure it out for herself. More screeching and wailing.

Jules, in the meantime, had found sheer enjoyment in climbing up the slope and sliding back down on her bum, and gladly explained to Gem, just how to do it. More screeching and wailing from Gem. Once again, we told her she was fine and more than capable of figuring how to get to the tree line or down to the bottom. She was not in any danger, so we were not about to “rescue” her just yet.

After about twenty minutes or so, carpenter and I heard “Mommy, Daddy, Look at me!” There was gem proudly sitting under neath a tree at the top of the slope. She was so proud of herself. She had calmed down enough and we could see her tracks walking on an angle right to where she wanted to be. She did it.

Jules has been struggling for the past year, to ride her bike. She has gone from literally running behind other children on their bikes, trying to keep up with them, to riding a much-too small- trike reminiscent of the “big wheels” coveted when I was growing up. She had desperately wanted to ride her bike to school. I told her she could as long as she practiced.

She would cycle round and round the cul-de-sac. at frst, only going slowly, and I had to give her a push to get going. Finally one day she was able to ride her bike to school. As she finished the crest for the first hill, she stopped and said to me,

“Mommy, I DID IT! I’m so proud of myself, I feel like crying!”

It was at this moment, my little Jules had , a great amount of my genetics- in that she would cry at such an event… but as my Mother could verify , Jules had come by it quite honestly, as I inherited the trait from her. But more importantly, Jules had learned a sense and the value of accomplishment.

Over dinner one night we were talking to the girls about what they have learned. Gem said" I learned never give up- the tree at the top of that gravel slope, taught me that."

"I was so proud of myself, " Jules said triumphantly, "I felt as if the world was mine!"

That night when I checked in on them. I stood in the door way and watched them sleep. I said a small prayer, that they would always carry those little lessons in their heart and never forget. That little lesson for me, is sometimes hard to remember, especially in the light of what Carpenter and I are facing now. In order to fill a dream, there is an adventure we have to take, that is filled with sacrifices, and hard decisions. Like my girls, we will work through it.

It's time to capture our dream.

I'll help you cross the street- for a Loonie...

2008-01-31T12:06:00.000-08:00

It is a new year, a month or so into it actually, and I have felt like I have been in a whirl wind. Our Christmas Vacation was spent on wheels, traveling from one family to the next. It was a lovely quick holiday. There was family drama. Of course there was family drama. I think everyone has it in some form during the holidays . You take relatives you haven't seen in a while, add a litle alcohol and Voila, a classic recipe for Family Drama. Only this year, It wasn't my side of the family.Wahoo!
The family drama was quickly dealt with and then school drama hit. There is no possible way that we could start the year back at school without some of that.
The Ministry of Education and the Ministry of Health have put out new Guidelines for Food and Beverage Sales in BC Schools. As of January 1,2008, these new guidelines are being enforced. So what does that mean for our school, with an active Parent Advisory Committee? It meant jumping through hoops to find ways of making our hot lunch program "fit"or the program would grind to a halt. It is a major fund raiser, and we certainly couldn't afford to have it stop. Seriously folks, where else would you pay $4 for a simple hot dog and juice box? Okay, we only do the hot dog thing once in a while, just because to even find the number of volunteers required can be a feat in of itself, Nevermind cooking hundreds of hotdogs.
We regularly have vendors do the meal prep for us. So, pizza, lasagna, and sub sandwiches are often on the menu. But it was quite a bit of work for the volunteer parents to convince the vendors to change their ingredients to comply with the new regulations:Some pizza's with vegitables, some sub sandwiches made with lean meats such as turkey and chicken, if served with a whole grain food, and met sodium requirements. Some vendors dropped out, and new vendors were found and so on. Then there were numerous mettings where parents questioned the value of the food for their dollar. Were they willing to pay $4 for a tuna wrap, that their kid probably wouldn't eat anyway?I know I wasn't about to pay $4 for something I could easily make at home for a couple of bucks.
In the spirit of these new regulations of healthy eathing and Healthy schools, some of the teachers jumped on board.Gem's teacher decided to encourage the children to bring more fruit and veggies for healthy snacks, by keeping a daily tally of wrist bands on the child's arm. They received a band for every fruit or veggie serving that they ate. It wasn't good enough that they brought it to school, they had to actually eat it. It grew to the point where Gem, was wanting to bring just fruit and veggies to school - forget the sandwich. Then I noticed that she was coming home with candy.
She was being rewarded with candy for good behavior. The teacher had found the one loophole in the guidelines. It wasn't against the guidelines if the candy was given to them. Between the bracelet rewards, and the candy I was becoming confused. So I decided with another parent to have a chat one afternoon with the teacher.
She explained that the bracelets were a form of helping the children keep track of how many servings of fruits and veggies that they have during the day. In conjunction with the new guidelines, she was wanting to encourage healthy eating. It was not to imply that sandwiches, did not have their place on the nutritional scale. So then I asked about the behavior being rewarded with candy.
It seemed that she was having a difficult time motivating the children daily,to quickly unpack their books and settle down to begin their day.Then again after lunch. So she decided to put all of their names in a bucket at the beginning of the week. At the end of the week, if their name was in the bucket , it went in a draw for a big chocolate bar. But she was still doling out candy daily for those who were good.
The teacher then phoned me the next morning with a follow up call, and asked "Do you not want Gem to have any candy?"
"Oh, yes," I thought "Make me the bad parent and ostrasize my child in front of the other kids!" That would throw Gem in some sort of therapy later on in life, for sure.
"No," I replied, "That's not it. I don't want her being given a candy every time she helps another child, or sits quietly waiting for instruction, or puts up her chair, or erases the black board for you, so that by the end of the day, she is coming home with two or three candies."
"Oh," The teacher was quiet for a moment. " I think that is partially my fault. I tend to keep very close track of how many candies the kids get - for those who are always asking, it's easy. But I tend to loose track of those who are always quiet."
No Kidding?
So she decided at the end of the week, all the children who still had their name in the bucket received a small candy, and participated in the draw. After all candy is an amazing motivator. I realize that a little candy, or even sweets in moderation, probably never hurt anyone. I am not against my kids having candy, after all, even I have a sweet tooth.
But what I want to know is, when did, quickly becoming organized and ready for school, stop being something you did simply because you were told? When did the consequences of not doing it become nil? When did the act of being prepared, being well behaved, and kindness towards others become bribe worthy?

The Christmas Party and other traditions...

2007-12-10T09:12:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-11-23T10:41:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-11-05T09:19:00.000-08:00

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?

2007-10-30T12:33:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-09-17T10:21:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-05T16:20:00.001-07:00

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

2007-08-29T07:55:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-07T07:50:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-26T12:22:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-07-09T12:48:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-07-04T10:54:00.001-07:00

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...

2007-06-25T19:07:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-06-12T13:14:00.002-07:00

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...

2007-06-06T11:11:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-05-31T11:51:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-27T17:55:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-13T10:50:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-05-07T11:31:00.000-07:00

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...

The Patriarch reaches a Milestone

2007-04-18T10:54:00.000-07:00

Today is just an ordinary Wednesday to most people. In the grand scheme of things it is pretty much like every other day. In our home , I woke the kids, made them Breakfast, packed Gem's lunch, school bag and then walked up to the school with her. But before we left I made one Phone call to my Dad, because he turned 60 today.
He told me that he was no longer celebrating Birthdays after 59 and Mom agrees because it's her 60th next year., but that didn't stop me from singing him Happy Birthday anyway.
He's a pretty stubborn guy, and known to be a work-a- holic, and lines up job after job. Under neath the rough exterior he is a helpful person, and cares about his wife, kids and Grand kids.

He taught me to ride a bike , bought me my horse, and showed me how to milk a cow.
He showed great patience during some of my all time classic blunders for example: When I walked the wheel irrigation line UP and OVER the barbed wire fence, even after he reminded me to watch out ; When I broke the new stands clean off the brand new hay- turner, again after he reminded me to lift them up when I was finished raking the hay; And when I wrapped the harrow around the little tractor, of course having been forewarned not to turn too sharp.
Now that I'm grown and no longer live on the farm, I'll leave the stupid things yet to be done to my neices and nephews, he'll need patience, and understanding for them too. After all, I received 50% of my genetics from him, and I'm certain 1/2 of his gray hairs are from Me.

Happy Birthday Dad. I love you.

How to tell if a birthday party is a GONG SHOW

2007-04-16T14:12:00.000-07:00

There is a park in our city that has great walking trails, a creek, an environmental education centre, and of course a large playground area. On any typical weekend, that the weather is good, there is a mass of children hanging from the monkey bars and running though the mazes, or families biking along the trails or tossing the pigskin while they waited for their BBQ in the gazebo. This past weekend was no exception, and Jules was invited to a Birthday party to be held at this very site, by a girl in her preschool class. The whole class had been invited.

We arrived promptly at 2pm as requested by the invitation, with Jules and her friend Alea giddy in the back seat, But there was no party site to be seen. Carpenter drove through the park 3 times, to no avail on the fourth pass through the park, I spotted the family's vehicle. The Mother was just setting up, and began blowing up balloons to decorate the picnic table. More children began to arrive and the parents said they were leaving. The Mother, Sour, Told them the party would be over in 1 1/2- 2 hours. She then asked as those who stayed if we remembered each kid's name. She quickly wrote them down and then informed me that her mom (the grandma) would be arriving soon to help watch the kids.
I had to abandon my blowing-up- balloon post within seconds to watch Jules, Alea, and Kelly on the swings. And there I stayed, running through the playground after the kids searching them out and suddenly wishing I dressed Jules in florescent jeans or something so I could find her quickly instead of panicking every time I blinked. Every once in a while I would herd my small group back towards the picnic table for a few chips and a drink.
The Grandma arrived with the cake and of course no introductions were made of any sort. She immediately gave Sour the gears for not initially inviting her 3 rowdy nephews to the party. She didn't bother looking at any of the children to find out exactly who she was in charge of, instead began munching on chips and offering snotty comments. Within minutes the three Billy Goats Gruff appeared and harassed the poor birthday girl. It was at this time Sour decided that the cake covered in cool whip needed to be kept cool, out of the way, and placed it under the picnic table because she forgot the cooler. She also decided to keep the pop cold by dumping the 2 litre bottle into a jug filled with ice, and placed that under the table too. You can guess what happened next.
Yes, someone kicked the jug and the pop went everywhere. The BBQ arrived then without a propane tank so the kids had to wait some more for hot dogs. No one cared though, they all just wined for the cake.
The cake by now was in danger of melting, and Sour decided that there was a better picnic table across the park from where we were and it was time to move- plus, she then could avoid cleaning up pop, so the kids wouldn't continually step in it. So the chips, pop, Hot dogs, cake and juice were all moved. Once again Sour filled a jug with ice and pop, and again placed it under the table. Again it was kicked. Again pop when everywhere. Alea's mom had arrived somewhere between jugs spilling and the two of us watched the forgotten kids as well as our own.

By 4pm, when the party was supposed to be over, the kids had just gotten their hot dog. The birthday girl was threatening some of the kids that if they all didn't sit in a circle she wasn't going to share her cake or let them watch her open the gifts. Yes, she was a piece of work too, and in that moment I was double thankful that Jules usually has nothing do do with her, and I would be saying "No" to any playdates.
Carpenter arrived with Gem, and I had to drag a crying Jules away from the party. She didn't get a pop, a piece of cake or watch the birthday girl unwrap her presents. I had Jules say thank you to the hostess, and we left, for we had an invitation to dinner.

We were off to Tex and Ferf's place for dinner, and although Jules cried I assured her that Mrs. Ferf had a special dessert waiting for her, and after the afternoon I had endured, I was ready for some good company and a glass of wine. The food was great, company fantastic, and Tex, thanks for the milkshake dessert. I needed that.

Spring brings Change.

2007-04-09T11:00:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is back to the routine of waking, lunches, home reading, and play dates. We have had a pretty busy couple of weeks here, so I appologize to all my faithful readers who were waiting on a new post.
There was a young man who was stalking little girls in the bathroom at school, and offering them chocolate. He was spotted at a few Elementary school and then caught in front of a busy store. During this time there were red notices sent home from the schools, and security was tightened at the schools, there were more supervisors on site. And I was more apprehensive then ever walking with the girls home. Carpenter and I had more serious talks with the girls at night about strangers, what to say and what to do. After all a stranger is just someone you haven't met yet.
An acquaintance of mine walks with me now, because she was stalked coming out of a Starbucks one day and the stalker actually followed her and snapped photos of her on his phone camera. She has the police informed, but he's still out there. I've had Carpenter stop and pick me up some bear guard pepper spray on his way home from work. It's been a long time since I've used that stuff but as of tomorrow it will be strapped around my waist once again, alongside my water bottle.
I hate not feeling safe. It's spring. I'm supposed to be enjoying the weather, planting a garden, mowing my lawn, and watching the girls play in the cul de sac. I'm not supposed to be overly concerned remembering to strap protection to myself to simply walk my daughter to school. I shouldn't be afraid fro her safety while at school. But I am. And I hate it. I am more apprehensive now of them playing, in the yard, and more aware and leary of my neighbours, especially the ones I don't know very well.

We have a neighbour, who is a bit of a grouchy recluse, but about a week ago, he moved his basket ball hoop from the front of his house, around to the side, facing the cul de sac, so that all the kids in the neighbourhood can play. He even lowered the hoop for them, and now all the kids are there having a great time. Any given afternoon they're all having a blast. This move by our neighbour shocked everyone, and we were all pleasantly surprised by it.

Spring has brought change, some like my neighbour , have been great, and I look froward to the summer. But the idea of strapping on bear spray to walk to school, is not,and I hope it's not one I will become accustomed to.

Flash Me Baby!

2007-03-26T17:48:00.000-07:00

The local Starbucks was quietly filled with students Last Sunday night, studying together on what seemed like a fairly big project, or rather dreaded exam. Lady Laundry and I looked for a place to sit, when we settled in two cozy chairs in the middle of the hub-bub for a little gab fest.
We began discussing the weekend, what went down, and general chit chat regarding kids, husbands and the impending return to routine as Spring Break came to a close.

As I chatted on about my weekend, something caught the attention of LL ,she hid her eyes with her hand and looked away with a bit of a giggle. At first I was convinced that I had somehow dribbled my Cinnamon Dulce Latte with extra syrup and whipped cream, all over my chin and clothes. But no, it was the sight behind me that was causing distraction. She told me, the guy sitting behind us diligently plugging away on his lap top was showing off horrific butt crack every time he leaned to reach for his coffee. I asked her if she wanted to find somewhere else to sit, but apparently it was somewhat like a terrible car crash, "she couldn't look away."

Now I am no fashion expert, but it seems to me that the current trend for young men these days is to wear their pants low over their hip and their Fruit of The Loom up to their chest allowing every one to see their choice of undies. As a college student I expected nothing less from this guy. In fact, judging from the students around me, it was "whatever is the most comfortable" allowing ultimate blood flow to the brain, or other body part needed for knowledge osmosis they were trying to achieve that night. However, it was apparent to me I needed to concentrate on keeping eye contact with LL to stop her from staring, after all the guy was less than ten feet away.
"Finally" was the word LL breathed when I noticed the guy walk by our table towards the waste bin. He was dressed in a light cotton Bermuda style shorts with a button up shirt, rather than the fashion trend I had expected. But it was probably the last piece of clothing in his closet that wasn't in dire need of washing. I'm positive the elastic in the shorts was stretched to its capacity, and the shorts lacked a drawstring, because as he emptied his tray into the trash, he flashed me too.

I winced, gasped and turned away. LL was right about the "car crash" syndrome, it was just too horrific. He wasn't bending over or making fast movement of any kind to encourage this. But his shorts and Joe-Boxer's were literally sliding their way down revealing pasty white skin, a great divide, a mass of pubic hair, and he didn't seem to notice.

I would hope that anyone feeling a massive wind tunnel flowing across his backside would be inclined to at the very least pull up his pants. I mean, come on, fashion aside, he just had to feel that right?? I hoped he would, for his sake, before heading back to the dorms where some frat boy would seize the opportunity to test his jump shot with a coin or spit ball, and yell, "WA-HOO TWO POINTS!!!"

The Destiny of Apples

2007-03-22T15:45:00.000-07:00

If you have ever read "The Country Mouse and the City Mouse" then you would have a pretty good understanding of my cousin Danni and I. As kids we were pretty close, but instead of having a great adventure every time we were together, we had to have a serious fight before we could start to play and have fun. Yes, it was hard finding the fun in dysfunction at age 11. As we grew older we of course grew apart, the fights were fast outweighing the "fun" and we seemed to have less and less in common. Not that there was much to begin with.

Over the last few years we have both made attempts to reconnect. She has sent me gifts for my kids, and copies of old photos of the two of us. And I've tried sending e-mails. But we seem to miss each other, like two ships passing in the night; Phone messages aren't forwarded, e-mail addresses are changed without notice. Most recently I have sent her a gift for her new baby girl Gigi. But I have not heard a word from her, but I keep hoping that she'll acknowledge the gift and it might spark something.

Perhaps family history will wreak havoc and rear its ugly head, preventing us from moving on and trying something new. I mean, even our mothers who are sisters hardly speak. We are a product of our family, we are taught how to act and react by our parents, they are our blueprints for growing up, and much like apples, we don't tend to fall far from the tree. And as I've been told many times before, I look like my Dad, but I act just like my Mom.

I'm a Mom now, so is Danni, and that is something strong we have in common. But it will take quite a bit of focus to beat the family drama and history. Will it be worth breathing life back into a relationship that's DOA?Maybe it's wishful thinking on my part. Perhaps in a parallel universe we would have been life-long friends. But in my lifetime I'm coming to realize that this is a chapter long been closed, and there is no point in breathing life back into something that's dead.

The focus of my life now is my kids, and I know I'm their blueprint. I hope and pray that when Gem, Jules, and even Gigi, fall from the branches of their apple tree, they'll roll away, even if it's just a little bit.

I'm a WHAT?

2007-03-13T09:31:00.000-07:00

It happens twice a year for me. Pure time to myself, allowing me to sit and relax and do the things I want for two and a half days. There are no kids, no husbands, no cooking, and no laundry. That's right, I'm on a retreat. A scrapbooking retreat.
When I first heard of retreats like this, I thought women were surely nuts, I mean who would spend that kind of time sitting inside, cutting pasting paper, photos , and then journalling about them. I mean seriously, don't we all have better things to do?
Over the years I became a scrapper myself, and have asked many people why they do it. Some, it is to preserve their heritage, before they can't remember who is in the photos any more. It is a tedious process for them, record of who, what, where, when why, as they journal the information. Then there are others who dedicate albums to specific times or people. But all agree it is to help record history, whether it is done plain and simply, or with artistic flare.

The latter is how I approach it. I have a Fine arts Degree, so it make sense, and the process allows me to find the artist within me that unfortunately has lain dormant for a while. I find the scrapbooking, not only therapeutic, but fun, and it allows me to express what I was feeling when I took the photos, as well as record the historical facts. Finally I was able to express the artist in me that I spent 5 long years at university becoming. Sure, I haven't been painting, but at least it has given me something to work with with my photos. And to add ribbons, brads, eyelets, buttons, paints, stamps, inks to ad texture and color to my layouts, its all to much fun. But for me, the best part about scrappin', is the Paper.
I love paper. Card stock, patterned, double sided, white cored, glossy, mulberry, and not to forget handmade. I have quite the stash of it, There is the stash I have, the stash I'd like to have, and let's not forget, the stash that Carpenter knows nothing about.I get to literally haul it all out with all my tools, set up and scrap to my hearts content during a retreat like this one.
There were about 50 of us, and we are all there for the same purpose, to scrap and relax. We snoop at each other's work, feed off each other's inspiration and ideas. We stayat a Bible Camp lodge, there is someone make us food, and when we feel tired we climb on a bunk and snuggle into our sleeping bags. (Of course with this communal living it's is always best to pack a pair of ear plugs or two- I have unfortunately discovered this the hard way....)
By Saturday afternoon, most of us are hanging around working away, still in our jamas. I took a short walk around to snoop at other peoples work when I spotted a lady cutting up a sweet piece of patterned paper. I went over to take a second look.
"Cool Paper" I said, admiring the rest of her stash that was on the table.
"I love paper", she said.
"Ah, so you're a Paper Junkie, like me."
"She's a WHAT?" a lady named Bobbi interjected.
"You know, a Paper Junkie, she loves paper, like I do, " I repeated, I mean we're scrapbookers, who doesn't love paper?
'OH, no, she's a PAPER SLUT."
"Paper Slut?" I asked.
"Yeah, if you are a paper junkie, then she's a paper slut, you were just being nice about it," Bobbie replied and challenged me by the raise of her eyebrows.
This is when I seriously need to listen to that little inner voice that says,"walk away...walk away." But I could not be out-done. Looking down at the "slut's" hoard of paper and deciding that I definitely had more said, " If that's the case, then I'm a PAPER WHORE."
I spun on my heel, and went to walk away, when my bunk-mate Lady Laundry yelled from across the room " I think I read about you, on the bathroom stall!"
walk away... walk away... walk away...

E-bay Cat

2007-03-06T09:38:00.000-08:00

I have been known to shop on e-bay, and have in the past come away with some sweet pieces of clothes, and jewelry at smokin' prices. I am happy with the deals I have made, the clothes fit, and the jewelry looks nice, and I am almost always complimented on it, then Carpenter remarks " Yeah, It's amazing what stuff you can find on E-bay for 99cents." Yes, he's impressed with my bargain hunting skills.
My Mom must be impressed too, because after she spend hours finding a particular piece, checking the price, and the rating of the seller, she phones me up and asks me to bid on it for her. Why she just doesn't bid on it herself I'll never understand. But she is my mother and I oblige. Thus, I found myself in the same predicament again. This time it was a pair of amber earrings and a multicolor amber pendant.

Unlike other bargain finds, these pieces, were quite expensive. The earrings were for my Grandmother. But the pendant, the most expensive piece, Mom wanted for herself. She wanted to know what I thought. I remarked on how unique the pendant looked, and how since the package would be coming to my house, possession is nine-tenths of the law and she may just end up by seeing the pendant around MY neck instead. Not impressed with my teasing, she phoned me every day asking if anything arrived in the mail. I told her It would probably take two weeks after they have received payment , and put it in the mail. But her phone calls came everyday regardless.
Finally one day the pendant arrived. I ripped open the package, and the little box the pendant came in. I stared at it. I was stunned. I could not believe I didn't notice it before. The pendant resembled a cougar or leopard or other such cat. And I began to laugh.
My mother HATES cats. She has spent the majority of my life hating them. If one happened to rub up against her, it would freak her right out.The fact that I used to bring the barn kittens into the house and they would pee under the stove, never helped the situation. I know it tested my relationship with my mother. It wasn't that she hated them in the sense to be mean to them , but rather AVOID them at all costs. A few years back, the century old farm house became infested with mice because of the lack of cats around. When a mouse ran across my Mother's feet one day, That changed her attitude. She now has an appreciation for a cat's purpose- to eliminate mice. She still doesn't LIKE them.
She is certainly NOT willing to wear cat around her neck. Not that she noticed at first. She put it on her chain around her neck. I began to laugh, I couldn't help it. , she was not impressed with me- at all. Especially after I pointed out the cat resemblance. She left the pendant with me, because she wasn't about to wear it.
When Carenter came home, I told him all about it, and he laughed. There are few things my Mom and Carpneter have in common. Their dislike for cats is one. Mom doesn't always appreciate my Husband's sense of humor or practical jokes.(because of a mug incident- I'll have to tell that story another time). All I know is, between me and Carpenter, she will never live this down. EVER.

The trouble with ice fishing.

2007-02-21T16:10:00.000-08:00

There is a second story to our trip up North. You see, Carpenter and I have an understanding that, while he is ice fishing , I am to be soaking, quite happily, in the HOT TUB back at the hotel.

Unfortunately, the hot tub was closed due to renovations, funny how they neglected to tell me that when I booked the room. The pool, was freezing, too, and there are not that many shops in the town to look through, so with a lot of begging, and persuasion, by Carpenter and the kids, I ended up here; Squatting over a hole in the ice, jigging a rod, baiting my hook with maggots, and freezing my butt off for some fish at 7:30 in the morning. I hate ice fishing.

I can handle fishing in the summer time, while in a boat. I don't even mind the squirmy worms. There have been days when I have even out-fished Carpenter. And soaking up a few sunny rays , always has it's benefits. But freezing in the cold , and handling maggots beyond the plastic bag they come in, is not worth the fish you catch. Or as in my situation, don't!

The majority of people out on the ice were men, older men, with skin thick and wrinkled like leather, from years of spending time outside. They sat on buckets,shooting the breeze about ice fishing, hunting, and of course dirty jokes about their wives. But the lure of catching their limit within 45 minutes, is probably more than some guys can handle. Or maybe it's the lure of being away from their wives, that makes them rise early and sit on the ice.

Even when we lived up North , and Carpenter went, I would not. I worked at the local drugstore in their hunting and fishing department. (in a small town like this one, it is important to be diverse)In the mornings after the local radio would announce the ice fishing forecast, there would be a rush of die hard ice fishermen lining up to buy the maggots, meal worms and krill that we sold. Add that to a ruby -eyed wiggler, and a glow hook, and they were set.

There was one old fellow that came in, faithfully every couple of days, to replenish his bait for he went fishing every day. He had a bushy beard, kind eyes, and he walked with a gnarled old cane that he had made himself. He would flirt with me shamelessly, as he would pick through and find the "perfect" bag of maggots. One morning, on February 14, no less, He came in with a gift for me. A sentimental Valentines card, and his morning catch wrapped in a big black garbage bag. I gracefully accepted this fishy Valentines gift, trying desperately not to choke on the pungent fishy smell, as my coworkers laughed. Oh if I could have re gifted it!

Now you know why I am not a fan of ice fishing. Last weekend was a weak moment for me. I told Carpenter he'd better take a picture, because it would be a long time before I did this again, and as for giving in this time- He owes me.

Why I hate fortune cookies.

2007-02-19T16:00:00.000-08:00

We went away over the weekend with the intent to visit my father in law, Papa Gruff. Carpenter wanted to do some ice fishing. So we loaded up the truck last Thursday and travelled North to a small Community, where the only pool is located in a hotel, but they have 2 ice rinks, the downtown core is exactly one block long, the mayor has held her position for over twenty years, and the "Fancy"restaurant is aptly named the Hoof and Harness.
The town is small and charming, like other small towns of its size in North America, I suppose, and we have a special attachment to it, Carpenter and I lived there when we were first married, and his Father is still there.
We booked a hotel room, so that it would seem more like a holiday, and when we arrived we had dinner with Papa Gruff and his significant other Ann. Carpenter's brother Dwayne, joined us with his daughter Soapy, and significant other Tweena. Papa Gruff was not into the Hoof and Harness, said it was a little too fancy for his taste, so we went over to the Blue Sky diner that specialized in a Chinese food buffet.
The food was quite tasty, and conversation flowed easily, Jules and Gem insisted Papa Gruff sit next to them and for the most part they enjoyed Soapy's company too. Our waitress, of course knew all of our names and passed around a mini album of her newest grand-baby. While we talked, she brought out the fortune cookies, and we began reading them. As most of them were "lame", as Papa Gruff put it, Carpenter suggested that we add the phrase "In Bed" to the end of the statement. As the cookies came to me, I cracked mine open, and read it. Ann and Tweena asked what mine was. I showed them, for I could not bring myself to read it out loud, and they agreed with me that it was one that should be kept silent.
Then Carpenter arrived back at the table Ann said, " You should ask your wife what her fortune is!" , She began to laugh. NOW I don't know Ann all that well, for we have only seen her a few times. She is new to the family, but we shared a bottle of wine and I must say, I'm beginning to like her, although at that moment, I was more shocked than anything.
I handed the fortune to Carpenter, and unfolding it, he read out loud, and loud enough for everyone to hear(okay, I walked right into that one I know) :
" You must accept the next proposition you hear - in bed!"
Everyone began roaring with laughter, even the tables next to us had a few chuckles, I'm sure my face was as read as my sweater. Mortified as I was, it was pretty funny. Of all the fortune cookies on the table I had to pick up that one. At least it made for interesting conversation over our Bailey's and Coffee.
So if you happen to travel northward, end up stopping at a little diner called the Blue Sky, and overhear a conversation regarding a silly fortune cookie, you'll know it was some gossip about me.

An Early Valentines.

2007-02-09T11:31:00.000-08:00

Carpenter has been working late this week. He hasn't done that in a while. And I am reminded why I hate it when he does. He misses dinner with us,there is no reading to the girls before bed, and we don't talk much. Instead, when he finally arrives, he showers, microwaves his dinner, and gives goodnight kisses to the girls who have long been asleep. He watches the last 10 minutes of a late show with me before falling asleep in his chair.
He has in the past, during weeks like these, brought me a bouquet of flowers. He will unceremoniously toss them on to the counter and say, "These are for you." I love receiving flowers. It reminds me that even though he stopped to pick up the required gallon of milk, he paused long enough to think of me.
When he arrived home the other night and said "I have something for you. " I was certain that it would be flowers. After all, it has been a while since he has brought me any, and, Valentines Day is just around the corner. But as I came close, I noticed he held something small in his hand, "I won something today." He said.
Now, I admit, for twenty seconds, I hoped, prayed, and believed he had won the lottery. All our financial woes and worries were over. But that would have required buying a ticket.

Instead he handed me a CD. The CD is called "From the Heart" which features several artists including Michael Bule. Time to dust off my dance shoes I think. Perhaps a little Rumba, with a little candlelight, and a sprinkling of some marriage enhancing products, (Thanks Ferf!) The makings of a perfect Valentines date. Definitely.
Then he handed me a movie pass for two,"Now we can have a date night",he said. It was for Eddie Murphy's new Movie: NORBIT. I have to admit that I've been a fan of Eddie Murphy since the classic Beverly Hills Cop movies among others. A perfect comedy to end a hard week. And the very fact that we would be childless for an evening, perfect.

As I thought about these date scenarios, a smile curled at my lips. "Wait," I said, "How did you win these?"
"I called in on the radio, I actually got through!"
"Seriously?" I couldn't believe it. Carpenter almost never listens to this station, much less ever participates in silly contests. Once again, he was thinking of me during his busy day.
Turns out, it was a contest to name a cell phone ring tone. The song: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.
I still can't believe that either.

Hurry up, and wait.

2007-02-06T12:36:00.000-08:00

I join a group of women once a week. We have coffee , share what's happening in our lives, and what's happening in school. We are part of a group called "Mother's who Care", the mandate is to pray for our school once a week and demonstrate love through encouragement to those in the school. We sit and read some scripture from the Bible, and then we talk about it. We focus on praying for our school, the kids in it, their teachers , caregivers and volunteers that make it the great learning environment that it is. Today, we read Psalm 27:14 Wait for the LORD; be strong, take heart and wait for the LORD.

I am not a philosophical or profound writer, for that you'll have to check out the Maru. But for some reason, no doubt Divine, that verse has stuck with me all day, today.

Carpenter and I , as some of you are aware, have recently gone through some financial difficulties, which were unfortunately compounded with a bit of family drama. Now as that clears, a new disappointment is on the rise. I hate that. I hate disappointment. I admit that my walk through life has been about choosing the lesser of two disappointments sometimes, because I base my decisions on what will make me happy, or at least try to. It was one of those decisions, that I had made a few years ago that is now coming back to "bite me" as it were. Back then it was an obviously easy decision, and maybe not the right one, and one I should have consulted God a little more on. I know that I need to spend more time on my knees, with open ears towards God, and make choices based upon His word and what He wants. After all, I am a Child of God.

But that doesn't stop me from being disappointed with my current situation . I feel like Jules in the back seat of the truck as she says the proverbial, " Are we there yet? Is the ride over?" Over and over. Even though there is a part of me that wants to reach for the camo duck tape under the seat, I always say "Soon baby girl, soon." I know that all she wants is the ride to Grandma's to end. She wants to play with her cousins and have candy. Eventually, the driveway to Grandma's appears and the truck pulls to a stop. All I want, is to know what happens, after the disappointment, and I don't want to wait.

The anticipation, in the mean time, can be too much, especially when disappointment preceded it. I can't flip to the next chapter, to read how it all ends, skip the disappointment, and find the silver lining on the other side. I have to survive the disappointment, to find the silver lining, so God, I'm waiting.

Six Figures

2007-01-31T11:35:00.000-08:00

This past week or two has been the crappiest in a while, I must say. First I find I have a sinus infection, which, is unbelievably painful. For those of you unfortunate as to have had one in the past, you know two things, one, you cry from the pressure behind your eyes, with out actually feeling the crying emotion, and every time you breathe, you feel like your head will explode. IF you are a parent, you know that the only thing worse than being sick your self, is being sick while your child is sick too.
Gem contracted an ear infection around the same time and just when I thought she was on the mend, she spiked a fever and this morning woke up with spots on her chest. I took her to the Doc who informed me, again that is was viral induced, and much like her fever , it will just have to run its course. Woo Hoo, I guess its back to tylenol, t.v, and books.
I had picked up a copy of Chatelaine to read while we waited for the Doc. I flipped through the unending - "this will make you _________ (skinny, tall, beautiful, young, sexy etc.) "adds, looking for something interesting. Then a little article caught my eye. Can Someone find their calling at age 22? It talked about how a few famous people eg. Coco Chanel, Jane Goodall and a few others discovered at an early age, what takes some people years to figure out- what they were meant to be and do. Now, some of them are famous and millionaires.
So did I? Did I at 22? NOPE. Are you kidding? I kept waiting for that "A-Ha" moment to hit me like a ton of bricks. At the time I was struggling to complete a Fine Arts Degree, adjusting to health changes and family drama.I continued waiting for the door to open, I didn't aggressively search for it. I just figured it would happen. But life doesn't always turn out like you thought it would.
Now, with a degree under my belt, people often ask me what it is I do with it. Truth is I don't have a job or a career from it. And when I tell them I'm a stay at home mother of 2 kids ,they just shake their heads at me and say "What a waste."
I am grateful that I have the opportunity to stay home with my kids. Sure it has it's demanding times. Dealing with sick kids, when I too am under the weather, generally just sucks! Living on a single income is difficult, and sometimes I wish I was in an office somewhere bringing in money, because lets face it, a single income doesn't always cut it when it comes to bills.
But I love that I can cuddle Gem through her fever, make cookies with her or walk her to school. It doesn't bother me that a career is on the back burner. It's more important, that I be with my kids right now. And if I think about it, we actually do make six figures, as long as I include the decimal points.

Are You Itchy?

2007-01-23T11:13:00.000-08:00

Friends of mine said," What did they do? Tell you after you stuck your hand up?"Actually I didn't have to stick my hand up at all. Not many people were brave enough to do so. It's so not the most glamorous of volunteer jobs. In fact its down right creepy. But as the saying goes, "It's a dirty job, and someone has to do it."

That some one over the last few years has been my neighbour and friend, Jo. She has organised volunteers, researched the problem, and has contacted the appropriate authorities to help with the problem. When most people would have backed away, at the very mention of it, Jo has been there willing. I truly admire her character for this, and thus I felt it was high time I joined her in the fight against head lice at our school.

Head lice, unfortunately is not considered a heath issue, Jo was politely informed by the local Heath nurse, but rather a nuisance like dandruff. Though they have a disgusting stigma attached to them that gives an itchy meaning to the phrase "Bite me!", no one has actually died from having lice crawling over their scalp. Even if we had an epidemic on our hands, the health nurse wasn't about to come out of her office.

There was five of us who dedicated our Friday morning to this unsightly task.We hung up our coats in the school office, rolled up our sleeves, sprayed on extra hairspray, and filled our pockets with Popsicle sticks. (Lice like clean heads of hair, and products like hairspray, and gel deter them. Drops of tee tree oil in your shampoo has been known to do the same) We rallied in the School foyer after the bell rang and Jo laid down the attack plan: We were checking from class to class, Ask the child if you can look at their head. We were debriefed on how to look for the little suckers; look behind the ears, the nape of the neck, base of the crown. It kind of looks like dandruff, but dandruff flakes away. Lice won't move, or they will crawl away on their own. The eggs are stuck like glue to the hair follicle. And what ever you do, try to keep a poker face. Do not under any circumstances say out loud that the girl /boy you've just checked has lice, get their name or remember what they are wearing and tell Jo after we've left the room.

As we went from room to room obeying the rules of anonymity as best we could, our very presence let the children know that indeed there was a problem. Someone among them had lice. There was a stigma, and that unfortunate person would be ostracized for a long time. Children were on the look out for reaction on our faces, or a double check of someones hair.Those that were nervous about having their hair analysed almost always had an infestation.

As I sifted through one nervous boy's hair, he was itchy, and asked me constantly about lice. I could not believe what I saw. I was literally stunned. I thought only Hollywood special effects could make such creepy crawly suckers, come alive. Now I know where they got their inspiration. I memorized his clothes, walked away and caught a glimpse of disgust flash across the faces of his closest classmates. I suddenly felt sorry for him. It may not be a heath issue, but for a preteen like him, it was about to become a psychological one. Unfortunately, the answer wasn't quite as simple as a wash or two with "Head and Shoulders" shampoo.

I had two showers and washed my hair twice when I reached home. I couldn't get rid of the itchy sensation on my skin. I spent the rest of the day cleaning the house and trying to forget what I saw. At dinner time Carpenter asked how my day was and from my reaction he said, "Guess we're not having rice?"

Stand in Line.

2007-01-16T13:24:00.000-08:00

4:50 am, they said was the earliest people stood in line. It broke a record. They came from across the street, and several blocks away. They came dressed for the cold winter weather, holding a cup of coffee, most likely TimHortons or Starbucks. They were not there to buy tickets to the next box office hit, entertainer of the year, or brodway musical. The doors did not open until 7am. They came to register their child for a chance to be enrolled in school this fall.
The school is just an ordinary school. It is not an over -the - top school. The people whose children attend there think highly of it, the teachers, principal and the staff. They do work hard at prioviding a good learning environment for tthe students, and as a whole the parents help out as much as they can. Parents try to enroll their children in this school over the one that is actually closer to them, because they like the learning environment.
There are no boundaries anymore, so just because you live in an are a near a school, does not mean your child will attend that school. Some one in parliament decided that the boundary rules were unconstitutional. And they are. So if you want , you can drive your child half way across town, if that is where you want your child to attend, provided there is room. There are only so many seats in the school district. They fill up fast. And if your child isn't registered somewhere, they will find a spot for you, no matter how inconvienient it may be.
So, to secure a spot, people line up early on the first day. A few years ago I braved blowing snow and pushed two children in a buggy two KM, to give Gem a chance to be at this school.
Even still, by the time I filled out the paper work the principal told me to have a second plan in place, because , they were pretty close to their max.
A time is stamped on your registration form, and as the principal welcomed potential new parents after 11 am she told them to have a second plan in place.
It has come down to first come first serve, in the school system. That's how you enroll your child in the school you want them in. But this year, I have an edge. Yes, there is a trump card. Gem is already attending school, and her sibling has priority over those who do not have siblings in the school, because they will not break up families. As heartbreaking as it is, I could register in march, and still bump someone who came in at 9. And if someone comes in next week, they will be told, "Sorry no such luck." I just hope they don't live across the street.

A Sacrifice for Ginger Snap Cookies

2007-01-13T09:23:00.000-08:00

It's cold. The kind of cold that makes me hibernate indoors and stoke my fire. It has been days like these that make me grateful I have a wood insert in my fireplace. My windows, original as my house itself are a serious waste of energy. Right now they are completely frozen shut, and the large one in my living room is completely covered in a layer of ice and frost. It happens every time the mercury drops close to -15 C. It makes the kids dread playing outside, and the walk to school with kids in tow painful experience. I found Gem a ride to school, and Jules and I can spend some quality time baking. It's cold, a perfect day for turning on the oven!

I flipped through my favorite cookbook looking for an interesting recipe, I can always throw an old stand-by together later. Chocolate chip, even though its Carpenter's favorite, is wearing thin. Jules comes up to me and says " Mommy, can we make gingerbread cookies today?" I looked at her as she folded her hands under her chin, batted her big eyelashes and added "Please, please, please?"
"Okay," I said, "How about this, We'll make Ginger Snaps and put SUGAR on them !"
"Yay!" she shouted, "I can help you too, Mommy? I'm a good helper!"

I sent her off to wash her hands and find her apron. I congratulated myself on having avoided the messy disaster that follows with cookie cutters, not to mention the icing sugar and decorating that comes later, when making cut out cookies. I still had powdered sugar left over from Christmas baking, and a small stash of candies that could be used up, after all it was just sitting there. But then I'd have to save some for Gem to decorate when she came home from school, to be fair, and I wasn't about to let the mess drag on. Ginger snaps, yes, much better choice. Besides, they were still to be sprinkled with sugar, and that's all that mattered to Jules. It's always, all about the sweet stuff when it comes to cookies.

So we set out beating the ingredients together , as Jules fetched eggs, and butter from the fridge, and constantly tried to lick every spoon that had any batter on it. Then she asked, "What do we need next?" After measuring out some flour, I looked at her and said, "We need Molasses." A look of horror flashed across her face.

Jules, up until now had only ever known Molasses as one thing. She had never tasted it. She did not know that there are people who enjoy it on top of morning porridge. She could care less that horses and cows love it mixed in with grain. Molasses was her teddy bear.

Molasses came to Jules her first Christmas. He has rich dark brown fur, black eyes, and nose. He has a small checked ribbon around his neck , and is very soft and cuddly. His name was printed on a tag, and that's what Carpenter, Gem and I called him. But Jules called him "Go- Asses", the best she could do at pronouncing his name for the longest time. He was the only teddy bear that she dragged everywhere; Inside, outside, in the truck, and to Grandmas. He comforted her through every storm, bad dream and sickness. He has survived being dragged through the mud, being painted, puked on, and a spin cycle or two. (Yes, I put him in the washer! It was PUKE) Molasses has stood the test of time, and can honestly say, "I am loved"
"We need Molasses?"She repeated, "We NEED Molasses? Mommy?" "We need Molasses?"
"WE NEED MOLASSES?"
"Yes" I said putting down my measuring cup.
"Okay, I'll go get Go -Asses." She hung her head as she climbed down off the chair. Surely these cookies that we were making somehow justified such a large sacrifice. A most beloved teddybear that would become cookies. Cookies covered in sugar, no less. The power of sugar.

"No, sweetie," I stopped her and pulled her close. Her eyes were full of tears. It never occurred to me that she could actually say the word "Molasses". It hit me very quickly the thoughts that were running through her mind. A vision of fur, beaters and eggs flashed through my mind and I almost chuckled.
"No honey, this is molasses," I pulled the container down from the self and began to pour it into the batter. " See, its like syrup."
"Can I have a taste?" She asked climbing back up onto her chair.
She stuck her finger into the thick rope of molasses flowing into the bowl, and tasted it. " This isn't Molasses- This is YUCKY Syrup!"

Just Another Day

2007-01-10T13:32:00.000-08:00

While we walked home from school , I watched Gem from behind; her stylin' new Christmas coat from Grandma fit perfectly, her jeans covering her boots, and her hair loose over her shoulders. She just seemed so much older than what she was, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of what my little girl would look like in ten years.
And then she fell, because of course the sidewalks have been covered in sheer ice most of this winter. She giggled and laughed, got back up and kept "skating" sliding around on the sidewalk in her boots. We've been practicing that "skating technique" especially in the last few days because of all the melting and freezing going on , and no one seems to want to clean off their sidewalks.
I love walking her to school, even though she'd rather me find someone to drive her. It does mean getting up earlier and ready sooner than if we drove, and she lets me know that she's not impressed: The deep dramatic sigh, the roll of the eyes... Yeah, if she's like this now, I am certainly in no hurry to have her hit the dreaded teen years. She is the oldest one, has a bossy streak once in a while, and likes to tell on her sister. She does enjoy quiet moments coloring and crafts, and my fridge, serves as a gallery for her Creations. I don't mind even if the fridge is new. It's a fridge, that's what it's for.
Jules' art is on there too, not as much though, because she chooses to express herself in less subtle ways. She has, in the past, painted her face and dress with bright orange paint , when it was within reach. She scooped a nail from Carpenter's tool belt only to draw permanent happy faces on the tailgate- actually I believe Gem caught a bit of that action too. The dress survived a vigorous wash, but the paint stayed, and the tailgate... received a coat of paint after two attempted break in's by a frustrated keying thief.
But my frustration with the kids' expression happened after Carpenter came home with some night tables for our room . We have been in need of these bedroom furniture pieces for quite some time.But the need has become more urgent since we have been investing in "marriage enhancing" products thanks to my dear friend Ferf. It was high time to have a drawer or two to hide these things in. I'm sure those of you who received a little black bag for Christmas this year know exactly what I'm talking about.
Carpenter worked late into the night putting these Home Depot specials together. He left them in the Living room until I had time to clean our room and move them in.
I awoke the next morning, To Gem yelling "Mommyyyy! COME see what SHE is doing!" That annoying screech that just makes your skin crawl, and kids know that perfect pitch that will send you flying out of bed. Which was what I did.There was Jules coloring away a gift for "Mommy and Daddy"in front of the TV with her art pack, ON MY NEW TABLES. They hadn't even made it into the bedroom before they were decorated with FELT PEN. I freaked, like any parent , I'm sure, scolded her appropriately and sent her to her room. I began scrubbing away with anything and everything I could think of that would remove felt pen. The list isn't long.

It could have been worse I suppose; the felt pen she happened to use was just one color, yellow, which can actually blend into wood, my Mr Clean Magic eraser took care of most of the felt, and Jules' decoration concentrated on just one table, which is now on Carpenter's side of the bed.
Crisis dealt with. Jules an Gem are happily coloring again, this time on Paper to be posted on the fridge, I've had a cup of coffee, and dinner is waiting to be made.

Desicions

2007-01-05T15:26:00.000-08:00

We had friends over for New Years, Just a quiet dinner, the four of us, sipping wine and playing UNO SPIN, a great game to play, and it gets pretty loud after a drink or two. My friend turns to me and says "So have you decided to do anything different this year?"

Yes. It is that time of year again, when most of us vow to change some how over the course of the next twelve months. In the past I've said: I'm gonna loose weight, become more organized, have stuff ready for my accountant BEFORE the deadline, and finish my craft projects before I start a new one. I've always started out with a serious commitment, and then somehow wander away and the resolutions I made disappear into that ever evolving pattern of "Life Happens".

I remember about 5 years back after yet another "push yourself away from the table" comment my father dished out. My resolutions for that year were to 1) Loose 30 lbs and 2) finish every sewing project that I had ever started or wanted to start. I started loosing weight, but when I still had only lost ten pounds after two months I gave up. As for the sewing, well, let's just say that it's all still packed away in a box, waiting, for my spare time.
I finally decided to commit to loosing weight 8 months into 2005. It was a hard decision to make, and even harder commitment to keep. It wasn't easy. Eat my veggies,not chocolate, drink water, lots of water, and walk. It was a resolution I didn't need New Year's for, it was just time. It took me until April of 2006 to meet my goal. A goal I am truly proud of. I did it, and every time there is a whistle in my direction, I soak it up like a sponge.
Yes, those whistles, and comments like "damn girl, you look great!" make all those nights I watched Carpenter eat a bowl of ice cream, while I drank yet another chalky protein shake, all worth it.
So to keep those whistles coming in my direction, I am committed to keeping the weight off this year. But I also want to fix up my yard, plant a few more flowers and shrubs, prune the roses, and weed 'n' feed the lawn. I want to make it look nice, so that when I find that perfect sexy bikini on ebay, I'll have a great time lounging in my back yard sipping on an ice tea, and potentially give my neighbour a heart attack.
I sipped on my wine, threw down my cards as I pondered all of this, looked at my friend, and smiled, "I want to paint my dining room this year."

Actually I need to do that too.

What fit this Christmas.

2006-12-28T08:18:00.000-08:00

Christmas came and went in a whirl wind this year, after 3 Christmas parties, a dance recital, school Christmas concert, a birthday party, and of course one trip to the emergency room at KGH. Between baking cupcakes for Jules' party, helping Gem recite her songs, and Carpenter coming home late, there was hardly any time to shop. By the time the Eve had arrived, I had been hit by the Commercialized Christmas Bus.
I tried desperately to avoid that bus, I did not go crazy and buy everything on my kids wish list, just one or two things. I avoided being wound up in the hype of sales, and picking something up just because "It was cute and on sale". I stayed pretty focused, but something was missing. I felt tired, and muttered "ba humbug" far more than I said "Merry Christmas!" I managed to bake with the kids, a gingerbread house or two, where more of the candies ended up in their mouths instead of on the houses. We had friends over, and decorated the tree while we made popcorn garland and listen to Christmas Carols. But not even Louis Armstrong croonin' "BABY ITS COLD OUTSIDE" could get me out of this slump.
It hit me hard this year, I kept saying to my self, What happened to Christmas? Is this it? Why do I feel exhausted instead of excited? Not event the kids anticipation was drubbing off on me . I was not even sure about attending Christmas Services.
We had been invited to Christmas Eve service at WPC. Our friends were excited to go, and wanted us to join. Apparently there was a drama and the whole shebang, it wasn't going to be lame... but there was 6 services planned so there was lots to accommodate whatever schedule you were on.
On the night of the 23rd, as I was coaxing the kids to bed, no wait, threatening them, my patience beginning to dwindle, and Carpenter was out shopping, there was a knock at the door. Our pastor and his wife stood in the cold holding a simple mason jar. In the bottom of the jar was some salt, to remind us that we are the "salt of the earth". On the salt was a simple tea light candle , To remind us that Jesus is the light of the world. Wrapped around the top of the mason jar was straw, to remind us that Jesus came from humble beginnings. They placed the jar in my hands and then prayed for me and my family. I hardly know them for they are new to our small church. Their prayer touched my heart. Though I did not know them, they said the words I needed to hear.
It no longer mattered that my kids weren't in bed. I didn't care that the Christmas Carols weren't leaving my heart all warm and fuzzy, or that I hadn't tried baking shortbread this year. I knew I didn't want to be at WPC Christmas Eve, lined up on an assembly line, to hear a neat little message in a box. Lame or not, we went to the Service at our smal Church. We sat with people we hadn't met before. We sang "O come all ye faithful" accapella. We lit candles and prayed. The message was simple. The celebration was Jesus. That small simple service made my Christmas. Carpenter and I went home, put the kids to bed, stoked the fire and shared a glass of wine while we wrapped the last of the gifts.
Christmas morning we woke to peals of joy as our kids raced to open gifts. Jules was just happy with anything she could rip open, even if it was socks. Gem loved her toys and books. Their happiness filled my heart with joy.
As the kids played Carpenter handed me one very large box. Inside were two pairs of naturalizers, my favorite shoe. No matter how I'm feeling, tired, bloated, thin, ugly or beautiful. Shoes just fit. They made my Christmas too.
I love my kids, I love my Carpenter.