Tuesday, April 22, 2008

The Exclaiming! It's Killing me.

I was just looking through some old posts and have discovered that every post title ends in an exclamation point. Really! It was just exhausting reading them all. Really! I sound like a puppy on steroids. I profusely apologize and will try to tone it down. Actually I sound worse than a puppy. I sound like a cheerleader with a fuzzy pink sweater named Steffi! “If I were not a Kipling fan, one thing I would rather be. If I were not a Kipling fan – a big EXCLAIMER I would be!” (Remember that one old KCI friends? Now I can’t get that damn cheer out of my head.) Damn those pom-poms on the shoes, so precious in their preciousness weren’t they? Quick, someone find my old Treetorns – oh god, the 80’s just came back and hit me in the face. "Everything counts in large amounts" Oh god, there it is again! " She wanted to dance so I asked her to dance - and heaven knows I'm miserable now" STOP IT 1980's just go away and no one will get hurt! Save me from teenaged ennui!

Seriously wouldn’t you love to go back to highschool knowing what you know now? You could seriously put some asses in their place and not do stupid stuff like pretend you weren’t as smart as you were to boys and other nonsense. I let myself be pushed around by some mean girls and became self conscious and whatnot. But here’s the rub. Even though those girls thought they were all that and bag of chips they couldn’t change my opinion of them. Even though I was quiet on the outside they could never change the way I was on the inside. After volleyball practice I would storm out of the change room thinking, “ooooh you evil beeotch” Karma will bite you in the ass girls! (Lady’s now – we ARE turning FORTY!)

I just hope I can impart some of that knowledge to my kids but historically that is impossible. Your daughter will cry over some loser who didn’t ask her to dance and your son will become all quiet and weird because some teenaged emotional tragedy has occurred. (The boys won’t tell you though – only the girls).

My husband turned 40 on Monday. 40? Where did that come from? It will be my turn soon but I’m not freaked out about it at all. First of all, 40 is the new 30 don’t ya know? Also my 93 year old grandmother told me that 40 is the best age. You are young enough to have fun and old enough to know better. Due to certain circumstances I have lived through I have discovered to savor the moment. I have discovered that I now have the intestinal fortitude to speak my mind. A number of times I have been through the wringer, losing parents and so forth but have discovered a sense of self. I LOVE to read, to discuss current events and politics, and to be my geeky self and hustle people at Trivial Pursuit. I love to play, especially team sports like beach volleyball ( don't have the time now) and I love playing with my children. I also love getaways with my husband. I have also discovered that I really dislike ignorance and intolerance but my biggest dislike of all time is when people are unkind to one another. If everyone tried to be just a little nicer how great would that be?

Oh God, I’m lecturing now. I really am turning 40 dammit! When did I become a grownup? I put forth a motion now that we don’t become grownups until we are forty. I’ve got three months! I’d better get busy.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Scary Trip to Dominion!

It’s Saturday now – two entry’s in two days! Go me. Last night was a wee bit rough. For some reason Charlie (yes Charlie, my kids name is not Henry and I can’t keep the pretence up – besides only my friends probably read this. So Chloe isn’t Chloe, she’s Sophie. Ahh that feels better.) Where was I? Oh yes, Charlie woke at 1 am and needed a hug and soforth and went back down. Then he called for me every fifteen minutes until I realized he had a fever. I gave him Tylenol and crawled into bed with him (he has a queen-sized bed and I was tired of keep getting up). So we slept pretty much okay except once again he kicked me in the crotch a couple of times. Sorry but it’s his height! Next year he will kick me in the legs.

We’ve got swimming lessons and sportplay today and I have to drag poor Sophie with me so I hope she’ll be okay as I will be seriously messing with her nap schedule. It’s only eight am and I feel like calling my husband in Montreal but that would totally be mean as I’m sure the boys had a late night out.

We have no food in the house, so I have to take both of them shopping. I know that tons of single mom’s do this but I haven’t done it since Sophie was a wee baby. Wish me luck people, it might get ugly. If you find yourself in the Dominion on Lloyd manor and hear screaming (either from a child or me) then please excuse us. We need to get some Delissio! I must say the new Delissio pizzas (esp the mushroom, bacon and pepperoni) totally rock.

I have to go and get ready for the day. My new “do” is very high maintenance and involves Velcro rollers and a straightener – I must put up a picture so you know I exist. My facebook picture is ancient too.

Have a good weekend everyone! Esp. my reader in Florence – once again send food – or at least a good recipe.

P.S. Does anyone else think that the Dominion sign sort of looks like Gominion? I've thought that my whole life. Its the way they mess around with the D - it always messes me up.

Friday, April 18, 2008

Big Friday Night!

Friday night and I am toast. Big time board meeting today. We had our AGM, strategic planning and the meeting proper. It was a whole day extravaganza. I was freaking out this morning about it. I might have mentioned that I am the only staff member so the buck stops with me. No finger pointing allowed! Also the meeting was held at a certain club that shall go nameless but it is THE club for bigwigs and one of our board members got in trouble for not wearing a tie and jacket so they supplied him with both. We are not supposed to use cell phones either but everyone was calling away and I felt like having a conniption. I felt nervous to breathe in the place. On the upside I had a super hair day. My new cut has me quite excited. Sometimes it’s the little things that makes one happy.

It’s over and I’m exhausted. My husband left this afternoon for a Montreal boy’s weekend to go to the UFC fight. That’s ultimate fighting for the uninformed. It’s going to be a long weekend people. Lotsa dragging kids around. Also my sweet darling daughter has firmly become a typical two year old and is totally demanding. Downstairs! Water! Let’s go! Now! Stop it Mommy!! (That’s when I brush her hair). Good times people.

At least the weather is better so I will just go to the park until they beg to go home. Run, run, run my sweet bastards until you are exhausted and Mommy can pop you into bed. I think I’ll go to bed when they do. I’m a wild woman. Somebody stop me!

Monday, April 7, 2008

Monkey Bread!

That’s right. Monkey Bread! Let me explain. You see I think people are divided firmly into two camps; those who cook and those who bake. I’m in the cook camp. Before we had children, every Sunday I would try a new recipe. Thomas and I would then judge it as a keeper to add to our repertoire or something we would never make again. It was fun in that I found it relaxing yet creative at the same time. Plus throw in some music and a glass of wine while Thomas watched golf and it was quite a nice Sunday ritual. Unfortunately right now my cooking is mostly making mini pizzas and chicken nuggets. Okay sometimes I make a chili or homemade soup but that’s about it. Time is of the essence when kids need to be fed. I look forward to when they are older and I can go back to getting creative in the kitchen.

This long story brings us back to Monkey Bread. I found it on a parenting website and it seemed so simple and fun that I thought the kids and I should make it one evening last week when Thomas was in Boston. It seemed like the perfect time killer to keep my little peeps preoccupied.

So, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m going to give you the recipe. Brace yourselves people.

Take 3 cans of Pillsbury biscuits and have the children cut them into quarters using regular table knives (no lost fingers that way). Have them roll the pieces into balls.
Fill a zipper bag with one cup white sugar and two teaspoons of cinnamon. Drop about six balls into the bag and shake to coat. Grease a bundt pan and have them drop the balls in there after they are coated. This is a whole lotta ball talk isn’t it? The great thing is this takes forever but they are so happy that it is a good thing. While the peeps are doing this take a small pot and melt a stick of butter. I KNOW, here in Canada we generally don’t have sticks of butter but it really just is a quarter of a block of butter. Once the butter is melted put in one cup of brown sugar and stir until mixed. Pour the whole darn thing over the balls (balls! Again!) in the bundt pan. Put into a 350 degree oven and let bake for about half an hour and voila! Let set in bundt pan for about 5 minutes before turning it over. It tastes like cinnamon buns or Chelsea buns.

We were questioning the name of Monkey bread. It looks funny so maybe it was made by Monkey’s. Henry offered the explanation that it looked like Monkey poop (nice). My theory is that it is called Monkey bread to keep your damn little Monkey’s busy for longer than the usual 5 minutes. Either way - good times. I’m an advocate for the Monkey bread.

I’m also an advocate for mothers! I know, that came out of nowhere but it’s true. You know how Rugby players are tough? Well they are not as tough as mothers. Once again I apologize to my Mother (who is probably playing tennis in heaven right now) because I can’t imagine handling three kids under three years old when you are only twenty six. She was a force to be reckoned with. She could keep an immaculate house, make great meals, work as a nurse at a local hospital, take care of all of us, have stimulating philosophical discussions, and my favourite thing ever – be waiting for me on the front porch after school with a glass of pink lemonade and brownie cookies. At the time I was ignorant of all the work and love she put into her life. Sorry Mommy – I recognize your efforts now.

I find myself in a place today when STUFF HAS TO GET DONE. Last week Thomas was in Boston for work and I had to care of the kids by myself, prepare single-handedly for our Board meeting, Annual General Meeting, Board retreat, financial statements and create a manager’s report. All of this was done during my third bout’ of pneumonia. I say bring it on Ultimate fighters – I know you can fight but would you be able to do all this? Mothers can knock over buildings people. Here’s to all you mothers out there. If your Mom is still around give her a call and thank her for all she has done. If you want to I mean, I’m not the bossy type of chick. Wish I could be but alas, no.

Update: So I woke up Monday morning feeling horrific and took the day off work. Not so tough anymore – eh hotshot?

P.S. I took a great picture of our Monkey bread but can't find the damn usb cable! Foiled by technology yet again.