Monday, December 28, 2009

The best day ever.

First of all, to answer the question that I've heard from a few people: No, this blog is not paid for in part or in whole by Slop Chop, Inc; nor do I receive any form of compensation at all whatsoever from said company or spokesperson Vince.

Which is a good thing, because I regret to inform you that my Slap Chop has gone the way of the Omelette Express. It was briefly utilized on the day that I made Chicken Cacciatore, where after it was relegated to some dark shelf, where abouts it did suffer a rather severe breakdown and, long story short, is no longer with us.
Actually, it's not such a long story. That pretty much is the story. I used it once and it broke.
So so much for that.
I could say that it was fun while it lasted, but really it wasn't. I chopped a few veggies and then that was it. Game over.

I haven't been writing very much lately.
That may be a bit of an understatement.
I haven't been writing at all lately.
And by 'lately' I mean the last, say, six months. It's not a case of writers block. I don't know what writers block even is, although I guess it sort of defines itself. But I mean, I could write. If I wanted to write. The problem is that I just don't want to. At the end of the day, when the kids are all asleep, and the house is quiet, my mind flits briefly to the idea of writing, but then quickly chooses sleep or some other sedentary activity. 'Hoarders' is on. Or some such movie was just released and I simply have to see it. TLC is having a "Cake Boss" Marathon, and it's not that I've ever really cared for Cake Boss but a)It's a marathon! and b)after a while it does sort of grow on you-- what they can do with those cakes!!
Or whatever or whatever
So really, I need to try harder. I will try harder. At least, I'll try to try harder.
I'll write today. Or tomorrow. Or at least sometime this week.
In the New Year.
OK today.
But frick if it's hard to write in this house. Hard? No. Impossible. Even right now as I'm writing this blog, I have Payton yelling "BOO!" in my ear followed by "Did that scare you?" Even though the last twenty BOOS!! have failed to illicit a response from me at all, she continues. Determined, it seems, to get my attention in one manner or another.
It's always the same thing when I write. I pull out my lap top and the children are like "Mom, are you going to write in your book today?" "Please don't" "Are you at least going to give us supper today?" I mean, honestly, for all their protesting I might as well be pulling out a crack pipe or something.
But the truth is, writing does have a certain addictive quality to it. Once I get into it, really into, everything else just fades to black. I can hear, as if in the distance, the children crying "Mom, I'm bleeding" and I'm like "That's nice, sweetie," real distracted like. And it seems that they do manage to injure themselves at an alarming frequency when I'm writing, as I say- determined to get my attention in some manner or another, however extreme, although I'm sure that the lack of direct supervision doesn't exactly help the matter.
So as I say, it's hard. Even now Payton just asked me "How much longer, mom?" her voice all pleading like. "Not long" I promise her, and she walks away, dejected like.
But I'm not making excuses.

Yesterday was the best day ever!! I stayed in my pyjamas ALL day and ate loads of snack food. I got a new book and read it cover to cover without barely getting up. We gave the whole family new, rhyming, names: Geoff: Jerry, Me: Carrie, Gage: Perry, Payton: Mary and Alex: Gary and referred to each other using our "Ary" names all day, which was the source of much amusement, especially when stringing them together as in: Perry and Mary go get your brother Gary and eat some dairy. And the thing is: I think Perry really suits Gage and Gary really suits Alex!! So that was fun. The only crimp in my leisurely day was when I found the dead mouse on the kitchen floor.
Don't ask.
I was completely traumatized. Especially in light of the fact that the manner in which I discovered said dead mouse was by stepping on it and feeling something give and then squish between my toes.
Completely disgusting. Never get a cat for a pet. Honestly.
Anyways, the point is that Shutter Island is a really good book!! And I discovered after reading it that it's also going to become a movie!! Starring Leonardo DiCaprio!!

And Christmas has come and gone. I find it so anticlimactic. All this time spent shopping and fretting and spending, and then in the blink of an eye, it's over and you're left with a garbage bin heaping with boxes and ribbon and wrap, hyperactive kids and a few pounds of weight you hadn't before. Although there's a part of me that's relieved as well. All the hustle and bustle gets overwhelming for an introvert like me. I don't normally like to use the word 'introvert' I prefer the term "quiet" or even "aloof", because the only time you would ever hear anyone use the word 'introvert' it was like, say, on City Confidential, as in: "A life long introvert, Dalmer had begun killing and dismembering small animals at a young age." I mean, I may be an introvert, OK, yes, but I have never, and I mean never, dismembered a small animal.
Well, OK, yesterday I did step on a dead mouse. But that was purely an accident.
Anyways, alls I'm saying is that I prefer to be at home, in my jammys, with a book in my hand and a cup of Joe in the other.
Oh, and the kids, too.
They're always there.
And hence, I must be going.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Famous Last Words

Famous last words: "How much trouble could he possibly get into in five minutes?"

This morning I had to run to Superstore while Geoff was getting ready for work. "I'll just hop in the shower while you're gone," he said. I looked at Alex, wondering if that was such a good idea. "I'll only be in there for a couple of minutes? What's the worst that could happen? I mean, how much trouble could he possibly get into in just a few short minutes?" he asked, looking adoringly at Alex's sweet little face.
I return from Superstore twenty minutes later to find an exasperated Geoff, towel clad with soap suds still in his hair ushering a crying and soaking Alex out of the bathroom.
Apparently, while Geoff was in the shower, Alex picked up his clothes off the floor and threw them in the shower. Next came the toilet plunger. He threw a book in the toilet. He then yanked open the shower curtains, effectively ripping them half off and spraying water all over the bathroom.
That's how much trouble he can get into in a five short minutes.
A lot, apparently.
Never underestimate a sixteen month old baby.

Otherwise in my life, things are going fairly OK. By far the most exciting was that I finally did it! I got the Slap Chop!! It is AWESOME!! To be able to mince garlic like that. It has changed my life. I never had a garlic press before. I just sat there and painstakingly cut it into progressively smaller pieces. And now. A few whacks and it's done. Minced! I just love it. The low point was when I had to fire my cleaning lady. Well, perhaps 'fired' is a bit of a strong word. I simply told her we wouldn't be needing her anymore. And by 'told' I mean I wrote her a flowy letter saying that while her cleaning has been wonderful, we sadly won't be needing her anymore. On Tuesday last I came home at lunch time to find her already gone, which left me feeling puzzled and annoyed, because she has been charging me for four and a half hours a week. When I left for work at nine she wasn't there. And when I came home at noon she wasn't there. So I'm not very good at math, but to the best of my calculations, that's less than four and half hours. So I felt it was a little dishonest. At first I thought, Oh well, what's the diff? If at the end of the day I'm satisfied with the extent to which my house has been cleaned, why squabble over twenty or thirty dollars? (Which, incidentally, my husband did NOT share my point of view on that. Not at all.) But then when I thought about it, thirty dollars a week does add up. I'm not going to say that he was right, per se. But possibly, he wasn't wrong. Possibly. That's a hundred and twenty dollars a month that could be going towards other things- important things like my children's college funds!! And besides, it's the principle of the thing, although, realistically, I'm not so sure I would be rushing that money straight over to the bank to be invested in RESPs. Probably I would just buy more candles and stuff like that. But besides that, Geoff is getting laid off of work as of the 18th of this month, so I can only assume that, quite naturally, our house will be impeccably clean during his time at home.
I mean, how messy could it get in just two months??

And last but not least: a list of the contents of my purse.
Lately when I go to pay for something I find myself pulling out random objects that vary from a teething ring to a banana to an old parking ticket, and the thought has occured to me: honestly, I could write a book about the contents of my purse at any given moment.
So here is what I have on hand today: A tube of hand lotion (orange scented by Sally Hansen- really good stuff for this time of year), an envelope from work labelled 'personal and confidential', a pay stub from work, my 2010 licence to practice as an RN, a JUST READ bookmark from Paytons school, a grocery list from 2 weeks ago, a pocket day organizer, a prescription for Amoxicillin, a straw still in wrapper, lip gloss, a small Rubbermaid container full of Goldfish crackers (pizza flavor), 3 stray receipts (1 WalMart, 2 Superstore), a pair of gloves, loose change to the sum of six dollars and fifty one cents (Some of which is American currency, I might add, so slightly over that when you take into account the exchange), 2 fortunes ("someone is speaking well of you at this very moment." and "now is a good time to explore the nearest coastline!"), a single sock (navy blue, size 6-12 months), a pencil, a soother and a little tiny plush rabbit.
Is it ever wonder I can never find my debit card??
But all essential stuff. I mean, I would never think of leaving home without some Goldfish snacks. What if I got in an accident and had to survive in the wilderness for a few days?
OK I'd be totally screwed.
But it's interesting how there's so much varied and diverse stuff in there. And each item tells a little story. Take the script for Amox, for example. Payton had an ear infection. OK, not a very interested story, I'll admit, but still that's the 'long story short' version of it. I could definately draw it out if I wanted to, although, to be honest, I'm still not sure it would be very interesting.
Have a good weekend.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Vaguely Uneasy

Lately I have been feeling vaguely uneasy.
I don't know what it is. I just keep on second guessing every thing I do. Even little things. I'll approach an intersection feeling anxious thinking "is that light going to turn red before I have a chance to apply my brakes?" or "Is that green car going to slow down? Or should I just yield to him?, just to be on the safe side of things. But then the will the car behind me be angry for slowing down?" And I just can't seem to shake it.
So of course I have decided that I need to do SOMETHING to address my unease, and that something, obviously, is going to be shopping. I have heard from people in the biz. (OK- my mom) that the Slap Chop is available at Zellers, so I plan on going and securing one immediately (while supplies last!!). The only unfortunate thing is that it doesn't come with the Graty, as it does if you order from the TV. But I can do without the Graty.
For now.
But in the meantime, I will be slapping and chopping like there's no tomorrow.
That, somehow, sounds vaguely sexual, which is weird because you wouldn't think that "chopping" would sound sexual in any context, ever. Unless you were Ted Bundy . Or slapping for that matter. God what is wrong with me??
Perhaps everything sounds vaguely sexual to me because of...
other issues.

For example: my husband. Last night he had to work late, so whatevs. I'm cool with that. No big deal. It is, after all, parent teacher interview night, but no worries. I can handle it. I'll just go and pick up the kids at 5:30, go home, cook supper, feed the kids, tidy up, get things packed up and ready to go for 6:30, go to Paytons interview and try (somehow) to keep Alex out of everything in the classroom, wrap things up there and go to Gage's interview at 8:00, hoping that Alex will continue to be cooperative, return home for 8:30, give the kids a bath, change Alex and Payton into their PJs, fix them a quick snack, put Alex down, read with Payton, brush her teeth and put her to bed.
Easy peasy.
So then my husband comes in at ten pm looking for sympathy from me for his long,hard day at work.

I was like 'SCREW YOU asshole. Have you ever had to change a writhing sixteen month old baby on a gymnasium floor? Well I have. And it blows. And have you ever had said same sixteen month old shrieking loudly because he wants to pull down every single book off a shelf, and every other item as well, while we're at it, while you're trying to intelligently discuss the PRIME math teaching model and have a five year old whining in your ear that "this is boring, I want to go home," all at the very same time, while simultaneously carrying: four coats, a monkey blanky, a folder full of Paytons kindergarten art work (which includes, incidentally, a life size self portrait of herself), a purse/makeshift diaper bag, a baggie full of cheerios and a sippee cup, which has incidentally, sprung a hereto now unknown leak .

And incidentally, I remind him, he has happened to have had to "work late" on every SINGLE parent teacher interview that I have EVER EVER gone to, either by accident or design, and I'm beginning to suspect design, by the way. To which he gets all in a huff and comments that if he had to choose between a little tete a tete with a teacher and serving 160 SaskTel employees, he would choose the tete a tete no problem, a 'walk in the park' it would be, compared to the rigors of doing whatever, precisely, he does at work, which is mainly PR stuff, with roughly translated means: hanging out with the members of the old boys club.
And then.
AND THEN, can you believe it?? As if it wasn't already enough.
He starts in about the garbage.
And I said "OH, I'm so very sorry that I didn't have the time to do the garbage. I guess I should have done that while I was cooking dinner with a baby on my hip. Perhaps I could have also found the time to paint the fence and sodder a few pipes."
Of course, I have no idea what soddering is, and I realize I've probably spelled it wrong here. But still. You get my point, of course.
I just really, really get annoyed.
So this morning when I got to work I found myself regretting that I went into nursing at all. The only other people I see all day are women, so of course, that takes having an affair right out of the equation at all.
But no.
I found myself wishing that I gone into something entirely male dominated, like lumber jacking or something.
Although lumber jacking seems like a bit of a tough job.
The slivers and such.
And to be honest, if I was going to take up an affair, I'm not sure that a lumberjack is the way I would go neccessarily.
Anyways. I was surprised to see the other day a male nursing student happened to present himself for a clinical rotation.
But I couldn't get past his boots.
He was wearing these really pointy, alligator skin like boots, and I just, I don' t know. I couldn't get past it.
Well that and the fact that he's also married.
And his wife just had a baby, literally, yesterday. A girl.
Oh well. Life goes on.
Such as it is.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

My Predictions

I am still thinking about that Slap Chop. Twice in the last three days, I had to dice tomatoes, and each time I was just wishing and dreaming about having that Slap Chop. I think I'm going to go for it. You only live once, right, and I don't want to have any regrets when I go gently into that good night. I don't want to have to go and sit or lie my death bed (whatever one does in their death bed) thinking "what kind of a life would I have had if I'd have had that Slap Chop"- all the salad and lettuce I might have eaten. Perhaps I wouldn't even be on that death bed at all, you know, maybe just one or two cholesterol points lower and I would lived another year, another ten!! Who knows. So I won't chance it. For twenty dollars, I'm making an investment in myself and in my future and I'm getting that Slap Chop.
I'll just have to wait six weeks for delivery.

So this weekend I was out and about, and it ended up that we were involved in a conversation about life and just how unpredictable it really is. The substance of it was that there's a guy, younger than me, an RN like me, who's battling cancer and has a very poor prognosis at the moment. It made me sad and gave me pause to think about just the random and crazy nature of this universe. It made me scared, but for some odd reason, it also made me a little excited. Why that should be, I can't precisely say. I mean, if there are valleys, then peaks, right? It occured to me that we're on some grand adventure, heading towards a destination that we are not fully aware of, or even at all aware of. Even though I see myself headed towards a singular destination, I could veer off course at any point, with no warning at all whatsoever. And so I wonder, where will I go? Where will I be in one year? Five? Ten? And so then I thought it would be fun to make some predictions, some based on some amount of intuition, and some made up entirely. A year from now, I can go back to this blog and see if anything panned out. If so, I can become a psychic and become rich and famous. Although I'm not sure there are any rich and/or famous psychics, except for Patricia Arquette, but she's not really a psychic- she's a medium, and I'm not so sure that's the same thing. And she only plays a medium.
Anyways. Here goes. My attempt at prophecy:

Within one year:
-My bathroom will be painted (OK- that I already know- I plan on doing it next weekend)... I detect a greenish hue.
-Geoff or I will get an unexpected job offer (wishful thinking on my part- read my last post for clarification).
-Geoff will face a health crisis, (this is an educated guess based on the fact that he's six months over due for his blood pressure refills) but be OK
-I will face a moral dilemma at some point (I like the ambiguity here. In any event, I will be able to make something up after the fact: for example- remember how stressed out I was when I was trying to decide whether to use recycled toilet paper or not??)
-Geoff's family will reach out to him (this is maybe just wishful thinking)
-I will meet someone who will become a lifelong friend (this, too, maybe wishful thinking. I daresay, my current friends and family are a little, shall we say, out there.)
-Lorrie will have a baby girl on a frigid February night, just before midnight, after only a short labor.
-Someone that I know will have an unexpected pregnancy (in this family that reproduces like rabbits- this I can be nearly certain of.)

Within five years,
-I will be living in another location.
-I will have lost a loved one.
-I will have a different job.
-Geoff will have a different job.
-One of my children will have a special talent (out of the three of them, one of them has to pan out, right??)
-I will have made some success as a writer, but still have my day job.
-My parents will have adopted three more foster kids (just kidding-- had to put that in there. Tee hee. Just kidding. But seriously- props to you mom and dad)
-Someone in my close circle of friends and family will have divorced (that's bound to happen-- if the divorce rate is fifty-fifty as they say- it's either them or me and I can't afford any legal fees, so I know it ain't gonna be me. And I dare say, if I haven't that kicked that shlep to the curb yet- it ain't gonna happen)
-Geoff will have lost all of his hair, while mine will continue to be thick and lustrous.
-Trent and Lorrie will surprise us and have "one more"- wishful thinking again, maybe. But knowing my brother, the way he is, can't keep his pecker in his pocket (EW, I can't believe I even just said that about my own brother. God, what is wrong with me??) it seems like an accident waiting to happen.

Within ten years...
-Gage will enter prelaw (definitely wishful thinking. Probably what will happen is he'll struggle to 'find himself' while living in our basement and working at Fas Gas)
-I will have to make a difficult decision regarding someone I love (keep it ambiguous- just the way they do on TV), specifically regarding someone with an "A" or a "J" in their name.
-One of my children will enter a turbulent phase, likely Payton, my teenage drama queen- who is, incidentally, only five years old at the moment.
-A family member will have a health crisis.
-I will be in a job completely different from what I am doing now.
-My house will be like "The Jetsons"
-Nuclear technology will have made cats into super cats, and they will establish a civilization of their own, which will threaten to take over life as we know it.

So there it is. My prophecy for my life in the future. Now we shall wait and see.
Just like with the Slap Chop.
Good night.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Hotel Room Drama

So my husband, in all of his infinite wisdom, decides that to give me a break, he's renting a hotel room for the night. Which might have been all well and good, except that it involves the kids. And I have to say, from the very get go, I was not totally enthused. All I could think was of the logistics of having the baby sleeping in the same room as the rest of us, I mean, literally, unless we all fall asleep at precisely the same moment in time (and how could that happen, really?, short of spiking the Kool Aid?), all I could envision was chaos. So OK. The baby falls asleep first, presumably (hopefully) as his bedtime is 7:30pm. And then what?? We all sit there in the dark?? I mean, any light, any sound and he's awake again. And not only that. But guess who has to get all the kids packed? Who has to go to Superstore and buy Lil Swimmers. Who has to deal with three increasingly edgy kids all day waiting for a three o'clock check in. Who has to reroute nap schedules so that the kids will be well rested before we leave?
And then we get there and guess who gets to go in the water with the kids while my husband watches football leisurely in the bedroom?
And then, guess who has to go back to the room and be dressed and ready for "business casual" dinner at 5:30, with pool hair and pool make up?
And then who snored his head off all night while the rest of us tried to sleep?
My husband.
Momentarily there was a break in the snoring, and instead of being relieved, I sat bolt upright, fear and adrenaline pounding in my veins. I thought "Oh God- what if he's dead? Right here in this hotel room?? I mean for the love, if he's gonna go, couldn't he at least have the decency to do it in the privacy of our own home??
And then I got all excited and thought- Oooh, I can miss work next week.

You know your job sucks when....

And then he started snoring again, and I was like "Damn. Maybe I should just switch back to margarine instead of Becel. I don't know"
Just kidding. I was relieved that he was alive and all, but when the snoring started up again I almost wished...
well never mind.
I mean. Whatever.
And that, sadly, was our hotel room drama. A moment where I thought he may have been dead, subsequently had mixed feelings, and then went back to sleep.
And incidentally, don't ever ask your husband to buy you tampons. Inevetibly, you will end up with pads. And bulky ones at that. I think they think it's like buying a TV-- the bigger the better. But that principle doesn't apply.

But honestly, about work. Things are going down hill fast. When I first heard the words "adjuvanted" and "unadjuvanted" I could scarcely pronounce them. Now I toss the words around like Dom and Cristal (OK, not like I ever use the words 'Dom' or 'Cristal 'anyways. In my world it's more like Naked Grape and Baby Duck)-- I'm like "can we open another bottle of Adj. here, I'm running low on adj." I have them abbreviated to adj. and unadj.--the H1N1 vaccine lingo, cuz I'm down like that. I could seriously write a book called "Tales from the H1N1 flu clinic" but of course, I couldn't- because of libel, but if I could... I mean, I've seen it all. Kids hiding under chairs, trying to coax them out "I've got a lolly pop"-- but there ain't enough lolly pops in the world when you're coming at them with a needle, let me tell you. Adults passing out. Reactions that range from 'thank you very much' to swearing, cursing, crying and sobbing. You ask one simple question "Are you feeling well today" and some take this as an invitation to spew forth their entire medical history starting with thier first tendon repair back in nineteen sixty two? Or was it three? No, it would have had to be two. It was before we sold the trailer. And so on and so forth.

I quite honestly find myself fantasizing from time to time about some tragic life event that would get me out of my work responsibilities for the next four to six weeks. Like OK. How bad would it be to say- get hit by a bus? Enough to put me in a coma, but not a bad coma that causes death or paralysis or speech problems or anything untoward like that. Just a nice, temporary coma that I'll pull through after flu season. And maybe when I'm in a coma they'll see it fit to get caught up on all my dental work and give me breast augmentation, because of--- damage from the bus?? Is that asking for too much?? I don't think that it is.

Lately I have been considering whether or not to buy the Slap Chop. I have to say that I'm intrigued and impressed by what it can do on TV, it looks AMAZING, and not only that, but if you order now you also get the Graty, which would be nice. And to be able to chop a tomato so easy like that! Is there a really good way to dice a tomato? I don't know about you but every time I do it I just make a total mess. Like for all my efforts, I might do just as well to smash the blasted thing with a mallet. Tomato juice and seeds all over the place. So it seems like a good deal, but then I've sworn off Infomercial buys after I got that Omelet Express. They made it look so good- like you could make all these fancy things with it- desserts, crepes, omelette's, full meal even!! But then as it turns out, there's really only a certain amount of omelette's that a person can eat, and it's actually not as much as you might think. I can't remember, I think I paid forty bucks for it or some stupid thing like that by the time you pay the taxes and all, and then I used it like, twice, if that, and then I realized that it was a stupid thing to have bought in the first place. I mean, I don't even like omelette's.
Anyways, I will continue to consider it, the Slap Chop that is.
Have a good night.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009


So I've hired a housekeeper. I've thought about it before, but couldn't really make that commitment. I was always like 'it seems so self indulgent to have someone come into my house and pick up after me', but eventually, I got really tired of picking up after everyone else, so I decided if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. And so it was that I found Amanda. At first it was TOTALLY unnerving to have someone come into the house and actually see the mess. Normally when people come over I try to shove the mess under the couch or something, as a bare minimum, and depending on the importance of the company, actually try to clean it up. At first she came for a 'walk through' during which she took notes on various aspects of the household condition and determined a price range. I wanted to take a peek at her clipboard but then decided that perhaps it was better if I didn't, imagining words like "complete pigsty" and "total dive" and then increasingly scowling faces followed by "Note to self: notify social services- totally unfit for human habitation" scrawled across the paper in her cursive script, underlined and follwed by a series of exlamation points. But she was a professional about it and didn't roll her eyes or sigh heavily when looking at the bathrooms, which I might have expected. So, for about the price it would take to feed a small community in Africa for a month and supply them with much needed anti HIV medications, I now have someone to wash my floors and dust my shelves. It still feels self indulgent. But I figure, well, it's too late to become a lesbian and marry a woman, so the next best thing is to hire a cleaning lady?? I think even Geoff is coming around to the idea. At first he was like "What do we need a cleaning lady for, our house isn't even messy!" And I was like first of all: A) It is, dickwad, you're just too wrapped in your own testorone filled world of football and farting to notice minor things like toilet scum and B) the only reason why it maintains SOME semblance of cleanliness is because I practically KILL myself cleaning up after you and your rigging animals. And kids. Even though the animals and kids were mostly my idea. And OK, I'm exaggerating the "kill myself" part. But my back does get sore, and my hands get dry from the scouring.
I mean honestly. Men are so stupid. Like, if they do even one little measly, measly thing around the house they think they're a freaking hero. Like the other day, I come home and Geoff is like "Well, I erased the history on the phone. We had callers on here from way back in August!" And I was like "OK, two things. First of all-- we're losers- that things only holds twenty five phone numbers and August was four months ago. Second of all- THANK YOU for taking the very taxing and onerous chore of pressing a single button on a phone twenty five times. That REALLY takes a load off of me. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll just go and tend to the laundry and the cooking and the cleaning.
Life's too short, right. I'm not even gonna go there, even though I'm pretty sure that I just did. Too late now.
So new insurance policy at work. Big, exciting news. I had the chance to peruse it, and I have to say, it was VERY enlightening. Did you know that I could, for example, stand to profit upwards of ten thousand dollars just for losing a couple of fingers off my dominant hand. And I started to think "Hmmm. How hard would it be to accidentally on purpose knock off a few fingers? I mean- what? A chain saw would do it? It would look natural, I would just say that I was working on some new kitchen cabinets out in the shed. Everyone knows thats my hobby. Part time cabinet work. I just put on my lumberjacket, light up a stogey, and go out to the shed to rip out some cabinets. Best part of my day. I'll just need to figure out what, presicely, a "stogey" is: is it a cigar? Or a cigarette?

And now is the time that I should knock on wood. God forbid some freak accident happens and I somehow lose my fingers and then they seize my computer and read this and then they send me to jail for attempting to commit insurance fraud.
And without any fingers I'll be the least popular person in prison, assuming of course that it's an all female population, which will make my time very hard indeed.
That was a bad joke. Sorry.
Anyways. I've decided not to tell Geoff about my insurance policy, because I don't know if it's just me or if I watch too much 48 hours Mysteries, but honestly, it seems to me like lucrative insurance policies correlate with freak accidents far too often. And it always starts off the same way. Pictures of thier wedding day. "They were the typical, young, happy couple. But after three kids, a house that was heavily mortgaged, and the pressures of stressful jobs, cracks began to appear in the marriage. And then two weeks later, a freak accident. Stay tuned for more of "Gunshots in the bedroom." ("Gunshots in the bedroom" said in a deep and menacing voice as the picture of the happily married couple shatters. And then fade to black and cue a Viagra commercial). And then Geoff and I look at each other and we're like "let's just watch the Seinfeld reruns." Because everyone likes Seinfeld.
I mean, I don't really like to think about murder or Viagra. Both prospects are entirely depressing.
Anyways, that is all for now.
Have a good night and Happy Rememberance Day. OK there's no such thing as a "Happy" rememberance day per se, but still. It's a holiday. So. Enjoy. But be respectful though.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Flu season

Well. Here we go again. Another post. Sorry it's been taking me so long. Computer issues. And personal issues. Starting with the teeth. I got my wisdom teeth pulled. Was it as bad as I thought?? Well, I couldn't really say becaue I don't remember much after the IV started pumping Fentanyl,Valium and Madazolam into my veins. I remember laying down and listening to the radio, a nice cocktail of drugs swimming in my system and the song playing on the radio "Somethings got to go wrong cuz I'm feeling too damn good." And the next thing I knew, I woke up with a sore jaw and a bloody mouth.
Slightly reminiscent of high school.
Just kidding.
No after that, I went home where I was prescribed Percocet. I was told to take 1-2 tabs every four to six hours as needed. So at first I was all conservative like "I'll just take one every six hours" but then a few hours later I was like "Screw one, I'm taking two. And screw six hours. I mean, why wait??" But then you start to watch the clock, waiting for the next dose, and you start taking it earlier and earlier until before you know it you are buying it off the street off an edgy toothless guy who calls himself Mo. And then you're shooting it up, chasing the high, and prostituting yourself to pay your debts to Mo, who has also become your pimp and abusive lover.
That didn't actually happen to me. But it did happen to a girl I saw on Intervention. Sad story really. No I actually am doing fine. I did not become addicted to it. I went down to Advil after about four days and then after a week or so was back to business as usual.

Business as usual for me right now is flu season. I've been giving a lot of flu shots, and it's been fun. So far. Ask me after needle one thousand. People have told me that I give good needles and I take a certain amount of pride in that. I'm like "Some people say I'm the best they've ever had" and then I have to laugh. That's probably the only context that I'll ever hear that particular sentence.
But. Everyones good at something.
Anyways. I'm still pretty modest about the whole needle thing, because I've also heard "OH MY GOD, that's the worst it's EVER HURT, I think my freaking arm is going numb, WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME??!!" And it's interesting really because when I was a beginner nurse I was so nice and sweet and I'd be like "Oh, no, I'm so sorry, I just feel terrible. Can I put a warm compress on it for you?" And now, five years later, I'm like "Suck it up Buttercup. See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya."
Well. I've never actually said that to a person. Not in so many words anyways.

But people have been asking me for my take on the whole H1N1 thing and my advice is that I strongly believe in getting vaccinated. There is a certain amount of hysteria out there, but there is also a certain amount of risk that is real and should not be ignored. I have already recieved my vaccine, and I absolutely plan on immunizing my children, no ands, ifs or buts. In a young child a severe case could quite quickly become very serious and I would hate to see my children suffer through something that is almost entirely preventable. I have read through the information on the vaccine. I feel comfortable with what I have read. I feel that for me and my family, the benefits outweigh the risks. I will leave it up to each individual to make up thier own minds about it, though.
Anyways that is all for now.
Have a good day.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Good news bad news.

Good news bad news.
The good news is that I get the day off work tomorrow.
The bad news is that I will be spending it in a dental chair with sharp, steel instruments inside my mouth and getting blood over my face while I get treated to a very soothing spa treatment called dental exctractions-- namely four pesky wisdom teeth.
Almost makes work sound desirable. Almost.
I'm a little nervous about tomorrow, but I figure... it can't be as bad as childbirth?? At least they'll just put me to sleep rather than waiting for a shoddy epidural to take hold, which incidentally-- I'm still waiting for.

So that puts things in perspective.
Anyways. I heard back from the agent. I was nervous to hear anything, and I thought, realistically- it could me weeks before she replies. But then the next day, I opened up my email and already, there it was. I was scared to open it. I envisioned the worst: Randine, I've looked briefly at your manuscript, but couldn't get into it, and frankly, found it fairly painful to read. The grammar was deplorable and the plot was shaky at the best of times. But best of luck in future endeavors." Hopefully, if she does let me down, it will be more gently than that, and no matter what the result, I can take it, but still...the point is that I was seriously hoping for something other than that.
So it was with great relief that I read her reply, which said, essentially, no she hadn't looked at it yet, would try to get to it soon but the work of existing clients take priority. I felt better reading that, because without fully consciously acknowledging it, I thought that maybe she had already dismissed the whole thing as fluff or drivel or insert your own derogatory term. So I can still be hopeful. Not overly hopeful, mind you. In this day of Ipods and DVDs and PSPs, books are a hard sell in any event. And when you've never had your name in published print (except for the Journal of Allergy and Clinical Immunology- which, lets be honest-- how many people read that??) and in fact, have never even taken so much as a creative writing class, you have to really consider the fact that it is a long shot. But even still, the whole exchange was very encouraging to me because A)she got back to me in less than twelve hours B)She did her typing in blue writing, which definitely makes me think that she's a nice, fun loving and up beat person, very creative and C)Two of the three sentences ended in exclamation points, which demonstrates her eagerness and enthusiasm. I felt a certain mojo, like I could really hit it off with her if I ever met her. Of course, that's a lot to read into a three sentence email, but I think it stands to reason.

So yesterday Geoff left for work at seven am. The household was already in full swing with a teething baby clinging stubbornly to my legs, a five year old drama queen trailing after me demanding juice in the PINK juice cup, which is absolutely nowhere to be found, the only cup I can find happens to be yellow but otherwise is exactly the same, a fact which I keep on repeating to her with increasing desperation, but still... try telling her that. It's like trying to tell a premenstrual woman that there is no chocolate available. Loud shreiking, objects being thrown at my head and horns growing out of her head. And not only that, but of course- as usual, the laundry was in a big heap, dishes were spilling out of the sink and onto the counter, the dog had overturned the garbage and the baby had overturned the dog dish. Honestly, I felt like grabbing onto Geoffs ankles and latching on to him, screaming "Take me with you if you have to go!"
Sometimes I feel like phoning him at work and just shrieking into his ear"They hate me!!", meaning the kids, because sometimes I think that they do. And sometimes, sometimes, if I'm really honest with myself and all of you, I think that that feeling is mutual.
What a terrible thing to say, I know.
And of course I don't hate them. I definitely don't hate them. I love them. To peices. But the problem is that I just don't always enjoy them. It just gets so overwhelming sometimes. And Payton is going through a phase of spelling. She'll ask me 'how do you spell Happy Birthday Alex" so then I tell her "H-A-P-P-Y" and spell it out really slowly. And then she'll be like "How do you make an "H?" And I just think "Oh god help me. I could be doing this all day." It gets pretty tiring pretty fast. I mean, why couldn't my kids just be illiterate?? I mean, you could get by quite nicely with very minimal reading skills, or so I'm told. Why do I have to have the kids are so into words??
Anyways. Later on that afternoon I started to watch a show on TLC on hoarders. And then I started to look around my living room. DVDs we never watch. Every McDonald's toy we've gotten since 2004 (and believe me you, thats quite a few). Clutter, candles, toys, books. I started to think, soon they may have to put me on this show. So then I decided a field trip was in order so I packed up the kids and took them to WalMart to buy some organizational tools to clean up all the toys off the floor.
Well that was a bust.
As it turns out, kids don't really like to look at organizational tools, and in fact, become fairly impatient within only a few minutes and things began to break down into screaming and crying.
So it ended up that rather than buy some nice shelving units, I spent a hundred dollars buying more toys, which are now further adding to the clutter upstairs, and then taking them to McDonalds for supper, which netted me three new Happy Meal toys.
Honestly. Sometimes my life is just too much. After writing this post, I am actually looking forward to a day in bed tomorrow where I can ignore everyone and everything, even if it means some mild discomfort and a little blood and a little pulp oozing out.
I will let you know how I make out.
Good night. Thanks for reading.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Shock and Awe

I would describe my style of dancing as, in two words, shock and awe.
Except that, of course, I mean that in the worst possible way. I mean shock as in "OH MY GOD I think that girls having a seizure" and awe as in "Someone call 911."
Why am I telling you this, I don't know. I guess it's just something that I've been reflecting about since I got back from Vegas. It was a good time. A really good time. And therein lies the problem. I'm not a good time girl. I'm just good, end of sentence. You know. Bed by ten, maybe stay up a wee bit later to catch the lead story on the news if I'm feeling kind of crazy. Brush and floss teeth every night before bed. Limited alcohol intake. Slow to thirty-- actually 25, just to be safe, in school zones. You know. I'm that girl. So what happens when you take that girl out of her very controlled and quiet and responsible life and plunk down in the middle of party central?? Well, a lot of awkward dance moves, that's what. And not only that, but everyone that was Canadian instantly became my new best friend. I was like "NO WAY, you're CANADIAN!!" and they could have been from some obscure town called Frankfurter, Newfoundland, but I'd be like feel this instant kinship, like "NO WAY!! I've ALWAYS wanted to go there!!" Actually ditto for anyone from any other country as well, my famous line from talking to someone from Saudi Arabiam "Can you believe how far apart we live geographically" and "So what's the deal with Saudi, it's like, war torn?? Or what?"

And I seem to recall dancing with some girl. And snippets of the convo come back to me in flashes, but from what I can recall, she may or may not have been in the Olympics(?), and I know that at several points throughout the night I referred to her as "an inspiration" and a "breath of fresh air". AND- she was Canadian!! And I think her name was Erika. Although I recall talking to another Erika. Were they all called Erika that night?? Anyways. It's a pretty name. I like it.

I guess I shouldn't dwell on my own self. Last time I checked this blog wasn't supposed to be all about me. Actually, wait, no it is supposed to be all about me. All right. Back to where I was then.
If there's one peice of advice that I'd wished I'd had going in, it's this: If a two hundred pound, six foot black man who appears to be quite possible intoxicated asks you to give him a hug (because it's his birthday) in the middle of a crowded casino when you're a five six white girl with arms like twigs, DUDE JUST KEEP WALKING. You will never, and I mean never, extricate yourself. Seriously, I was starting to get worried. And I'm beginning to wonder if it was actually really his birthday.
But anyways, as I said in the title of my last post, alls well that ends well. Here I am. Alive and well. And I'm not going to dwell on it. I mean, whats the worst that could happen there?

Onto other news. I've started a yoga class and it seems to be going OK. I had my first class a few weeks ago, and I have to say, I was a bit taken aback at how tricky yoga could be. It seemed the instructor was constantly picking on me "Randine, you're left arm needs to be higher" "Randine, widen your stance" "Randine, you're facing the wrong way now", "Randine, you're supposed to be using your LEFT elbow, no, no the LEFT, honey." "Randine- oh, for the love! Just let me come over there and pose you the way you're supposed to be!" Anyways, class number three and I think I'm noticing some improvement. She doesn't seem quite as exasperated with me at the end of the lesson, so that's a good sign. But still. It's hard. The words 'corpse position' at the end of the lesson have never sounded so good. And then I started to think. I like this corpse position. You just get to lay really super still on your back. And I started to imagine a convo with my husband "Honey, we should try this new sex position, the corpse position" and he'd be like "honey, we should try something different for a change" Because, I mean, hey. 3 kids. A full time job. Did I mention the three kids?? What can you expect from me at the end of the day??
And speaking of kids. Quick story. So I was talking to this girl from work and she was telling me about some friend of her and she was all judgemental about her saying she quote unquote "Spoils" her kids. And I was saying "Oh, I hate it when people do that... it's terrible" but inside my stomach was starting to feel a little sick because I was thinking "I'm that parent" I'm that parent that buys my daughter a Barbie in WalMart rather than face her whining and crying. I'm that parent that lets my kids eat popcorn for breakfast (only sometimes-- very rarely, OK, only once in the last, like maybe month). I'm that parent that lets my kids sleep with me and makes my husband sleep on the couch because the kids don't seem to want to sleep in their own beds and I don't really know what else to do about it.
But. They're cute and they're fun, and secretly, I WANT to buy the Barbie because it even comes with a little puppy dog!! I don't know. They may well be in therapy someday, but the way I see it, that's their problem, not mine.
I guess I'd best be going now, as it is almost ten and I do need to brush and floss my teeth.
Thanks for reading.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Fortune Cookie Fortune

Today I went out for lunch with some co workers. The main excitement for me was getting my fortune cookie at the end. I opened mine, fearful. My last one didn't go so well. "Eat more vegetables" it said. This, right on the spur of my confrontation with Cucumber Breath. I was already feeling somewhat vegetable sensitive, so this didn't sit well with me, especially on top of my deep fried chicken balls I'd just consumed for lunch. But today I got good news, at least fortune cookie wise. Double good news. Two fortune cookies: the first one- "you will soon have financial resources available to you", which I took to mean: lucrative book deal on the horizon. The second one: "You will travel to exotic places in the next three years", which I took to mean: lucrative book deal.
So that definately lightened my mood, which I needed after I had a rather difficult encounter last night with chocolate. There's something wrong with me, and I mean SERIOUSLY wrong. I'm not one to normally use the word 'difficult' and 'chocolate' in the same sentence, except to say "I found it only mildly difficult to consume the whole pound of chocolate'. But last night I was feeling stressed so I thought I would eat a piece of Lindt choclate, my very, very favorite. But when I put it in my mouth, I started wretching and gagging and had to spit it in the garbage and down a glass of water afterwards to get the taste out of my mouth. Water!! Usually I down chocolate with a glass of wine, or Pepsi at the very least. So this left me feeling very nervous. If I can't eat chocolate anymore, I'm not so sure my life is worth living.
First I lose interest in sex, then chocolate. Is this what happens to people??

Anyways. I don't know what that was. That's what I get for going on a healthy kick. Now my body is rejecting non healthy stuff!!

Onto more pressing matters. The coffee situation at work. Today I formed a coffee alliance with a coworker, the weak coffee coalition. Together, we make weak coffee and complain about the strong coffee, make little choking sensations when we are reduced to drinking the strong coffee. So that has been going well.

And lastly, Randines Vegas fund: a little meager at $25, but hey- it's a starting point. Geoff said"Oh, well, that should get you to the airport." So apparently I need to save more money. I have an idea-- I'm selling Paytons Dora Bed on Kijiji-- I mean, really-- she could sleep on the floor?? It's a deep enough pile carpet, it's basically like a bed. And I have found this Kijiji business quite lucrative. That's how I got my first 25 dollars in cold hard cash. All I had to do was sell something that I don't ever use anymore anyways. So now I am looking around the house looking for things to sell. I'm like "Geoff, how often do you use your golf clubs?" Anyways, according to my fortune cookie, the whole issue could be solved soon anyways. I was also thinking that we should start a charity to help me out... although we would have to give it a more charity sounding name like "Project Hope For Randine". Anyways, the end result would be the same. For the price of a mere cup of coffee every day, you could help a lowly nurse see the bright lights of Vegas.

I guess that is it for today. Have a good day.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Totally random and unrelated things.

I have an over active imagination.
The other day, my husband phoned me out of the blue and was like "I'd really like to see you, lets do lunch," which was nice of him, if a little out of character. So on the way there, I began to get the sense that there was definately something hinky going on ("hinky"- I got that word from watching Cold Case, don't you just love it?). I thought, I bet I know what happened. He was at home this morning when the call came through from the agent. He knows something and wanted to tell me in person. So I was all excited to see him.
And then it turns out that he just wanted to see me.
End of story.
Anyways, sometimes I could curse this over active imagination of mine. It's what got me into this mess in the first place.
But it's a good mess.
A random observation from my visit with my husbands place of employment- a private golf course- mine was the only GMC Safari in the parking lot. So good news- I didn't have to search the parking lot too long or hard when I left. My van stuck out like a sore thumb among all the late model BMWs and sleek SUVs.
Of course, they don't ge the gas mileage that I do.
Okay, they probably do. But they probably don't have AM/FM radio AND a cassette deck.

So the dogs stomach problems seem to be settled down, at least temporarily. She's always had a bit of a weak stomach, that one. And I know that you're probably thinking that with all the puking she's been doing I should take her to the vet. But I did that once and it cost me a thousand some dollars in exploratory surgery, with which they were finally able to puzzle out a very precise scientific diagnosis "there was negative mojo in there and we let it loose."
I am not kidding. That's what they said. An MRI, exploratory surgery, XRays and a blood panel. And that's what they came up with. Mojo. Like, if I wanted to take her to some witch doctor/wicka/herbalist/whatever, I'm pretty sure I would have and it would have probably cost me a lot less.
So this time she'll just have to live with the negative mojo. Mamas going to Vegas so we can't afford vet bills right now.

Enough of that.
Geoff and I had the popcorn fight again last night. Every time I make popcorn I use the popcorn button on the microwave-- that's what it's there for, right? But according to Mr. Popcorn Expert, the popcorn button doesn't work and you need to set it for 2 minutes and 22 seconds precicely for the best result. I mean, okay, maybe, MAYBE, you might get like ten to twenty more kernels popped. But what's a few kernels?? I dump almost the entire bowl down the garbage the next day, anyways?? We have kernels to spare as it is. Apparently, that's not the point, he says. So what the hell is the point, then?? I mean we're talking about pressing one button as opposed to three! Do the math, it's way less time consuming. So finally we just agreed to disagree. I said "Look- I don't tell you how to make your popcorn, so don't try to tell me how to make mine."
I don't know. I guess we should sit down some time and have a frank discussion some time. Perhaps there are compromises we could make.
But I need to be going.
Have a nice day.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Home Sweet Home

On Friday evening I was glad to return home from a busy work week and spend some QT with my kids. Of course, that was before I went into my bedroom and stepped on a bone that my dog had hacked up at some point during the day. Grudgingly, I cleaned up the mess off the floor. But I hadn't seen the last of the rib bones. At bedtime I snuggled in with my daughter Payton by my side. It was her birthday and I was recounting to her how five years ago we were in the hospital and she was a pink faced swaddled bundle laying beside me. She, unlike Gage-11, actually enjoys this story. We were having a nice mother daughter moment.
And the dog started up.
"What is that terrible smell?" Payton asked, looking like she was going to cry.
I wasn't sure, but as I looked over at the dog, I began to get an idea. She was heaving and wretching and making various noises. The end result was a pile of bile on the pillow beside us. So I got to work stripping the bed. Then I looked at Payton, who was turning green and crying "I don't feel good" So she runs for the bathroom, doesn't quite make it, vomits all over the place. Then she started laughing saying "I puked because the dog puked!". Standing there amidst soiled linen, a still wretching dog, a puke sodden newly 5 year old, all I could do was laugh.
Home Sweet Home.
It took some scrubbing and laundering, but finally we were resettled into bed. And so began my weekend.

Anyways, I am back at work this morning and that is not such a bad thing.
I woke with a start this morning thinking "Today's the Day!" noting the sunshine, a nice contrast from the steady dreariness of the weekend. Today I feel optimistic that I will hear something- be it good news or bad- although, obviously I would prefer good.
My manuscript is still in the hands of Agenty Ms Agent Pants, and I am feeling still a little nervous but somewhat less so. Every time I get a call at work I get all excited, because that's how I picture it happening-- at work when I least expect it-- although it seems to me that I'm always sort of expecting it, I just can't put it out of my mind-- but then it turns out that it's a Diabetes Rep asking me if I have enough lances. I mean diabetes testing supplies arent' very exciting at the best of times. Maybe it's just me. I dont' know.
Anyways, as I was saying before about not being able to put things out of my mind, I sometimes wonder if I'm borderline obsessive. Like some people that win the lotto say "Oh, and I had completely forgot that I bought that ticket!" But that NEVER happens to me. As soon as I buy a lotto ticket I begin to pick up this vibe, like that this ticket is really lucky. And then I go home and put it on my fridge, trying to decide what I will do with the jackpot. Will I quit my job? Or just go part time? Where I travel?? And to where?? How much many will I give my family members??
The planning gets more and complex the draw date nears. By the time they call the numbers I have everything worked out. And then I lose. So then I think "I'm never buying another lotto ticket again."
And then some days or weeks or months later, I start to get that vibe again, like THIS could be my lucky day. I was reading at my doctors office that that could be a sign of ADD. Impulse buying like lotto tickets. So I could well be ADD as well as obsessive.
I have a lot of issues.
I guess I'd better just be going. I am going to meet my husband for lunch. We got into a bit of a spat this morning and so he's treating me to a Quesidilla dinner, which I am looking forward to.
Will write when I know anything.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

The Climb

Well. My manuscript has been successfully delivered. Its always such an anxious feeling for me whenever anyone reads my stuff-- well except for this blog, of course, because no one reads it anyways. But I mean, my real stuff-- there's a part of me that wants to share it but a part of me that recoils at the thought of being evaulated. So even when my own mother read it I nervously awaited her response. You can only imagine how it feels knowing that someone in the biz. is reading it, or will be shortly. The upside is that since this all began I've lost about four pounds, which is great, I haven't lost weight like this since the mouth infection.

On the way to work this morning I heard Miley Cyrus's 'The Climb' and it so summed up everything that I was feeling. "This dream I'm dreaming... yada, yada... there's a voice inside my head saying 'you'll never make it', but I gotta be strong, gotta keep my head held high" And "it's always gonna be an uphill battle, sometimes I'm gonna have to lose" Anyways. I know Miley and me are different, but certainly I found her words inspiring and relatable, which is weird, considering the source.
Enought about that, though.

Onto other news. I had an eye exam this morning. Forty five minutes of eye charts and lasers in my eyes and puffs of air in my eyes to tell me that I have 20/20 vision, although I still can get glasses if I want to. For a while there, the optometrist was scrutinizing my eyes so intently with a micropcope, all the while asking if I had a family history of blindness, asking me when was the last time I had seen my family doctor, that I thought 'Oh Dear God. This can't be right. There's something wrong with me eyes.' And though I wasn't sure exactly what they worst case scenario was (cancer?? blindness?? MS?? glaucoma??), I was pretty sure that I had it. But thankfully everything is OK. At least for the time being. He did say that he wanted to see me back in two years to recheck everything, so I don't know if thats a good sign or not.
Probably not.

Last night we watched a movie, Obsessed and it was pretty OK. But I have to say, I totally dont' get why actors get paid so much. Like I hear them talking on TV about how hard they work and how burned out they are, and it's like OK, really?? How about you start paying me several hundred thousand dollars to sit in a makeup chair for four hours getting my hair and makeup done, and then go and recite a few lines, then call it a wrap and go clubbing for the rest of the night?? You wanna know hard work. This is what my evening last night consisted of:
5:00 leave the clinic and go pick up the kids, drive through traffic in heavy rain
5:15 arrive at daycare to be informed that Alex has just had a BM ('you're off duty' I told my daycare provider)
5:22 Arrive home and change Alex's diaper
5:25 Start making supper with Alex clinging onto my leg.
5:40 Throw in a load of laundry while the meat is cooking.
5:50 Give Alex an impromty bath because he has taken his diaper off and peed on the floor.
5:55 Wash the kitchen floor
6:10 Give Payton an impromptu bath because she's jealous that Alex gets to have a bath
6:15 Stop the meat from burning, put the rice on, holding a disgruntled Alex on my hip and listening to Payton screaming from the bathtub that she wants out.
6:20 Get Payton out of the tub
6:30 Wash the bathroom floor as she somehow managed to dump nearly the entire contents of the bathwater onto the floor
6:40 Feed the kids their supper
6:50 Move the wash into the dryer
7:00 Clean up the kids after their supper, change them into thier PJs
7:15 Clean the kitchen
7:40 Clean the dog puke in the living room
7:45 Clean the dog puke in my bedroom
8:00 put the kids to bed.
8:10 Eat a leftover meatball and feed one to the dog.
8:15 Clean up the meatball that the dog just puked up.
8:20 Go in to settle Alex (again)
8:30 Sweep the living room floor

And that's AFTER I worked for eight hours.
And you know what I have to look forward to?? Dental extractions. I'll be getting my wisdom teeth pulled in October, and I'm actually looking forward to staying in bed all day, strung out on pain killers.
Anyways, that's enough for one day.
Thanks for reading.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

I'm not cut out for this.
Today, my baby (weighing in at 1.66 kg, by the way-- the things you can find out on Canada arrived in Missisauga, ON. I am like totally freaking out right now. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. I keep thinking "I should have changed that part or this or that, I should have edited this or that or took that chapter out or made it longer or shorter or less wordy, etc. And then on top of that I'm thinking 'am I SURE that the pages are collated properly? That the the chapters are sequential? That the page breaks are where they should be? That I double checked all the spelling?? It's like when I was in University, after I turned in my exams I would just ruminate about it all the time, thinking 'oh I messed this up or that'. But then I would get my exam back and get like a ninety one on it. So hopefully this will be similar. I'm always my own worst critic.
Anyways, I think I'll just keep my day job where I'm a lot less vulnerable. Nurses are very much in demand, so I feel quite confident. But writing its totally different. Everyone thinks they can write the Great American Novel, where as the reality is that only a very exclusive few can. And what makes me think that I can be a part of that group??
A hope? A dream?
A delusion.
But I'll just think positive thoughts, like they say in The Secret. I've never actually read the book, but I got the jist of it second hand vis-a-vis a Saturday Night Live sketch. I can. I will. I might. But then again I might not. Probably not. Argh. I'll have to start over.

Anyways. Nothing else really new with me. Cucumber Breath is back from her holidays. I anticipated a somewhat strained convo with her, but guess what?? Now we're friends!! Can you believe that she has a cat named Zoey as well!! What are the chances of that?? They have to be like a million to one. And not only that, but her Zoey had a litter of kittens as well!! So we talked cat talk, you know whether they ate thier placentas and that, and I think we really bonded. See, that's all you have to do is just find something that you have in common. That's what all those people in the Middle East should do. Do they still have conflict there? I think so.
So now that Cucumber Breath and I are friends again, I have a new sworn enemy, Courier Cow. But I can't write too much on here about her, as I fear being sued for libel. I have no idea at all whatsoever what libel is, but I don't like the sounds of it and I want to avoid it. Anyways. Just trust me, she's a cow. And not like weight wise (although ya, that too, well OK, not really, her body's actually not too bad) but more like just a miserable-sod-of-a-person way. Workplace politics are so complex. Makes me yearn for the days of Barney and Hungry Hipppo. And that, my friends, is a sad state of affairs indeed.
And one last thing before I sign off-- I must correct an error from yesterdays post. 'CPU' should actually be 'UPC' (Universal Price Code). I think, quite obviously, I could be dyslexic now on top of everything else. Or I wonder if thats just part and parcel of the acoustic brain tumor. The pamphlet from the Brain Tumor Network didn't list dyslexia as a symptom, but then again they only listed like four symptoms and there has to be more than that. And also, I noticed that sometimes when I sneeze I get kind of a tingly feeling at the base of my neck. So this has me quite concerned, naturally. I think I'd best just be going.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Congragulations, It's A.... Manuscript!

What do I have to lose?
That way my thought when an agent requested my manuscript. I mean chances are slim to none that it will go any further from here, but it doesn't hurt to send it off anyways.
So naive I was. Tell that to me today when I've spent the last 48 hours scrolling through a 350 page manuscript to make sure that the formatting was correct and that there were no glaring spelling or grammatical errors. I beleive I got a form of motion sickness from it. I've slept poorly. I've ate poorly.
And then finally I got to the point where I could print it off, which you would think would be a simple matter of hitting print and being done, but no. Due to printer problems at home (I swear, nothing in my house works properly), I found myself yesterday at Wal Mart buying a new printer. And then I had to spend an hour to get it set up and installed. And then I had to buy the kids McDonalds for supper because I was too busy to cook. But finally, I was ready to go. But then at about page 200 I ran out of paper. So I was back at Wal Mart. Of course, I manage to somehow pick the one and only ream of paper out of the thousands they stock that doesn't have a CPU on it, how I managed that I have no idea, but it happens every time. And yet I haven't won a single free ticket on the lotto. Honestly. If it wasn't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all. So the price checking professional comes along, and I use the word professional loosely. He was an overweight adolescent with a blue Mokawk. I just tell by the way he ambled slowly over like he hadn't a care in the world that I was going to be waiting around for a while. And I was. After about ten minutes I finally went to go get another ream of paper, what happened to Blue Mohawk I can only speculate. Perhaps he saw some hair products on sale or something. I don't know. But finally, at nine pm and already bone tired, I left Wal Mart with my paper. I got back to my printing. And then at page 300 I ran out of ink. So back to Wal Mart it was. Finally I finished at about midnight. I crawled into bed and felt myself falling almost instantly to sleep. And then Alex woke up.
Oh God. I'm boring you. I guess this isn't that interesting to the average person. But the point is- I'm stupid. Like, OK, so your going to print a manuscript. Step one- make sure you enough paper and ink. Actually, make sure you have a printer. I would have printed it off and had it ready to go in the event of an agent asking for it, but I held to this stupid superstition that the only way anyone would ever want to see it was if I left it alone. Murphys law. Anyways, it is done and my manuscript is on its way to sunny Toronto. Does it get sunny there, I don't know.
Anyways, the whole process has been sort of like childbirth. This final push to spew forth this extension of me. Exhausting, exhilerating, but with an end product that was worth all the blood, sweat and tears. Actually, it's even better than childbirth. Childbirth, in the past, has left me with a case of raging hormones, leaky breasts and a seriously lacerated vajayjay. My vajayjay is gloriously intact right now, I am pleased to say. And even better, after I was finished printing everything off, I slept for seven uninterruped hours. I doubt if I had seven hours over a perios of three days after Alex was born.
So. Now I wait. I don't feel too positive about it right now. Last night when I was trying to polish my manuscript I got the distinct impression that I'm in over my head right now. Like, seriously, I'm just a small town girl with a book that objectively, may or may not be that funny.
At any rate, I am glad to have it out of my hands for the time being. And if nothing else, it has given me a little nudge that writing isn't completely futile. After a long, hard, year of rejection letters, I was beginning to think "what's the point". I spend all my spare time in the basement writing, and for what? To have a manilla envelope full of rejection letters? To have a blog that no one reads? Except for you mom and Lorrie. I know you're out there.
Anyways, I gotta go now. Work.
Will write later.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Some people have the nerve.
On Monday I was running late for work, for multiple reasons, which I could go on and on about, but I won't. But anyways. I didn't have time to pack my lunch. At lunch time I was really hungry, so I went to Arbys and got a junior roast beef sandwich, curly fries and a diet coke. It wasn't the worst I could do, trans fat wise, although certainly far from the best. So I'm eating my lunch. And this girl walks in. Alright let me rephrase that. Waddles in. She looks at my lunch and says with a sneer "that looks healthy."
Can you even believe that she would even say that to me?? Andy yes I know that I used the word even twice in that same sentence but that's just how incensed I am. And maybe it wasn't even so much WHAT she said, but the WAY she said it. It was like all sarcastic, but not in a ha-ha funny sarcasm way but in a really judgmental-may-you-rot-in-hell kind of sarcasm.
I just replied with a shrug and a 'oh, well, what can you do?' kind of a sigh and continued eating.
She pulls out her lunch which consisted of a yogurt container full of cucumber slices with vinegar on them. I was like "listen lady, I'm pretty sure you didn't get to be three hundred something something from eating cucumbers, OK?? You're not kidding me here." Although of course I didn't say that. I just kind of looked at her cucumbers like "WTF??"
Anyways, so now she's my sworn enemy. Cucumber Breath. She's on holidays now, so I'l have a break from her.

Other than that, work is going OK. The coffee situation seems to have resolved itself after some time. What I have found is that if you're nice to the receptionists, they'll make you you're very own pot of weak coffee. So that has been going well. And I have brought some hazelnut creamer from home (option 'A' if you recall, Lorrie, thanks for your input, but honestly, I don't really want to be known as 'the girl who brews her own coffee'. In this neighborhood that could get me stabbed. Or worse. Although I'm not sure what's worse than stabbing.) and that has been going well. I don't think anyone has been using it. It seems to be lasting long enough.

On the home front, things are good. The kids are settling into their new routines nicely. Last night while watching Letterman I got this idea to make a Top Ten list for my blog. But mine probably won't be a top ten list per se, on account of me not being able to think of ten things. It might be six. It might be four. We'll just have to wait and see how it goes. I'm not Letterman, after all, and nor do I have his staff of writers. All right. This is a one man show, you realize.
So here goes.

Top 10 (approximately) Signs You Spend too Much Time with Kids:

10. You can complete the sentence: "Barney is a dinosaur..."
9. You have at least one box of cereal in your cupboard that lists marshmallows as an ingredient.
8. You catch yourself in casual conversation using words like "tinkle" and "ni-ni"
7. Your wost curse words are "darned" and "fudge"
6. You can count to ten in Spanish (only from watching Dora)
5. You've intimately familiar with all movies starring Tim Allen
4. Your known as the reigning champ of "Operation"
3. You've developed a taste for Pop Rocks
2. Opening the "Disney Vault" is a major life event for you.

All right, so we didn't quite get to ten. That's all I can think of for now. No number one. What a letdown. Sorry guys. So close but so far. I'll keep thinking. If any of yous out there has any ideas, jump right in.
And, for those of you not in the know, the completion of the sentence in #10 is ..."from our imagination."
I always seem to have that line stuck in my head.
Darned Barney.
Anyways, I must be going. Lunch time. And FYI-- it's a Lean Cuisine chicken dinner with a diet Pepsi. Too bad Cucumber breath wasn't here to see that. She could put that in her pipe and smoke it.
Darned Tootin.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Back at Work

Back at work now and things are fine.

Well, fine except for a few little things. If you want to call a potential brain tumor a little thing. But I'll get to that later.

First of all, and perhaps most importantly, since I have returned to work I have been quite concerned about the quality of the coffee here. My first day back and my sleep was a little rough the night before, so I poured myself a cup of coffee, thinking it would be just what I needed. I added a teaspoon of whitener into it, and oddly enough, nothing happened. It took it in, but then, like somehow dissolved away. Puzzled, I poured another heaping teaspoon. The result was similar. It could not be whitened. Dismayed, I started dumping a whole bunch in, and finally got it down to like a dark caramel color, it was the best I could do. I don't know what kind of coffee they use or how they get it like that. It was like a whole pot of that sludge that forms on the bottom of the pot if you leave it on all day. And it also seemed to have some kind of a laxative component to it, which would be OK for a bunch of elderly people with slow moving bowells, but for me,I don't really the extra stimulation. So now I have been avoiding the coffee. I discussed the situation at lenght with Geoff, and we are tossing around some ideas. We may either A)purchase an inexpensive travel mug and bring coffee from home or B)Buy some kind of Hazelnut cream or something to try to make the coffee taste better or C)Stop drinking coffee altogether. I am hesitant to move forward with option B, because in the past I've had some bad experiences with Hazelnut cream at work (read also "The Great Hazelnut Heist" for background info). I am also loathe to consider option C because I feel that I need some form of caffeine to get me through the day these days, especially since my twelve month old baby persists on sleeping like a newborn and waking up all night long.

So. It's a big decision and I will need to put a lot of thought into it. I will let you know how my discussions progress in this regard.

I have already had quite enough to deal with. And then yesterday I got a pamphlet from the Acoustic Brain Tumor Network. I have never heard of this said Acoustic Brain Tumor, so I started to leaf through the pamphlet. The symptoms are: headache (Yikes), Dizzyness (Yikes), Defness in one ear (Okay, so I don't have defness, at least not that I know of... although I do have to frequently ask people to repeat themselves. And people have said that I am tone def. I don't know if that's related to general defness or not. Def is a weird word isn't it. It seems to short to be a real word. It almost seems like slang for another word, as in "Yo, dog, that dope was def!" That's how I talk usually.) Anyways. Another symptom: ringing in the ears (Yikes). The last thing was facial tics. I don't actually have facial tics, I thought, feeling relieved. But then I started to wonder. Is it possible to have a facial tic and not know it?? I mean, how can I really see my own face?? I only look at it for a few minutes every morning when I apply my makeup regimen of bronzer and Blistex. It not only seems possible, but even probable. But the good news is that it's a benign tumor, so the prognosis is generally quite good. Temporarily, I feel reassured about this. But then, I start to wonder: can there ever really be such a thing as a 'good' brain tumor?? So naturally I am quite stressed.
Anyways, I must be going. I will let you know how these events unfold.
God willing.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

We've come a long way, baby

Wow. Here we are, at the end of my maternity leave. It honestly feels like I've somehow fallen through some blip in the space-time continuum, like some cheezy B-rate sci-fi movie plot. My role would probably be played by some B list celeb-- for some reason Sandra Bullock comes to mind. I could just picture it now. Her carrying around a wallet size picture of my newborn Alex, madly throwing it in peoples faces, pleading with them to help her find him, then ripping the picture into shreds as she falls dramatically to her knees, the torn peices falling over her head likes so much rain, where she pummels the earth and beseeches God "My baby!! What have you done with my Baby!!"
Good God. I should be writing movie scripts!! What am I doing wasting my time on this juvenile blog??
Anyways. Is Sandra Bullock considered B list or A list?? Or is she so off the list by now that she's neither?? I'm not sure. I don't keep up with these things. Personally, I'm not a fan.

OK. Where was I?? A blip in the Time Space Continuum. Right. Honestly, I was at the lake last week, sitting outside on the deck basking in the midmorning sun, drinking a cup of Joe and reading my latest paperback. My baby sat contentedly beside me, awestruck by his surroundings, 'oohing' and 'aahing' at the slightest thing- a breeze in the trees, a sparrow landing on a branch. And I just felt, just for one minute, like there had been no time at all intervening from the first time that I sat on that deck with him. He was three weeks old. I remember sitting out on the deck, a similar morning with a similar book, with him in his portable swing. I had to move the swing several times to find shade. I put a mosquito net over top of it to try to protect him from mosquitoes-- but then the net was dragging and the swing wasn't swinging properly. I had to adjust the net several times. He was slouched in it with his neck tilted at an awkward angle. I tried to place blankets around him to keep him in a good position. Finally, when I had everything just so, he started crying and it was time for a feeding. He was so fragile then, so vulnerable. And now. An active and joyous little boy. And I think to myself, we've come a long way, baby. It hasn't always been easy, and it hasn't always been fun (I remember the week he was sick with a cold, when he refused to sleep unless I was standing up with him-- I took the first shift, from midnight til four, and Geoff took the second shift, from four til eight.) But now, here we are.
Our baby is developing his own personality. His own likes and dislikes. His own vocabulary ("kitty", "mama", "dada", "Gage", "puppy", "hi", "go-go-go", which he yells out at ball games).
It goes so fast. It's cliche, of course, but I can't help but think that.

Anyways, onto other issues. First of all, my writing may seem sporadic these days, which OK, it is, but-- and not to deflect the blame from my self or anything-- but truly, my computer is not working well at all these days. It is very frustrating, any simple thing takes all bloody day. But I sent an error report to Microsoft, so I am sure that things will be straightened out soon. I expect that someone will contact me soon and maybe even do a house call and fix things.

Anyways. Speaking of the lake. I was there last week and happened to catch an episode of Oprah. She was talking about how to find pants that fit all body types, so I listened, thinking this could really help me out with my post partum abdominal issues (how long can I really call myself postpartum?? I wonder what the statute of limitations is on that??). The bottom line?? You could either a)spend $800 for a pair of pants that I'm pretty sure that Wal Mart doesn't carry or, if you don't want to go that route then b) hire a tailor to alter all your clothes to fit you better. I mean, of all the god damn useless advice. Really. If I had the money to spend 800 dollars on a pair of pants, or to hire a personal tailor, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place. I'd just get liposuction and be done with it. Frick. Like, really, elitist much, Oprah?? Eight hundred dollars, in my house, is a mortgage payment, not a pair of pants, I don't care how nice my ass might or might not look in it. So then they start talking about underwear and how to avoid VPL (visible panty lines, for those of you not familiar with panty line lingo) and they're like the best would be to wear a thong, although they admit that they do 'ride up a bit'. "Ride Up??" They make it seem like a pleasant little jaunt on a Shetland. Nice euphemism. If you want to call being sodomized by a piece of fabric 'riding up' then maybe you should just call being punched in the face, 'pushing in a little'. Like really. Let's just call things what they are.

Speaking of underwear, I bought some control top underwear-- absolutely hideous things, I will say-- and I must confess that I was disappointed in the result. It didn't do much to slim me down. And further, I realized only too late that every time I bent down you could see my horrible tan Lycra panties that went pretty much all the way to my armpits. So I guess I'm back to plan A- eating healthier shit, which obviously I'm not overly excited about. It sucks, but I guess there are no easy answers with these things. Unless you're Oprah.
Well, but then again... maybe not.
Enough said on that topic. I won't go there.

I still haven't heard anything from those jerks at Readers Digest. And so, in the spirit of not giving up, I'm going to submit another story. Eventually, they'll publish me just to silence me. Payton was asking me about jail for some reason, what it looked like inside. So I told her, you should ask your grandpa, he used to work in a jail. She seemed impressed by this. She asked if he still worked there, and I said no, he's retired. She wanted to know what that meant so I told her that it meant he didn't have to go to work anymore, ever. She found this concept deeply intriguing. So she goes, runs into the other room and tells Geoff, "Guess what dad? Mom said that Grampa's retarded now"
I don't know if they'll publish that-- the whole politically correct thing. I don't know.
Well, will write again tomorrow regarding the whole work thing.
Ready as I'll ever be.

Monday, June 15, 2009

Under Pressure

I have, in my fridge, as we speak, a package of hot dogs that expire on July Second, 2009-- the very day of my highly UNanticipated return to the paid workforce-- and I use the word paid there because I am currently a member of a workforce-- staying at home is a job in and of itself. Anyways. That is what my maternity leave is now reduced to. The life expectancy of a package of wieners. I am absolutely horrified at this prospect.
And speaking of hot dogs- here is a list of words that are currently taboo in our house, vis a vis an eleven year old son who will snicker and giggle inappropriately.
Hot dogs.
Hot dog buns-- the origins of this, I must admit, I am not entirely sure about
Meat balls.
Salted Nuts.
The subway slogan "Five dollar foot long"
The Burger King slogan "You're way right away"
I think the list is fairly comprehensive, although there are always other things that come up. Like 'pens' for example. He'll be like "Mom, what would pens be if it had an 'i' in it". Groan. The mind of an eleven year old boy is very one tracked, let me tell you.

Anyways, as I was saying before my little sideline into slang terms for male anatomy, my mat leave is almost over and I am feeling saddened and chagrined. I know that it will only take a few days and all will be back to normal, but still the nine to five world seems so foreign to me right now. I'll look at the clock sometimes at ten thirty, and think 'if I were at work right now I would probably be in full on professional nurse swing' but instead I am at home, playing blocks with the baby on the floor, wearing my PJ's and watching TV, laid back, sipping on gin and juice.
OK, without the gin and juice. Not at ten thirty am. Maybe eleven. But ten thirty's pushing it. At least on a weekday.

Anyways, other than that, my life is going relatively well. Payton had a soccer tournament this weekend, which went well. She received a medal, not for any amount of skill or even half hearted participation on her part, but simply because every kid gets one. She likes soccer, but unfortunately, doesn't seem particularly inclined to it. The ball will literally roll right over top of her foot and she will still stand in place, twirling her hair and looking absently at the other players. Geoff and I joked that when Payton is on the field, it's like a power play for the other team. I yell my heart out "PAYTON the BALL!! GET THE BALL!! ITS RIGHT THERE!!!" I get disheartened sometimes, the other parents look at me with sympathetic smiles, shrug their shoulders, as if to say "what can you do?" But, oh, well. It's just a game. And she is, after all, only four years old. But I've been finding that with her in soccer and Gage in ball, it's a lot of hustle and bustle, dragging the kids to soccer fields and ball diamonds alike, trying to occupy Alex who's main concern seems to be picking sunflower seed shells off the grass and eating them. I get frustrated sometimes, trying to keep uniforms clean and cleats put away-- though it seems we're always looking for something anyways-- but when I was driving home the other day with my sleepy baby boy, who'd had too much sun and his plump cheeks were a cherry red color, and my soccer clad four year old, who talked excitedly all the way home, and my too cool eleven year old, who pointedly ignored me all the way home, with his MP3 player plugged staunchly and firmly in to his ears, that even as stressful as these days are sometimes, these are the very times I will someday yearn for. A line from a song- of all songs, Miley Cyrus "The Climb"- "I may not know it, but these are the moments, I'm gonna remember most" and I was suddenly struck with a vision of myself, older- much older, my children long gone with children of their own, looking fondly back on a time when my babies were just that- babies- like how the other day when I took the kids outside to the splash park and Alex discovered that he liked the water, and ice cream. I hefted him out of his car seat when I returned home, he smelled like Baby Faces sunscreen and the faint, sweet smell of ice cream. He was sleepy and his body went limp against mine, hot and sweaty and sweet. His hair was damp and curly, I kissed the top of his head, enjoying the moment in time. Or how Payton and Alex and I sat together on a blanket and watched the sun go down while Gage played center field, Payton blowing bubbles and Alex clapping his hands together in a cute, if clumsy, fashion. It's chaos sometimes, but in the chaos is the beauty. I just need to be able to see it, not get bogged down by the stresses of it. Like so what if Alex eats a few sunflower seed shells. It's not going to kill him, right??
OK, it might. Bad example.
Anyways, that being said, I am going to go now and enjoy the day with my children.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Fool proof.

They say that necessity is the mother of invention. There is a reason, I believe, that they use the word 'mother' in that expression and not 'father'. My husband has virtually no problem solving skills whatsoever, especially when it comes to household matters. I mean, I've heard him say the sentence "I was going to make tacos for supper but we dont' have any green peppers" Like, hello!! Have you ever heard of tacos without green peppers??? For me, I just make do with what I have. Geoff, on the other hand, has yet to undertand this. Yesterday I had to take Payton to the doctor (molluskum contagiousum, I'm afraid-- don't let your kids play with Payton at the playground-- just kidding, it's not contagious--just kidding, actually it is but it's not very serious.) at 4:30, Gage had ball practice at 5:30 and I knew I wasn't going to be home for supper. So, planning ahead, I made up some meat sauce in the morning and threw it in the crockpot. All Geoff would have to do was throw some spaghetti is some water when he got home and dinner would be ready. Fool proof, right??

But no. You haven't met my husband. A real freaking piece of work, only he could screw up something so simple. I come home at twenty after five to find a pot of cold water on the stove. "You haven't fed Gage yet?" I asked, annoyed. He replied, annoyed as well, that there wasn't even any spaghetti. I opened the cupboard, pulled out a box of fettuccine, a box of macaroni, a box of tri colored shells. I was like "you couldn't use these??" I put the water to boil and decided to make the fettucine, but obviously it wasn't ready in time and poor Gage had to go to ball with no dinner. Sometimes I wonder if he really is that stupid, or if he's just lazy and making excuses. I mean, it doesn't have to be spaghetti, does it?? Is it just me, or is that just plain common sense??? It reminds me of a similar episode "There's more than one way to cook a chop" back in 2007. They never learn. Never.

Anyways. Yesterday I was relaxing on the couch, happened to glance out the window and what did I see?? The creepiest thing. Cats. There were four cats (that didn't belong to us) sitting on our front lawn, looking expantantly at the house. It was freaky. It reminded me of that Steven King movie, Cats or whatever it was. It seems our Zoey is quite popular on the block. We have been trying to keep her inside, but I fear it may be too late. For some reason, Geoff seems quite smitten with our cats apparent sexual prowess, perhaps living vicariously through her sex life. Pitiful, really, but unless he learns to substitute one pasta for another, I'm afraid that shall remain the case. Anyways, the cat is getting spayed on the 9th so hopefully we will make the deadline. One more week to go. Can't come fast enough.

What can come fast enough- my return to work, scheduled to happen one month from this very day. I can't believe it. A year ago, when I started my mat leave, the world was my oyster. OK, it wasn't my oyster. I don't even like oysters, not really. I don't know why people say that. But my point is that it had seemed like a whole lifetime stretched beyond me: one year; twelve months; three hundred and sixty five days. But now, most of that time has come and gone. I am beginning to prepare to go back to work. I think that I might have found a suitable daycare, I am going on Thursday to meet the woman so I guess I will know for sure then. It sounds pretty good as she had a daughter that would be in Paytons class, so that could work well. We will see how that pans out. I think once I get that lined up I will feel better about going back to work.

And now, last but not least, the burning question: Jon and Kate. Will they split?? Take my poll. I think, from what I've learned from my very reliable sources (AKA radaronline) that it's pretty much a done deal, they're Splitsville already. So sad. And what is this I've heard that Octomom is getting a show?? Frick. Give me a break. I would never, not ever, watch her show. Like really, anybody could have sixteen kids if they were dumb enough to do it, but most of us aren't, so why are they rewarding people for their own stupidity with the pseudo-fame of reality TV?? I just dont' get. Jon and Kate I liked because they were kind of an everyday couple who kind of just 'fell into' such a large family and were dealing with it day by day. But as for these other shows-- the Duggars?? Don't get me started. I think that mom had a labotomy at some point, if she hasn't she freaking needs one to deal with all her those kids Jebediah and Jedidiah and Jeremiah. So annoying.
Anyways, I must go now. Soccer. Have a good night.