I'm up, I'm up!

I woke up frightfully early this morning, 7:10am. No idea why, but just couldn't get back to sleep. It is a strange wet morning, I went out for coffee and sat for a while on the porch and just listened to the rain. I check the thermometer in front of me, it�s 12 degrees Celsius. (I guess that�s about 54F)

I am restless, puttering about in the house, cleaning (yes I said cleaning) not accomplishing much but puttering about. A little cleaning here, read a few chapters in a book, take out the trash, sit on the porch, print out some pictures of the new grandbaby for the shower tomorrow.

Maybe I am just enjoying this early morning. The house is quiet (the monster sleeps) and no one in their right mind would call to ask me to do this or that. It�s now after nine and it�s still quiet, as soon as the monster wakes I think I will dig out the Christmas decorations.

My friend Tracey�s birthday is next weekend. Every year we get together at this time, I make hot wings (she loves my hot wings) and we watch Christmas movies. It has become sort of a tradition. Of course as we get older, we tend to eat more and conk out before we see too many of the movies. Tracey has a collection of Christmas movies that we add to every year. The first few years we did this it was no problem for us to stay up all night watching It�s a Wonderful Life, Scrooged, Miracle on 34th Street etc, etc,. It was usually her husband who would curl up on the floor and be snoring about ten minutes into the first movie. But we are getting a bit long in the tooth, so we now pick our most favorite movies to watch first, just in case we can�t make it to them all. Although it is a bit early I like to have the Christmas decorations up by then. It just sets the mood for the evening.

So I guess my day will consist of fighting with The Boy so I can get the decorations out of the closet in his room. A closet that he has spent the entire year throwing stuff into so now it looks like we might cause an avalanche if we touch anything. Oh well it will all be worth it (keep telling yourself that Evel) once the decorations are in place and the festive season begins.

Have a great day all.

Am I ready for this?

The other night, my son had his first hockey game in which checking was allowed. It sort of snuck up on us parents because for the first few games of the season there were a few kids that hadn�t gone through the checking clinic so it wasn�t allowed. I think maybe our kids might have been a little surprised by it too. For the first period our kids weren�t checking and were getting creamed by the opposing team. I have to tell you that half way through the second period the parents turned bloodthirsty. To the casual observer it probably didn�t sound good.

�What are you doing? Check him!� (I think I was screaming the loudest)

Finally our kids clued in after 5 goals were scored against them. They began to play more aggressively. It was an exciting game but I am not sure I was (or am) fully prepared for it. You see my son is small for his age. He is probably one of the smallest kids in his division and there are quite a few kids that are big for their age. Seeing my �baby� slammed against the boards was pretty gut wrenching but his saving grace is that he is fast and because he is small, can duck under most checks. He is a tough little guy.

When the game was over, we stood up to leave and there, on the ice, we could see where someone had spit up blood. I turned to one of the other parents and said,

�Ya know, it just isn't hockey till someone spits out a tooth.�





STOKED!

I am so stoked! My son got a goal tonight.And then, my litttle man checked a bigger kid against the boards, it was stunning.

Ramblings






I was sitting at work when this song came on. If you can�t hear it you might not have the right plug in or most likely I screwed up the whole process. At any rate, its Tracey Lawrence �I see it now�.

When The Boy was very little it was �our� song. He would look up at me lovingly and say �Dance Mommy?� and I would pick him up and we would twirl around the kitchen, living room or parking lot (wherever we happened to be at the time) and I would sing to him. It was times like that that kept the little monster alive.

Now I sit here thinking of it and my eyes mist. Where does the time go? He won�t dance in a parking lot with me anymore but he does in the living room and never fails to say �love ya� before saying good-bye, even if his friends are around. I don't� care what anyone says, I think he turned out all right.

My sister said something to me the other day about how I �treat� my son. She thinks that the way I speak to him will scar him later in life. I thought on this, and later that night I sat down with my son and we talked about it. I told him my sisters concerns and asked him how he felt. Well, he looked at me like I was a nut bar freshly escaped from the loonie bin.

As soon as I saw that look I laughed. I realized that what my sister hears is how I talk to him in her presence (typically a couple hours every two or three months) and usually after he has pestered me for half an hour on when we are leaving. My son has a tendency to show off and be a pest when we visit her or when she visits me. He is usually stuck to me like a cheap suit so I can�t really have a meaningful conversation with my sister. At which point I get irritated and send him packing.

So now I sit back and write this. How do I explain how we are when we are alone. I never really sat and analyzed it. I just take it for granted.

We never part company without saying �Love Ya� and that goes for phone conversations. After work we always sit on the couch and discuss our day. I listen to his music and he tolerates mine and sometimes we discover that we like some of the same music like Aerosmith and Ozzy Ozbourn. On the weekends we watch movies while curled up on the couch. I know that every single part of his body is ticklish as he knows that only my feet and neck are. Even though he is almost 12 he still enjoys the �tickle monster� (a slumbering beast (me) that, when disturbed, wakes to tickle him till he screams �uncle�) Sometimes we just �take off� and go for long drives and talk. He never goes to sleep without me tucking him in and kissing him. This certainly doesn't cover everything, but you get the picture.

Since he was a baby it has been just the two of us. I guess we relate to each other differently because of it. We are buddies. I had to be both mother and father. I did all the mother things (taking care of him when he is sick, making sure he eats right, brushes his teeth etc) as well as all the "dad" things (teaching him how to hit a baseball, how to spit, and how to defend himself) We can talk to each other, not just as mother and son, but as equals too.

How do you explain to someone that the snippets of conversation that they hear isn�t the whole picture? You know what? In the grand scheme of things �they� really don�t matter. My son knows that I love him, that is what matters. I shouldn�t (and don�t) give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks.

Subliminal cheer

When do you suppose it would be too early to start decorating for Christmas?

I was sitting here all day watching commercial after commercial about Christmas. Christmas decorating, Christmas dinners, Christmas presents and I wanted to jump up and start dragging out the old cardboard boxes crammed with decorations and start spreading the joy.

Now I am sitting here thinking, �Was I just programmed? Was there some sort of subliminal message in all those Christmas themed commercials? Possibly.

Or this could have something to do with it. We are back to the white stuff, with a little added freezing rain. (just to make it interesting)

Lest we forget.

Mom and I went to the war memorial today. It was a good day for it. Warm but gloomy.



My mother's brother, Desire, served in the war and we lay a wreath for him here.



We should remember these men and women all year, but I am ashamed to say we don't. I guess we just take too much for granted these days.

God's just messing with me.

Now I think God is just messing with me. This is a shot of my car today, the temperature is 13C. A foot of snow one day, and warm and sunny the next. Maybe He is just trying to ease us into it.

Who spends $50 at a thrift sore?

My sister, that's who.

Today I accompanied my sister to a second hand clothing store. I usually avoid this place. Not because the merchandise isn't good, because it is. It's just that there is so much of it, in huge bins that you have to rummage through. Your arms get tired from hoisting tons of material to get to the bottom of endless piles of sweaters and pants. I just get discouraged by the randomness.

This is the way I shop for clothes. I walk into the store, spot a color I like, move towards it, find a size and I am out the door in 5 minutes. I never try anything on. I just don't have the patience for it. And since I am also cheap, if I get it home and don't like it I am not out much money.

So today you can imagine how much fun I was having. (in case you are wondering, that was sarcasm) We were there for 2 hours. I gave up after about 10 minutes of digging through piles, but my sister has to carefully examine every inch of the place.

Through no effort on my part, I left there with $30 worth of stuff, all most all of it stuff that my sister held up and said, "Oh, look at this." So I guess you could call her my personal shopper.

Feel my pain.


Just so you can perhaps feel my pain, here are some more snow pics.

See, I had to watch helplessly as my car disappeared.





And this is what I had to drive through to get to work the next day.

SNOW

We are, at this very moment, in the midst of our very first snow storm of the winter.


This is the main street of our town just after midnight.


This is a shot of the tree outside my door.


And this is my poor car, which I just had washed today. By morning I will not be able to see that it is red.

It is pretty right now, but after a couple of months of it you really get sick of it.

Fired? or Quit?

I wasn't quite sure. Tuesay I arrived at work and things seemed to be going smoothly enough. Then "the boss" lost his mind and started screaming at me. I just looked at him and rolled my eyes. At this point he went completely out of his mind and started screaming even louder.

That's when I lost it. His actions didn't fit the "fit" he was taking.

"Ok, that's it! DO NOT raise your voice to me. Who do you think you are talking to? You have no right talking to me like this, so you can stop right fuckin' now!"

We got in each others face, literally. We were screaming back and forth at each other from about 2 inches away. Finally he says,

"GO HOME!"

"FINE! I'M GONE"

"GOOD!"

"FUCK YOU!", as I slammed the door behind me. It was 10am.

So I am not sure if I quit or he fired me. I was going to wait till he called me to come back the next day, but I thought, what the heck I will go test the waters.

When I got to work, he acted like nothing happened. He was even pleasant. Ok, I can play your silly game. However, if he thinks that is going to happen on a regular basis, he really is out of his mind.

Unveiling the masterpiece.

Well the birthday went well, I went to my sisters for supper and had cake. As promised, here is the shelf she built to house my growing record collection.

Bob Vila�s got nothing on my sister.

My birthday is on Sunday and I sucker convince my sister that what would really make me happy is to have a bookshelf built to house my record collection. She is, of course, Martha Stewart on crack so this should be no problem for her. We decide we are going to go to the local building supply store to get the lumber we need for this project, since they will cut everything for us. I meet her there.

My sister in a building supply store is like an addict in a pharmacy. She examines every square inch of the place. As she approaches the craft displays she spots something, �Oh, look at that� ( a Santa made out of a 1 x 3). She examines it closely and announces, �How cool is that? 17.99? I could make that myself.� The sad part is, she will. And not only that, she will make 50 of them before Christmas. Then she will never make another as long as she lives because, of course, everyone she knows will have one in their possession.

We browse the lumber and see something that looks right, I notice a guy standing 3 or 4 feet away measuring the width of a board. �If we were smart we would have brought a tape like that guy�. At that, my sister bats her eyelashes and asks the guy, �Can you measure this one for us?� and in the sexiest Australian accent he says �16 inches, but if you need it in metric your asking the wrong bloke.� How fuckin� adorable is that? Now I don�t give a shit about the shelf, I just want to hear him talk some more.

Finally a man in a smock steps up and asks if he can help me. I explain to him what we want to make. As I am giving him the measurements I can see his eyes glazing over. You don�t exactly find rocket scientists in a building supply store. �How about if I draw it for ya?� He hands me a pad and pencil. Now he has a visual and starts suggesting materials. He really doesn�t know who he is dealing with, we have power tools. (URGH URGH). He directs us to the pre-surfaced shelving material. The pressed board with the white plastic coating. Yuck! Finally we ignore him and decide to go with MDF, figure out how much we need and hand it over to Opie so he can go cut it for us.

�I don�t know about that guy, he doesn�t look too bright� Turns out he wasn�t. I pay for the lumber and head out back with the slip to pick it up. No problem, till I get to the gate. Seems Opie forgot to put a couple things on the slip so now I have to pay the gatekeeper before I can finally be on my way. Now I worry if the guy even cut it right. But if I know my sister, no matter what Opie did to fuck it up, she will have it looking like something out of a cabinet makers shop. (I will post pics.)

Turning 37�...again.

It�s slowly creeping up on my 37th birthday. All year I was under the mistaken impression that I was already 37, I was even telling people that. Turns out (when I decided to do the math) I was wrong. I inadvertently aged myself, gypped myself out of being 36 for almost the entire year.

No, I don�t have any special plans for my birthday, it�s not a big deal really. I already bought myself a digital camera and I am seriously considering a DVD player.

There are a few people that remember my birthday every year, so I always have a nice day.

My son, however, has still not figured out that it is ok to ask his dad for money to buy me a gift. He is still under the impression that I should give him money. It worked when he was 5 but now it just gets on my last nerve. Especially since he has no problem asking me for money to buy his dad something. (except this year, we both forgot).

Today in school he made a beaded necklace. After he showed it to me he said, �Hey, I should have made one for you.� (nice) I don�t get it. He lives with me and has his fathers sense (or lack there of) of consideration.

I am going to stop here, before I get into the whole nature vs nurture thing and give myself a migraine.

First Snow.

I woke up this morning to this.



I guess its all over but the cryin'. Winter is finally here. I don't know what it is, but when I was greeted with this sight this morning, I was suddenly stricken. Panic washed over me like a wave. I felt nauseous, my skin got all clammy and my mouth went dry. It wasn�t the knowledge that I would be seeing 6 more months of this stuff, or the uneasyness of having to drive on icy roads, it all came down to just one thing.

At that moment I realized, there are less than 50 shopping days till Christmas. How depressing.

HA!

Just heard a really good joke, and I just had to share it.

How many divorced men does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

None, they never get the house.

My sister became a Grandma yesterday to a little girl, Haley Don, 6lbs 8oz.

THIS BITES!

I took today off of work to get some things done, only to find out it is a national holiday.

First day of hunting season.

How do I tell my cult leader, �It�s over.�?

I sell Mary Kay cosmetics.

Ok, sell isn�t the best word to describe what I am doing with Mary Kay. I basically buy a whole lot of shit I don�t need and can never sell and then store it in my home. I suck at it.

My cult leader sales director is very good at it. She is bubbly and enthusiastic and says stuff like �Super� and �Awesome�. She even mails the newsletter to �The Awesome Evel Woman�. Every time I speak to her my eyes get sore from rolling back in my head so often.

I call her my cult leader because when she calls me I have absolutely no intention of buying anything and by the time she is done with me I have $400 worth of product making its way to my house before we even hang up. She can�t understand why I am not thrilled. I am just not Mary Kay material. To sell this stuff you need to be one of �those� girls. The kind of girl I used to make fun of in High School. Pep rally, cheerleader, glee club kind of girl. The kind of girl that �air� kisses hello and goodbye. Hell I don�t do that with my family, I am not doing it to complete strangers.

I couldn�t sell air conditioners in hell, and I�m ok with that. But my cult leader isn�t. She is hanging on to me by her fingernails but the deprogramming is working. Don�t get me wrong, Mary Kay is a great company and you can make a shitload of money (my cult leader is on her 5th car) but you just have to have �that� kind of personality and I don�t.

I am not the kind of person that should be dealing with the public. At least that is what I was told when I applied to MacDonald's back in high school. My mother couldn�t believe I didn�t get the job,

�Evel! They hire retarded people at MacDonald's!� (she wasn�t very politically correct but she had a point)

And I thought my brother was a pain in the butt.

I thought my brother was a pain to live with, can you imagine how this poor schmuck must have felt growing up?

Burial box offers proof Jesus lived

�Why can�t you be more like your brother? He's out there turning water into wine, you can't even finish your homework.�

Maybe his name wasn't James, maybe it was Judas. I know my brother used to rat me out all the time.Something to think about.

Grandma in training.

The Boy has a brother and a sister. The best kind, the kind I personally didn't have to give birth to.

He doesn't see them all that often, although he sees them a whole lot more often than he sees his father. Now that his little brother Liam is a little older (he's 5 now) he comes and stays overnight. He and his brother are a lot alike. The good news is, they never act up when they are at houses that are not their own. That said, his little brother is a complete angel when he is here and I just love having him.



I have seen him in his natural habitat and I have witnessed him during a full blown fit. I looked at his mother and said,

"Oh my God, if I close my eyes, that could be Boy. You know what this means don't you? It's the 'Surname' gene."

It is nice to know that I am not the only one who gets to experience these fits. My son has one daily and since the only common denominator is his father, we can blame it all on him. ( I just love it when that happens)

But I digress, yesterday Liam came to visit. Later in the day he asked if he could stay over. He is so cute and talks like he is from Jersey, so you just can�t say no to him. So we load into the car and head over to meet his mother. She of course agrees and Liam yells,

�O day, yets doe. Det dome moobies and dunk!� (translation�Ok let�s go, get some movies and junk) He is too cute. I think half the reason he likes to come to our house is because I load him up on all the junk his mother doesn�t let him have.

One time he told me that I shouldn't buy him candy. I asked him why and he said , �duz my mom dunna let me had candy.� (I could just eat him) I look around dramatically, under the car and behind him and say, �Do you see your mother anywhere? I don�t see her.� Then he flashes me a devilish grin and we head into the store for the candy. Mind you he never eats much of it, but it�s fun anyway.

Well on the way home tonight, he mentions that he had a birthday, and I missed it. (I felt really bad, no one even mentioned it to me), �Dats oday,� he says, �you diddin no.� After a comment like that I, of course, had to take him to the mall and buy him a toy, and one for his sister since I missed her birthday too. We load up on toys, pick up some movies and junk and head home. He didn�t eat any junk and only made it through half of the movie.

This must be what it is like to have grandchildren, spoil them, load them up on sugar and then send them home.