Monday, May 30, 2005


I saw a blog recently where a woman posted pictures of her baby's birth by Ceasarian section. The coolest shot was one where only the baby's head was out, and everything else was still en route. I find this kind of thing fascinating.

So for all you people out there who are just like me -

sorry I forgot to bring a camera to my colonoscopy today.

Friday, May 27, 2005

A rare pensive post

I've come into contact recently with someone who is dealing with bulemia. I've had some long chats with this individual, and it's gotten me thinking. There's this little toothpick of a person and there's me, Beachball Woman, and ...on the inside, we're much closer to the same than you'd think. And I think it boils down to this: I either have an eating disorder of my very own, or I have "big bones". Size 3X bones.
The thing is - it helps to call it that. (Oft trotted out mantra chez moi: "Perspective is all.") When there are muffins on the table at Ladies Bible Study that I "can't help" but eat - oh wait, that's not me, that's Eating Disorder Brain talking. Shut up, Eating Disorder Brain. I have other things to think about. Eating Disorder Brain would like me to take the second muffin, and then berate me for it. EDB has been known to say "And you're such a loser you can't even make yourself throw up." (Let's just have a moment of thankfulness for that one, shall we?)
So I've had two good days in a row, eating wise, two days where I don't go to bed at night thinking I'll just get larger and larger until I eventually die of some dire weight related disease.

And that's something that hasn't happened in a long long time. It's underlined for me, once again, that one of the ways we contribute on this earth, is to be transparent with our struggles. You never know who you'll help.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Please take a moment to answer this question

Domestic peace rides on your answers.*

It's a true or false question.

Changing your nightly snack of Coke and salt and vinegar chips to a glass of water that you look at but don't drink, really, and a bowl of Froot Loops or Mini-Wheats is making a healthy choice. True or False, folks. Let's hear it.

*not really. You should know better than to believe me by now.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

The boys next door and Saturday afternoon

B comes out of the house, followed by two boys who live on either side of us, shouting "Grab your weabbons!!!" As we have no "weabbons" in our house I was curious to see what they were grabbing.

J had a plastic telescope/rocket launcher. B had the wing off an airplane that he explained was a "boomewang". G had ...well I'm still stumped. It appeared to the Miniature Soccer Ball Of Certain Annihilation.

Good thing I've been so adamant about no guns.

You have to grin right after you say it, or the man's heart stops

Here's a fun thing to do:

Pull into your driveway, frown curiously at the man who is sweeping up the last of the detritus from his recent job at your house, and say:

"HEY! What happened to my tree????"

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

A and B and the KoolAid Stand

So we're digging out bushes all weekend and Saturday the kids decide to have a KoolAid stand.

KoolAid made, table Windexed (I think B should buy stock in Windex, because he's keeping that company afloat) - A is walking up and down the street, sometimes stalking people as far as half a block away, shouting "KoolAid! Get your KoolAid here!" B is riding around on his bike yelling "KoolAid! 25 cents!"

ShovelGuru (he needs a new name after this weekend) and I are beaming happily at anyone to stops to buy warm KoolAid from our children.

The family who is moving in to the house across the street is hanging out in their yard, and after about an hour of hearing "KoolAid!!!", Mr NewNeighbour finally finds a quarter underneath the front seat of the car (they don't live there yet, they're not that house poor!) and the 4 year old approaches the children with great fear and trepidation and manages to buy himself a drink. 5 minutes later his two year old sister wanders down with her bottle and no money. A car goes by and we can't see what transpires, but Mr NN, who is by now yakking it up with us on our driveway, standing out of the way of flying dirt, asks the 4 year old if the little one got a drink, with no money. "Yep!" he answers happily. "She got a sample!"

And that right there, folks, is why I love my daughter's mind.

Saturday, May 21, 2005

How To Tell Me You Love Me

This is the Without Any Words version.

In the springtime of the year, when the May long weekend hits, and you are itching to go ANYwhere, because that's the way God made you, you stay home and dig out bushes and roots and shovel up ten year old lava rock and basically do hard yard work all day Saturday, even the weather is amazing and you hate yard work with a passion, just because I want to plant flowers.

Thanks buddy. I owe you some.

Monday, May 16, 2005

Flotsam and Jetsam (feel free to spell check that)

I. TechnoBoy delivered an orange juice to my desk this morning. Not just any OJ, mind you – a Happy Planet OJ. The Happy Planet people apparently had a blank spot on the label to fill, and so they have kindly printed their Mission Statement on each and every 325 ml orange juice they produce. And that mission statement? “to astonish your taste buds, nourish your body, unite you with the best sources of food and drink on this planet*, and grow a progressive business from which happiness flows.”

I was almost afraid to drink it - so much life changing potential.

*not, apparently, those on other planets

II. After school today, B had a huge sulk because I wouldn't let him do something he wanted to. (there wasn't enough time) And what did he want to do, you ask?

Wash the kitchen floor.

III. B and I went for a bike ride with A, to her art class, dropped her off, took a long rambling way home. We get home, I collapse inside, in the air conditionning, with something cold to drink. B takes a long time coming in - I finally go look and he's Rambo-ing around the backyard with a huge water gun, shooting butterflies, hollering at bees, refilling his gun from the rain barrel ...having so much fun I wanted to ruin it all by giving him a huge hug. I restrained myself by blogging it instead. He came in after about an hour "MAN!! I just couldn't GET that white butterfly!"

IV. Neat thing happened when I left the train today but if I blog it, I won't poem it, so just smile. It was a neat little perspective shift thingummy.

V. The Other Side of the OJ Label


Valencias fill this bottle with their lifeforce – clever varieties that evolved to maximize their grin-fluence on we the people."

and here I thought I was just thirsty.

Friday, May 13, 2005


Hanging out after school today, my children find things they both love to do. (I was making no suggestions)

A is making herself an ice cream sundae and trying to be as creative as possible.

B is vacuuming the living room and washing the windows, inside and out.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005


B's 6th birthday a few weeks ago.

We've gone from this birthday to this birthday to this birthday.

Oh, the nostalgia. Today the man* who sits beside me at work helped with a pesky Excel problem and I told him "You're a really useful engine."

*hair like TinTin, doesn't look a day over 17.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Watching me cook supper last night ...

A watches me mixing up hamburger and spices and raw eggs with my bare hands with barely concealed revulsion, and observes:

"I think that looked better on the cow."

reading the end of my last entry ...

Why does "Don't make me come over there!" always reduce my children to fits of giggles?*

Maybe it's the delivery.

*Actually that's not quite true - it reduces B to fits of giggles, A to fits of eye-rolling.

Saturday, May 07, 2005

Apparently I've been tagged

Here’s the scoop on how to play: I pick 5 occupations out of the list below and answer my questions. Then I tag 3 other people to post their answers on their blog. However, I don't know that many people who blog, so if you want to do it, you have to jump up and down and say "Pick me!" If you don't have a blog, you can answer in the comments. (Violet/Nell/herblogisat tagged me)

The "questions": If I could be a scientist...If I could be a farmer...If I could be a musician... If I could be a doctor... If I could be a painter... If I could be a gardener... If I could be a missionary... If I could be a chef... If I could be an architect... If I could be a linguist... If I could be a psychologist... If I could be a librarian... If I could be an athlete... If I could be a lawyer... If I could be an inn-keeper... If I could be an electrician... If I could be a professor... If I could be a writer... If I could be a llama-rider... If I could be a bonnie pirate... If I could be an astronaut... If I could be a world famous blogger... If I could be a justice on any one court in the world... If I could be married to any current famous political figure...

Allrighty then.

If I could be a doctor, I wouldn't be. Too much responsibility.

If I could be a painter, I could get dirty all day long and have a good excuse. Plus something nice to look at when I was done. Or maybe Id just paint houses.

If I could be a gardener, my neighbours would appreciate it.

If I could be a writer, I'd carry a notebook around with me all the time and take notes whenever anything struck me and I'd jot down ideas and play with phrases all day long, even when I was burning potatoes or stepping in yogurt one of the kids spilled or answering the door and the phone at the same time in my pajamas - I'd still take a minute to run to the computer and e-mail myself things like "Last line of Since You Died - as if only the prolonged shriek of metal on metal/could ever grieve loud enough". It'd be fun.

If I could be a missionary, my external life would be simpler, but my internal landscape would still be crowded and complicated. There's no getting away from it.

TAG YOURSELF. Don't make me come over there.

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Well that's handy, I guess

B announces from the back seat of the van today:

"Mom, I have a little window in my mouth now."

And as I'm soaking up the whimsy, he adds, delightedly,

"I can squirt my spit out through it!!!"

The milestones, they just don't stop

B has lost his first tooth. He came to me at A's soccer game yesterday, blood pouring down his face, looking decidedly sick to his stomach. He'd been chewing gum, and the already very loose tooth got stuck in the gum ...I tried to persuade him to let me pull it out. I didn't try very hard, though, because if there is one thing I am conscious of with this boy, it's that New Experiences must be approached verrrrrrrrrrrrry slowly. (He's the one who took his first two steps and then sat down and thought about it for two weeks before he tried it again.) He sat holding a rag to his mouth for about half an hour and then I heard a small surprised exclamation: "I got it!" And sure enough, he'd yanked his own tooth out. I stored it in my pocket for safekeeping.
Fast forward to evening. He knows from watching the process with A that you stand a much better chance of getting money if you pretend to believe in the tooth fairy. I hand him the tooth, in a small envelope, and he writes on it, asking me to spell every word "To the Tooth Fairy, From B" In yellow crayon.
He heads off to bed, tooth in hand. Half an hour later, he comes out. "Mom? Will you tell the tooth fairy I put the tooth right IN the pillowcase?" The poor child had been up there for almost thirty minutes, trying to figure out where to put the tooth so it could be found. I promise to pass the word along.
Ten minutes later, he's at the top of the stairs again. "Mom? Can a tooth break if I put my head on it?"
He finally fell asleep in spite of himself.

And do you know how hard it is to find an envelope in a pillowcase without waking up the person using the pillow??? I finally just took the pillow and put it back in his bed beside him.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005


Isn't that a clever way to begin? Yeah, I didn't think so, either.

Here's what's running through my head. Why do I blog? (is that a verb? or is it just a verb as of right now?) Well, I like to write. I think it's part of what I've been given to do, and sitting down now and then and stringing words together efficiently (and possibly in an entertaining fashion) scratches an itch that nothing else can reach. I like reading other people's blogs. So I made my own.

Here's what you won't find here: anything negative about anyone I know. It's not that I have no negative thoughts, it's that I have been bitten just often enough in my adult life by people hearing things they had no way of hearing. And therefore I refuse to fall into the trap of thinking "well I can write about XYZ because XYZ couldn't find a blog if someone made my blog his homepage". Next thing you know, XYZ has a rare moment of lucidity and I'm left trying to explain how calling him a "ferret-faced lily-livered whey-faced excuse for a human being"* is really very funny. So other things you won't find here are sorting out complicated emotions, or how I feel about potentially milestone-ish things in my life, like my mom's heart attack. (hello, universe? she didn't really need a heart attack, so we're giving it back. Thanks for thinking of us, though.)

Anyway you've noticed all this already - so why am I spelling it out? Because this is what is sobering me today - I, along with some people I really care about a lot, had this really emotionally complicated weekend. And I know that these people that I could not love more if they were my own flesh and blood are reading my blog, and I don't want them to think I don't care, or that it's all okay with me, or that I'm just too ruddy flippant to have even noticed.

I do care, it wasn't all okay, and I did notice. I'm just not going to blog about it, okay?