Shown Up

Papa Bear and I met each other many, many moons ago while both involved in youth bowling. Say what you want, I loved to bowl and still do. A few years ago a friend invited us to join an adult mixed league. We had lots of fun and the next year invited friends to join.

This year a few more spots opened up and I thought my newly retired father might enjoy a night out and he too enjoys bowling. Daddy-O was a 5-pin bowling coach and bowled with my brothers and I in special family bowling tournaments but never as part of a league. He did however bowl in a 10-pin league for a number of years several years ago.

Daddy-O was pretty eager to join and was there nice and early for our first night. I was a little worried about how this might go down. Daddy-O is not a young man - not like he's pushing 100 or anything but he is no spring chicken either. I just hoped he didn't break a hip or trip or throw all his balls in the gutter in front of the rest of the bowlers because that would be embarrassing for him and I both.

My fears deepened a bit when he did indeed throw his first ball right down the gutter. It was at this point I hoped for him to at least break a score of 65. It turns out I should have been more worried about my own rusty game than his. It seems it was quite easy to tell I haven`t stepped foot in a bowling alley since the end of May.

After a few shaky frames I thought Daddy-O was shaping up to bowl a beginner like game but after making "a minor adjustment" as he said he started throwing strikes. He ended up with a respectable 180 for his first game will I, his seasoned daughter bowled a 151. What the f--- heck?!

The second game was worse...for me... I don't know if watching him on his way to throwing a very impressive 228 was what distracted me from my game but I ended up with a shameful 112... Whatever. I was going to show him in the last game...or not.
He summed up his third and final game of the evening with a 216 and I finished with my highest game of the night -a 184...

I guess I was right to be embarrassed but not for my dad but by him while he thoroughly and fully kicked my ass! I really hope this was a case of beginner's luck or I am really going to have to step up my game to save face. I think for tonight I'm going to go with my mother's suggestion that I am such a good daughter that I threw all 3 games so he could look good. Sounds good to me but really great games Daddy-O! Rematch next week. :)

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, Its Off To School They Go!

I quit my part time Donut Shack job on the last day of the school year thinking it was going to be great to spend the summer with my boys. And it was...for the first month or so.. Then boredom set in -for them not me, and they started to fight. A lot. More than usual. It was too hot to play outside much and frankly I think they were just getting tired of looking at each other. The 2 oldest boys especially since they have been forced to share a room since the renovation started in June. (Just an update, they are still sharing a room even though Papa Bear promised me that they would be in their own rooms by the time school started...).

The "staycation" didn't help matters. Staring at the same faces in the same setting for an extended period of time is bound to make you a little bit restless.

Through out the summer I have been stressing about Fuzzy's readiness to start school this year and riding the bus and not being fully toilet trained and so on. By the end of August I wasn't so much concerned about that as I was how many more days until he started.

The closer the back to school date got the crazier the boys got until finally Back to School eve was upon us. Noon the day before isn't too early to pack a lunch and set out clothes is it? I was a tad bit excited so that is exactly what happened here.

Most kids wake up early and are excited to school on the first day -not Little Bear. Not even a little bit. He moaned and groaned before eventually dragging himself from his bed. His brothers were excited to see him off. Probably thinking to themselves "see you later haha, go pick on someone your own size. We are going to get into your stuff ALL day". That was until the bus pulled away and for the rest of the day I heard "where's Little Bear?" "Where did he go?" "When's Little Bear coming home?".
Geez, you fight with him all day long for months and then as soon as he leaves for a few hours you yearn for him? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? If barely ever saw each other they would be the best of friends?

Fuzzy didn't start until a few days later. We did the usual first day of school photo shoot and I loaded me little man onto the great big bus. He was so excited. I thought I was doing well until the bus was a bit down the road and then I bawled like a baby. I don't care what anyone says, it doesn't get easier with experience. Once I got over that it was time for Wee One and I to bask in the quietness.

The crazy summer and the last few weeks of headaches were all worth it when Wee One laid down for a nap and there was no one to shush. I love my kids but a break is nice. Now I can't wait for Monday when the 2 oldest are in school and Wee One starts 1 day a week daycare. Can you say nap?...I mean housework?

Colour My World

We have almost reached that point in our renovations where we will be ready to paint by next week. Most people would be excited by this. I am not. This means the queen of procrastination must make several decisions in a short period of time.

At present I have enough paint swatches that I could forgo the painting and instead tile in swatches. Kind of like a patchwork quilt sort of thing. Will probably match everything.

When I started thinking about paint...2 days ago. I realized that every room currently painted in my house is blue or green with the only exceptions being the laundry room and the "70's room" (the only room that did not get touched during our last renovation 3 years ago and still has 70's style wood paneling on the bottom of the wall, fake rock paneling on the top and tiled ceiling). Boy am I exciting with my rainbow of colours. Not.

Since I am design challenged and need to get this task done I went to the paint store - sorry, the paint and accent gallery in downtown Stinkburg for some assistance. The dude behind the counter (dressed all in black - how typical) was more than willing to help and proceeded to throw swatch after swatch in my direction until I stood there with about a dozen shades of the same colours in my hands but not knowing what room they were intended for.

Apparently when I told him the other colours in my home he took that to mean I would like to continue in that same colour template and therefore loaded me up with swatches mostly in blues, greens and browns. I am most thrilled about a yellowish swatch that I'm almost sure was thrown at me by mistake.

Next he gave me a 10 minute spiel on which paint was the best and how to apply it. I don't want to apply it. Thanks for reminding me that it wasn't going to just spontaneously appear on my walls but that I am actually going to have to do manual labour and put it there. I hate painting. I hate painting almost as much as I hate waiting. So now I get to paint, then wait (for it to dry), then paint some more and then wait some more. Sounds like a gallon of fun. Not.

Papa Bear is not making this paint colour selection much fun either. He vetoes my choices when I chose Barbie pink for my walk-in closet. I don't get to paint pink anywhere else. I want to buy pink paint damn it!

I'm pretty sure I'm going to have nightmares every night until I decided on colours of being taped up with painters tape and forced to watch HGTV for days on end. Maybe I'll just take the yellow swatch and paint every room in the addition that colour.

Bear Family Staycation

Papa Bear and I had originally planned to take a real away from home vacation. Unfortunately trying to get a straight answer from Papa Bear on what dates to take as vacation (or really any question) is like trying to grow a palm tree in a snow bank. By the time I got a definite date decided on we were too late to book a cottage at the place we had hoped...or anywhere close for that matter so we decided to stay home and just do day trips with the boys.

Today was day 1 of the "staycation". We didn't really have any plans for today because it was supposed to storm all day...we had a few very brief showers... The definition of vacation is; a period of time devoted to pleasure, rest, or relaxation. Today was no freaking vacation!

I started my "vacation" out by having a metal 1:16 scale John Deere combine dropped on my face...while I was still asleep...Thank you Wee One and good morning. No problem. The swelling in my lip didn't last more than a couple hours and really wasn't much more painful than when I slipped stepping over a baby gate yesterday and ended up straddling the gate and scraping my arm to crap. I'm pretty sure I broke my lady part but I'll live.

It was then that the fighting started...and so did the migraine. I don't even know where the 3 of them even find that much to fight about. At one point Little Bear yelled from his room "I hate Fuzzy!"
to which Fuzzy replied "No you don't, you love me Little Bear, you do".
Did I mention it was 104 degrees out with humidity today so nobody would play outside for more than a few minutes at a time?

The entire day was used up with cleaning up messes, organizing useless time outs, breaking up fights and preparing meals that nobody was really going to eat much of. Where was Papa Bear while I dealt with my "vacation"? The answer, hiding out in our house addition that is a work in progress coming in only long enough to grab lunch and dinner and then escaping as soon as the fighting resumed from the short break they took to pick at their food.

I don't remember any pleasure or rest or relaxation in my day. There was no pleasure in having an end table drawer fall on your head causing a goose egg (and possible concussion) while you try to repair the damage done to it by 2 little boys. I know. There was no rest in having to vacuum the family room/office/playroom because Fuzzy thought he would open a package of microwave popcorn there. There is no relaxation in listening to Wee One scream because he thinks all the toys are his and Fuzzy feels the need to remind him that they are not.

I have no idea what would possess me to take an entire week off from my job and deny myself 4 hours a night away (no, I am not a hooker). I can assure you this though, there is no way on earth I will be doing it next summer if there aren't any going away plans. We are only 1 day in but so far "staycation" SUCKS!

Patience Is A Virtue

Patience is a virtue...I do not possess. I have very little patience and what I do have is used up trying not to drop "F bombs" while driving with 3 tiny men as passengers and refereeing when those same 3 tiny men feel the need to torment each other (and me) and fight.

I can't wait in lines. I go practically insane staring at the back side of the person in front of me. I shift from foot to foot. I roll my eyes when stupid people do stupid things to hold things up. At stores I mentally critique the cashiers technique and organize how I could do it better. I try my best not to breathe heavy and huff and puff. I hate lines.

My computer forces me to wait when I can't. I swear the lower my patience the slower the damn thing loads a page. The sight of the little loading icony thing by the mouse pointer makes me a little bit angry. I show my love for its little slow loading game by calling it nasty names.

My patience while driving is practically non-existent. My leg shakes while I hold down the brake pedal and wait for red lights. If the person stopped at a light doesn't start to drive through the second the light changes I have to fight the urge to honk and usually do growl "go!" at them under my breathe". When I drive somewhere that takes more than about 10 minutes I constantly look at the clock in the dash to see how much longer until I'm there and then add a few more kilometers to my speed.

When I worked at the Donut Shack I almost had to hold my own hand down from plucking the change out of people's hands when they stood there flipping the coins around in their hands trying to count it out. I don't know how I ever managed to make it almost 12 years without screaming at an indecisive customer "what the *@#! do you want already?!". Or to the customer that ummmm...ummmmm...ummmms, "ummmm...t-t-t-t-today jr!". Thinking back now, perhaps that is where all of my patience went. It got all used up on all those hundreds of patience stealing creeps I was forced to serve in a day.

Poor Papa Bear. All of the projects he starts I want done. Done like the day after regardless of the project. He is in the middle of a project he says will take 3-4 months. I know Papa Bear speed and I say 5-6 month project-we shall see which is more accurate. This project may just put me in a straight jacket and drive me all the way to the nut house and drop me in a padded room. Building the addition sounded like a great idea until it started. When we talked about building it I was all for it with dreams of a second bathroom (without pee on the seat), a walk in closet (Papa Bear still hasn't told me where he is going to keep his clothes yet), a basement with a playroom (thank the lord, I'm sick of tripping over tractors in my kitchen), a new and larger family room (where the whole family can actually all be without sitting on top of each other) and renovating our existing family room into an much needed office for Papa Bear and I (the corner of the kitchen counter, in front of the dishwasher isn't really cutting it for my business space) all dancing in my head. Now I just want it done. Yesterday. Done.

I try, I really do. I just can't wait..for anything. It drives Papa Bear nuts. I hope patience (or lack of) isn't something that is hereditary or contagious, I don't want my boys to catch it and if it is something that is learned could someone please come over here and teach them so they don't have to worry about how red their face is turning while they wait for their turn on a roller coaster please?

Close Quarters

Today we reached the point in our renovations that I knew was coming and I dreaded its arrival. Today was the day that Fuzzy's room needed to be evacuated and he would have to share a room with Little Bear likely for a couple of months.

I love my sleep and therefore not at all looking forward to my best sleeper being bunked up with my worst (although Wee One is in good contention to take over the title as worst...). For their entire lives all 3 of my boys have had their own separate rooms in my home. This is a big adjustment for me..err I mean them.

Little Bear is less than impressed to have his space invaded by a pint sized intruder. Fuzzy on the other hand couldn't be happier. It is like he won the lottery and was lifted up and dropped right in the middle of Big Boy World and surrounded by all that used to be forbidden fruit.

In Big Boy World there are real Lego - not that Megablock/Duplo block crap. The real deal, choking hazard, build a tower more than 10 blocks tall stuff. There are books with paper pages instead of cardboard (easier to digest after chewing half a page though not as filling). There are pencil crayons and scissors and all kinds of things that little boys aren't supposed to touch. There is a whole other pajama drawer to explore when the mood strikes to wear half a dozen different jammies to bed in one night. There is an alarm clock just begging to have its buttons pushed and time changed. Poor Little Bear.

The 2 boys had barely shared a room for more than a few hours when the fighting over territory started. Little Bear screaming at Fuzzy to put his blankets back on his bed and Fuzzy looking bewildered by the request. How are you supposed to tunnel through the blanket and pretend you are a caterpillar or such while the blankets are still on the bed? As if it was an unheard of request.

Today was just the beginning of hearing things like "he's touching all my stuff", "its my stuff too now", "he's making a mess!", he won't stay on his side" "that's mine!" among others. Oh how I long for this renovation to be complete! I can't wait to have an extra room that isn't full of stuff. I don't know why we didn't think of doubling up the boys to make room before - oh that's right because it is INSANE.

Walmart Wipeout

I am such a loser. The other night I was headed to do a home party for my business when I decided to make a quick stop at Walmart for deodorant. (Just to clarify I already had deodorant on but was running low on it at home...not that the other situation has not happened since I tend to forget things often). I was a little over dressed for your local Walmart with my dress casual clothing and (super cute, pointed toe kitten heeled) dress shoes but who cares definitely not the people of Walmart.
I was in a bit of a hurry so away I went booking it down one of the main aisles toward the deodorant aisle.

Now I am not a professional high heel shoe wearer by any means and the particular shoes I had on didn't have a high heel they were just tiny little kitten heels. I'm pretty sure the following would have still happened in flip-flop just maybe not to the same degree.

I hit an overly buffed slippery spot on the floor partially down the main aisle. My feet went one way, my body went the other and I found myself laying on the floor in front of a dozen or so spectators. Oh how cool did I feel, laying on the floor in Walmart, in my dress clothes with half the contents of my fabulous pink purse scattered beside me while their stupid little yellow smiley face mascot laughs at me from the top of every aisle.

The lady directly in front of me looked mortified, "are you OK Dear?"
"Physically."
By physically I mean ouch that freaking hurt and is probably going to leave a bruise but nothing compared to the huge beating my pride just received. Seriously lady, stop looking at me. Just continue on with your shopping as if you hadn't seen a thing. Plleeaaasse.

I collected my scattered belongings, picked myself up off the floor and continued in a slower, more cautious way to the deodorant aisle, made my purchase and left the scene of my humiliation all the while resisting the need to limp on my way out of the store.

I can just imagine the guy sitting in front of the security monitors hitting rewind and play over and over again. At least I'm sure I put a smile on his face for the day. You're welcome.

Bear Family - Under Construction

Papa Bear and I have been planning an addition to our house for a while now. It probably would have been completed a long time ago except for one big thing...Papa Bear is the KING of procrastination. Several months ago Papa Bear starting working a little more seriously on planning the addition. After about a dozen different drawings of what looked like the same thing we came up with a plan. (I really just think Papa Bear was in need of some arts and craft time so he could use his graph paper and ruler and pencils and stuff).

Papa Bear told me we were to break ground March 1st..April 1st...May 1st...June 1st...finally on June 21st a backhoe finally showed up in my yard to start the dig...only 3 months and 20 days later than I had originally been told to expect it. The crew of 2 were expected at 9am...they arrived at around 4:15pm... They dug 3 stumps out of the ground and called it a day. Wow, that was productive.

This morning they showed up bright and early and with a 3rd member of their crew a very tired and hung over member but a member none the less. I don't really think you have to be on top of your game to stand in a hole with a pole and occasionally do a bit of manual digging so I think he was good. However, his mama should have sent him with a bottle of sunscreen because he is going to be a hurting unit tomorrow.

They dug all day and it appears the hole is just about complete. I have been informed that they will be pouring cement tomorrow - for sure. "For Sure" - oh I can not count how many times I have heard these 2 little words that don't mean jack s--t. We shall see...

The boys are already testing the newly set limitations that have been imposed on them for the duration of the renovation. Wherever I tell them they aren't allowed to play they play. Whatever I tell them they aren't allowed to touch they touch. I have a feeling this is going to feel like a much longer process than it actually is.

It is only day 2 of renovation and already I've had enough. I'm sure my frustration with the situation will flow over to this blog more than once especially when it comes time to eliminate Fuzzy's room and 2 boys have to bunk up together. Lord give me the strength I'm going to need "for sure".

Legfro

Even though we seemed to have skipped spring here in Southwestern Ontario, Canada and went straight from winter to summer, it is shorts weather again. Yay...... Not only do my pasty, white chicken legs not look appealing in any sort of leg baring apparel but there is that little task that us women do that has to be better kept up on. That's right I'm talking about shaving our legs.

Don't get me wrong I don't walk around like a hairy Sasquatch all winter or anything but I also don't shave my legs EVERY day either. Though I do know a few that do (Kat). I only bare my ankles and calf from under a pair of capris but I do like to have nice soft freshly shaved legs when all of Stinkburg can see them (even if they are blinded by the glare of their whiteness).

Shaving your legs doesn't sound like such a hard job, I know but when you have to squeeze a shower into 10-15 minutes with one kid playing in the bottom of the tub, one yelling at the door that he has to poop and Papa Bear coming in and out of the bathroom asking random questions and conferencing about what is going on during the week since this seems to be one of the few times both of us are home together for a few minutes, it can seem like a pretty big task.

Sometimes I think, why not just let it all grow out? I could grow a legfro and just pick it out all big and fluffy. Or braid it with beads on the ends that would sway when I walk. I haven't french braided any ones hair and could use the practice. Corn rows might be a nice touch. All of the above would cut down on the glare that is produced by my lack of tan.

Who decided women should shave their legs anyway? A man no doubt... If it had been a women she would have added a rule that required all men to trim their ear and nose hair daily or get pedicures and use hand moisturizer or something along those lines.

Of course their are some women that are willing to walk around au natural and let their leg fringe fly like giant tarantulas. Not really something anyone wants to see and hey if I can manage to find the time to make my legs look presentable so should you Legzilla.

Psychotic Psychic

I don't know whether or not I believe in psychics or not. I don't count them out all together but I'm waiting for one to blow me away with their astonishing accuracy that will remove so much doubt.

A good friend, Ash Smoke and I went to a psychic who was part of a charity event. I was blown away but not by his astonishing accuracy but instead by his bizarre comments and ridiculously corny sense of humour (yeah I know could be considered the pot calling the kettle black). The man was nuts. Nuts I tell you.

He was a bit of a cliche dressed all in black, clutching a chunk of crystal. I told Ash if he pulled out a crystal ball I was out of there. He gibber-gabbered about karma and past lives and how we choose everything that happens in our lives before we are even conceived - I doubt very much that unless I was a mental patient in a previous life that I chose a lot of things.

He talked about how when someone does something bad to you in this lifetime it is because you have done something bad to them and the only way to stop the cycle is to forgive the other person. There are a few people that have "done me wrong" that I will give a few more lifetimes and a few more bouts of revenge before I forgive them and stop the cycle.

At the end of this crazy man's spiel he left opportunity for each person to ask him 4 questions in a person one on one. Of course you could ask additional questions for the low, low price of $4 each. I had some trouble coming up with my 4 questions. Not because I was worried what this man would think of me if I asked certain questions - let's face it I was for once the sanest of the of us - but because I just could think of 4 things I wanted to know about my future.

I decided to ask if I would have another child. This is something I go back and forth on all the time. It pretty much only depends on the behaviour of my current 3 children at the time. The psychotic psychic said no, I would not have anymore children. Hmmmm ok.

I asked if I would continue on the same career path and he said yes. As soon as I get rid of a job that will be fine with me.

I asked if my children would be successful in life. He said yes they would all be productive members of society. Whewwww a weight lifted. I guess now I never have to worry about any of my boys ending up in prison or Parliament.

My last question was whether or not my mother and I would ever be able to repair our relationship. He said no but we would be civil. This is where we are now so I guess this is where we stay. I can live with that even if it is not ideal.

All in all this weirdo did nothing to increase my belief in psychics but it was interesting to hear his take on some things, a fun day with Ash and a few bucks towards Cancer research and treatment.

Bad, Bad Blogger

I've been a bad, bad blogger. String me up by my toes, tar and feather me, whatever (a little punishment could be fun ;)). In all fairness though I did warn my 2 readers I had in the beginning that I probably wouldn't be any good at this. I used to blog at night after all my baby bears where snug in their beds before I went to bed. These days that time is filled by my second job selling purses, jewelry and other fun girlie stuff.

I love blogging but it just doesn't seem to fit into my day like it did. I've had lots of things that have made me think "I'm going to blog about that" but never seemed to get a chance to sit down in front of the computer to make it happen. I've run into people who have said "you need to blog" or "I miss reading your blogs" and for those people I would love to have something for them. Maybe I could just call them up and tell them verbally while I pack lunches or input numbers into the computer for work? I'm a multi-tasker it could happen.

I do have a few things I really do need to share with my dwindling number of readers. A trip to a psychic among them. Rekindling old friendships. A good friend gone crazy. A dumb but beautiful dog. I'm definitely not lacking for topics just time.

Please come back and check for postings (I just had a mental picture of me hanging onto someones leg begging them not to leave their computer). I promise I'll try to post more often if time allows.

To Be Completed

Tomorrow I turn 29. 29 is one year off from the big dirty 30. This stresses me out a bit but really what can I do?

There is something I didn't know. I didn't know that there were published lists of things that one must do or complete before they reach the age of 30. I'm glad this was brought to my attention now while its not too late. An old friend of mine found a book with a good list of these such things that need completion. I told her I was going to borrow this list (not that it really belongs to her but from a book) so here it is:

The must complete list (from Swim Naked, Defy Gravity & 99 Other Essential Things to Accomplish Before Turning 30 by Colleen Rush)

1. Swim Naked (done and done)
2. Break all of your parents' arbitrary rules (I think I did a good job of this while I was still living in their house and supposed to be following those rules
3. Grow something (Kids count?)
4. Dump toxic friends (a few friends, a husband and a few toxic family members)
5. Speak a foreign language (grade 10 Spanish? Baby gabber?)
6. Buy a kick-ass mattress (I'm currently sleeping on a cloud in form of a mattress so I'm good)
7. Draw & frame a self-portrait (was forced to draw one in an art class but I'm not sure it is frame worthy)
8. Stop chronic over-apologizing (I don't think anyone has ever accused me of being an over-apologizer)
9. Create your own sisterhood (The Crazy Mama Society was just that)
10. Travel solo (looking forward to completing this since I doubt a trip to Walmart counts or at least I'm not letting it count)
11. Develop a plan B. (developed and executed
12. Know your friends' family tree (I think I know what I need to know. We live in a small town - everyone is related to everyone)
13. Embrace your inner eight-year-old (easy enough to do when you live with a 7 seven year old)
14. Read: Women's Bodies, Women's Wisdom by Christine Northrup M.D (I haven't really read much since the Twilight series so why not?)
15. Build a raging campfire (so done)
16. Make the first move (fat lot of good that did I ended up with X)
17. Know the other mouth-to-mouth (which is considered "the other" :))
18. Be your own muse (I think that I have been and am)
19. Master a signature family recipe (not a lot of choices here - Nana's ginger snaps,Grandma's cabbage salad, Mom's chili sauce?)
20. Quit something (quit smoking, quit X, quit biting my nails)
21. Find the perfect red lipstick (will work on this for sure)
22. Negotiate for something expensive (the only thing I have ever really negotiated for is a $5 item I purchased at a yard sale)
23. Google yourself (have in both senses...)
24. Hold your booze (I hold it in the bottle on the shelf. I know I can't hold it so I don't even bother)
25. Track down your best friend from kindergarten (she lives a few hours away with her husband and she plays in the dirt for a living :))
26. Masturbate (...)
27. Write a complaint letter (please see A Day at Dog Doo Park)
28. Claim your granny panties (I'm such a fan of granny-stay-where-I-damn-well-put-them panties)
29. Make brownies from scratch (scratch as in scooped from the bucket and heated in the oven right?)
30. Exorcise the words "like" and "you know" from your vocabulary (like, how am I supposed to do that? you know?)
31. Find your religion (probably not the religion that my grandmother had hoped but found never the less)
32. Write thank-you notes for everything (I am actually a pretty big fan of Thank you notes so I think I can write more)
33. Perfect your A.M. Stretch (done)
34. Declare your birthday a national holiday (always have. I have never worked on my birthday in all the years I have been employed)
35. Stock an emergency disaster kit (guess I found another one I need to get on top of)
36. Accept compliments (I started to do this after X)
37. Minimize pointless drama (I try I really do. I enjoy watching drama as long as I'm not a participant)
38. Unplug your TV for a while (for a long while my TV was rarely ever turned on)
39. Dye your hair an Outrageous color (hmmmmm Papa Bear would probably shoot me - he is pretty conservative)
40. Invest in seriously frivolous undies (done and worn once)
41. Own your mistakes (I do. I don't like to but I do.)
42. Take your hobby more seriously than your job (you have no idea)
43. Talk to strangers (I so do. Sometimes too much)
44. Get health insurance (just another reason its great to be Canadian)
45. Hook something high tech up by yourself (it was hooked up but it wasn't really pretty)
46. Live through a blind date (done)
47. Be a gracious guest (I try)
48. Escape creeps and kick criminal ass (the chance hasn't really arose so hopefully it does so I can complete this in the next year)
49. Invest in earplugs (I worked midnights for a while so I did)
50. Lose your virginity again (hahahaha)
51. Know your blood type (O positive... or maybe O negative...O something)
52. Confront someone who's done you wrong (done and it made my life better)
53. Walk in heels ( In My Red High Heels )
54. Write a body manifesto (I'm not likely to stick to it anyway)
55. Watch the sun rise and set on the same day by yourself (done)
56. Disagree out loud (I do this ALL the time)
57. Memorize your ring size (5)
58. Have a mantra (I have a few)
59. Research your family's medical history (lots of not so great stuff)
60. Do it somewhere risky (done)
61. Open a bottle of champagne (open it for someone else? I don't like the taste of it)
62. Make more money than you spend (pretty sure this isn't even possible)
63. Be a nudist for a day (done)
64. Adopt an awkward teenager (done)
65. Eat soy (done)
66. Dress for longevity (I don't typically buy anything that I can't get away with wearing for several years with very few exceptions that I almost alway regret later)
67. Kick one habit (smoking, X, nail biting)
68. Defy gravity done)
69. Own a cashmere sweater (scarf but no sweater...good reason to shop)
70. Use a great dermo (done)
71. Get over yourself (so done)
72. Sleep in a hammock (done)
73. Own a toolbox with all of the basics (I do and its pink)
74. Jettison your 'skinny' jeans (done)
75. Collect correspondence with friends (I have a file on my PC called "Letters from Australia" from the year my good friend spent there and sent emails on a regular basis)
76. Get a massage (done and so needs to be done again)
77. Memorize your favorite smells. Surround yourself with them (when I can smell more than coffee, peanut butter and dirty diapers)
78. Fall in love (or lust) without blowing off your friends (done just needed to use a do over)
79. Dub the "greatest hits" from your childhood (so done)
80. Care about where your food comes from (I care but I eat it anyway)
81. Fly first class (will have to fly to start with)
82. Cultivate your own style (done)
83. Carry something to read, a notebook, and a pen at all times (day planner?)
84. Forgive your parents (this is a tough one if nothing changes)
85. Be a dork (do I really need to work at this one?)
86. Stop slamming other women (we girls are terrible for this. Even those that say they don't do it sooooo do)
87. Get waxed down there (prefer to do my own landscaping but we shall see)
88. Adopt another motherland (?)
89. Tell someone your deepest darkest secret (I don't really have any I'm a pretty open book)
90. Make a killer cocktail (for someone else?)
91. Read your old diaries (done)
92. Tie a few knots (done)
93. Have your fortune told (going to do this for sure)
94. Cry often (spent too much time doing this)
95. Give yourself flowers (done)
96. Stop looking for a soul mate (done)
97. Give props to a teacher (done. Thanks Mr. M!)
98. Learn how not to be a flake (I think done?)
99. Give yourself a make-under (make under? there is an under to this?)
100. Be notorious for something (done)
101. Bounce back (SOOOOOO done)

It seems I have a pretty good handle of most of the list. I think I should be OK with a year to complete the rest. I'm not in as bad of shape as I had thought

Stain Strain

It's no secret that I am not a big fan of laundry. I'm pretty sure there aren't a lot of people that are fans of laundry. What do I dislike more than doing laundry? Doing the same laundry more than once to get it clean.

I have 3 boys. Stains have a major presence in my life. I probably should have invested in stocks in Spray & Wash a long time ago. Lord knows I go through the stuff like it is going out of style. A regular sized bottle barely gets me through more than a week.

Little Bear isn't too hard on his shirts. He hits his mouth (or the floor) with his food most of the time and saving his tops. He doesn't however, ever have a single pair of pants in the laundry that don't have grass stains. I don't think that boy actually walks on his feet. I think he crawls everywhere.

Fuzzy is a very effective stainer. He never does it half-assed. If he stains a shirt it won't be a little spot around the neckline or anything simple like that. Nooooo he will completely change to colour of the entire front of a shirt resulting in multiply washes and reapplying of stain remover. He is relatively new to grass stains but let me tell you, like his tops he goes all out. I'm thinking of just buying him only green pants from here on out.

Wee One is 1.5. It is expected that he make a mess of his shirt. He does not wear white. Period. Wee One is a toddler. He toddles. When one toddles they also topple quite often which contributes to the stain count. The problem with treating Wee Ones stains is that the grass stains are not specific to the knees of his pants but also the cuffs and most of the backside. Since he has taken to thinking he is a big boy and can use the big boy slide on the climber he has also started to grass stain his shirts. I guess it happens when you do a face plant at the bottom 4 out of 5 times. Doesn't seem to faze him because he keeps doing it regardless of Papa Bear and I's discouragement.

Half the stains I end up having to treat multiple times are acquired when my boys are not with me. Daycare is a great source for stains but I expect that and so Fuzzy wears a lot of black, brown and navy there. I can measure fun by the number of stains he comes home from daycare with. Little Bear collects a lot of stains at school. Also expected. Some from Grandmas and some from X's and a good portion from when I'm working through dinner and Papa Bear is in charge at meal time. When Mama is home we eat just about anything red shirtless...well they do, I don't. Ok well sometimes I do but only when I'm dining alone.

I find myself getting mad at the stains. "Why won't you just come out!?" My boys jeans are half worn out by the time I've washed them enough times to get the stains out. It doesn't seem to matter which stain remover I try either. I have tried everything and Spray & Wash kicks butt on grass stains so that's usually what I'm packing.

Now you will have to excuse me I need to go change half the load of laundry over to the dryer and respray and rewash the other half...

Fuzzy Needs An Exorcist

Last night I witnessed something I have never seen before. I picked Little Bear and Fuzzy up from X's in the late afternoon. When I we left X's building I noticed that Fuzzy had a devilish look in his eye. Not completely out of the normal but I had no idea that it was a warning for what was to come.

Shortly into our 45 minute ride home Fuzzy began kicking the back of my seat. Not just kicking but booting it will all his might might be more accurate until I finally had enough and pulled over and moved his seat as far back as it would go and mine as far up as I could stand. Just as we were turning onto our road Fuzzy started to say over and over "I don't wanna go home"
"Well where would you like to go then?"
"I don't know"
"Super, well in the meantime we are going home"
He continued still as we pulled into our driveway where he refused to get out of the van.

I am not someone that will waste my time trying to coax or reason with a 3 and half year old. After a really busy weekend and a day of work I didn't really have an abundance of patients at this point either so I left him in the van and headed for the house with Little Bear. I figured the minute he realized I wasn't playing and was leaving him he would no doubt be right at my side going into the house like has happened a time or 2 before but no. The little stinker just stood in the van glaring at the house. 15 minutes later he still hadn't shown any signs of resigning and I was getting tired of spying from the house instead of eating my dinner so I went to get him. This ended in me carrying him under one arm screaming and kicking and his boots that he refused to put back on in my other hand.

Once in the house my sweet little Fuzzy turned into that girl from The Exorcist. He screamed and growled and kicked and spit and drooled and practically foamed at the mouth. I was pretty sure that at same point his head was indeed going to spin around backwards and we were going to be looking for a priest to save him. This went on and on accompanied by whipping toys, kicking the floor, bed, wall, door in his bedroom and just having a full fledged freak out.

I was seeing a side of Fuzzy I have never seen before in all of his 3 and a half years and that I hope I never see again anytime soon. He eventually peed his pants and was then forced to calm himself enough to get his wet clothes off just to start again and protest the pajamas I was trying to wrangle him into. Finally he decided to take one of the options that I laid out for him. He could sit quietly and eat his supper or he could take his hissy fit to bed for the night. He chose to eat his supper and instantly transformed back into my little boy.

I have seen a few moods swing but holy crap this was a bit ridiculous especially for a 3 and a half year old who is typically easy to get along with.

The Good Ol Hockey Game

For his birthday this year I bought Papa Bear 2 tickets to see his favourite hockey team, the Detroit Red Wings play in Detroit. Originally the ticket were bought for Papa Bear to take a friend to the game. I didn't really think this through because Papa Bear happens to have 2 best friends (twins). He didn't want to choose between them so instead decide he would like me to go with him (yay...). Lesson learned, next time I will be purchase 3 tickets and they can go as a 3 some (not that kind of 3 some, get your mind out of the gutter).

Not only is attending hockey games not really my thing but the game date just happened to fall on the night that the clocks spring ahead and I also qualified to bowl in a bowling tournament out of town the next morning (which came an hour earlier). Papa Bear is lucky I love him let me tell you.

We started our evening out stuck on a smelly, fully loaded bus making our way through the Windsor Detroit underwater tunnel to the USA for an hour. Normally this trip is a 5 minute trip... Around the half way point one of the guys squished into the back of the bus says out loud "I really have to fart. I was trying to hold it in but this is taking too long and I can't hold it in any longer" and then he did. When we arrived at Cobo Centre we were already late for the game as the bus load of people walked briskly/ran for the arena. Oh, did I mention that it was pouring rain? It was pouring rain. We got to our - well not OUR seats (our seats were occupied by butts that didn't belong to us) but close to our seats about 10 minutes into the first period - and 3 goals... The Wings were ahead so it was fine.

About 2 seconds after we sat down I discovered that sitting behind me and slightly to my left was one of those super loud fans that screams at both teams all through the game at the top of his lungs. We will call him Southern Hick since he and his wife had a nice southern drawl to their screams. Just freaking great. By about the middle of the second period not only was I deaf in my left ear but the left sleeve of my jacket was also damp from all the saliva that was flyng from this loud mouth's yap when he yelled. Thanks SH!

At some one point during the game a player from the opposing team was given a penalty for "hooking" to which SH responded loudly (in my ear and all over my sleeve), "your mother is a hooker!" and then turned to Mrs. SH and asked "did I just say that?"
"Yaw, you did"
"Sorry dear"
Oh my.

SH couldn't just join his fellow Red Wings fans in chanting "let's go Red Wings, let's go". Nooooo while they chanted that he felt the need to fill in the words "Sabers suck!" loudly (in my ear and all over my sleeve). Apparently SH thinks that every single shot the players took was supposed to land in the net because he was some ticked off that they weren't. As if he were handed a pair of skates and a stick he would simply waltz out there and show them how it was done. Seriously buddy chill! I'm all for CHEERING on your team but this dude was seriously getting on my last nerve.

Finally after a tied game resulting in overtime, Papa Bear's team won the game and it was time to do a mad dash back out in the rain to the bus for the trip back to "our home and native land". Again on a smelly, full bus but for a much quicker ride back.

I'm glad Papa Bear enjoyed the game and that his team won but I'm definitely buying 3 tickets next time or Papa Bear is getting a sweater for his birthday next year.

SlightlyInsane to CompletelyInsane

I'm pretty sure in the last month I have gone from SlightlyInsaneStacey to CompletelyInsaneStacey. Life seems to be coming at me full speed and I'm just trying not to swallow any flies.

The blog has totally been neglected due to the craziness that is our life and I do feel bad about that because not only do I have devoted readers and a sudden rush of SITS visitors but it is also enjoyable for me. A sort of therapy to relieve the stress.

I've been busy. Busy throwing Little Bear's 7th birthday party. Nothing more fun than a group of 7ish year olds trying to bowl like the pros. They had fun though and that was the goal. Highlights include being asked if I could make a good tasting cake next time(first attempt at fondant icing = fail). It looked beautiful, tasted like crap. Another would be when I was reminded that one child routinely pukes during almost every meal and she did not disappoint. Lots of fun. Oh and on the way home I saw a dead raccoon on the side of the road wearing a party hat.

I've been busy starting a second job. Doing home parties selling purses, jewellery, scarves and other girlie things. I love it and since coffee slinging isn't paying the bills these days it is nice that I can do something I am having fun with to contribute more and make the same amount but with less hours as the coffee slinging.

Papa Bear and I have been busy planning and shopping for our new addition to our house. I'm looking forward to doubling the size of our home but not the whole construction thing. Doubling up 2 of the boys is not something I am looking forward to at all. Not even pretty, fancy bathroom facets or an extra bedroom can smooth that stress. A walk in closet comes close though. It seems almost everyday there is a message on the machine from some contractor/plumber/electrician/build something guy. At this point I am pretty sure this addition is going to be beautiful on the inside and hideous on the outside. I guess I will just have to close my eyes when I pull into the driveway.

I've also been busy trying (again and still) to potty train the untrainable Fuzzy. I hate cleaning crap out of underwear even more than dirty diapers. I don't understand how he can be dry for 9 hours of daycare and then be home for an hour and go through 3 pairs of underwear. What did he do store it all day? Thanks Fuzzy but you can leave a deposit at daycare thanks.

Hopefully life will slow down a bit soon. Until then I guess we will just have to roll with it. Busy is far better than boring and boring just isn't my thing.

Older and Wiser?

Today I was retelling an old tale that I thought maybe my blog readers might enjoy.

It happened last year around this time when the river that runs behind our farm became jammed with ice resulting in the river running over its banks in many places. One of the places that it ran over was in the back of our field which then froze and provided a nice little patch of ice to skate on (for a couple of days) before we eventually decided to make our own rink closer to the house (another tale that should be retold).

I used to figure skate. I started at about age 6 which is considered old to start and so my Olympic dreams where already about 3 years behind my peers when I started. Never the less I loved to skate and continued to do so in some capacity up until the point that I became pregnant with Little Bear.

When the ice rink formed in the back field I thought this was an excellent opportunity to strap on the ol' blades and revisit the sport I enjoyed for years (Papa Bear and I have some argument about whether or not it is actually a sport - we won't go there).

The first obstacle that I came across was that both pairs of skates that I own seem to have shrunk? No, that's not right but they sure as heck didn't fit well at all. Oh well I bucked up and tied them up anyway. No pain, no gain right? More like no pain, no blisters but either way I sucked it up. The second obstacle was that my skates had not been sharpened in over 6 years, also a problem but not enough to stop me.

It was a pretty shaky start but eventually it got a little easier and I felt pretty good skating around in circles and testing edges with ease. Stopping resulted in a few near falls but I felt great. So great that I thought what the heck lets try something bigger. I started with a few really simple jumps that didn't require much skill and when they were successfully executed I got a little cocky and decided to go BIGGER. That is where the trouble started.

It was a pretty basic jump (which I am not going to mention the name of because of how basic it is and so it would be that much more embarrassing). I entered the jump not too badly. Even the take off was not terrible but the landing, well the landing didn't really exist. Instead I ended up flat on my back staring up at the sky. I remember laying there and can clearly recall the fluffy white clouds floating in a blue-grey sky. I remember laying there unsure whether or not I was capable of getting up as my body reminded me I was not 18 anymore.

I remember laying there thinking: I hope nobody drove by at that particular time that I made my failed attempt. I have to get up but just not quite yet. If my mother in law looks out her kitchen window right now and sees me laying here like this she is going to panic and think that I am hurt (or possibly dead) and send someone out here. I have to get up.

So I gathered myself (and my dignity) and picked my poor aching body up off the cold ice and stood there for a second thinking about what an idiot I was for trying to launch my older, larger, wimpier body into the air. Was I nuts? Older and wiser? - I think not!

The rest of my skating for the rest of the winter kept both my feet on the ground (except when my butt was). I don't think I will be attempting anything that crazy again at least until I have removed some of the obstacles such as getting skates that fit better and that have nice sharp blades. For now I will have to settle for watching others hurl themselves into skating jumps on TV from the safety of my couch.

Surviving Chesty's Driving

Have you ever been in a vehicle with a straight up wild, crazy, bad (not so much bad as ummmm....manic) driver? I have and her name is Chesty McBreasty (OK, that's not really her name but it is her well deserved alias). She's nuts.

I recently traveled to a meeting an hour and a half or so from home with Chesty. If you follow the blog you know I am a Freak Behind The Wheel and will not/can not drive in busy traffic so my only other choices were to not go or endure Chesty's driving. I know from past experiences that Chesty's driving is not a smooth ride so the thought of taking a Graval before leaving popped into my head almost immediately.

While I am very, very grateful to Chesty for driving I have to say that I am pretty sure I had a brush with death during that round trip.

It started out not too bad with just the usual last minute stops and fast corners and from there got more and more interesting. On the way to the highway a very brave raccoon decided to cross Chesty's path and scampered across the road and actually made it safely to the other side. It must have been his lucky day.

It was when we entered the highway that Chesty's little pink (yes, pink)and black Neon became a little pink and black rocket as she sped through the lanes of traffic. Surprisingly this was the most relaxing part of the trip.

We arrived at our destination in one piece. The ride back was a lot more interesting.

I became the designated texter (thankfully) and had the job of reporting our whereabouts to Mr. Mad-face (also known as Chesty's husband) and our estimated time of arrival back at home. All was fine until Chesty decided it was a good idea to talk to her mother on her cell at the same time as drive. She should know from past experiences that she is not fully capable of driving and talking and doing so usually ends up in a ticket for failing to stop at a red light or stop sign.

The talk and drive resulted in Chesty almost missing our turn off and pulling a super wide frightening crazy turn which thankfully she was able to barely keep out of the path of an oncoming transport truck. I'm pretty sure that little pink hot rod was up on 2 wheels at some point.

Back in town, we had one more stop to make before bidding ado and heading our separate ways. A block from that last stop there was a stop sign that Chesty SLOWED at and while looking around at her surroundings stomped back on the accelerator without noticing the poor kitty trying to make his way across the street. RUN KITTY! I'm pretty sure he used up one of his 9 lives right there and was probably searching for the nearest litter box (I know I was).

In the end my nerves were frazzled. My pants were slightly soiled (not really but close) and my heart had stopped a total of half a dozen times but I was still alive and kicking. Really when I think about it, it was really just one really long roller coaster without a track and I love roller coasters! I had survived Chesty's driving - Let's do it again!

Mama Long Legs

I have long legs, like really long legs. Long legs are great for all kinds of things. They give me extra height (so I can reach things on the top shelf in my kitchen cabinets) and help to make me appear thinner (always a good thing). They look great with high heels (now that I can walk in them) and look nicer with capris (though my legs are long they are very skinny and chickeny so shorts are out of the question). They are not however great or good for one thing for this Mama Long Legs and that is buying pants.

Who gets to decide what is considered average leg length? A midget (sorry, little person to be politically correct)? Have they lost sight of the fact that pants can be hemmed but they can not be lengthened? Short people get petite sizing which is available just about anywhere and the rest of us get average. I know there are tall sizes but you can’t just walk into your local Walmart and find them and when you do find them they are usual higher priced. What’s the deal with that? They make shorter pants so shrimps don’t have to pay to have their pants tailored but I have to pay more if I want pants to fit.

I’m cheap. I mean frugal so I don’t spend a lot on my clothes (which may or may not be obvious by my wardrobe). Most of my apparel was purchased at the Walmart Boutique where I frequently shop. I have 4 pairs of jeans that I have purchased there and all of them supposedly the same size. They all fit when I tried them on in the change room (where on one trip Fuzzy was adamant that he was going to eat a mint he found on the floor). However, only one pair fits after a trip through the dryer. None of them are the same length, not one pair. They all say on the tag that they are the same but in reality that is a big fat lie.

One pair is just completely out of question for me to wear in public. My ankles are cold when I wear them so, with a big roll of the hem they have become a pair of capris and now belong in my summer wardrobe. Two of the other pairs are close to the same length, neither of which are the proper length to wear with any kind of shoes and therefore I’m not comfortable sitting down while wearing them especially if my routine leg shaving has been neglected for a few days or if my socks don’t match (it happens. In fact it has happened today). The fourth pair are great and even long enough to wear with a pair of low heels. Unfortunately I have not been able to find a pair that long since for under $25.

Then at Christmas time my mother in law bought me some long sleeve shirts from a higher class boutique (higher class than Walmart anyway) that where unfortunately too short in the sleeves. (I have freakishly long arms to match my long legs making it difficult to buy long sleeved shirts as well). When I took the shirts back I was given a store credit. I went directly to the jeans. They didn’t really have a lot to choose from and a lot of what they did have was kind of…grandma-ish and then I picked up a crazy long pair that looked like something a person in their (late) twenties could wear.

When I put them I didn’t know if the pant legs actually had an end they were so incredibly long. Impressed, I did the regular check. Ass looks good, check. Waist does not create a muffin top (the roll of fat that falls over the top of a pair of pants that don’t fit properly in the waist and makes you look the same shape as a muffin), check. There was no need to check the length to make sure I wasn’t waiting for heavy rains since I was standing on the pant legs. Since I was using my store credit I only briefly glanced at the price tag - $95 reduced to $55. Holy crap! Thank god for Christmas gifts that don’t fit!

After a trip to the tailor – yes the freaking tailor – Mama Long Legs has a pair of jeans that fit just like I like them in the length and my super long fabulous jeans where ready to be worn like nobody’s business. I have never in my life had to have a pair of pants hemmed until now and it is great to be able to pick how long I want my pants. I am now so envious of short legged people who get to enjoy this luxury on a regular basis. I want pants that are too long from now on. If anyone knows where I can get some (cheap) let me know.

Stoup's On

I am a big fan of soup. I like most soups with the exception of just about any soup with noodles. Noodles belong on a plate and for me that's where they shall stay not in my bowl of steamy, delicious soup. I am a fan of soup but have never made my own unless you count the soup I prepare with help from the people at Campbell's or at the Donut Shack where I add the water. Papa Bear must have been feeling in a festive mood or something and decided to make a turkey for dinner the other night and I thought it was a great opportunity to make some fresh, homemade turkey soup.

I didn't know to make turkey soup so I Googled it like I do everything I don't know. I swear I have learned more by Googling than I ever did in school. The results of my Google search were some fantastic sounding recipes but included all kinds of herbs and spices that I do not stock in my very limited pantry. So what do you do when you need some help? Ask for it in a Facebook status of course. I asked and I received some guidance from an old friend.

I wasn't about to call Papa Bear with a grocery list of things like garlic cloves, bay leaves and thyme to pick up on his way home but carrots and onions he can manage so I called his cell phone that rang from the china cabinet behind me... Thankfully Papa Bear is in the habit of calling before he leaves work to see if we need anything. What a good Papa Bear :).

While I waited for Papa Bear to arrive with the rest of my ingredients I started at tearing the turkey carcass apart. For some reason I find turkey joints and tendants really creepy and found myself with a case of heebie jeebies (as my Nana says). Just gross. I'm sure I'm not all that beautiful under my skin but eww.

In no time my house smelled of the delicious smelling concoction even though it looked like swamp water. The broth production was a very successful operation so I strained and chopped up my veggies. I don't really care for dark turkey meat nor does anyone else in the Bear family so I kept a little bit of it in the pot but the dogs got the majority of it. I'm sure they are both going to sleep in their little doggy houses with big smiles on their faces tonight.

The tough decision for the soup was barley, rice or pasta. I already expressed my dislike for noodles in my soup but Papa Bear is pro noodle and tried his best to sway me to the noodle side. The barley I thought was in the cupboard was not so rice won the spot in the soup. Now, deciding how much rice to add is a hard call and I really like rice but I did know that it would absorb the broth and only added 3/4 of a cup. That would turn out to be a poor choice and a big over estimate. Shortly after I started to cook the soup again with the rice and veggies included I looked in the pot to no longer find soup but instead what will be referred to as stoup - not soup, not quite stew but somewhere in between.

Blah Monday...

Monday strikes again! My day probably wouldn't have been so bad if I had gone to bed at a decent time (a decent time being before 1:30am) and if it didn't rain most of the day.

I was awoken at a little after 6am to the sound of my text message alert sounding from my cell phone charging in the kitchen. To prevent the rest of the house being disturbed at such an early hour I did a mad dash to the kitchen tripping over miscellaneous toys along the way. The message was from Papa Bear telling me that the school bus was cancelled...something I could have waited until the alarm clock went off in 45 minutes to find out...

The bus was cancelled due to fog. Fog? I looked out the window and across the fields and beyond. Fog? Not in my world but OK. The bus being cancelled is not the end of the world it just means some juggling of our morning routine and I am definitely going to be late for work (not that big a deal to me at all).

I tried to fall back to sleep but since that didn't seem to be happening I decided to boot up the computer instead. I subscribe to the bus information site and it is supposed to send me emails to let me know when the bus is cancelled or delayed. This morning I got 3 different emails. 1 to say the buses were running. Then, 1 to say that they were cancelled and then 1 to say that they were cancelled for elementary schools and delayed for 2 hours for secondary schools which leads me to believe that the people that are in charge of my sons transportation to school are morons. Not only do they see invisible fog but THEY don't even seem to know if the bus is running or not.

Of course the boys were in Monday mode too and none of them wanted to get up this morning and 2 out of 3 decided that the first thing they needed to do this morning was crap their pants (just to clarify that would be the unpotty-trainable 3 year old and my 1.5 year old - not my 6 year old). When they were all cleaned up and dressed they proceeded to fight and bicker for the next while as I tried to get backpacks ready and locate missing boots and mittens.

Finally Wee One was picked up by my father in law and Little Bear, Fuzzy and I were headed to the school which just happens to be almost 20 minutes in the opposite direction of the daycare and the Donut Shack. Little Bear dropped at school, Fuzzy to daycare and my breakfast of Nutrigrain bars and Crystal Light consumed I arrived at the Donut Shack. I arrived to find I was working with 1 of my least favourite people today. Oh well whatever, I'll survive.

I spent the day working a less than desirable job that made the clock stop moving. All day I looked at the stupid thing that seemed to be laughing at me from way up there on the wall above us all tick, tick, ticking away without ever getting any farther ahead. It seems I was not the only one with a case of the Mondays since customers seemed to be in fine form today also. My day was full conversations similar to the following:
"Welcome to the Donut Shack can I take your order?"
"Give me a green tea with milk"
"What size would you like?"
"Green tea with milk"
"What size would you like?"
"Ggggreeeeennn teeeeeeaaa with millllllk" (you know because they think I am the moron in this situation...)
"So large?"
Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

It wasn't the worst Monday to date but it definitely wasn't great. Just blah. Again I find myself thankful Mondays only come around once a week.

Bejeweled

Freaking Bejeweled. If you don't know what Bejeweled is it is a highly addictive puzzle game most often played online. By highly addictive I mean will take over all your extra seconds of your existence. I hate this silly game. By hate I mean I love it oh so very much, so much that if it were a man I would offer to marry it and have it's babies.

Every night I sit down at my trusty laptop and plan to entertain you with a humorous and witty post but usually decide to just play 1 or 2...or 3..or 4...or 5 games of Bejeweled and before I know it I have lost hours. The game is only 1 minute long and I lose hours!

As if the addiction wasn't bad enough I play on Facebook so it gives you a list up the side of all my friends' scores. If one of my friends has a higher score I can't stop until I have beaten their score and again rein at the top of the leader board. Bejeweled on Facebook also erases the scores every Tuesday afternoon and the competition starts again so regardless of how amazingly high my score is it only secures my top position (not that top position) for a week at the most.

Someone else I know that suffered from a Bejeweled addiction once said to me that when she looks at peoples' faces she wants to move their nose up between their eyes to complete a line. I get it KL,I get it! I Bejewel in the morning, I Bejewel in the afternoon, I Bejewel in the evening and underneath the moon.

Right now I am Bejeweling between paragraphs. What is wrong with me (just a note there is not enough room in the comment section for any of you to actually try to answer that question so please don't bother). I'm sure all my online friends think that I have super slow Internet because I don't answer their instant messages right away when in reality I am Bejeweling between messages and there is no way I'm going to answer them before the full minute of the game is up.

I need help (for lots of things but in this case I am only expressing my need for help with my Bejeweled addiction). At this point my Bejeweled play time out weighs my blogging time and is slowing down my recent cleaning, sorting, purging spree. It is my crack. My name is SlightlyInsaneStacey and I am Bejeweled.

Bitten By A Dust Bunny?

I must be ill. Perhaps I have been bitten by a dust bunny. They run rampant here and can be quite vicious. That is the only explanation for what has been going on at my house for the last 96 hours or so. I, SlightlyInsaneStacey have been doing lots and lots and lots of housework.

You may be thinking, big freaking deal but if you know me or have been reading my blog for any amount of time you know that housework is my enemy. I hate it. I would rather walk on hot coals than scrub a floor or dust a ceiling fan. Don't get me wrong, I would love to have a clean house and might actually have one if I had decided to remain single and childless.

My house would be spotless if Papa Bear helped out with the cleaning more and...the kids moved out.

Little Bear should not have had 1.5 loads of his own dirty clothes the other day when I decided it was time to once again for Climbing Mt. Laundry and Papa Bear had not had 2. I think I did almost 10 loads of laundry including bedding and towels. Far too many in my opinion.

I cleaned my bedroom yesterday. It seems to teenagerish to say that but I did. There are no longer any toys left in my bedroom. It is officially back to being and adult room. It seems so much bigger without the unfolded baskets of clean clothes and the over flowing hampers of dirty ones.

In the last few days I (finally) accepted that I have far too many clothes for my 3 little bears and that I had to let some go. I want to keep it all. Between the 3 boys I have collected enough clothes to clothe 30 little boys. I did a huge (well huge for me) purge of all the baby clothes that I decided I didn't need to keep for the next baby (yes, next baby - I am nuts) and settled with one large tote of everything from birth-24 months. I also went through the totes I had already packed of clothes that are between the sizes my boys are wearing and downsized them too. All in all I got rid of the equivalent of about 3 garbage bags of clothes. A success in my book.

Today I tackled scrubbing floors. Not an easy task when there are 3 sets of feet running all over then or little hands stealing clothes. I managed to get done my bedroom floor, the front entrance way (that no one ever enters through) and the kitchen (the worst of all the floors in our entire house to keep clean). 2.5 out of 10 rooms isn't bad...right? I guess that will be my goal to complete before I run out of this burst of Martha Stewartness.

It should be interesting to see how all my hard work will look when I get home from a full day of work after Papa Bear is here with the 3 boys all day. I told him he should take them for a very, very long drive so they are out all day and don't have a chance to mess the house up.

This Little Piggy Freaks Me Out

Feet are probably the cutest part of a baby's body...and the grossest of an adults. How is that possible? With age grows creepiness when it comes to feet I guess.

Feet gross me out. I have a hard enough time trimming my own toenails that it makes it even more difficult to trim the toenails of the 3 little bears. Wee One's are not too bad. His feet are still pudgy and cute and kissable. Fuzzy's are still not terrible. The problem with him is trying to get him to sit still long enough to clip all 10.

Little Bear on the other hand is a bit of a challenge. He's not a baby. He's a smelly little boy. The last time I had to prepared myself mentally for the job ahead. I was only touching fresh from the bath feet so when he got out of the tub I got ready just to find that his nails where nice and trim already? "I cut them myself" he told me.
"You used the nail clippers by yourself?" I asked, trying to picture him in all his awkward, lack of coordination with a pair of nail clippers.
"No, I used my teeth" was his response.
Eww. Just freaking eww. Pardon me while I choke down the vomit rising up my throat.

Adult feet are just gross. I can't even think of any other word to describe them. They almost always have hair on them and the toes are big and creepy. Then there are the people that make me a little bit afraid of feet. I'm talking about the people that think it is attractive to grow their toenails out nice and long. Not attractive. Not attractive at all. Who are you Toe-verine? A Saber Toed Tiger? Frightening.

My feet are not exempt from the grossness. In fact I have horrible ugly feet. They are long and skinny. My second toe is longer than the rest. I have a bunion on my right foot and spurs on my heels from years of figure skating. They are terrible and why I pass up a lot of very adorable open toed shoes. Another reason why I would trade sandal wearing summer for fabulous foot hiding boot weather of winter in a heart beat.

To think some people actually have foot fetishes. Nasty. I think feet should be kept covered up. Socks, slippers, shoes, or boots I don't care but cover those things up.

Finders Keepers

I lose things. I lose things a lot. Clothing (not usually the in the "Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off" kind of way), important papers, receipts that I'm supposed to keep, those little cards they give you at the doctors or dentist office to remind you of the date and time of your next appointment, all kinds of things.

On Friday I lost my keys...all of them. The key to the Magic Pumpkin, the 2ND key to Papa Bear's truck, my house key, all of them. I had them when I got home from taking Wee One to the doctor's office but then couldn't find them later when it was time to take Little Bear and Fuzzy to X's. I didn't really have time to worry about it Friday night. I looked in a few places but didn't really put a lot of effort into the hunt. Papa Bear has the 2ND key to the Magic Pumpkin so it was OK. I was just going to look for them later.

Saturday morning Papa Bear and I searched for the lost keys. I still don't know how I managed to lose a key ring containing 2 very large vehicle keys (Dodge, really? I don't think this would have happened if I could fit my keys in my jean pocket), a tiny swiss army knife, and a couple of big key chains all hooked onto a lanyard (you know those long strings similar to what "latch key kids" wore around their neck in Elementary school) but I did.

We searched the snowy yard around the van (which my Father in law was nice enough to plow - making the search that more interesting). The Saturday search still did not result in the keys being found but it did result in Papa Bear leaving the side door to the van open and causing me a stressful Sunday morning when it was time to leave for work shortly after 7 a.m. with a vehicle that didn't want to start...

Papa Bear continued to look for the lost keys while I worked and when Little Bear and Fuzzy got home from X's he interrogated them. We were still coming up empty and I had submitted to the fact that the keys were indeed gone. Luckily for me I had purchased the key replacement package on the Magic Pumpkin and just needed to call the dealership for a new $250 key but I would have to pay for Papa Bear's replacement. I planned to call the dealership when I got home from work today.

However, when I got home from work, there on the key hook where I normally keep my keys was the familiar string and bundle of keys. Yay! Papa Bear found my keys....in the dog's house?! That little thief had taken them for her own. What the heck did she plan to do with them? Take the van for a cruise? Have a tailgate party with all her doggy friends with Papa Bear's truck? Throw a party while we were out? Do her laundry? Really? What would possess her to drag them to the other side of the yard and hide them? Did she think we were going to let her keep them? Thank goodness she didn't decide just to floss with them.

I guess I know where to look for things first from now on. I wonder if she has anything else stashed in there? Maybe that's where the mismatched sock mates go. Or Wee Ones missing shoe? The dozens of mittens we have already lost this winter? This is not finders keeper Roxy, keep your doggy paws off my stuff!

Calling All Tooth Fairies

Calling all Tooth Fairies! Can we get together please to discuss our costs? Could we please come to some sort of agreement of what is fair price for teeth? Can there please be some consistency across the board?

When Little Bear lost his first tooth, the Tooth Fairy was completely stumped. How much money am I supposed to leave for a single tooth? There doesn't seem to be any standard for which to follow. Certainly teeth are subject to inflation like anything else right? I'm sure I'm supposed to leave more than the quarter I used to get. The most I ever received for one of my pearly whites was 1 dollar and I think that was the very last one to leave my mouth.

I asked some friends who's responses varied from a dollar a tooth to 5 dollars a tooth. 5 dollars a tooth?! Oh, how many more Bottle Cap candies and Wacky Taffy I could have bought if the Tooth Fairy had left me 5 dollars for each of my teeth. I could have consumed so much more sugar, which in return would have sped up her business. I'm thinking my Tooth Fairy was not very business savvy.

There was no way I was leaving 5 freaking dollars for Little Bear every time he lost a tooth. How many teeth do they have in there anyway? Probably like a trip to the grocery store worth at 5 mutha lovin' dollars a piece. Finally I decided that the Tooth Fairy should leave Little Bear 5 dollars for his FIRST tooth and a nice little note explaining that he was receiving a little extra only because it was his first tooth and any subsequent teeth would bring in only 1 dollar each.

I thought that was fair and Little Bear seemed happy with the agreement... That was until he came home from school one day and tells me that Little Miss Sally Stir-the-shit told him that the Tooth Fairy leaves 5 dollars for every one of her teeth. S#@* Sally, what the hell?!

How can I explain to Little Bear that his teeth are worth less than Sally's because his Tooth Fairy's only other income is a part time, minimum wage paying coffee pouring gig?

So, it is at this time that I really would like to call a meeting for all us Tooth Fairies to get together for a Tooth Fairy conference of sort and make guidelines so that some other up and coming Fairies don't have to deal with a Sally Stir-the-shit?

Bedtime Battleground

If you follow my blog you have already read about my bedtime woes with Fuzzy. Little Bear and Wee One have rarely been a problem at bedtime - until now... Our house turns into a battle ground at bedtime and I'm on the losing side.

Wee One used to go to bed not too badly all snuggled into his crib where he would stay. He would wake a couple of times at night during the course of a week. Usually a hug and a kiss and back in the crib and he was good. That all changed when he learned he could escape his crib. Once he discovered his new found freedom there was no keeping him in bed so when I bought Fuzzy a new regular sized twin bed we took the crib down and Wee One inherited the blue toddler sized race car bed. I swear that bed is cursed.

Since moving to his new bed Wee One has been a challenge at bedtime. The only way we can even keep him in his bedroom is to put a baby gate up at the doorway. He's fine with that except that he repeatedly throws his bestest buddy without whom he does not sleep, Froggy, over the gate and then wants him retrieved. This game goes on and on until he decides he's had enough and finally takes Froggy to bed. You can almost guarantee that is not the last you will hear from Wee One. We will be spending some more time together during the course of the night when the only way he will go back to sleep is if one of us lays with him (in the toddler sized race car bed). I have to say it is quite a sight to see Papa Bear in there with his arms and legs hanging over the edges in every direction.

Little Bear has always been a saint when it comes to bedtime. The best sleeper of the bunch. You could put him to bed at 7:30 and he would be asleep by 7:35 and sleep through until he had to be waken for school in the morning. Little Bear also has a new bed. We said goodbye to our space hogging bunk beds with built in dresser and desk and replaced it with a very handsome double sized sleigh bed. I don't know if it was too much effort to get in and out of bed when he was sleeping on the top bunk or what but now that he is closer to the ground he is in and out a dozen times. The nice thing is once he finally stays put and goes to sleep he is there for the night and you won't hear a peep from him until morning.

Fuzzy, oh Fuzzy. Fuzzy was doing really well since getting his new bed. He definitely stays in the new bed better but not with his eyes closed. Last night he was bright eyed and bushy tailed from 2:00am until (at least) 4:30 when I brought him to bed with me. I apparently passed out before him because this morning when I said "Oh, Fuzzy, Mommy is so tired. I need some sleep"
he said "you did sleep, I touched you".
"You poked me while I was sleeping?"
"Yep and you go *closes eyes and makes snoring sound*".
He didn't get up for daycare very easily this morning mind you. The daycare said he napped really well today...yeah I bet he did...

Seriously between Wee One refusing to go to sleep, Fuzzy's early morning rising and a very busy day at the Donut Shack I am one beat mama. I am seriously thinking about getting that little blue toddler race car bed the heck out of here and praying that things get better soon.