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.