I thought you were kidding.....

Well life has been extremely busy since my last post. Basketball and volleyball seasons have come to an end. I was a proud mom at the Athletic Awards banquet when Dom was awarded the MVP for junior boys volleyball and Jessica was voted most improved in senior girls basketball.

Soccer and baseball are under way, but they too are winding down. Tonight we had baseball at 5:30 and soccer at 7pm. After driving to and from I was able to sit and watch my daughter Nicki play some soccer. It was a beautiful evening and I didn't need my sleeping back to snuggle in to watch a game. Anyone who lives here with kids who play know what I am referring to. Soccer and baseball are typically played with blowing Arctic winds and you have to bundle up.

Anyway, Nicki had a breakaway and scored a fabulous goal. I was so happy I was paying attention and not gabbing when it happened. I saw the whole thing. At the end of the game she says, "Can we go to DQ?" Of course after her fabulous play and the fact that it was 26 C out, I said sure. I did not bring any treats for any of the 4 boys/men who were possibly at home. It was too hot and they would have been a mess by the time we got there is my rational reason for not doing so.

A small DQ blizzard is usually consumed in the 15 minute drive home. As we neared home I stuffed my empty blizzard cup into Nicki's and I said, "We'll hide the evidence in here." As we pulled into the driveway we grabbed our stuff (my jam packed purse that Jessica hates and everyone else thinks is cool and Nicki's soccer gear) and headed up the sidewalk.

Bob and Josh were sitting outside. Nicki headed in before me. As I hit the doorstep, Bob says "I was just thinking, I hope Cindy brings me a treat from DQ." At this point I thought, crap do I have ice cream on my face, or is this purely coincidental that he was thinking about DQ and we sort of secretly went there? I apologized for not bringing any home and headed into the house.

When I saw Nicki inside, I whispered, "You didn't tell your dad that we went to DQ did you?" She said, "No, but he saw the blizzard cups in my hand." Of course picture the look of disbelief on my face. :P

I looked at her and said, "I told you we needed to hide the evidence!!!!!"

And she said....

"I thought you were just kidding"

So then to explain to her, how next time my hubby goes to Tim Horton's for a coffee, it is unlikely that he will think to bring me an Ice Capp. :P

Day 21 and counting

Over the last few years I have found that on particular mornings, the minute my feet hit the floor the sound of my children even breathing annoys me. On those mornings the very fact that a cupboard door is left hanging open, a light is on in an unoccupied room or the peanut butter was left out leaves me ranting and raging. Being out the door 3 minutes later than usuall will push me off the edge.

And then one rant-filled morning I had an epiphany. Maybe it isn't them. Maybe it is me. So I looked at my trusty calendar and realized that on that particular morning I was on day 21 of my blessed feminine cycle. I took note of that fact and in another 4 weeks recognized the same feeling. Holy crap. It's Day 21. So for the last couple of years I keep track of day 21 on my calendar and to be totally honest, having the awareness of the possibility of having that demonic hormone surge has actually helped me keep things under control. It also made me realize that Jessica has a day 25-28 approximately, where we would like to throttle her. Her days 25-28 put my little episodse to shame. So ladies, if you haven't figured out what your magic number is, I highly recommend doing so. It will make your family and friends, possibly co-workers much happier if you can keep the horriblemones in check.

That being said...... Here is what was going on in my house this morning. Jessica was heading out today on an overnight dog-sledding trip for school. Being her amazingly unorganized and scattered self, she left a trail of destruction and incompletion every where she went and on everything she touched this morning.

As I shut cupboard doors, turned off lights, picked up laundry off the stairs that she had moved there from the kitchen table and then stepped over as she went up to her room (yes my darling mother I do know that I did that as a teen for days at a time and yes Melany you did too :) ), I headed downstairs to take something out of the freezer for supper. Yes, all of the basement lights were on and nobody was home. As I walked into the pre-lit laundry room my eyes fell upon a scene which made my day 21 blood boil. Actually my blood would have boiled on any given day, but imagine the boost it got this morning being day 21.

I had put a load of wash in the machine last night. When I walked into the laundry room, someone (ahem aka Jessica) had opened the door, rifled through the wet laundry looking for something, pulled half of the clean wet laundry out and piled it in a heap in front of the machine. The door was open with clothes half in and half out. It reminded me of the halloween pumpkins that people carve and pull the seeds and guts out to make it look like it is throwing up. How is that for a visual?

I stomped over to the stairs and yelled up, "I am going to kill either Jessica or Nicole!!!!" Who made the mess in the laundry room???? With that Jessica came down and said, "it was me, I was going to fold that." Fold what??? Well we weren't referring to the same thing. In addition to the chaos that I was freaking out about, she had taken a bunch of dry stuff out of the dryer, threw it in a basket and put the basket of clean dry clothes amidst the baskets of dirty clothes. I said, "Not that!!!, that!!!!" and pointed to the wet mess of clean clothes. "Oh, yeah I did that too."

Needless to say I don't honestly believe I wouldn't have been any less aggravated on day 10 or 17. I spent the rest of the morning making sure she didn't leave anything laying around or turned on etc.

The other 4 kids were already waiting in the truck and Jessica was still sitting on the floor pulling on her boots. She said, "you can go wait in the truck." I advised that I would be more aggravated waiting in the truck wondering what is taking her so long, than I am actually watching what is taking her so long....

So we get in the truck, back out, proceed down the drive way almost get to the road and you hear Jessica gasp. "Now what?" "We have to go back" she says. "What did you forget now? " "My permission slip!" The one I signed a couple of days ago?" Well that was a stupid question now wasn't it?

Now we are about 7 minutes later than usual and I had some copying and stuff that I wanted to get done. I arrive at the school, go down to the school store to turn on the slushie machines, only to find that lemon lime and dripped all night and flooded the counter and the floor. Yup it's day 21 alright.

(I must say that I love my daughter Jessica dearly and she has a magical talent that I call White Tornado mode (my dad calls my mom the white tornado when she has cleaned the supper table and he is still eating LOL) and Jessica will tidy up the house leaving it spotless. I completely appreciate when she does this and I thank her for it. )

Well thank goodness tomorrow is day 22. What day is it for you?

Compliments part 2

Being over 40 I tend to experience times where I have some extra heat radiating from my usually cold body. After work today I took 3/5 kids and got groceries and headed home to make supper. Bob came home just after 5pm and was feeling a bit chilly. He came up behind me as I was preparing supper and slipped his freezing cold hands under the back of my shirt and onto my warm back.

I cringed at how cold his hands were. Noah was standing nearby and I said to Bob, why don't you put your hands on Noah to warm up and Bob said..... Wait for it..... Wait for it......
" I can't, he's skinny."

I turned and looked at Bob and he said, "I know that didn't come out right." I told him there is no way to take back that one. And I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Then he tried to explain the reasoning between being a skinny kid and body heat and he bumbled over something to do with warmth and comfort. It just got better and better.

Distractions while Driving

I must say with 5 kids in sports and school and with social lives and the fact that we live in the country, I do a lot of driving. That being said there are plenty of distractions in the vehicle. Some distractions are loud and boisterous outbursts, while others are of the silent but deadly variety.

Last night we were driving home and someone claimed they smelled something. Denial filled the air along with an unfavourable aroma. I said, maybe it is the mill.

Then when we were just about home the smell hit again. We were 13km from the mill at this point and all fingers pointed toward Noah. He "took credit" for what he had done and blamed it on the fact that he had McDonald's for supper and that he hadn't had that in a long time, so his body wasn't used to it. Dom indicated that McDonald's does not seem to disagree with his gastronomical system, but he goes there once a week with Nanny for lunch.

To use a word that Zach created, the smell of Noah's little bomb effumulated within the cabin of the vehicle. Everyone expressed their disgust and Dom added that if he "lit a match in here we would all blow up."

I don't need to be pulled over and ticketed for using a cell phone when I drive to distract me. I just need to be driving with the bunch of yahoos I chauffeur around on a daily basis. :)

And yes, this is my life.

That's what he said. No really.

After a productive day at work, I picked up the only child who was at school today. We went and got groceries. I arrived home to find I had 2 extra boys at our house and Nicki had a friend coming over. The boys as it turned out weren't staying for supper. So I enlisted the help of children to make supper as I had to get Noah to Dynasty volleyball (he has literally been asking every day since last year, "when is Dynasty mom.") We made homemade meatballs stuffed with cheese. Many hands make light work. I continued making the rest of dinner myself.

The drainage system in the laundry room appeared to be having issues and the cleaning lady was unable to do laundry because water was not going down the drain, from the washer but back up and onto the laundry room floor.

Bob came home after a busy day at work. He came out of the bathroom after powdering his nose and said, "Whose ass is bigger yours or mine?" It took a second for me to pick my jaw up off the floor and a minute to quite laughing. He couldn't understand how I found that question funny, or the fact that it was a husband daring to ask his wife. He was just curious. I assured him that I thought mine was bigger. He asked what size pants I wear and I told him they are measured by the waist not the ass. So my waist is smaller because I am an hour glass shape. He said, "Well what am I?" So I told him he is an inverted pear. Wide at the shoulders, narrowing down to his hips.

So I was just curious. Has any man ever asked you that?

On compliments, self esteem and English as a second language.

I must preface this entry by telling you that I love my husband. Just tonight as we were sitting together on the couch he told me how good I looked. He is thoughtful, affectionate, cooks dinner for me and compliments me often among other things.

That being said, I have to say that occasionally the fact that English is his second language makes for some amusing backwards compliments,which I have had to explain to him aren't really compliments.

Let us start with our first trip to Vegas. We were contemplating checking out the pool at our hotel. It was a bit of a trek to the pool from our room and eventhough I did see a few people walking through this enormous hotel (the MGM Grand) in their swimsuits, I was a little apprehensive about doing same. When I mentioned to Bob that I didn't know if I should wear my swimsuit down to the pool, he lovingly paid me what he thought was a compliment and said, "Go ahead, I've seen worse." I am laughing out loud as I type this. He was trying to tell me I looked good and go for it,but that's not exactly how it came out. He has yet to live that one down.

On another cozy evening when we were sitting on the couch, I lazily had my legs draped across his lap. When you read the word "draped"you should envision lean, long, tanned (shaved) legs. (Insert LOL here). He gently placed his hand on the exposed skin between the top of my rainbow striped ankle socks and my pants. He stared lovingly into my eyes and said "Do all the women in your family have thick ankles?" I tried to explain to him that in no way shape or form could that comment be interpreted as any sort of compliment. Again, I am laughing out loud as I type. To my dear cousins and aunties, I assured him, no I am the only one.

Now being in my early (ahem) 40s, I spend a bit more time in front of the mirror, you know "suffering" as my mother taught me. (See previous blog entry). Each morning I get up at about 5:50am and I spend about an hour or so getting ready. That is the time I give to myself each day. The rest of the day, my time is given to others. I will not give up this "me time" and I think Dr. Phil would commend me for this. He would probably tell me I should be taking more me time (right Sherry?), but he doesn't live in my shoes or my house. So here is how the next compliment goes....

She gazed into the mirror. Her shoulder length hair was meticulously straightened and glistened in the light from the lightbulb that sticks out of the wall in her bathroom. She swung her hair from side to side and was happy with how it fell. Her mascara-covered eyelashes were water-proofed and had no clumps. No spider eyes will ever be criticized on these baby-browns. No line of makeup along her jawline from her carefully applied foundation and her lipgloss glistened on her lips. She pulled open her underwear drawer and pulled out a pretty bra and panty set she bought at La Senza. She gave up on the thongs. They literally had become a pain in the ass. Those buggers had a mind of their own and kept trying to head north. So a nice pair of matching bikini panties was the choice. She slipped out of her second hand bathrobe and into her pretty undies. She heads into the walk in closet to decide what garments might best hide her 40 something lumps and bumps. As she is standing there she hears her husband come into the room. She adjusts her bra, pulls the bikini bottom out of the crack of her butt and sucks in her stomach trying to look 30 something. As her husband walks in he does a double take. He says in an astonished voice, "What's wrong with your leg????!!!!????" She looks down at her left leg and then her right and says, "What? What's wrong with my leg?" Still in an astonished voice he says, "That hole!!! What's that hole in your leg???" As she gazes down she catches sight of what has got him all stewed up. "Honey, that's fat. It's called cellulite." Insert more laughs here. And 4 years later, he has yet to live that down.

Yes, the "she" is me. I have been blessed with "holes" in my legs since I was young. Oh well. As previously mentioned, I repeatedly teach my boys, not to use the words moustache or fat in a sentence when you are talking to a girl. So Bob technically didn't break any of those rules, bless his heart. I laugh every time I repeat these words that fell from his poor francophone lips.

Ladies love your bodies. The years will not be kind. Gravity will do its thing. You've earned any wrinkles you have, hopefully by smiling instead of frowning. Don't take yourself too seriously. You are beautiful inside and out. Tell your daughters how beautiful they are and tell your sons how handsome they are too. Tell your husband he is sexy. It's always nice when others give our sagging self esteem a little boost. Tell your friends that you like their new hair cut or colour. That the outfit they are wearing looks excellent. I even pay compliments to strangers.

Today's compliment was as it should have been. Out of the blue and in the middle of a random conversation. It was sincere and I thanked him for it. Oh, did I forget to mention, he told me my boobs looked good too. ;)

On Vanity

Every day I looked in the mirror this week, I was repeatedly confronted by the flashes of silver highlights peeking out at my roots. Those little silver buggers did not get the memo. They are not welcome on my head. I pay to have them replaced by brown ones, red ones and blond ones. My daughters received an illuminated, magnifying mirror for Christmas and I made the BIG mistake of peering into it. I do not recommend doing this because at this point I was also confronted by little dark hairs above my upper lip. My regular mirror is much more kind and does not enthusiastically show them to me. These ones above my lip are slow learners. They don't understand that dark hair is only welcome on my head. I have regularly plastered my upper lip with a fluffy white bleach concoction to lighten them up, but they still persist.

So after I dragged my butt out of bed this morning, I cracked open two boxes that stock my vanity. One magical little box will tame those nasty silver highlights. The other will lighten the dark ones above my lip. And I am quite a sight to see when I apply both at the same time. The first time I came downstairs with my hair in disarray with brown, wet roots and an upper lip that looked like I slipped when I was brushing my teeth, Bob literally gasped.

If I thought that silver hair and a dark moustache was attractive, life would be a lot simpler, however, I don't. I also don't like the extra hairs that thicken up my eyebrows or the one lone "horse hair" that grows to the right of my chin.

Growing up I always remember my mom telling me you have to "suffer" to look beautiful. This comes from one of the most naturally beautiful women you will ever meet. Suffering is an exaggeration. It's just more of an inconvenience to have to do some fine-tuning occassionally. Fine-tuning involves bleaching, plucking and dying and basically it all involves hair.

My mom's mom must have told her the same thing, because my beautiful little Portuguese vavo dyed her hair until the day she died. I don't know if this was at her daughters' insistence or her own, but I am betting it was her own. We always joke how every time she would look through a pile of pictures, she would always stop at any of herself, gaze admiringly and comment on how good she looked in the picture. I say this with much affection. Her hair never betrayed her age.

Now I have daughters of my own and as I hear my mother's voice coming from my mouth on occasion, I have encouraged them to fine-tune occasionally. To them that means brushing their hair, teeth and shaving their armpits. Being the athletes that they are, they are quite comfortable jumping out of the shower, throwing their wet hair into the dreaded Wilma Flintstone bun (drives us crazy), throwing on a pair of sweatpants (with the waistband rolled down) and a hoody. I envy how comfortable they are with their natural beauty. I do tell them regularly how naturally beautiful they are and to love their bodies. I try not to tell them what the years and having kids can do to your body. That would be cruel. There have been some mother-daughter lip bleaching sessions and eyebrow training, but when it comes to vanity, that ship has appeared to have sailed right now. And that is fine with me. (Gotta go rinse my hair now.)