honestyrain

welcome to a portal, a portal to a wonderful land

2007-12-11T14:30:00.000-08:00

This website was moved here a while back but because of blogger being so stupid with their comment function a lot of you are ending up here after reading whatever brilliant comment I've left wherever. Google/Blogger, poorly done, that function. Still, this is now a portal! It carries you elsewhere. Please select from one of my two websites (or, how about, both!): honestyrain and interskew.

honestyrain: reluctant mommyblogging and general commentary from a Canadian writer who has been called both funny and damned well hysterical. Not in a crazy person way. More in the funny way. So, alright, that was redundant.

What people are saying about honestyrain:

Once wrote a ltter to snot. What's not funny about that?

Brilliant!

Really Funny!

Hysterically Funny!

Remember the Undergarment Obsession? Why doesn't she do that bit again?

or, how about checking out interskew: Imaginary Interviews with A List celebrities (as well as some not so A list, even if they think they are).

What actual people are saying about interskew:

yay! interskew! more more more!

I love your new site! Looking forward to more, as always!

yay! fabricated interview! Do more!

What a fabulous idea! I’ll send you some people. I LOVE these interviews. Are you taking requests?

This is brilliant!

So come check me out either here or there, please come check me out anywhere.

i've moved

2005-02-20T19:22:00.000-08:00

you can now find me at http://honestyrain.com

you will come see me there, won't you? i'd like it very much if you would.

new new new

2005-02-07T18:09:00.000-08:00

Will you join me at the new site?

honestyrain

Farewell Blogger, Old Friend.

ps, I tried to transfer my blogger files over to the new place today without success but I will do so soon. I'm just learning. Be patient with me.

pps, if you are using Internet Explorer you will not be able to see my lovely masthead at the new site. For some reason it does not load at all on IE. No idea why. No idea what to do about it. Sorry!

2005-02-07T11:26:00.000-08:00

give it to me straight, doc

2005-02-06T14:20:00.000-08:00

Earlier I went into the play room in our basement to play with my kids. I combed hair, drove dinky cars, broke up spats and worked at the long standing issue of whether a Weeble will in fact ever fall down during the act of wobbling. Answer: no, not ever.

I also played Patient to my three and a half year old son's Doctor. Had my heart listened to: excellent thump thump thumping. My reflexes checked: seventeen different parts of my body reflected appropriate ouches! and heys! Had my blood pressure checked: not good news, signs of illness. I required bandaging and rather major surgery on my right leg, upper front panel. There were crutches involved.

Tell me, Doc, what's wrong with me? Will I live?

Nope. You got Chicken Pops.

Oh No! You better give me a hug! (I grab the doctor and hug him for being so cute)

No! Don't! You'll make me sick!

(I let go of my doctor, convinced that he is cuter than ever).

Back to the exam and further discoveries. Among them: my hair needs cutting and further surgery is required. It is not likely I iwll survive until my more than brilliant doctor pulls me from the brink, same like he did last week.

The guy really has the goods, doctor-wise.

Plus he's a really great son.

Bonus.

when the nieces come, trick them into babysitting

2005-02-05T10:15:00.000-08:00

My brother is looking after my sister's kids while my sister and her husband are away on a relationship retreat at a local hotel. Yes, really, that's where they are. Hush.

Being that my brother is a single sort of guy and does not have children he knows not what to do with two girls all weekend. Therefore he has brought them to my house for the day. A visit. You know.

An opportunity too.

My neices are twelve and eight. The twelve year old is very good at looking after my three and one year olds and the eight year old is excellent at playing with the three year old. Those two are thick as thieves I tell ya.

Why wouldn't it occur to me that this is just the perfect set up for an hour to myself?

Yes, I've shuffled them off into the basement to play and make merry. While I sit here and enjoy all of you. Even YOU are going to benefit from my diabolical ways. I will be able to visit a few of your blogs before I am needed again. The excitement is almost more than I or you can handle.

You're excited. Don't pretend you're not.

Now let me be so I can go do this stuff because there is no way I've got long.

conversation

2005-02-03T19:33:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I came home from the gym, happy with my workout. I shared this pleasure with my husband.

Me: I did 170 on leg press today.

Him: 170?

Me: Yep.

Him: I thought you were doing 410 before you had Super Boy.

Me: Well yeah.

Him: I weigh more than 170. You're not even lifting me.

Me: No.

Him: Hmmm.

Me: Fuck off.

There's nothing like a kick in the What You Used To Do Pants to get you going. Yesterday I did 210. Next week 250. Tell me, will he?

Granny up.

basic cleanliness is basic so do it

2005-02-02T10:00:00.000-08:00

I was assistant teacher at my son's preschool last week...or the week before...whatever...and during snack time I was disgusted to discover that some mothers and or fathers are not the cleanliest sort of people.

One child's lunch bag had actual mold growing inside of it. Actual green yucky poopy mold. MOLD, I'm saying. The kind of wet icky mold that has grown from the thing never having been wiped after little spills of this substance and that. I had to watch this poor boy take from this Spongebob Squarepants Lunch Kit one container of crackers and one container of cheese, plus one empty cup into which I put a half serving of milk. Half serving because if you give three and four year olds a full cup of milk you will be there a full hour waiting for them to drink it.

I grant you that the child's snack was encased in sealed plastic containers and I grant you that they were not touching the mold. For some reason this makes almost no dent in my disgust. I pitied the boy.

If you are such a parent I want to say outright that I know you get busy and forget the little things like wiping out a lunch bag but please, take this opportunity. Feel the humiliation that is your child's moldy lunch kit in the anonymity that is The Internet and once you have recovered from it go and wash each and every thing in your house that might A) contain food at some point and B) be at risk of growing mold. Green yucky ickpoo mold, as I've said.

I cannot believe I let any child eat something that spent time in such a filthy environment. It will be many years before the guilt subsides, to be sure. If it were my child I'd have ripped the snacks from his cute little fists and thrown them at the trash can as though dealing with biohazardous waste.

Hazmat would have been called in.

I mean really.

dear american government, please improve your economy

2005-02-02T07:34:00.000-08:00

My husband is a freelance artist who works for companies in Los Angeles, New York and Paris. He gets paid in both US dollars and Euros. Was a time when this system worked out very well for us. Very very well indeed.

We used to get $1.60 Canadian for every American dollar he got paid.

You can do the math there. That's a nice bonus for living in the greatest country in the world.

(Calm down. Everyone thinks their country is the bestest country in the world.)

Since Mr. Bush came into (and I use this next term loosely) power the American dollar has been in a steady and certain downward spiral. The last time I took a cheque in to be cashed we got $1.17 Canadian for each American dollar. Big difference, yes?

Now I admit to having been hopeful back at election time that Mr. Bush would go the way of his dad before him. Not only because it would benefit my pocketbook, mind you. I, along with the Blue States, have been learning to accept that he's still here and will be for some time. I just can't help thinking that an improved US economy would benefit not only ME but also the General US Population. No?

Therefore I humbly request that the US Government put forward some sort of action to improve the overall economy and more specifically the strength of the American Dollar. I'd be forever grateful. If you don't mind. I mean, you know, if you're not too busy.

Thanks! Awesome. Knew I could count on you. Now let's get back to that $1.60 on the dollar, ok? Gosh that'd be great. It'd make taking several vacations a year far easier. Not to mention the bags and bags diapers I have to buy and the dog food and the internet web hosting and the three thousand bananas, fifty apples and twelve bushels of grapes my kids consume daily....

Life is expensive you know.

ya sure, buy no junk food, brilliant

2005-02-01T14:35:00.000-08:00

For the past 7 years or so I have been in the habit of not buying junky food to keep in the house. With the exception of early pregnancy and or early breasfeeding. But then it's not junk so much as Food Requested By Baby and no one with a shred of decency denies a BABY what they want.

I am not currently pregnant or breasfeeding.

Now you know.

Which means that I buy very very little in the way of not only traditional junk food but also any and all processed foods like pizza pops or other frozen food type items. I say food type because I do not consider them food.

Not buying this stuff is brilliant. A very good plan. Especially with kids in the house.

Only problem is this:

THERE'S NO DAMNED JUNK FOOD IN MY HOUSE!

And sometimes, every once in a while, all you want is something fake and tastey to eat. To shove down your gullet without a thought to nutritional value or the item's ability to give you cancer or somesuch other nastiness. Sometimes an apple just doesn't answer the call. It is at this time when I am both Happy and Sad that I do not buy junk food. Happy because it's not here, I'm not eating it. Sad because it's not here, I'm not eating it.

Life is a spectrum and, it turns out, both ends are the same.

who is that? is that honestyrain?

2005-02-01T11:59:00.000-08:00

Why yes, it is indeed. Guest blogging at Miss Zoot dot com. Most of you already know Miss Zoot and maybe you've already seen that today she has opened her blog to guest bloggers. Anyone can go, leave a lovely post, read the posts made by other guest bloggers. It's all in the name of How Fun Is This!

If you do not yet know Miss Zoot and her site please go, enjoy and have a look around. Although I think it unlikely that you have never encountered her in your blog travels.

Mt post is titled feta. How exciting a title is that. I bet you can hardly wait to read.

Stop by Miss Zoot if you have time and don't forget to also visit this week's blog of the week Drink More Jack. He's waiting for you.

life rule of the day

2005-02-01T07:40:00.000-08:00

Some people do not realize how germs and illness are passed along. I am more than happy to instruct on this matter. The follwing is always true and so can be referred to as a Life Rule.

If your child has snot dripping from their nose, into their mouth, down onto their shirt and wiped constantly onto their hands, sleeves and or any other surface slash body part, they have germs and illness and are putting the universe at risk by being out among the general populace.

Please keep any such child at home, away from my children because THANKS we just don't need a cold right now.

Mothers of Play Group from last friday please take note.

I am not talking about an occassional sniffle or sneeze but a full on overflow of mucus that cannot be avoided no matter how swiftly you dodge this way and that. Especially when children and their germy little hands and noses share toys. Toys that a one year old and her drippy face put into her mouth and then offer to my unknowing sweet child in a gesture of friendship. Green nose glue sticking to said toy, too late, germs transfered, yuck.

Miss Baby Girly Girl is now one such snot nosed child and will be kept a safe distance from all other humans until she is well again. Because I am courteous and not rude and not interested in making everyone the world over sick.

Yes, I know. I am a superior sort of person. It's true.

Keep yer snotty kid away from us, will ya?

hi, um, yeah, i forgot - new site of the week!

2005-02-01T05:14:00.000-08:00

I told you my brain was going to be otherwise occupied and that for the time being you should expect me to be a little out of it. It is perhaps sad that I cannot appear to do more than one thing at a time but if you have never tried to load MT onto a website you should hush and allow me my distraction.

I was out of it yesterday and forgot to do a new site of the week and I am sorry. Please forgive.

Therefore, we will now pretend that today is Monday and NOT Tuesday.

Welcome to Monday, Internet!

The Site of the Week this week is - drumroll please - Drink More Jack. If you haven't already been to Jack's please go. He's smart, funny, learning to play guitar and I think you'll like him. He is also in the habit of leaving witty and thoughtful comments wherever he goes which makes him all the more likeable. Please do him the honor of leaving one of your very interesting comments when you visit. I'm sure he'd like that.

Have a great Monday, Everyone.

look out brain, here comes trouble

2005-01-31T06:37:00.000-08:00

Over the next week or so you might find most of what I say to be nothing but gibberish. More so than usual. I am about to undertake a project of mind numbing proportions.

I am learning Moveable Type.

Yuh.

If you don't know what that is, I'll tell you. It's a program used to create weblogs.

Create weblogs, you say. Whatever for? Why is honestyrain creating a weblog when she so clearly already has one right here at blogger.

Yuh. Blogger. Blogger has been very good to me and very free but there are days when blogger makes me want to pull out all of my hair from the sheer frustration of just trying to log in.

I love you blogger but our days together are numbered.

Yes, I'm moving to my own site. Some day. After I learn Moveable Type and implement said knowledge. Assuming I do not self destruct in the process. I gotta tell you, the self destruct thing is highly likely. Just reading about how to load MT made me feel like I was trapped in a 4th year calculus final. And I didn't study. Hell, I didn't even take the course.

How alarming is that?

Therefore I ask that you forgive me if I seem a little odd this week. There is a reason. My brain will be otherwise occupied with the learning of something new. Horrah for my brain! It does like a challenge.

the quest for a little middle: update

2005-01-30T22:17:00.000-08:00

A while back I got all fired up about how I was going to get and keep a flat midsection. I declared, right here for everyone to see, that I was bound and determined, once and for finally, to have the kind of tummy every man woman and child longs to have. I vowed that I would not be kept from achieving this goal.

I worked real hard at it for a good solid week.

See, there's a reason that I do not currently have as slim a middle as you might think I ought.

I Hate Abdominal Exercises.

I can go to the gym for four hours, do two hours of strength training, lift three times my body weight in leg press, do an hour and a half long bench class then run for a while before stretching and going home. I love all that. I'm not saying I DO all that. I used to. PK. Pre Kids. The thing you'll never find me doing with whole hearted gusto is a set of crunches.

Hate Them.

So Yeah, I've slacked off. Again. Dammit.

But now I have admitted it and cannot stand the humiliation and will reconvene my devotion in my basement tomorrow morning for a double dose of pilates. You have my word.

A week from now, who knows, but know that I am trying. I really am trying. I want it so bad. Alright, granted, not bad enough, but still. I'll get it figured out. Might need to take a few runs at it but there's time. It's not like the snow is going to melt tomorrow and I'll be forced to show up in my bikini.

Hardly. So relax. Have a cookie and we'll do the pilates at dawn.

book club

2005-01-30T15:27:00.000-08:00

My Book Club is currently reading a book that I would like to recommend to all of you. It is not often that I find a book I enjoy this thoroughly. On this occassion both a seamless writing style and a story that captivates are what compel me to suggest you add it to your reading list. I am liking this book very much and hope to influence others to read it.

The Time Traveler's Wife is a sheer pleasure to read. Please let me know what you think if you do read it or if you have already done so. Author Audrey Niffenegger has tackeled a subject that I think would be difficult to handle well and comes out with a story that is flawless and beautiful.

That's all. I'm going to read some more now. Have a nice day.

deep sigh of everlovin' relief

2005-01-29T06:49:00.000-08:00

Today my children, who I love dearly, are going to Grandma and Grandpa's house.

Celebrate with me!

If you're a parent you know that although you love your children and would like nothing better than to spend every minute of every day with them for the rest of your life, reality suggests that doing so would make you poke your own eyes out and run screaming into the hills.

Screaming, I say, and screaming loudly.

On this day my kids, who I love, don't forget, are going to see my Husband's parents where they will be treated as though the sun and the moon shone only for them. Not that we don't treat them that way. It's just that a little time away to refresh will allow us to once again see them in that light.

As opposed to the light that currently casts just such a glow as to make them appear to have horns like The Devil Himself.

Not that we don't love them. We do. And frankly I wish you would stop implying otherwise. There's nothing wrong with mommy and daddy going for lunch alone ( we promise to talk about the kids non stop), see a movie (The Aviator because it starts at a time that suits our purpose) and perhaps go to a book store and not be diverted from buying books to chase around two crazy people Who We Love Dearly.

Everyone will be happier at the end of the day from having spent a little time apart. It's a good thing for everyone.

Especially me and I'm the one who matters.

be nice to a pregnant girl today

2005-01-28T06:58:00.000-08:00

Some women have an easy time pregnant. I'm not one of those women. Neither is my friend C and she is currently pregnant, feeling awful and wishing she could feel better.

Growing people inside of one's body is a very special thing to do and no matter if a woman feels ick or fabulous while pregnant she deserves to be held in the highest regard and treated like a princess.

If you are currently living with a pregnant woman take the time to just rub her back, let her lay down, feed her something she craves or, if she cannot eat, promise to not eat anything in front of her that will make her hurl.

If you don't know anyone who is pregnant right now please be nice to any mommies-to-be that you encounter in the world at large. Offer your seat on the subway (she may prefer to stand but it is always better to offer), hold open doors, let them cut in front of you in any line anywhere (especially bathrooms and grocery stores).

Also, pregnant women do not in general like for strangers to touch their bellies. Here's a rule of thumb that can be applied when you're unsure if it's okay to rub the buddha: if you would not have touched this woman's midsection without her consent before she got pregnant you should not do so after she got pregnant.

To my friend C, I'm sorry you feel ick and I won't even say you'll feel better soon (you will) but I will say that you are a lucky duck to have that sweet baby growing in you and that baby is lucky to have you for a mommy.

do what you like but i can't promise i won't drive over you

2005-01-27T11:01:00.000-08:00

People who ride bikes and run on the road in winter are looking for a swift end to life as they know it. I can't see you coming, I can't move over because there is no over to move to. The roads are slippery, the view is blocked by banks of snow at the roadside and if I shove over to make room for your silly ass I am going to drive into oncoming traffic.

I, of all people, am a firm believer that exercise does a body and brain good but I do have a line and that line is drawn at your exercise becoming a danger to me.

I would not let you throw a weight bench at me if we met at the gym. Why on earth should you put me at risk on the road?

Look, it's cold. I admire your I'm-A-Canadian heartiness. I do. You're all that, brother. A better and stronger man than I'll ever be. Congrats. Woohoo. Go climb a mountain, eat the bark off a tree and tent each wintery night in your back yard. Go on, go ahead.

Just leave me out of your madness, will you?

Get off the road, you winter loving freaks.

meet me at the mall

2005-01-25T16:50:00.000-08:00

You know what I like? I like to shop. Love it. Would shop every day of my life if time and money permitted. I like to look as much as buy. I like shopping, sideays or upside down.

Want to know what's better?

Wanna know?

My man likes to shop too.

You heard me. Man, Shop, Likes.

No he is not secretly gay. He is a man, swings a hammer, puts up shelves, takes out garbage. Well, avoids taking out garbage, really, so you know damned well he's all man.

Manly Man. Likes To Shop.

There is nothing sexier than a man who likes to shop. As long as that man also likes to do man things. Like have sex with women. If he's a gay man who likes to shop that's great too but the Sex With Man Who Likes To Shop thing is severely hampered if the man is gay.

My guy takes me shopping in the day time and loves me up at night.

Oh Ya Baby Oh Ya.

Sometimes we get it in our heads that a house in the country would be nice. A big property for our children to run around in, enjoy the great outdoors. I am always the first to come to my senses. I look around - because, of course, we have these silly thoughts while out on a drive in the country - and ask:

Is there a mall near here?

No.

Conversation over.

I likes to shop.

hug your letter carrier day

2005-01-25T07:18:00.000-08:00

I'd like to take this moment to give a shout out to the man who delivers our mail. He is without a doubt the bestest letter carrier in the world. Perhaps even the universe. He's that good. Here are some examples of his goodness:

He knocks on the door when cheques come. He puts them in the mailbox, knocks and goes on with his route. He recognizes Husband's pay cheques and lets us know when they're there.

If he has a postage due package he drops by on his way up the other side of the street to let us know so that we can find the money while he goes about his route and pay him when he gets to our side of the street.

He didn't report us when the dog got out last summer and chased him down the street.

He recognizes us out of context and says hello as though we are real people and not faceless mailboxes.

He brings the mail to me at the truck if I pull into the driveway when he is coming into our yard.

He washed our windows once and mows our lawn sometimes.

Okay, those last two things aren't true.

He's just a really good guy who puts a lot of positive energy into the world and I like to acknowledge that kind of thing. It's easy to bitch about the stupid people but sometimes it's nice to say hey, here's a good one, look.

Here's to you Letter Carrier Guy. Thanks!

get out your party hats and grab yourself a drink!

2005-01-24T14:17:00.000-08:00

This here is a party!

Why? you ask.

What's going on? you wonder.

What are we celebrating?

Well! honestyrain, the web site, has achieved the ten thousand hit mark!

That's right. Five digits. Oh ya. Woohoo.

We're gonna party like it's your birthday.

I baked a cake, brewed some beer, crushed some grapes to make red wine. I've gone all out. So take a load off, eat, drink, make with the merriment.

Dancing permitted. Please dance.

Cothes on. No nude dancing. Alright fine. You talked me into it. Dance nude if you must. Alone, in your room. Nothing weird about it. Go ahead.

Ten Thousand Hits.

Horrah.

checklist

2005-01-24T06:19:00.000-08:00

Tell everyone where we're going. Check.

Convince Husband that going is a good idea. Check.

Start kids brushing teeth. Check.

Glance through fave blogs while they do so. Check.

Scream for children to stop splashing water all over one another. Check.

Continue reading blogs, knowing they are still splashing. Check.

Take toothbrushes from children. Check.

Carry Miss Baby Girly Girl into hall and put her on the floor to carry on with her I-Don't-Want-To-Stop-Brushing-Teeth fit. Check.

Run upstairs to get clothes for kids. Check.

Scream down two floors to Husband, WHAT??? Check.

Strain to hear him ask if There Are Any Towels Anywhere??? Check.

Yell back HANG THE HELL ON. Check.

Dig through laundry basket in master bedroom to find two socks that match for Super boy, fail, dig more to find clean towel for Naked Guy waiting in the basement bathroom, succeed. Check.

Run down to main floor, towel in one hand, one white sock in other. Check.

Stop at living room to break up fight over empty toilet paper roll currently being used as Bad Guy Zanger Banger Bapper Whapper. Check.

Threaten time outs on the way down to basement. Check.

Throw towel into bathroom and tell Naked Guy to make sure there's one there before he gets in the shower. Check.

Ignore his mutterings. Check.

Go into laundry room to find sock that matches one on left hand. Dig, Dig, Dig, Curse eighteen times before finding tow other socks that match. Feel guilty for swearing. Check.

Go back upstairs, wrestle Bad Guy Zanger Banger Bapper Whapper away from children and throw it in the grabage, declaring that it's a dirty toilet paper roll so why are you fighting over it anyway! Check.

Dress children. Check.

Tell Naked Guy that his shirts are in his drawer, second from top, left side. Check.

Let dog out to pee. Check.

Redress Miss Baby Girly Girl and tell her to stop taking her damned clothes off. Check.

Let dog in. Check.

Take a deep breath. No time. Not checked.

Gather snacks for kids and put them in snack bag without anyone seeing. Check.

Put dishes in dishwahser, make 3 beds, wash windows, vacuum entire house. Check.

Go pee and drag Miss Baby Girly Girl out of bathroom to carry on with her I-Don't-Want-To-Leave-The-Bathroom fit. Check.

Get winter gear to front door and tell kids to begin dressing themselves. Check.

Walk past Husband standing there looking bored. Check.

Ask him to get kids into their boots and jackets. Check.

Get cell phone off of charger, put food in dog's bowls, blog something brilliant, make fresh squeezed orange juice. Check.

Walk past Husband looking bored. Check.

Ask him if he plans on getting kids into jackets and boots. Check.

Ignore him when he says he didn't hear me. Check.

Tell everyone I'm going to go get dressed and brush my teeth and comb my hair and put on my make up. Check.

End up going out in pyjamas and hair in a pony tail because they can't possibly wait for me to get ready. Check.

Get in car, say what a beautiful day it is, back out of driveway, have a great day out. Check.

Deep Breath?

Not likely.

Site of the Week!

2005-01-24T06:15:00.000-08:00

This week I would love it if you would stop by Lexablog and share your wit with her. She's funny. You're gonna like her. She has been compared by one commenter to Dave Barry and you know how funny Dave Barry is. Funny! So go, visit Lexa and be nice.

Thank you!

hi, are you the weirdo who was just at my door?

2005-01-23T11:39:00.000-08:00

Look, weird creeps of the world. Seriously. Look. Here's me, flipping you off. See that? It means go away. Go the mary mother of god away from my house before I have at you with a shovel. Hear me? See that? Look.

A man came to our door this morning. We were installing a new light fixture in the hall. It matches the new one we put in the kitchen a couple of weeks ago. It's nice, gives off a nice atmospherey glow. The light. Not the creep at the door. He gave off creepiness.

I said several posts back that I don't answer my door. I normally don't but for some bloody reason I have done so twice in the past week. Twice. Once at night to someone I did not know. At all. It's like I've lost my mind.

Let me tell you about the guy from today.

I open the door and he goes, "Hello, M'am, is your husband home?"

He's got some piece of paper in his hand and with Husband having once been served papers by a jackass who looked and smelled no better than this guy I decided to undertake protecting my husband from whatever this individual was about.

I go, "What's this about?" Firm like. Because I mean to show how tough I am.

This is when he gets weird. Because just looking at him you might have thought he was weird enough but no. Not at all. He says, "I used to work at some blah blah blah and buried in the conrete was a capusle and in there was this piece of paper" -begins unfloding paper- "blah blah blah." His hands are shaking, he seems emotionally attached to this paper, this capsule, this business he has come to bother me about.

By now I am holding the interior handle of the screen door and he is holding the exterior handle. He yanks on it, as though he is trying to get in, get closer, make me see whatever it is about this piece of paper. Naturally, I shook my head and said no thanks buddy and tried to close the door.

I say TRIED because he was pulling at it from the other side. I mean, my fingers hurt resisting him. I finally yanked at it, closed it and slammed the inside door shut. And made sure it was locked. I felt like, honestly, this fucker was going to try to come in whether I wanted him to or not.

As I closed the doors he was trembling, seemed like he might cry. "Please m'am," he begged, "please."

What the fuck?

Then he went to the guy across the street. I guess they heard him out because he was there longer than he was here but we couldn't see what was going on. We tried. But couldn't. After a couple of minutes he came out, got in his car and drove away. I tried to get Husband to go over to the neighbour and see what it was about but we don't know them very well and they have their own weirdness about them. So.

I have no idea what it was all about.

Whatever he wanted you can bet one thing for damned sure: I'm done answering the door. If you're coming over A) don't be a weird creepy guy and B) call before you come because I'm not even looking out the window to see if I know the person knocking. Screw that. Scuh-rew that.

A note to the creeps of the world: feck off, will ya? I don't care about your capsules and papers and other weird shit.

That's all.

see, i told you

2005-01-22T06:07:00.000-08:00

I've got this kid. Super Boy. He's three point five years old.

That's three and a half for the mathimatically challenged in the crowd.

He's a great, this kid. We really love him. He's cute (get's that from me), funny (me), has a great laugh (me again), green eyes (you guessed it), awesome outgoing personality (that should be obvious), red hair (that's his dad), eats great (we have no idea), and he's really smart and very talented (from his dad, of course).

Oh, also, he doesn't sleep for shit.

(all me)

He's a morning person.

(yeah, me, but...)

Look, I like to get up early. I wake up with sunshine oozing out of me. I smile when I wake up, happy to start the goddamn day and all that. I think sleeping, in general, is a waste of time and should only be undertook with the express purpose of getting it over and done with so I can wake up again and have some fun.

But for shit sake, 5 am in winter is insane.

Super Boy, heaven help me, gets up at 5 am about 35% of the time. That 35 % nearly kills me, him and everyone within a fifty foot radius of me and my sleep deprived miserable self. In the dead of winter, when the sun doesn't get up until eight. That makes three hours of darkness, sitting there like idiots wishing we were asleep like we should be because getting up that early is stupid.

I don't want any advice on how to fix it. Nevermind that.

I'm here to say woohoo he's back to normal and we're getting up at no earlier than seven. Seven.

You know what that means? Mommy's got her smile back. Mommy is playful again. Mommy feeds the children again*. Mommy is nice and happy and is once again oozing sunshine.

Great Day In The Mornin'!

I can play Pretend Carpet Picnic now without wanting to poke my own eyeballs out. You know why?

SLEEP. That's why.

Sleep Kicks Ass.

*please note. I always feed my kids. I was joking when I suggested that I do not feed them unless I get enough sleep. Not only do I feed them but I feed them well and often. So refrain from sending me emails or leaving comments to reprimand me for not feeding them. Because I do feed them so realx.

i watch tv because there's no butter to churn

2005-01-20T18:13:00.000-08:00

I like TV. Always have. For as long as TV has existed I have loved it and it has loved me back. We've been great friends these many years and I'm not about to end the relationship. Now that I have children and TV is the only thing I have to look forward to on this earth every night once my children toddle off to bed.

I do other things. I have an active life. I have an active mind. I am not a slave to television.

Ok, I do schedule my life around what's on but I don't have Tivo, so. What else am I gonna do? I can't miss ER and I'm done taping on VHS because VHS is stupid. I will be organising myself around the TV Guide until Tivo comes to Canada. That's just the way it's gonna be.

Don't worry though. I'm wireless. I can be on the internet during commercials.

Those of you who are not catching much TV because you ARE churning butter I wonder, out loud, why the hell? They sell it in stores you know. It gets there by magic. So sit down and act like a regualr person.

TV is good for you. Anyone who says different is just pressing on my last nerve.

I'm off to see what Miss Katie Couric is about this morning. I like to be informed on the news of the day. The news of the day that the US media sees fit to share with the rest of the world, that is. Watered down and severely slanted. That's how I likes my information. It's nice and fluffy that way.

Now shut up with your butter and go watch TV.

sometimes i say fuck

2005-01-20T11:35:00.000-08:00

Before I became a mom I could say fuck all I liked. Fuck this, fuck that. No one cared. Or if anyone did, fuck 'em.

That's all changed. When your three and a half year old is heard uttering the word you are forced to reevaluate your volcablary. Because the last thing you need is for the kid to start cursing the preschool teacher out next time she tells him snack time is over, put it away, push in your chair.

I'd look like a giant ass.

It's all about me.

So that's it for fuck. I'm done with it and it's done with me. I'd like to be one of those people who say ah to hell with it, I'm gonna let my kids swear but I think those people are losers. I certainly have no intention of being a loser. What, and have the preschool teacher think less of me than she no doubt already does? I won't hear of it.

Good Riddance That Bad Word.

There now, almost perfect. All I have to do is listen to classical music all day and throw all four of our TVs out the window and I'm good to go. Granted, I will be but a shadow of my once interesting and happy self but it's all in the name of appearing to be the perfect parent. So it's worth it.

Not that I'll miss saying fuck. It's time for fuck to go anyway.

Bye Fuck.

All the best.

mister lightyear! will you please remove your hand from my ass

2005-01-19T09:42:00.000-08:00

I'm afraid I've had to have harsh words with both Buzz Lightyear and a certain Caped Crusader over the past few days. There have been unwanted advances made on their part toward my parts. The first few times I passed it off as accidents but there comes a time when a girl has to say Step Off Mister and say so I have.

Last night I found Buzz in my bed. I found him when his pointy index finger reached over and gave me a hey how are you right in the rumpus room.

Batman is just all around fresh. Every time I sit down there he is sneaking under my bum so he can be squashed by all that is glorious in my sit down area.

They aren't the only ones who've developed a disturbing interest in my no no places. Boobah is on my last nerve and will be shown the door if there is one more infraction. I'm telling you. And a small yellow truck with blue windows had better stay clear of me in the shower or there will be words exchanged. It won't be pretty. I've had more than enough.

I'm putting my foot down and if you speak with Mister Lightyear, please let him know that when Husband and I get into our bed and suggle up under our Nautica duvet this evening I expect that he will not be among us. Last warning. Star Command will be notified.

three things i am not good at so get over it

2005-01-18T15:11:00.000-08:00

1, mailing stuff. I could have millions of dollars but if I have to mail you a cheque* for ten dollars you will wait and wait and wait and die without ever seeing the damned ten dollars. Better you should come over, knock on my door and ask for the money. I'll pay for your flight if you had to fly and will give you an extra tenner for your trouble.

2, answering the door. Oops. That's gonna kind of feck up you coming to pick up your ten bucks. Sorry. But we don't really answer our door. If we didn't know you were coming, ain't likely you're getting in unless you're the Fedex guy or Ed McMahon. So call first and we'll see what we can do. Make an appointment, essentially. Same extra tenner is still in it for you.

3, make or keep appointments. Oops again I guess. Gosh, so sorry. I'm not really good at committments. I have long hair because I'm too lazy to go to the salon. I can't even call to make the appointment and if by some chance I do there is an excellent chance I won't show up. I know. I suck. Whatever.

Looks like you're gonna have to suffer along without the ten bucks I owe you. Bummer, I know. But it's ten bucks and what were you thinking lending it to me in the first place? That was just a silly move.

*cheque is how Candadians spell check. Like write a check for ten dollars. Only write a CHEQUE is the right way.

winter sexy

2005-01-18T08:20:00.000-08:00

Some people, let's call them teenagers, can look good in winter. They can wear their skimpy little jackets, backsides sticking out from their jeans so you can see their panties, bleach blonde hair flying and happy in the blistering cold wind. They can do this because they are insane. They will not be freed from this insanity until they are about 28 years of age. Sooner if they are early to wed and have babies.

Having babies smartens the brain right up.

I've got two babies and my brain is as smartened as it will ever be.

Therefore! When I go out I may not look ultra lovely. My sass appeal is perhaps lower than in summer. No perhaps about it. I look like a blob with messy hair and dammit. I don't care. These are utilitarian times.

It's Minus Forty Eight.

Now if it perks up. Even a little. A few degrees, let's say. You know, to -25. Well then. You'll be happy to know that I will return to my former gorgeous self. Rest assured. These are temprorary measures. Going out looking like a big old bucket of yuck.

Hang on now, it's not that bad. I mean, I brush my teeth and sometimes my hair. I wear cleanish clothes. My mittens and scarf and boots and North Face Jacket are all of the finest quality and match in the most matchy way. It's not like I throw out every hint of self esteem just because it is wicked cold.

I do mean wicked cold.

When it's wicked cold no one is thinking about sex appeal. They're thinking about staying alive. It's all you can hope for. Unless you are between the ages of 15 and 28 in which case you are, as I said, insane and not thinking at all.

Bleach blond hair blowing in the breeze indeed.

Come on. Tuck it under a hat like a sane person would do and put your britches in your pants before you freeze your sexy right off. Damned fools.

It's minus forty eight degrees!

Site Of The Week!

2005-01-17T07:51:00.000-08:00

Strap on the bunny ears, friends, and hop on over to the burrow! Please say hello while you're there. You're such an interesting and lovely person I just know she'll be happy to see you!

Have fun!

rejoice! for now we have poop!

2005-01-16T13:42:00.000-08:00

A child of three and one half will sometimes sing and grunt his little heart out when he is alone in the bathroom doing his messy business. He may then invite you in to see what he has done, to declare that you have never seen a finer poop. Only, remember to let him flush because that is his way. Should you be remiss and let your hand reach out to do the flushing you might find it snapped off at the wrist! Exercise caution and be generous with praise. The child has invented poop!

and the bells rang three hours before dawn

2005-01-16T06:29:00.000-08:00

Oh wait. That's not bells ringing. Silly me. That's my First Born. He's up. Horrah. Five in the morning, dead of winter, up for the long drag of the day.

Here be the list of thing Mommy will not do today and every other day that she is yanked from the warm and lovely of her Nautica bedding at the unchristly hour of five in the a of m:

1. Smile. Sorry. Mommy's smile is worn out from the day before and she was not given sufficient sleep time which, as everyone knows, is required in the recovery of one's smile.

2. Clean. Lord no. You can run rampant about the homestead, felt tipped pen in one hand and lid free cup of grape juice in the other and I will say All The Power To Ya Buddy. If it needs cleaning you might speak with Imaginary Maid but when I saw her this morning she told me to feck right off so I don't think that's a viable option.

3. Play. Get over it.

4. Cook. Drive to Wendy's if you get hungry. Or eat fruit. It's that juicy lovely stuff that grows on trees and whatnot.

5. Tolerate Insubordination. From Anyone.

6. Find Anything. If you don't see it, it's lost and if it's lost, it is staying there. I might go find it so I can be lost with it but I will not find it to get it for you.

Now Lookit, I'm a good mom and a good wife and I will be back to myself but for this day and any other where you cruelly wake me up before it is normal and natural to be up I will not be my usual sun shiney self and I am sorry for that.

Bad News, Brother.

Get Over It.

If you let me nap later I might be willing to ammend the list.

Maybe.

Now go do your own thing and leave me be in my sleep deprived grump.

when you're sick as a dog in the street you get to complain all you want

2005-01-15T08:33:00.000-08:00

I am that sick. As a dog in the street. Whatever that means. Take it to mean I feel like a lump of lumpiness.

It's just a cold. Don't worry. I'll be okay.

Now I am of the opinion that when a person is sick they are entitled to a certain amount of grumpiness. They should be allowed to rant a little and bemoan the fact that they are sickiepoo.

When I say people I only mean ME. I cannot tolerate any of the above in anyone else when they are ill. If you're sick please keep it to yourself. Buck up and be a man about it. I have no patience for anyone who goes about doing any of the things I feel entirely justified in doing when I am unwell.

I never said life was fair.

Get Over It.

I'm the only one who gets to be pissy when I'm sick and if you don't like it, carry on. There are no gift baskets. Just go.

Only, I'm not realy feeling grumpy. Or in the mood to rant. Actually, I feel all cuddly. I feel happy. Happy to be home with my sungable hugable family in my cozy warm house.

I'm So Lucky!

I know it's hard to believe that a person entitled to a snarky mood sits here before you with a little grin on her face but some days you just know you're very fortunate, snuffly nose or not, and today is such a day for me.

Don't worry though. I never go long before a mood strikes me. You will benefit from my misery before long. I assure you.

I have to go blow my nose.

the undergarment obsession, chapter six

2005-01-14T19:36:00.000-08:00

I'm back on bras. You okay with that? Bras? Because I've got some things to say about bras.

Hate 'em.

Some women like them. Some women own hundreds of them. Hundreds. And they're not cheap so that's a lot of bras. They collect them like other people collect 98 cent underpanties. But 98 cent underpanties make perfect sense because A they fit nice and feel good and B they are cheap like CHEAP.

I do not like bras.

Not that you can get away without them. If you're a girl and you've got boobs.

I'm a girl and I've got boobs.

So what am I gonna do? I gotta wear a bra. The thing I've come to realize, finally, after all these years, is that some bras look good on some people and some bras look good on other people.

And when I say people I mean women, If you're a guy and you're wearing a bra All The Power To Ya but why! I mean why!

Anyway, back to me because thats what this is all about. Me. And my bra issues. Slash concerns. Slash annoyances. Slash I gotta find a style I like and be done with it already.

I don't know how I'm gonna do it. Find the perfect bra. I've talked about it before. Finding the perfect bra and I think I decided it was an impossible dream. I've changed my mind. I will not give up. This life is long and it's gonna be hard if you go through it in a rubber band that straps you down and feels like, well, a rubber band cutting you into sections.

I refuse to settle for such a life.

Thing is, shopping for bras is as appealing to me as shopping for golf clubs. I mean, damn. Why not just poke me in the eye and have done with it. It's all the same.

Ah, but it's got to be taken on, this quest for the perfect bra. Perfect for ME because perfect for YOU is not the same as perfect for ME, is it? I know this isn't going to be easy but I am up to the task. Not like I don't have a million other things to do though. The least of which being a thousand abdominal exercises a day because I've gone and said I was going to have rock hard abs. That and write a novel. And read. I keep saying I'm going to read more. And eat better. And. And. And.

But I'll do it. Add it to the list. At the bottom, though. I'll get to it. Really.

I said really.

mmmm, you smell good

2005-01-14T10:19:00.000-08:00

No, Not you. The other guy. And that lady back there. Yeah, you guys. Dang, thanks for taking the time. I mean, wow. Most of us go out smelling alright. Nothing exceptional. But those of you who show up smelling like sunshine and a lovely spring morning are owed a debt of gratitude and by god I'm here to say Thanks!

THANKS!

Thanks for making me smile with your freshy freshness. You have brightened my day with your attention to cleanliness and I am grateful for it. You can tell by the fact that I have taken the time to come here and say so for all of the internet to see.

Gosh, that is gratitude.

For those of you who do not so much add joy with your, shall we say, scent, please make some changes to your leaving the house routine. You know who you are. You're the guy no one wants to stand beside on the subway. The woman no one will stand next to in step class. It's gross, really, so please stoppit. Stop being gross.

Those of you who are a basket of daisies, once again I say thanks. Thanks for being you.

oh don't you dare doubt it

2005-01-13T17:43:00.000-08:00

Some people would have you think that a woman, say in her mid thirties, who has had two children and is perhaps not in the best shape of her life cannot over hope to have a midsection like this:

I'm here to say, with loud voice and fist in the air, that I will prove such naysayers wrong. It may take a while, it may not happen right away. But hear this. I will, as blogland is my witness, have a flat stomach and abdominal muscles you can see from space.

FROM SPACE.

You ever been to space? It's pretty far away and for you to be able to see my ab muscles from there they'd have to be really really obvious.

Now if you will kindly move over, step aside, get out of the way I need to lay down and do some crunches.

One, two, three...fifty, fifty one...three thousand and six, three thousand and seven....

once again the maid has let us down, way way down

2005-01-12T17:47:00.000-08:00

Geez, you know, I think I'm gonna have to fire her. I mean, look at this place. Look. It's a mess. Really. Right beside me here on the floor there are two books, a cookie, a princess and, what's this, my underwear? How'd that get in here?

I don't remember putting it there.

It's quite unacceptable to pay this woman, imaginary or not, what we do when she does not even do one tenth the amount of work she is meant to do.

But Missus, the children, they make such a mess.

Whine Whine Whine. Like I don't know my kids make a mess. Please. I'm the one who broke my big toe on the Hot Wheels Slimecano this morning when all I was trying to do was open the living room blinds. You don't have to tell me. I know. In fact, it's kinda why I hired you, whether in my mind or not.

Kids aren't tidy by nature.

There are two plates with eggs on the counter, a towel on the living room floor, kleenex stuck to the dog and something brown smeared on the couch. No, I'm not going to smell it. The maid can smell it. That's her job, not mine. But she'd better do it fast because I'm not sure she'll be employed here much longer.

What am I saying? What on earth am I saying. Oh Lord. We'd be lost without her. Granted she is only pretend and doesn't actually do anything but without her I'd lose all hope. I'd feel like I have to do everything including smell the couch and heaven help me I just can't do it. It's probably chocolate but it might not be.

It Might Not Be.

Let me keep my pretend maid, won't you? She's really quite nice and she means to do more. She had a bad back for a while, then her cat died. I mean, her cat died. What was I supposed to do, make her clean toilets with a dead cat on her heart? I'm not evil, for shit sake. I'm not.

Look, I can help her out for a while. Til she's feeling better. Then, over time, she can do more. Alright, she's not likely to ever really be very good but she's a part of the family and we like having her around. She can stay.

You can stay, Imaginary Maid.

Please stay.

Oh thank god. That's a relief.

the importance of being better than you used to be

2005-01-12T05:39:00.000-08:00

You know, before I had kids I thought I was pretty alright. I was a good person, didn't drink to excess, didn't do drugs. I've never been to prison and it's not just because I've never been caught. I do good, am good and think I contribute a certain amount to the world I live in. So I thought.

I was wrong.

I suck.

It took the arrival of the two most wonderful people I've ever met to show me that I fall short as a human being on almost every level.

Gosh, not good news.

It's not that I've changed. No No. I'm the same old me. Good old me.

Good Old Me.

I suck.

Who knew I was so mean, so inclined to not let a poor child have chocolate milk and cookies for breakfast. Who knew I was going to be hell bent on ruining the day with my mommy rules. Don't kick the dog. Stop poking your sister. Don't pull your brothers hair.

Don't Put That In The Toilet! Again!

Who knew I could get so loud?

Alright my husband knew but still.

I always thought I was plenty good enough but it turns out no matter what you gotta step it up a notch when you have kids. Hell, some people gotta step it up a hundred notches. Me, just the one notch because, like I said, I wasn't so bad to start off with.

I was pretty good.

Not good enough, it would appear, but pretty good.

And getting better every day.

Every. Single. Day.

in which we wonder if it is right to give a guy flower shaped ice to cool himself post attack on the nads

2005-01-11T13:58:00.000-08:00

All went well. The patient is resting with a magazine in bed and I assure you will be waited upon as thought he were the King of England and promising to give me the key to the Jewel Room, take what I like. If he asks me to get him ice cream I will go out again on this blustery day and get him any flavour he chooses. He is a superior sort of man and I adore him.

Hell if doesn't want flower shaped ice I'll go out back and chip some off the side of the house. That's how much I love him. He's that good a man.

refreshingly funny

2005-01-10T19:43:00.000-08:00

Canada is a land of funny people. Point proven by this very blog, if I do say so my own self. Not that I'm bragging. In fact, I don't think I'm very funny at all but my dad does. Actually, no he doesn't. No one in my family does. Isn't that weird? I mean, maybe I'm not funny.

Crap.

Anyway! There's this new Canadian show called Getting Along Famously. I watched it yesterday and I thought it was funny. It is nothing like anything on TV right now but that's the way Canadian television works.

If you ever get a chance to watch it, do. It's entertaining.

That's my plug for the year.

Go about your business.

bulk up johnny

2005-01-10T15:40:00.000-08:00

What? You thought I was gonna let granny kick my ass?

v day

2005-01-10T09:28:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow my darling love goes under the knife. For the purpose of, ahem, nixing his fathering capacity.

Shhhhh. He doesn't want me to tell you.

Just now he was sniping about some bloody thing or another and I said, Oh I can't wait til they castrate you.

To which he said, I think that's different.

I said up there that he's going under the knife. That was misleading. There's no actual knife involved. In truth, there's not much to it. Not like when I had my abdomen ripped open so that an eight pound five ounce human being could be yanked out of me after twenty hours of fierce labour. Not like when the second one came out the regular way and they had to cut my actual private area with a knife so that her gigantic head could get through.

It's still a big deal though and I am so proud of him for being so brave! Isn't he so brave! My big strong man. So brave!

a new site of the week!

2005-01-10T06:50:00.000-08:00

Gosh, the excitement is palpable, no? A new site of the week. Wow. This week I am happy to report that Tommy over at Almost Average is my Site of the Week. I interviewed Tommy for this occassion. Please enjoy.

ME: Tommy, how do you feel about being chosen as Site of the Week over at honestyrain?
TOMMY: I'm thrilled beyond comprehension. I was up all night with the excitement.

ME: Are you prepared for the traffic that is likely to head your way as a result of being spotlighted on honestyrain?
TOMMY: I don't think anyone can really prepare themselves for such an influx of visitors but I think I'm ready.

ME: When did you learn that you were selected for this honor?
TOMMY: Just now, actually.

ME: What made you start a blog of your own?
TOMMY: I heard it was a great way to make money. Fast.

ME: Yeah? And how's that going? Made much so far?
TOMMY: Sure, lots. We were able to buy a new car with the revenue. Actually, I'm lying. Not a penny so far. Turns out blogging isn't really much of a cash cow after all.

ME: Duh.

Alright everyone, please go and visit Tommy and enjoy his funny blog!

editorial note: Tommy was unavailable for the interview process. The answers listed above were, in fact, not given by him. If he doesn't like those answers tuff nuts. He should have shown up for the interview. Really, sheesh.

martians!

2005-01-09T18:06:00.000-08:00

How much do you want to bet they've got green skin under those winter loving clothes.

Don't worry, we were quite safe within our Ford Explorer, heat on, dreaming of Spain.

honestyrain's 5 tips to help you lose those holiday pounds

2005-01-09T08:04:00.000-08:00

Look, these tips are real. Look, they work. Look, try them, you never know. Look, holiday pounds are a myth anyway so whatever.

ONE. Make (or buy if you are a lazy turd) your favorite kind of cookie. Wait! Don't eat them! Watch everyone you live with eat them. Drool if you like but do not under any circumstances consume a cookie yourself. This tip works on two levels. Level A) you're not eating the cookie so duh you're not gaining weight from the cookie but more importantly B) the wanting of the cookie ACTUALLY BURNS FAT right there as you sit and watch others enjoy them.

TWO. Eat food off of other people's plates. If you didn't know, food eaten off of someone else's plate is not real. Like, if your wife is eating french fries smothered in gravy but you, fat bastard that you are, have declined on this occassion you are welcome to enjoy up to ten, yes ten, of her fries without consequence. I know, what a fanbloodytastic loophole! I know.

THREE. Exercise. What, you thought you could watch your wife eat cookies and share a few of her fries and that's it POOF! you're down two dress sizes. Come on. Wake up.

FOUR. Tell other people to eat the things you wish you could eat. Be covert about this one. If people know you're not actually eating any of the offending item they may take issue. You say to your best friend, Shirley who hates when you call her Girly Shirley but you do it anyway, hey, try one of these Valentine's Day chocolates here, Girly Shirley.

Don't call me that, she says.

Okay, you say. Here eat this.

Okay, she says, over the Girly Shirley thing at record speed.

This tip works on two levels. A) you're helping to fatten your friend up which can only serve to make you look better. B) it really is almost satisying to enjoy food vicariously through the people you like and respect most in the world. You will find your appetite nearly satisfied or you will be so repulsed by the way in which Girly Shirley just gobbled the entire damned box of chocolates that you'll swear off food forever. I mean, didn't anyone ever teach her any manners or what? God.

FIVE. Drink water. Seriously. Not to be preachy or anything but holy crap man, put down the Pepsi. Coke. Whatever. Drink water. It's real real good for you and most people find they poop better when they drink a lot of water. Pooping better can lower your belt size by like half, so, get on it.

That's it. The five tips to help you lose those holiday pounds. They work. If they don't work you're doing them wrong so shut up. I can't follow the tips for you. I'm only here to tell you what to do then you go do it. That's all.

granny up

2005-01-07T19:02:00.004-08:00

I pride myself on being something of a proficient at working out. I am certainly not in great shape at this time but said fact can be attributed to the growing and raising of two children now aged three and one. This is the body of a once fit but now long sleep deprived, overworked and overcookied woman.

I still pride myself.

I'm the brand of cat who will, on seeing how much you just lifted, attempt to match or better you. Assuming you're not, you know, huge and a guy or whatever. You know what I'm saying. I like the competitive feel at the gym. That's why I don't work out at home.

I've mentioned in the past that the time at which I go to the gym seems to draw a more senior crowd.

Sixties, seventies. Senior Crowd.

I've mentioned I lift more than the old ladies.

Of course.

Usually.

Yesterday I was surprised to find that one woman, clearly in her late fifties early sixties, seemed to be lifting more than me on the leg adductor.

Naturally, my brain, in all of it's vain grandeur, tried to math it out. How this happened. Maybe she was a champion lifter in her day. Maybe she didn't really do that weight but changed it just before I came up to make it look like she did. Maybe she's an alien who likes winter and can lift obsene amounts of weight with her inner thighs.

The possiblities were, clearly, endless.

Nevertheless I bumped the weight substantially and made damn sure every other thing I did went up at a similar incremement. I've got an image to maintain.

It's an image that exists only in my mind yet I'm sure you see it is one that cannot be sacrificed.

Obviously.

There's no way Granny Tight Fanny is going to out lift me.

you know you waaaaant it

2005-01-06T20:56:00.000-08:00

burn the socks, baby, we're moving to spain

2005-01-06T20:19:00.000-08:00

I've got this problem. It's not a big deal. It's just a thing. You know.

I don't like socks. Don't like to wear them, wash them and especially match them up and put them away. I could go the whole of my life never seeing another sock. It's that bad.

I've got this other small problem.

I hate winter.

Some people love it. They look forward to it. They get excited about it and can't wait to go into the basement and dig out their snow pants and wooly mittens.

These people are beyond my comprehension. They're like aliens. Weird little green people who don't know any better. Maybe the planet they came from is worse than winter. Gosh, how sad is that. I feel bad for the martians. I do.

I still hate winter. And socks.

So!

I've got a plan!

We're gonna move to spain!

Burn the socks before we go!

Spain, if you don't know, does not have winter. They do not have snow. Yeah, that's right. No snow. Which must also mean no little green aliens and that's good too.

Picture me, sock free, shorts all year. Might even get me a tan. Damn, I'll probably give up cookies altogether. I only eat them by way of holding back the deep winter depression.

We'll come back for christmas. Everyone likes snow at christmas.

All that's left to do is convince my husband. He's dead set against it right now and frankly I'm concerned he's one of the martians but I won't give up. I mean to live in Spain and no winter loving weirdo is gonna get in my way.

No way. No how.

is it monday already?

2005-01-06T15:28:00.000-08:00

out my front door, to my left, this glorious tree.

i have a camera, i can take pictures, i can do a photo of the day

2005-01-06T13:55:00.000-08:00

Oh I can, you just watch me. Just watch. You'll see. You'll see and you'll be amazed. Amazement to take place.

Some day.

I mean, not right this second. Some time in the not too distant future you can expect to see a photo of the day herein.

It'll be oh so very exciting.

I can tell you're thrilled. Stop rolling your eyes. It just may be thrilling. You don't know. Maybe there are things in my daily life that would amaze and astound you should you be allowed a glimpse. You would be surprised by the things I see every day.

No, No, you wouldn't. That's a load of promotional malarky. I'm sorry for that.

Still! I will begin a photo of the day some day very soon.

Commit to a day, you say? A day to start? Oh. Well. I'm not very good at committment. It makes me anxious, to be honest. I really just thought I'd wing it, see what happens.

But if you insist, and I see that you do, I will choose Next Monday as the onset of Honestyrain's Photo of the Day.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to figure out how to add photos to my blog. If anyone knows please do share with my. I'm under some pressure here, what with agreeing to do this bloody thing. I'm already sick about it. I feel like I've got to study for a math exam, know that I won't study and will fail. Badly.

Photo Of The Day Coming Monday!

it's only fair

2005-01-05T16:43:00.000-08:00

Since I get up and go to the gym at, like, seven in the morning I think it is only fair that this should bring about the desired effects from doing so immediately. By way of acknowledging my devotion and strength of character.

Yeah?

While we're at it, same said devotion should buy me a diet filled with french fries, cookies, potato chips and yes, dammit, lots and lots of chocolate.

Please?

It's. Only. Fair.

if you stick a needle in each of my legs i will not be your friend

2005-01-05T09:17:00.000-08:00

Miss Baby Girly Girl had her eighteen month check up this fine morning. We hopped out of our warm cozy beds at 7:40 and raced into our cold cold kitchen to let the kids gobble up their bran flakes before dashing out the door.

Note to self, please make all future appointments for later in the day.

It is bitch ass cold out there. Even for here. It's ugly cold. It's cold like you're stupid enough to be living and the North Friggin' Pole. I am so not loving it. At all. Not one bit.

Anyway!

Miss Baby Girly Girl was all innocence as she frolicked about the doctor's examination room in her diaper and pretty pink sweater. She knew not what would come, what injustice would be perpetrated upon her. She is not like her older brother, who never flinched when being seen or stuck by the doctor at this age.

Miss Baby Girly Girl screamed her head off at the sight of the stethoscope. She vibrated and called Mama Mama Mama throughout the very basic examination of her chest and ears. There was no doubt, whatever friendship this new pediatrician of ours had hoped to form with my youngest wee one was forever a dream not to be realized.

Before he got the needle out. Before he gave her the shots. I say shots because she was to have two.

Oh Horrid Unfair World.

The screaming and general histrionics which ensued during the actual poking of her prescious tender skin were justified if nevertheless the tiniest bit dramatic.

I'm not saying she's a drama queen. I'm saying some day she will be and she will be very very good at it. Stellar. Exemplary. Dare I say Drama Queen Award Winning material.

I was, why shouldn't she be. I will accept nothing less. Average will not do.

It isn't easy for a mommy to sit by as her Miss Baby Girly Girl is assaulted with sharp implements in the name of future health and well being. It takes a level of mommy maturity to not run screaming from the building, babe in arms, delcaring that no one shall ever poke this child so go to hell, sir!

Gosh, I thought about it.

But didn't do it.

I'm a seasoned and certainly mature professional mother and so not to be swayed from the purpose at hand.

Gosh, I thought about it.

Moments after the odeal she was fine, though, I am thrilled to report. Once the doctor, Oh Evil Man, left she sighed and jumped off my lap. Both legs in remarkable working order despite a small hole having just been punctured in each.

She is all bravery and goodness, my girl.

By the time we were getting jackets on she seemed to have forgotten the entire affair, oh good, and walked on her own two legs out to the truck where she was appropriately rewarded with gushers for having tolerated what she was just asked to tolerate.

Like she had a choice.

Poor bunny.

Rest utterly assured that this man, this twenty six year old fresh from medical school pediatrician, will never win the affections of my young lass. The fire in her eyes as he stabbed her tiny thighs is not likely to burn out before she is old enough to find a doctor of her own choosing. There will forever be animosity between them. I'm sad to say it, but it's true. My child holds a grudge against anyone who causes her physical harm and harm her he did.

Oh Evil Man.

Think how it will go when we return in a month for the follow up shot. Yes another. Oh Heaven Help The Evil Man. He'd best wear ear plugs for the screeching is bound to be shrill. I take no responsibilty for where her small fists land when she takes to flailing them. She has every right to protect herself, after all.

Poor Bunny.

i am not a finalist in the Bob Awards!

2005-01-04T16:30:00.000-08:00

I Thought I would let everyone know that there will be no need to go searching for my name among the finalists in any of the many categories over at the BoB awards. You will not be asked to go click the button next to my name on a daily basis because my name is not there. There is no button.

No No. I don't blame any of you.

Honest.

It's a relief if you must know. Being a finalist must gain one increased traffic on one's site. That'd mean more comments. More love. More adoration. More all things good and lovely in blogland.

Gosh, I've got more than my fare share of all that right now.

It might even get me on The Femelist (oooh ahhh).

Not that I need that sort of attention in order to value myself as a blogger.

Oh I readily admit winning an award of almost any kind would excite in me feelings of JOY heretofore unfelt by me. But I'm not one to go begging for anything. It's not my style.I don't beg. For anything.

Except chocolate. If I ran out of chocolate and you had all the chocolate left in the world I would beg you for even the smallest morsel.

You'd give me some, yeah?

Well then, that's all I need. That makes you a real friend as far as I'm concerned. Sharing your chocolate with the likes of me. Someone you don't even really know. Gosh, my heart glows with the warmth of your goodness.

Next time there are awards though I wouldn't object to being considered. Oh I'm not saying any of YOU should nominate me. Oh My No.

Actually, well, yes. Would you?

No, I'm so kidding (really).

As long as I've got the promise of chocolate I'm a happy blogger. And you have promised. Yes you did. Back there. Everyone heard you so don't try to back out of it. When the Mad World Chocolate Shortage hits buddy boy I'm gonna come a knockin' and I'll be expecting you to make good on a promise.

Alright then good. We're square. No hard feelings on the award thing. In fact, let's never mention it again.

sleepy...sleeeeeepeeeeeeee...so sleeepy

2005-01-03T08:23:00.000-08:00

I've been going to bed rather late the past few nights. Past couple weeks really. Don't know what's got into me. Normally I'm begging for bed by ten o'clock. Lately it's more like one by the time I'm tucked in.

My internal clock has been cocked up by all the snow outside.

Maybe.

Today it's all caught up with me. I'm drooling in my chamomile tea (I don't really drink chamomile tea). When I get this tired I become a bit of an idiot.

I cry suddenly, without provocation.

I shout.

I curse.

I eat potato chips for breakfast and pie for lunch.

Therefore. I am going to go take a nap.

Yep, a nap. Me. A nap. Can you bloody picture that. I never nap. Like once a year I nap. So not never but really hardly ever at all. Napping is such a collosal waste of my time. I toelrate sleeping at night because it's dark and there's nothing on tv but hellfire if The Sound of Music were on at 3am and the sun never went down I would give up sleep forever.

And be a miserable shit but you know.

In the name of not being a miserable shit today I am going to give in and go upstairs, get into my king size bed with glorious Nautica bedding and enjoy a few zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzs.

Shhhhhhh. Keep it down. Honestyrain is sleeping.

Awww, so sweet is she, head on her pillow, blankie to her chin.

Pleasant dreams Honestyrain pleasant dreams.

it's monday! time for a new blog of the week!

2005-01-03T04:47:00.000-08:00

Please join me this week in visiting and enjoying [sick of] Sucking It In, my Blog of the Week. Rebeka shares with us her journey toward fitness and well being in this funny and inspirational blog. [sick of] Sucking It In is currently nominated for a BoB Award. If you enjoy her blog as much as I do please consider dashing over to BoB to vote for her.

The link to her site is in the sidebar. At the left this time. The sidebar is now at the left. Isn't that an interesting change!

Be sure to leave her a little heya when you go to her place. Everyone loves comments. Please share the love.

in which we wonder if a chocolate chip cookie can have too many chocolate chips

2005-01-02T20:49:00.000-08:00

This afternoon, in an exemplary show of All Things Womanly, I prepared a batch of my now famous chocolate chip cookies. You've never had them so you can't possibly know. They are the best chocolate chip cookies in The World. The Universe. Whatever is bigger than The Universe.

They're real good, is what I'm saying.

The recipe I use, it's a secret don't ask, calls for one cup of chocolate chips. One cup. Sissified. That's what that is. One cup is maybe the way the uninitiated would make a chocolate chip cookie but I, well I am so past that. So past following recipes. Or rules of any kind.

Rules are for suckers!

I put one and one half cups of chocolate chips in my batter.

You heard me.

Now if you're one of those people who thinks a few chocolate chips sprinkled in is good enough I say move on, sir. You've got no business here. This is a place meant for the serious chocolate chip cookie eater. There will be no pansy ass cookies offered today. Not a one.

You know what happens when you load a cookie one and one half cup full of chocolatey goodness?

Good Things.

The best cookie anywhere anytime.

I'd give you one if you were here and you would squeal with delight like you have not done since you were a child. Think of it. Imagine. Dream of it tonight in your warm cozy bed.

Ah, chewy cookie goodness.

It is a sad fact that you won't be able to have one. I am sorry for you. I promise to think of you as I consume them. I will think of you as I sigh a yummy sigh and wipe the chocolate from my lips.

mmmmmmmmm.

In answer to the question as to whether a chocolate chip cookie can have too many chocolate chips I say don't be stupid. Of course not.

you're in the right place! this is me!

2005-01-02T15:18:00.000-08:00

Welcome!

I am happy to introduce my new look on this the Second Day of January in the year Two Thousand and Five.

Don't you love it!

I'm sure it'll take some getting used to. Humans are creatures of habit. But really, this is so much prettier and lovelier and nicer and you simply must join me in adoring it.

Join me!

Adore it!

All of my addons from the other look will be returning later today. I may even find a new trinket or two. Probably just one though. Don't get your hopes up for two. Oh dear. I've gone and got your hopes up. Geez. Okay okay. I'll try for two but I was reall only thinking of one. Let me think. Let me think.

Do enjoy the new look if you can and if not too bloody bad because it is making me so happy I could pee right here in my 98 cent panties.

But not really. I am not incontinent. Honest.

Hey! The new feature is up! Check out the snazzy poll at the bottom of the sidebar. Scroll down. Little more. There! There! See it? How cool am I! Come on, pretty cool. So after you leave me a glorious comment espousing my greatness here please go answer the poll. It's not a thrilling one because I have been busy busy making changes but wait! Thrilling polls to come! You just wait!

All these exclamation marks are tiring me out.

Whew.

we've decided to become overachievers!

2005-01-01T20:02:00.001-08:00

Oh such excitement. Husband and I have decided, after a short discussion earlier today, that it might be nice if we spent a little time working at becoming Overachievers. At first we thought just Achievers would be good enough but hell, why not go the whole mile, yeah? I mean, if we're taking the time anyway.

Thing is, we're not real sure how to go about it. Bit of a stretch for us, if you must know. We're not slugs. Hey, we're not. It's just that. Well. You know.

We're dreadfully average.

God, how embarrassing is that.

Not for long, mind you. No, No. Big plans, we've got. Huge. Massive.

Not really a plan, to be honest. More of an idea. A loosely formed idea. Actually, we've kind of just got the word so far. Overachiever. Don't know what it means, truth be told. You know, the dictionary dot com meaning and all.

Should I look it up? Because maybe we don't really want to be Overachievers. Could be it's not really a good thing after all. Could be one of those silly words that people bandy about not knowing that it really means shit for brains or whatnot. God wouldn't that be awful. Race about telling people you're going to be an Overachiever and it means Shit For Brains. Jesus. We'd look like assholes. Wouldn't we.

I'm gonna look it up. Just to be safe.

To perform better or achieve more success than expected.

Jesus Bloody Christ. What the Sam Crap does that mean. Whose to say what level of success was expected to begin with. Let's say I expected, for the day, to get out of bed and not soil myself or piss on another human being. Let's say I did better than that. Let's say not only didn't I piss on another human being but also refrained frorm pissing on the furniture. Know what that makes me?

Overachiever.

What if I plan to go to the gym tomorrow and walk once around the track then sit in the hot tub for fifteen minutes before coming home and having beer for lunch. Instead I walk around the track twice, sit in the hot tub for twenty minutes and come home to have beer and a carrot.

Overachiever.

Damn. This Overachiever stuff is a bit lame. I had no idea. Geez. You know what, I think I'm gonna skip it. Doesn't seem worth the fuss really. I've got other stuff I wanna do anyway.

No, I'm not gonna tell you what. Didn't your mother ever teach you it's not nice to pry. I'll tell you when I'm damn good and ready.

Actually, I've got no plans. I was just trying to cover for the Overachiever thing falling through. You know, the big idea and all. Hey we tried. Always gotta be willing to try new things. Now we're on to the next. Another adventure.

what? what happened? a new year? say what?

2005-01-01T09:25:00.000-08:00

Geez. Already. Another year gone by. Well then.

Perhaps it would be fitting for me to remark on this past year.

But I don't wanna. I don't really like to spend a lot of time thinking. I was going to say I don't like to spend a lot of time thinking about The Past but realized today it's the entire concept of thinking that is beyond my scope.

You know what I'd like to do? Sit around and watch tv while eating peanut butter with chocolate. Actually, hang on. I'm sick of peanut butter with chocolate.

Hell just froze over.

Solid.

There's a marathon of the British What Not To Wear on BBC Canada. I've never seen it and would adore gazing at it all freakin' day. To, you know, celebrate the onset of a new year. And whatnot. Maybe even get some style tips to carry me forward in my ongoing quest for, well, style.

I haven't got any at this time.

I should probably come up with some witty business about New Years Resolutions. As much as I'd like to I can't. Because I just don't friggin' care. Resolutions are so silly that I can't even come up with something funny to say about them.

Ok, I'll try.

In two thousand and five I will -

Try again.

In two thousand and five I will not -

No, sorry. Nothing.

Ok, I've got it. I hereby vow to continue being Me throughout two thousand and five. I promise to grow and develop as a person whether I like it or not and I swear I won't do anything wrong ever.

Ok.

Except delete that last bit about never doing anything wrong ever. Geez, what kind of a boring turd would I be if I was perfect?

I mean I am perfect, but you know.

It's just that, for as long as I can remember, by the time New Year's Eve comes along I'm pretty worn out from all the festivities and postiveness I've endured that I'm essentially The Queen of Celebratory Humbug. I want my tree down, the clutter uncluttered and if at all possible, the snow gone gone gone.

Not possible, move on.

So forgive my lack of enthusiasm. I would, for each and every one of you, offer something lovely and shiney. If I could. Alas, I cannot.

I do wish you a very Happy Two Thousand and Five, however, with the utmost sincerity. Really. I wish you the best every day. All the time. Not just today and not only this year. I wish you sunny days and sparkly smiles always. You deserve the very best of happiness and I hope it is yours this year, the next and the one after.

Happy Every Day of Your Life!

video game characters can be quite sexy if you take the time to notice

2004-12-31T13:54:00.000-08:00

A few days ago I happened upon my Dearest Love playing his Dearest Love. World Of Warcraft. I don't generally pay much attention when he plays these games. They bore me.

I am so above video games.

Once in a while he asks me to have a look at some impressive bit of business he has going on. On screen. The off screen business he has going on is always impressive.

On this occassion I was looking at snow or something. Some great feat of video making design.

Whatever.

All I noticed was the character. His guy. Oh His Guy.

Hot.

Yeah I know. That's weird. I know. But really.

Hot.

I said as much.

I said, hey, your guy is hot.

Thank you, he said.

I believe he felt the compliment was meant for him. I believe he sees his Guy as an extension of himself. I believe he thought i was propositioning him.

Maybe I was.

The point is, if you will please pay attention and stop concerning yourself with my sex life, video game characters can be quite sexy if you take the time to notice.

I feel no shame in saying that I did take the time to notice. Notice I did indeed.

in mine ipod, he said

2004-12-30T15:05:00.000-08:00

Super Boy just found one of the missing pieces from his Magnetic Doodle Thingy. The circle, I think. He raced over and essentially shoved the shape up my nose because as any child knows parents see everything better when it is shoved up their snout.

I Found It, he declared, as though he'd unearthed the Hope Diamond (is that missing? I have no idea).

Good, said I, gently removing the item from my nasal cavity. Where does it go?

In here, mommy, he said, and ran over to the Magnetic Doodle Thingy. In mine ipod, he said.

My materialism is spreading.

Not thirty seconds ago he raced in here as I typed this out to share with You.

Did you hear that loud crash, mommy, did you?

I did, Love, what was it?

Mine ipod! It fell on the floor. I have to go pee!

I don't think he picked his ipod up the way I certainly would have done should mine have crashed to the floor with such a tremendous thud. You know I would have been in a fit of tears, calling for Emergency Apple Services to dash over and rescue my poor mp3 and photo player. Granted, he had to go pee, as you see, so perhaps this is what kept him from properly tending to his own ipod.

It's good to know that despite all other indications Super Boy does hear what I say. That he appears to digest those aspects of what I utter which are less than pure is of little consequence. So he can curse like a drunken sailor and is bent toward fine technological items. As long as he's listening to me what the hell do I care?

excuse me sir, where did you go to medical school anyway

2004-12-30T14:32:00.000-08:00

I'm mildly concerned that my doctor may be a quack.

I went to him last month after not seeing him for probably two years. In the past I've felt that maybe he was less than brilliant but my concerns have been of a not so serious nature. You know, I stepped on a nail can I get a tetanus shot kind of stuff. Doesn't take a genius.

This last visit however made me pause, reflect and consider moving on.

Me: Hi Doctor Man. Nice to see you.

Doctor Man: Ya, what?

Me: I've been getting really bad headaches.

Doctor Man: Mmmmmmm.

Me: They're really bad. Migraines. Almost every day. For, like, two years.

Doctor Man: Oh, ya, take one tylenol one advil, you know, make migraine go poof! away.

Me: I've been doing that. It's not helping. I think it's my neck. It feels like my neck is really messed up.

Doctor Man: Mmmmmm.

Me: It's bad.

Doctor Man: You do pilates? You should do pilates, get all better.

Me: I do pilates. And yoga.

Doctor Man: Yoga! Yes, very good!

Me: But it's not helping.

Doctor Man: Mmmm.

Me: I feel rotten a lot of the time.

(this is where the good part comes)

Doctor Man: Do you have insurance for physio? No? Here's what you do. You go to hospital. Where do you live? Go to St George Hospital and wait outside physio department. When a physiotherapist comes out ask them to help you. Tell them what is wrong. They'll help you. You bet.

Me: I can't see, the headaches are so bad. In fact, my left eye fell out last week. The headaches are that bad. It just jumped out to get away from the pain.

Doctor Man: Yep, physio, that's what you need.

Me: I'm going now. You're crazy.

Does any of that seem out of the ordinary to you? He did not so much as glance in the general direction of my neck and certainly laid not one finger on my body by way of assessing my current state of well being. In fact, I think he was reading War and Peace and eating lunch while we talked. Now that I think about it.

Not so much interested in helping me with my headaches, this guy but sign me up for a physical on my way out oh boy. He is all about the physical. He gets paid more for the physical. I wonder what he would do if he ever found anything wrong during someone's physical. Send them to 7/11 for a Slurpee and a bag of Doritos?

Great now I want a Slurpee and Doritos.

So I'm looking for a new doctor. If you know someone good let me know. Really, someone of only average ability would be a vast improvement. I'm looking for someone who actually has a medical degree at this point.

the south asia tsunami disaster

2004-12-29T19:36:00.000-08:00

I confess that although I have been kept up to date on what's happening through my husband I have watched very little coverage myself. Without seeing any of the horror first hand I have been able to maintain a sense of detachment. As though I was hearing about a bad snow storm, a couple people died. Bad, but not this bad.

Tonight I gave in and watched Primetime's special on the Tsunami.

My heart, gosh, my heart is broken. Not only is this a tragic event but it is an event that will not end for so many for so long. The magnitude of suffering is so great that it is almost impossible to get my mind around it. So many stories of loss, terror, sadness.

The stories of the children make me turn the TV off. I cannot bear it from the safety of my living room. My heart nearly explodes at the the thought of those who are being forced to live it.

I'm sorry for everyone who has been affected by this disaster. I am just so deeply sorry.

I don't know what to do.

i'm gonna take the guy who invented guilt out back and beat the crap outta him later

2004-12-29T10:46:00.000-08:00

Wanna help?

I went to the gym this morning after letting my husband sleep in two point five hours past the hour the children poked their shiney faces into our room. It was dark when they got up, I'll have you know. Dark and cold and dreary.

I let my husband sleep for two point five guilt free hours.

Why is it then that I, completely of my own insane doing, felt rushed at the gym. It was as though a rope, pulled tight between Wiggle Yer Butt Fitness Studio and My House, kept yanking me back. I could feel the hands of my little ones tugging at my legs, begging for more food and someone to play with.

He had his two hours, why did I feel guilty for taking mine?

Don't mistake me. My husband was not and never does do anything to make me feel like I should not go or hurry when I do. He is all fairness and pleasantry. When I call to say that my return is close at hand he does not ever (nearly) sound as though life has been hell since I left and who did I think I was going out of the house anyway.

But I still feel it, that pull, the tight feeling at my chest calling me home.

It's stupid.

After the gym I went to return some shorts (they made me look like a fat teenage boy) and planned to find something else instead. Here I am, alone, by myself, shopping. No one to stress me out with requests to get out and run around, no one demanding a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and a sandwich prepared on fresh baked bread. I had all the time in the world (within reason) to wander aimless and find a crapload of stuff I wanted. Stuff for me.

Have you met me? I like stuff.

But I could not relax. I felt so guilty for being there. I should have been home. I should have, in fact, only done the treadmill and not the bike after because these people need me here at home.

H. O. M. E.

It's stupid.

Maybe I should give up sleep too. And eating, don't forget eating. I gave up going to the bathroom alone years ago and haven't done a single thing uninterrupted since May 2001. Why not forfeit the whole kettle of fish. By Kettle Of Fish I, of course, mean to say My Identity.

See, stupid.

So if you see the guy who thought up Mommy Guilt let me know because I'm so gonna take him out back and have at him with a good sound beating. After I'm gonna lay in bed drinking margaritas, eating chocolate, reading a book with thr TV on while I listen to my ipod and I will not be answering the many calls at the bedroom door.

Alright, I might answer one or two calls at the bedroom door but that's it.

No, I changed my mind. I'm not talking to anyone until everyone is in bed sound asleep.

Thank you. Mommy has spoken.

(no one is listening to mommy)

(again)

i will not lose my patience, i will not lose my patience, i will not lose my patience

2004-12-29T07:39:00.000-08:00

My children are going through a slightly annoying phase right now. I know, what kid isn't. I'm talking about an exaggerated state of being annoying. This is Big Annoying. Regular Annoying would be a treat compared to this.

Which means Less Than Perfect Mommy has been around. You know the one I mean. She shouts. She says things that she doesn't mean to say like

I am going to run away from home and then you'll see!

Oh Boy. Mommy shouldn't say stuff like that. And the other things she says like - oh I can't even tell you. Well, like

Leave me alone before I curl up in a ball and cry like an infant.

You know.

It's rough for mommy at times like this because although mommy is certainly a very good sort of mommy she is only human. Yes, mommies are human. You didn't know? Neither did my kids. Oh well. You learn something new.

Mommy promises she is going to try harder and harder to be less Human and more Super Human and she will not lose her patience today. Well, she probably will but she means not to and she will say she is sorry when she makes a mistake and that's a good lesson for babies too, right?

Deep Breath Mommy. You can do it.

Deep Breath.

Deeper.

never one to be left out of a cool new trend

2004-12-28T18:04:00.000-08:00

I've added a tag board. You can't miss it. It's the elephant in the middle of the room. No, the other elephant. Yes, that's the one. Good eye, you sleuth you.

It's here on a let's-see-if-I-like-it basis so don't be at all surprised if you come back tomorrow and it has been replaced by some other blogging trinket.

Now go tag me or something because you don't want to be left out of a cool new trend either I am sure.

chocolate flavored peanut butter, hello, i'm all over that

2004-12-28T13:50:00.000-08:00

In the name of all things not good for reducing the size of one's midesction, I wonder if any of you have heard of this fabulous substance currently being put forth by Kraft. Peanut Butter With Chocolate. It's your basic peanut butter with, you guessed it, chocolate added for good measure.

What's that about?

I'll tell you what. Yummy goodness, that's what.

I just enjoyed three teaspoons of it and although I don't think it's spreadability is all that glorious I can say it's got a yummerific quality that will no doubt come to be a monkey on my back.

Why did i buy it anyway.

I don't know. Now that I've got it though I can't help thinking...hmmm...cookies. Yeah? Think of peanut butter cookies only made with chocolatey peanut butter.

I'm just sayin', might be good.

the undergarment obsession, chapter five

2004-12-28T06:08:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's that time. Another installment in the ongoing epic of The Undergarment Obsession. Today please steady yourselves for a discussion on, ahem-hem, thongs.

That's right. I said thongs.

Was a time when I held a firm hand up in defiance against ever sporting a thong. Not without having tried them first. I was an informed objector. I'd attempted wearing a thong more than once before finally saying, and saying with some volume (because when I object I am rarely quiet about it) that I would never again subject my girly bits to such torture. I meant it. No more of that nonsense.

Vanity got the better of me. No surprise. Vanity has a way. It's just that I discovered my bum, which as you know is lovely, appears all the lovelier when not cut and quartered by the line of a more traditional panty. I'm saying if you're wearing something tight. Like a gym short or the gold spandex pants that match your leapord print tank top with shelf bra.

You know.

There are only two choices if you don't want a panty line. No, three. I just thought of a third. One is wear a thong, which as I've said can be a bit annoying when it crawls up your bits and refuses to retreat. Two is panty hose and I don't like saying panty hose so I don't want to talk about it anymore. Three is to go commando. Commando sounds good in theory but the ladies in the audience will back me up when I say that this isn't always the most suitable option for let's just say feminine reasons. Ladies? Yeah?

I finally went with the thong. Bought some expensive ones and lo and behold. They don't suck that bad.

Guys, get over the suck reference and move on. Nothing perverse intended.

When it comes to thongs the 98 cent panty policy cannot be applied. A comfortable thong does not come cheap. But a comfortable thong does make the gold tight pants far prettier on the bottom, if ya know what I mean.

(I do not wear gold tight pants)

That's all I have to say about thongs. Thanks for listening. Here are the links to the other UO chapters. See how nice I am. I'm saving you the trouble of looking for them. Now, that's a decent blog thing to do. Yeah? Don't you think? Come on, it is. I think anyway.

chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four

i laughed so hard a little bit of pee leaked out. really.

2004-12-27T21:39:00.000-08:00

Life is so much nicer when everyone gets along. Right now, no one in my family is fighting. This is happy news. Tonight we had chinese food and played Outburst. I laughed and laughed. It makes it easier to breath, laughing like that.

If I had it my way no one would ever fight again. But it's not up to me because I am perfect and never at the center of any familial controversy.

Really.

warning: leaving the house may result in increased workload upon return

2004-12-27T09:19:00.000-08:00

I went to the gym at 830 this morning. The house was in a state of general but not serious chaos. Manageable. Small amount of work to return matters to their rightful state.

Gone two hours, how much could have changed.

Everything.

In the span of two hours not only was nothing done to advance our level of tidiness but every attempt was made to dig us deeper into a mess to rival any other mess ever.

Oh Woe Is Mommy.

Good thing I went to the gym (yes with my new ipod photo) and so have built up a store of energy that should get me one third the way through the mountain of stuff I had to climb over to get in the door. Of course, if I'd never gone to the gym to begin with my children, lovely little buggers, would have been better supervised and the disaster they created would never have come to pass.

Not that I am in any way suggesting that daddy did a poor job. Heaven's no! I would never say that. Gosh, what kind of a woman do you take me for. There is nothing wrong with spending mommy's entire absense trying to get Commandos 3 going on the Dell. Nothing at all and anyone who says different is gonna have to answer to me.

Sigh.

I guess I better get to it because that post gym high is beginning to drift away and I'll end up laying on the floor, happy to have two small children climbing all over me with their shoes and or boots on because holy crap it feels good to lay down.

Another sigh.

well then, a new blog of the week, how exciting

2004-12-26T11:32:00.000-08:00

When you're done your reading and commenting here I recommend you check out this week's Blog Of The Week. Look over there in the sidebar. Yeah, that's it. Weaving a Magic Web. You're in for a nice time if you do. Sharoni is a new blogger who is full of sunshine and I'd love it if you'd go give her a heya.

You'll note I said after you're done here. Once you've left your comments and whatnot. Because I do encourage comments. If no one talks to me I get very depressed and all aspects of my life suffer. So really. Would commenting be so hard?

Or not. Really, I'm ok either way. I was just kidding, what I said before.

the ipod has landed, i repeat, the ipod has landed

2004-12-26T07:30:00.000-08:00

Oh that Santa. He was just being a big silly. He knew, he must have known, that my dearest love, my husband, was planning to get me an ipod all along.

And he did.

And it is loverly.

It's the 40G ipod photo. It has a color screen and I can store photos on it. I can also take it over to someone else's house and do a slide show on their tv. Isn't that cool? Technology. Remember those crap photo albums with the sticky back paper? We've come a damn long way baby. There ain't nothin' sticky about my ipod.

I haven't used it yet. It takes a while to charge and we had to go out all day yesterday. It's sitting here, naked, waiting for the love. Where is the love. Gimme some love.

Oh, the love is coming, don't you worry about that.

We did have a small scuffle, my ipod and I. Nothing serious. Just a little conversation, got a bit heated.

My ipod told me, when we first met: Don't Steal Music. With a sticker on it's face.

I thought, who the hell are you to tell me anyway.

We made up though. Everything is ok. It was a rocky beginning but we weathered the storm and vow to be lifelong friends.

(until the next wave of technology but don't tell her that)

I'd love to stay and chat but you know, I have a life and an ipod so I gotta go. Plus, a toy store barfed in my living room and I gotta mop up the mess.

i made an orifice and blood came out of it

2004-12-24T18:58:00.000-08:00

This is not the first time I've shaved my legs. Swear. I was probably rushing. The water was getting cold. No time for fussing. I'm not an idiot.

Stop it, I am not.

the magic santa fireplace

2004-12-24T15:42:00.000-08:00

At my book club meeting last month my friend said she and her husband had been talking about what they would tell their kids if they ever asked how Santa got in the house. They don't have a fireplace and as everyone knows Santa comes down the chimney and if there is no fireplace, what? Santa drops down the chimney, plops at the bottom, sits there calling for help, squashed under the weight of xboxes, stuffed animals, barbies and whatnot. Only to expire as mommy and daddy lay there asking...

Do you hear that?

What?

That. Sounds like a cat screeching under a bag of toys.

Oh, Yeah.

What is that?

Beats me. Turn off the light. I'm tired.

My friend said that someone she knows bought a huge picture of a fireplace and taped it to the wall every Christmas. She told her kids it was magic and Santa came through there.

Good idea.

I said my kids would never ask about the santa fireplace thing. I never did. Never even thought about it so why on earth would any child?

Super Boy asked two days later.

So! I bought four sheets of poster board, taped them together, had Artist Husband draw a firepalce with logs (but no fire because we don't wanna burn Santa's ass off) and the kids and I colored it up.

Such Fun!

And now we have, thank god, somewhere for Santa to get in. The Magic Santa Fireplace is ready for action. So Santa, if you're reading, come on down and...if you like...bring me an ipod.

call waiting: if you don't have it, get it

2004-12-23T07:47:00.000-08:00

Seriously. What the hell. This is not nineteen hundred and six. I don't care if your gramma doesn't like to be put on hold. If you're reading me on the internet, a modern convenience, you better damn well have call waiting.

Busy signals are for people living in the shrubbery of some far off land and I pity those poor unfortunate souls. Now you stop making me hit redial all damned morning, you hear?

Happy Festivus.

hey santa, it's me, i think i'm ready yo

2004-12-22T13:57:00.001-08:00

Hi Santa. I think I finally know what I want. I thought I'd call, what with being so late. Got a pen? Ok, go get one. I'll wait.

(tapping fingers as Santa goes to get a pen, humming happy Christmas song)

Ready? No? What do you mean you ain't got no pen? Pretty unorganised, yeah? No no, I'll wait. Go ahead.

(musical interlude of me softly singing Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer)

Yeah? You back? Ok, here it.... What? Oh Come On. You can't be serious. Now don't go blaming Mrs. Claus. It's not her fault. I'm sure she sets you up with new pens and whatnot every morning. You probably took it to the workshop. Go look. I'll hang out. I'll check my email and be right back. What? Oh, ok, yeah. Ill just sit here.

(tapping toe on floor, unimpressed)

Yeah, I'm here. You ready? Um, finally? Oh, good. Ok, I'd like.... What? Sorry, pardon? Who? Elf Number Fourteen had it? Oh yeah? Right. Well no, I don't think he should be fired really. Guy probably just needed a pen, ya know? It happens.

(Santa goes on a cursing spree about Elf Number Fourteen and other Elf related matters)

Geez, I'm really sorry it's that bad. Wow. I had no idea.

(Santa groans)

I don't know what to say. Maybe we should do this another time? Yeah? You sure? I know you're busy. Crazy time of year for you.

(nervous laughter from me, sobbing sounds at his end, sniffles)

Ahem. Well. Yeah, no, I'm ready. It seems kind of silly now. My list. My wants. With you being all, you know. Messed up or whatever. But ok. If you're sure. I'd like an ipod. Mini. I'm thinking white but surprise me.

(silence)

What? Yeah I know they're not cheap. So? You got a spending limit or something? Oh. Oh. I didn't know. Cutbacks you say? Well then. Gosh, this has gone to hell. I really just wanted the one thing. No, don't worry about it. A transistor radio sounds perfect. ipods are way overrated anyway. Swear. I'm totally fine. Honest.

(awkward silence)

So. Ok. I guess we'll talk next year then.

(nothing)

Ok. So, bye.

(click)

be careful what you wish for (unless you're wishing for chocolate then by all means move ahead with reckless abandon)

2004-12-22T07:10:00.000-08:00

My kids, three and one, don't love mommy anymore.

Awww.

Ok, that's not true but mommy is sad. After three and a half years of sleeplessness both of my kids are sleeping through the night. In their own bed. By themselves. Without mommy.

I never meant for this to happen.

Sure, in the past three plus years of cosleeping with the kids there have been times that I or Husband have thought it would be nice to spread out in our King Size bed without little arms and legs and whatnot getting in the way. Yeah, it'd be nice to snuggle up to the one what made the babies with me in the first place. Hell, a full night's sleep has been the dream for oh so long.

I'm just not sure I wished for this, precisely. For them to sleep in their own beds all of the time. I mean, can't they come to my bed some of the time? Can't they, let's say, sleep half of the night in their beds and half in mine? I love their warm bodies snuggled up close and cozy. They belong next to mommy.

They don't appear to think so, mind you.

I think perhaps they both felt, although they haven't said, that things were a little too crowded. I concur yet I think we could have come up with a solution. I mean, Daddy could have gone to the couch...or the basement floor...or the garage.

No, I'm kidding. Calm down. I didn't mean that.

I just miss my babies being next to me at night. I really do. In his heart I know their Daddy does too. Maybe it's just a phase and they'll be back. Could be. They'll probably be snuggled up tight come summer. Perfect timing. It's hot as heck here in summer. Won't that be cozy. Yay. Awesome. Maybe not.

today i feel awesome

2004-12-21T11:37:00.000-08:00

See my new moody face? It's in the side bar. Yep, over there. Cute huh? I got that face at unky moods. That face says I feel awesome. It's lying. I don't. I feel bitchy. I didn't want to be negative so I said awesome. Imagine if you came and saw a bitchy face over there. Would you stay? Even if I offered you cheesecake? Didn't think so. What kind of host would I be if I answered the door with a bitchy face on. I'm not my sister, for shit's sake.

So I'm Awesome as far as you're concerned.

Happy Surfing.

does my bum look smaller to you, does it, yeah?

2004-12-21T07:33:00.000-08:00

As you know I have been going to the gym again with the hope (intention!) of finally once and for all time losing the post baby weight. I know, how boring. Another woman in her thirties trying to look like she did in her twenties because she just refuses to believe it's all over. I know.

But listen, really. I love the gym. I'm one of those people. I feel better if I go, worse if I don't. I like the competitive feeling at the gym. You know, I can lift more than that guy. The one in the back there with the huge neck and biceps the size of my waist. The only difference between him and me is a few months work.

That's the way I look at it.

Only thing is right now when I go (at 7am) there are mostly old ladies working out. No, silly, OLD ladies, not ladies in their thirties who refuse to say goodbye to their twenties body. Don't be mean now. I'm talking about women in their seventies. Nothing wrong with women in their seventies but Mary Mercy if I am not lifting more than them I need to put the dumbell down and go the hell home. All is lost, shut up, it's over.

Thankfully, I do lift more than (most) of the old ladies so whew.

My point though, getting back to it, is my bum. My bottom. My backus sidicus. The part you admire as I depart. Looks good, no? It's all the squats I do. I highly recommend squats. And dead lift. I love the dead lift. I discovered the dead lift a few years back and it's rock star awesome. Love it. I mean, look. Look at my bum. How can you argue? The squats and dead lift work, yeah? Go ahead, look. Enjoy.

Ok, that's enough. No need to oggle. God. You're making me a little uncomfortable. That look in your eye. Let's just take it back a bit. Up at the eyes now , buddy. The eyes.

There. Good. Thanks. Crisis averted.

note to self

2004-12-20T21:07:00.000-08:00

If One is tired, One ought go to bed instead of sitting here talking to all of you out there, nice and lovely as you are. One ought to learn from having been groggy and grumpy all day and One should have dragged her weary butt up to bed at eight o'clock. One did not do that and now it is nearly midnight. One is a silly silly girl and tomorrow when One complains of being too weary to move a muscle please feel free to chastise One for being such a fool.

One promises that tomorrow she will not speak this way. Please attribute this odd methhod of expressing One's thoughts to the aforementioned tired and too stupid to go to bed.

One says good night.

i've decided to take up drinking!

2004-12-20T10:47:00.000-08:00

Before you try to talk me out of it, listen. I think it's a really good plan. All the fashionable suburban moms are doing it. A little Bailey's Irish Cream in the morning coffe starts the day just so. Makes life's little squabbles less...vibrant. It dulls them. Or this is what I hypothesize. I don't know for sure yet. I haven't implemented the plan.

Let me tell you why I've cooked up this little coping scheme.

Today Boy Child said the following three hundred and eighty seven times: mommy may I play on your 'puter?

Six thousand four hundred and seven: you play with me?

Three milion forty two...no, make that forty three, forty four...ok, it's a running tally: mommy may I watch TV?

Plllllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease.

Baby girl squaked and screeched seven out of twelve hours.

She said mama (at varying octaves) three thousand and eight times.

I believe alcohol will make that seem more endearing than is currently the case.

Don't mistake me. I'm happy. I like what I do. Sitting here being poked all day. I'm just thinking that maybe a little booze will make me more of a smiley mom. Instead of this horrid beast who does not let her children watch tv forty hours a day. Think how much fun it would be for the whole entire family!

Ok, I can see your face. You're judging me. Harshly too. That's so not fair. You don't think this is a good plan? You don't think I should become a morning drunk? Well hellfire. I really thought you'd be on board. Thought you'd come by for a cocktail 'round 9am. No?

Sure, I'll admit there are downsides. Like the fact that it'll make me something of a loser. Alright, I'll grant you that. Still, don't you think the upside (happy shiney mommy) is worth the risk of becoming a complete and utter failure as a human being?

No?

Hmmmm.

You're giving me pause. I am beginning to see flaws in the great Becoming a Daytime Drunk Plan. I have to confess, I wasn't all that sure about it to begin with. I just thought. Well, I was only thinking. You know.

But nevermind! You've convinced me. You have a very persuasive way about you, you know that? You pulled me from the brink, you did! How good you must feel. Whew. Thanks!

Better go come up with a new plan. I'm thinking maybe chocolate. You know, all day chocolate. I'll let you know what I decide. You can tell me what you think. I value your thoughts.

can you feel the excitement

2004-12-19T10:30:00.000-08:00

I have added a new feature on my site. It's called...wait for it...Site Of The Week! It's over there. In the sidebar. Do you see it? Yes, there. You found it. Excellent. After you're done here please go check out my First Ever Site of the Week! It's a site I have recently come across and enjoy so much.

Wait! What are you doing? You're not leaving yet, are you? I mean, you can still look round here. I wasn't saying you should go. Don't think I was being unhospitable. I'm nothing if I'm not welcoming.

Welcome.

See, welcoming.

Oh, good, you're staying. Can I get you a drink?

you're reading me!

2004-12-18T11:02:00.000-08:00

are you? that is so awesome! you must be very very smart. otherwise, you'd have scrolled along, skipped me altogether. horrah for you! you know what you could do? you could leave a comment, say hi, leave your mark. i think that's a really great idea. that way i can come see your site too. don't you want me to come visit you? i'd like to. but i can't if i have no idea who you are. if you're just a blur who ran past. it doesn't take that long to say hi. so say hi. and if you're really stuck for something to do you could go read some other stuff on my site. you could. i won't mind. take a look around, grab some snacks, whatever. i'm not begging. you know, just do whatever you want. really, it's your dime.

my sad little christmas tree

2004-12-16T18:48:00.000-08:00

Awww. Can you see it? There in the corner by the door. Sad little old thing. It's only been there a week but has been to hell and back. I held off putting it up because of the Children. My friend C said her kids, exactly the same age and gender as my kids, got over touching it within an hour. Mine have yet to leave ours alone. What follows is a shortlist of what Chrsitmas Tree has been through thus far (with credit is parentheses):

Plush Pooh Bear chair thrown at it (Boy Child)

Touchy Touchy Touchy (Baby Girl, Boy Child)

Elastagirl of The Incredibles lodged sideways among the branches, lost for days (Unknown)

Tinsel yanked on, mucked with and otherwise treated most poorly (Baby Girl)

Lights slowly going away, away, away (Cheapass Bulbs)

Touchy Touchy Touchy (Baby Girl)

Ornaments and Tinsel moved up on tree (Mommy)

Toy thrown randomly in air, red ornament crashes to floor, breaks into millions of pieces (Boy Child)

Ornaments and Tinsel moved higher on tree (Mommy)

Poke Poke Poke (Baby Girl)

Ornaments moved higher on tree (Mommy)

You see where I'm going. The tree is top heavy and frankly not so safe in our house. They're good kids, don't get me wrong. I actually expected them to leave the tree alone. I did. It's probably my fault. I buy such beautiful ornaments, how could they not want to touch them? You can't put something sparkly in front of a child and tell them not to touch. Well yeah you can. Doesn't mean they'll listen. Mine aren't listening. I threatened to take the tree down, call Santa, cancel Christmas but I think they know I don't have that kind of power. They might be small but they get it. Mommy can't cancel Christmas and Mommy would never really call the school and say one of her children isn't coming because he didn't get his shoes on fast enough. School keeps Mommy alive. And Chrsitmas, well Mommy wants to get her presents too so you know she's not gonna cancel Christmas. Come on, Mommy. You gotta do better than that.

Ah, whatever. The tree is fine. It's still standing and they are beginning to ignore it, just like they ignore their toys. It may not look like something out of the window of a department store but it is ours. I think it's the best Christmas treee I ever saw. It's got the mark of my babies on it and nothing in this world or the next makes me happier than my babies. You could take all the beautiful ornaments and toss them into a volcano (because Boy Child is currently obsessed with volcanos) and I wouldn't miss them. I bet the kids could make nicer ones anyway.

In fact, maybe we'll make some ornaments tomorrow. Yeah, we will. Then they can hang them on the tree, at the bottom to even the poor thing out, and we can glow with pride at their handiwork. Because the kids are what it's all about. Not some silly old tree.

i'll call ya later

2004-12-15T07:01:00.000-08:00

Actually, I probably won't. Because here's the thing. I suck at phoning people. Suck at it. I currently have 5 people to call, some of them family and some of them have been waiting a long time to hear from me. But I just can't do it. Can't dial the number. Can't make the committment to speak to another human being just now. I feel more and more guilty every day but for some reason I can't bring myself to make a simple phone call.

I hate it.

The kids bug me constantly when I'm on the phone. There is no convenient phone for me to use. I have to look stuff up for the people I'm calling and I can't be bothered. I swear, it just feels like I might as well go to med school, become a surgeon and operate on fifty people. It's that big a deal for me to make a few calls.

It's weird. I know.

So I have a plan. I mean to fix this. It starts with none other than Mr. Santa Claus. As you know, I've been at a loss with regard to what I should request for Christmas. Last night it occurred to me that I might kill two birds with one stone. Get something on my list AND take a step in the direction of being a person who has the power to call people back.

Just think.

Therefore I am to ask Santa (good old Santa) for a white phone, corded, with call display on the exterior. Said phone is to be hung directly to the left of where I sit right this moment. In addition, as a stocking stuffer idea, I am going to ask for a long long long windy cord - you know, that goes from phone proper to base - so I can travel around my kitchen with the thing. Since I know everyone will wonder, I don't want cordless. We have two cordless phones in this house and they are never charged, never available, never to be found. Enough of that malarky.

There it is. My Two Birds One Stone Plan.

I'm sure you can see how this is just short of brilliant. Or not really brilliant so much as a pretty good idea, way to go me. But listen, it means I'll be able to call you back if you leave me a message. Not til after Christmas. Probably not til January, really, because Husband Great Guy will have to run a new line to the kitchen. So better make it February. Or March even. These things take time to implement. We're busy people. But it will happen! I will, some day, be able to return your call fear not!

Not that you have my number and no you can't have it, but you know, I'm just saying.

dear santa

2004-12-14T13:09:00.000-08:00

I need your help, Internet. Christmas is fast approaching and I don't think I'll be getting any gifts because each time I have been asked what I want I shake my head, look dumfounded and say the ever brilliant I Dunno. It is this way every year. I never know what I want until twenty four hours before Christmas. Then I have a list a mile ling but it's too late. Great Guy Husband always has a reserve list he shops from, things he has been adding to a mental list all year, but this year he says there's little on it. I am dangerously close to coming down to a tree with nothing for me on Christmas morning. And you know the crying will never end should that happen.

So!

I'm looking for suggestions. What do you think I would want, could use, should ask for? You all know me as well as anyone (sad but unfortunately true) so suggest away! I can't wait to see what I'll be getting through your eyes!

i feel fanbloodytastic

2004-12-13T11:11:00.000-08:00

Some of you may recall that a while back I mentioned I was planning to begin lifting heavy things again. In other words, I was going to renew my gym membership. I believe I heard a muffled chuckle roll across The Great Out There. I don't think anyone believed I would actually go. I suspect you all nodded, grinned knowingly and have since been waiting to hear of my not going to the gym after all. Many excuses to follow.

Ha!

I will have you know! I have been going with great regularity and am noticing the benefits, thank you ever so very much, Doubting Thomas You. Not only do I go but I go early (by 7am), in the dark and winter cold. I lift weights, I do cardio, I even throw in a bit of yoga before I return to my family and the rest of my lovely life.

Do you know, I feel great. I have more energy than I've had in eons. My mood is improved, my smile is brighter. I am dancing around my kithcen with the boundless enthusiasm of a child. Not right this second. I'm typing right now, not dancing. I only meant that I am occassionally given to dancing. You knew what I meant.

Now granted, my butt isn't any smaller but that'll take another week or so. For now I am gleeful at feeling alive again and look forward to feeling better and better and better.

Life is good. My internal sun is shining again. There is no stopping me now.

the undergarment obsession, chapter 4

2004-12-12T16:46:00.000-08:00

If you've been following so far, we've discussed the 98 cent panties, the idea that bras are over priced and the pantie six pack of joy. Today I would like to offer, for your consideration, the importance of the Granny Pantie.

These items are, the men in the group will no doubt agree, not the prettiest of panties. They are usually bigger than the every day garden variety underthings we wear and are not the sort of thing we haul out for a first date or a visit to the obstetrician. Rather, they're the brand of cat we save for those occassions when - well, to be honest there are a number of occassions for which the Granny is a perfect fit. Let's consider them in some detail.

The most common use of the Granny Pantie is during that time of the month during which, without being too graphic, there can be accidents of n icky nature for which our daintier lovelies are not suited. The Granny Pantie is, by nature, not so desireable an item that should it be ruined - stained, if you will - we would cry at its loss.

Also popular and sometimes related is the Granny Pantie during Bloated Times use of the Granny Pantie. Given that these panties tend to be bigger than all others they fit just right during water retentive days. A good fit is essential when it comes to anything that wraps around one's bottom and although the Grannies may not be a thing of beauty they keep many a gal from going ballistic, myself included.

Not to be forgotten are the days on which you go to your underwear drawer and discover that you've fallen behind on laundry detail and the only thing left to wear are the Grannies. They are your Back Up Panties. They give you a Laundry Buffer. Busy lives appreciate this buffer, don't they girls?

Those are the main occassions on which women will rely on their Granny Panties. Much to the chagrin of men everywhere. Sure the guys in our lives would like to burn every Granny Pantie on the planet, they're going to have to accept them as a necessary part of life because as ugly as they are, and we do know they're ugly as hell, we just can't live without them. They serve a purpose. Several, as I've shown here. Until periods, water retention and the need to wash clothes go away Granny Panties will continue to lurk at the back of otherwise sassy underwear drawers. That's just the way it is.

why we had to sell our house and live in a van down by the river

2004-12-12T08:39:00.000-08:00

My kids, three and one, like to eat. They eat, I'm not kidding, constantly. All day long. Especially the little one. The first five hours of every day are spent feeding this child. She sits down to eat breakfast with us. Has her own bowl of cereal, eats the whole thing up. Yum. You'd think, ok, she's gotta be good for what? the next hour, maybe two? No. Ten minutes, if that. Then she wants an orange. Hey, is that a cinnamon bun? I'll take one of those, some milk and a banana if you have any. And when I'm done, I'd like to open the fridge and see what I missed last time I looked. Ah, there, see. Yogurt. I'll take a yogurt now, another in an hour and three more before bed. Thanks.

Before we had kids the grocery bill for this household, then comprised of two adults and one barky dog, was, I swear, less than three hundred dollars a month. Now we're pushing seven to eight hundred and you know that's not all diapers. How can two people, so small in stature and unable to cook, require so much food.

I know, they're growing. I know, I'm lucky they eat. Some kids are so picky they don't eat. Ha! This is a problem I can't even fathom. My children embrace eating. And they like healthy food. Granted, they aren't given the option of unhealthy food very often but still.

Don't mistake me. I am glad they eat. I only mean to remark at how well they eat. At how much they eat. If it's this way now what will I do once they are bigger?

Don't teenage boys tend to eat more than they did when they were three?

So he'll have to get a job. To support this habit he has of eating. The girl too if she keeps up with the pace she's set for herself thus far. Because dang, me and their dad hope to travel some day. Hope to save for our retirement. We can't go around spending every dime on food. Yogurt don't come cheap, girly girl. You want more you better start saving up.

Doctors say that grazing is the best way for children to eat. They get what they need and learn to eat the amount that is right for them. I'm all for that. I want healthy kids. But if you'd told me five years ago that a one year old girl could eat this much...this often, really...I would have thought you mad. Mad Mad Mad.

In the time it took me to type this I have given Baby Girl one apple, a cinnamon bun, three carrots, a banana, scrambled eggs, a box of chocolates, fruit snax, a salad, cheese, a cookie (she gave that back, doesn't like cookies), milk, toast with butter and jelly (grape, she prefers grape), a pancake, three pieces of cheese, another cinnamon bun (gave it back, wasn't to her liking), soup, cottage cheese, a mandarine orange and one small pizza.

I'd like to talk more about this but I need to make a grocery run. It's almost lunch and by god there's nothing left. Nothing.

ok guys, i gotta ask

2004-12-09T18:59:00.000-08:00

Men, help me understand. I'm coming to you with a willingness to comprehend and so hope that someone in the great big OUT THERE will be able to shed some light. Show me the way. Make me see.

Why oh Why do grown men play video games?

I live with a grown man right now. He's smart, funny, reads, can carry a tune (no he can't, I was just being nice), earns a sizeable income, has a sizeable -ahem - bank account, has fathered two marvelous children (both with myself) and yet. And yet. There's this one thing.

Vids.

Because they call it Vids, don't they ladies? Gonna go play Vids with Joe. Me an' Joe are just gonna sit around and play Vids.

Why.

Now before you MEN out there get all worked up the way that MEN do over this issue I already know I am lucky OH SO lucky that he's not out drinking or cavorting with loose women. I know it's fucking great that he's not addicted to gambling or shopping on ebay for one of a kind evening bags, his favorites being from the 1930s or 40s. Dammit, People, I know all that.

But Why. Why Vids.

I'm not even saying that I think Video Games are stupid. I do, but I'm not saying that. I'm saying I don't get the appeal. The degree of devotion.

Look, I can see sitting down for thirty minutes once in a while with good old Sonic The Hedgehog (shut up, I know Sonic is so 15 years ago). Where I get lost, chucked aside on the road of understanding, is when a Grown Man with a Woman to Love and Be Loved By cannot function as a regular human being because of a game. I have hobbies, things I like to do. But these things don't render me a blubbering idiot. You can still talk to me while I'm scrapbooking or ironing or collecting stamps and I'll answer you, carry on a witty and engaging conversation. A guy playing a video game is as reposnsive as a corpse. As alert as a drunk passed out in the gutter. They are consumed by these games and I wonder why, is all.

I. Wonder. Why.

Which is what brings me to you now, Internet at Large. I am here to ask if anyone, man or woman, knows what it is about video games that captivates a grown man so thoroughly, so maniacally. I'm not suggesting that grown men SHOULD NOT play video games. I only seek to understand the obsessiveness with which these games are enjoyed. I only seek to understand. Knowledge is my goal. Just a little knowledge.

canadian government to rule on same sex marriage today

2004-12-09T04:41:00.000-08:00

Same sex marriage is currently legal in 6 Canadian provinces including the one that I live in. The Federal government is currently seeking to make it legal across the country You can read the details here. To summarize, marital status falls under the jurisdiction of each individual Province but the definition of marriage is a Federal responsibility. The issue being decided upon today is changing the current definition from the "lawful union of one man and one woman" to the "lawful union of two persons to the exclusion of all others."

This change would make same sex union legal in all Provinces and Territories, whereby making Canada one of the first countries to acknowledge same sex marriage.

All specifics I have mentioned here are taken from the above link.

I'm proud to be Canadian and happy that I live in a country that is forward thinking.

warning

2004-12-07T13:00:00.000-08:00

If you come over later and go down to the basement be careful. There is a pile of clothes and jackets and shoes at the bottom of the stairs. Don't ask me how they got there. I've never seen them before. And I'm sure as hell not moving them. Ask the maid to do it. The maid quit? She what? Oh God. That's not good. That's not good at all. Who in the hell is gonna clean that shit up? Who? Who?

Now I'm in quite the panic. I had no idea she was quitting. Where did she go?

Bahamas? What! She went to the Bahamas. Well I never. I just never ever.

I guess I'm gonna hafta clean it up. All of it. The shoes too? Where do I put the shoes? The ones that are too small for the kids but are too cute and full of memories to throw away. Did she say what to do with the shoes before she left? And the jackets. The FALL jackets. It's winter now and I can't imagine where I should put the FALL jackets. Fall doesn't come around for at least another year. What am I going to do until then?

Wait, I know. I know what to do. I'll put it all in a box. A see through plastic storage container with a label on the front made with my label maker. It will say Out Of Season Jackets/Vests and Baby Shoes. I will take a photo of one jacket and one pair of shoes and adhere them to the front of the container under the labels. Next I will stack the container with the others just like it.

There are also dirty clohtes heaped in with all that stuff at the bottom of the stairs. I'll wash that. That's easy. There are fifteen...no sixteen...NO seventeen...baskets of laundry waiting for me anyway so I might as well just do it all, right?

And the dishes. And the vacuuming. And Husband says his bathroom is starting to get kind of grungy. She could have cleaned the grungy bathroom before she left on this sudden and ill times escape to The Bahamas, don't you think? Is she ever coming back, by the way?

Oh right. You said she quit. For good? Like forever? As in never coming back?

It's okay. I'll be alright. I can so do this. I can handle it. I'll start with the dishes. There's a pile from dinner next to the sink. Scrape scrape. Run the water. Scrub, scrape. Scrubbbbbbb. Water, soap, soak, scrub, scrape.

You're sure she isn't coming back?

Scrub, scrape.

Absolutely certain?

Scrub scrub scrub.

I mean really really sure?

Scrub Fucking scrub.

Because I'll pay her whatever she wants.

Soap, water, scrub, scrape.

Really. Money is no object.

SCRAPE. SCRAPE.

Because I don't want to do this. SCRAPE SCRAPE. I don't want to clean egg off of a fork. SCRUB SCRUB. Please just call her, tell her we need her. Tell her we will fall apart without her. Beg her. Please.

Can I go with her then?

and so we will institute the 4pm to bed rule

2004-12-07T11:54:00.000-08:00

The following has been deemed just and fair by the management and shall be respected by those to whom it applies.

From this day forward all persons living in or near this house who require the assistance of another to eat and or toilet shall go to bed no later than the hour of four o'clock in the afternoon and be expected to remain therein until the following morning.

Further to the above declaration each day shall not begin before eight am and anyone needing assitance prior to that time should either a) bite me or b) speak to that guy on the other side of the bed who sleeps like a log every night all night and does not have to spend his day with people who make him institute the four o'clock to bed rule.

Mommy has said it will be so and so it shall be.

Mommy has spoken.

All Hail Mommy!

Mommy just collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Awww, poor Mommy.

No don't kick Mommy!

I said DON'T kick her!

Stop kicking Mommy.

Bed time is now 3pm.

All Hail. And then shaddap.

whatever gets ya through the day

2004-12-07T08:55:00.000-08:00

If one's children are driving one mad it is perfectly appropriate to eat a box of chocolates before noon. Especially if said consumption keeps one from yelling and or saying the word fuck. Next time your one year old pinches you so hard you want to jump out the window to keep from screaming your head off, have a turtle or two instead. Does wonders for the motherly state of mind.

Does nothing for the motherly phsyique but we cannot fight all battles all of the time. It's about survival. That's all. That's it.

theatre recommendation

2004-12-04T13:14:00.000-08:00

For those who will be visiting London (England, not Ontario) in the next while I would like to recommend the following Theatrical Experience. Jerry Springer - The Opera is currently playing at London's Cambridge Theatre. Tickets have been reduced to Twenty Five Pounds (that's like dollars only POUNDS) (some restrictions apply) which is a steal given that none other than Mr. David Soul of Starsky and Hutch fame appears as the Man Himself, Jerry Springer!

Special group rates also available.

The Daily Mirror Reports "I have no hesitation in declaring Jerry Springer - The Opera the greatest production on earth."

If you're taking The Tube you'll want to get off at Covent Garden and walk the remaining distance to The Theatre at Earlham Street.

This is certain to be an event you'll not soon forget. Get your tickets today! Jerry Springer is a Well Loved American Icon who has been beautifully captured in this epic theatrical display.

And if you do go, report back, let us know what you thought, and then never (I repeat never) come here again because good god in heaven what kind of an idiot would attend such a show? I may be entirely misled (what are the odds) but this seems to me a silly way to be entertained.

No I've never seen the show.

If I were in England I think my time would be better spent enjoying the rich history and beautiful vistas of that country than it would franterizing with the sort of person who would care to see a desperate American actor portray a demented American talk show host. Seems a bit odd to me, the lot of it.

No?

santa has boobs mom! santa has boobs!

2004-12-03T17:45:00.000-08:00

Today my son and his preschool class enjoyed breakfast with Santa at a local department store. They were served two pretty big pancakes, one slice of bacon and peach juice loaded with sugar. I trashed the bacon on my kid's plate because we're vegetarian and then let him have at it. He began, of course, by buttering the cakes, then cutting them, then attempting to shove several huge pieces in his mouth at once. Three year olds, although eager, are not so great with a knife. I asked if he wanted me to help. He said no. Naturally. But I had to ask so I wouldn't look like a neglectful jerk in front of the other moms. You know how it is.

After breakfast the teachers asked that the kids, some of whom were away from their chairs yanking one another around by the scruff of the neck or playing hide and seek or talking about DINOSAURS or MY dad could beat up your dad hey NO WAY he can because my dad is way STRONGER than your dad anyway!, return to their seats. Shortly thereafter we heard the telltale jingling of bells as Santa approached with his entourage. When I say entourage I mean one dumpy middle aged woman wearing an ill fitting pink sweater and gold rimmed glasses. I assume she was holding Santa's cell phone and the keys to the sleigh.

I didn't see Rudolph. I was in the can when he apparantly came in to tell Santa the guys were getting sick of waiting out in the rain. Since when does it rain in December anyway. I'm just sorry I missed my chance to see the red-nosed superstar. I almost saw him when I was ten. He was at my school and just before I was supposed to go in to get his autograph and have a picture taken with him for ten bucks (money grubbing reindeer), Mrs. Beecham pulled me out of line to go clean chalkboard erasers. That's what talking during Spelling will get you.

The other day during Drop Off at my son's school I heard that a few years back and before my son started going there a woman played Santa for the Breakfast With Santa breakfast thingy. The other moms and I laughed and laughed at this, wondering how such a silly scene could ever come to pass. Had the Man intended to play Santa died just before he was to go on? Was the Santa suit a size zero and only Heather Locklear or a seven year old boy could fit in? Who knew!

Imagine our surprise this very morning when we discovered that THIS Santa, OUR Santa was in fact a woman. Not no Heather Locklear Woman but a saggy boobed, sits with her knees together, smells like your gramma WOMAN.

What the!

I can see this happening once. Maybe twice but not even twice and frankly not even once. There's ALWAYS a man around SOMEWHERE. Always. Christ sake even when we girls TRY to get away from the men there's always a straggler. What about the old guy at the park who's always offering the kids candy? Wasn't he available? I mean, he just SITS there all day.

But no. Just a woman and her boobs sitting there hearing that MY BOY wants a Hot Wheels Volcano What Gots Lava Coming Out Of It and a Buzz Lightyear Big (holds out hands to demonstrate size) Rocket Gots Shooters and Needs Batteries and Has Green Buzz Lightyear In It. Click Click goes the camera as mommy captures the event for all eternity.

I don't think any of the kids noticed. This time. Last time they did. I'm glad MY kid didn't because if he had you KNOW he would have sat there calling out to me in his loudest mommy is across the room voice. Mommy! Santa Has Boobs!!!

SANTA. HAS. BOOBS.

I would have been forced to agree that yes, Santa does have boobs. Sometimes Santa has to have helpers because he is so busy and sometimes the old creepy guy at the park is too busy being creepy to come be your Santa Claus. Isn't that selfish of him? Couldn't he make that one little sacrifice for The Children?

I guess not.

Either way, we got through breakfast alive which was the only real goal for the day. No one ended up bleeding from the nose at having been punched for some heinous three year old infraction like She Took My Candy Cane or somesuch. As a mom I was thrilled to get away without having had to utter the words Take That Piece of Candy Out Of Your Mouth And Put It Back On The Floor What Are You Thinking! So it was a good day. A great day. Happy Christmas Santa With Boobs!

Before anyone gets too excited there isn't a creppy old guy giving out candy at the park. I was only kidding. It was a joke. Don't worry. The creepy old guy giving out candy actually lives right next door to me. Way more convenient.

what i've won this week alone

2004-12-02T14:27:00.000-08:00

Something happened recently. I got put on the Mailing List Of Joy and Good Fortune. And Brother, this is some exciting business. So far this week I have won the following:

A flat screen tv, another flat screen tv, a big flat screen tv, an ipod, a computer, another computer, three other computers, a degree in forensics from a University in Phoenix, lotion, a ten pound weight loss (woohoo!), 5 cell phones, a fortune teller, mittens, a lint remover, a map to where Jimmy Hoffa is buried, a thirty minute visit with the guy who cleaned the sets on Seinfeld, dog food for one full year, another computer, lint, a dirty fork and someone to take out my garbage for one full year (woohoo!).

I mean, am I lucky or what! I did nothing to deserve this. Don't even know how I got on the list! I've racked my brain trying to figure it out and all I've come up with is that I must be good. I must be a shining example of Peoplehood. Deserving. What other explaination could there be?

None of my winnings have shown up at the house yet but I'm sure they will. The emails said so. Emails never lie. They never ever lie.

I've got my fingers crossed that the lint brush comes today because I'm going out and wanted to wear those black pants that attract every kind of fluff. Come onnnn lint brush! Come on!

it's a nick and jessica christmas!

2004-12-01T18:04:00.000-08:00

I but rarely use exclamation marks and to use them in a title like is quite the thing. The cause for this celebration ~ Christmas with my favorite couple Nick and Jessica Simpson. Wait. Oops. Sorry Nick. Nick kept his own name, folks. He's his own man. Make no mistake.

It probably comes as a shock to those of you who know me well (that's no one, by the way) that I do in fact adore Nick and Jessica and am saddened to hear that they will not be doing another year of their much loved televison show. It has been a joy for me to witness Jessica's silliness, Nick's devotion to doing things for himself and saving money wherever he could. Oh how we laughed when Jessica said she didn't know buffalos have wings. My side hurts just thinking about it. And I'm sure everyone remembers Nick carting that video game up the side of the house to get it upstairs, operating the tractor all by himself. Oh my goodness. Laughter ensued.

I am only one percent sarcastic.

I do not enjoy the music of these youngsters but rather the youngsters themselves. They are endearing and frankly if I were ten years younger living in California and in the business of having access to famous people I wouldn't mind hanging out with Jessica Simpson. She's a sweet girl who couldn't help but make me look like a friggin' genius.

I think she is misunderstood. Be nice.

And so I am off to watch them Christmas it up on the Tv tonight. Nothing says HOLIDAYS like a blond girl belting out I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. Come watch with me. It'll be nice.

Edited to add: I'm really going to watch The Apprentice. I have no patience for Christmasy shows of any kind, in truth.