Holy Mackerel

And then I feel sorry for the poor poodle, and take his cone off. And this is why we probably shouldn't have a dog.

Holy crap, guys! Our various plumbing issues have gone down the tube, pun TOTALLY intended.  Umm, I guess that didn't really make sense the way I wanted it to, and all because I was so hell-bent on using silly puns to make you all giggle, or at least chortle a bit. I am so mature. So, what I meant was that our plumbing has been fixed, and we can once again wash our dirty laundry, bathe, and not worry about slime-infested water pouring all over our basement floor every time. Awesome. As I write this, I am sitting in a warm puddle of extreme nausea, brought on by I-don't-know-what-but-I-want-to-maim-it. I even took anti-emetics, and all they did was make me so drowsy I can barel Hey! I'm back! Nope, didn't nap. Just kind of fell over in a complete stupor, drool sliding out of the corner of my forever-open mouth...I still feel like crap, but no one really cares, so I'll stop talking about it. Instead, I'll just curl up in the fetal position and think about how...

We're in the midst of getting ready for our annual Camping Extravaganza, and what an extravaganza it will be! And when I say "we", I mean me. This year, for the first time ever, the kids are each inviting a friend along, mostly as offerings to the bears that seem to always find our campsite. Every.Single.Year. I actually developed the whole "Bring a Friend" idea earlier this year, as I worried and thought about this year's camping trip and what I was pretty sure would happen if we didn't change things. Last year, Em had reached a point in her camping experience whereby she no longer wanted to have anything to do with smoke, tents, dirt or bears. If the bear looked like Orlando Bloom, however, she'd be happy. Whatever. So, this week is all about getting ready, as in, getting out sleeping bags, buying food, organizing everything, washing clothes, packing clothes, packing, packing, packing. Oh, and did I mention our pipes are clogged and we can...

Poor Gryphon is back in oven mitts socks again. His little paws are all itchy and raw, and he keeps licking them, which only makes them worse, but he doesn't know that because he's a dog. Don't judge. So, last night, he slept with socks on his feet, but I didn't take a picture of it so that I could post it here (because if this site isn't for me to make fun of the people and things I love, than I don't know what it's for) because I was laid up in bed AGAIN with a bad headache, so instead, I'll give you an idea of what I mean by posting an older picture from last year, when Gryphon wore oven mitts. And today, I'm off to the pet store to buy him his very own cone, so that we can make even more fun of him. Yes, my life is THAT boring. Don't be jealous. Meanwhile... * How Mr. Handsome does laundry , and causes me grief. * Shopper of the Year Award goes to Mr. Handsome . Don't be jealous. Now that I look at it, it seems that this en...

My husband gets Shopper of the Year Award, which looks something like this:  You might be asking yourself, 'Why? Why does HE get the Shopper of the Year Award? What makes HIM so damn special?' OK. You asked... As usual, click on the picture to make it bigger. I really need to work on fixing this problem... Yeah. That's why.

In our house, the laundry system has gone through a medley of reformations and regurgitations, only to once again become the antithesis of a system in the end. This has gone on from the moment Mr. Handsome and I moved in together in our other lifetime, aka B.C. (Before Children). Little did I know -- being the rose-coloured glasses, totally-too-optimistic-kind-of-person (some people would call that crazy ) -- that once the spawn came along, the laundry situation would get just that much worse. I actually love doing laundry, although you wouldn't know it by looking at the results. Because, although my intentions are pure, my results are anything but. Please click on images to make larger. I said CLICK, NOT stroke. However, by the time I'm finished sorting all the greens and blues from the reds, and the whites from the blacks and purples, I decide it's time to put the chicken carcass on to boil, or maybe it's time to stare at the pile of clothing in my bedroom ...

My hormonal ebbs and flows are slowly, but surely, killing me. If it's not a major migraine that lasts for what seems half a century, then it's uterine cramps that remind me why I will never have another child of my own, and when it's not one of those two things, my emotions are screaming inside my head and it feels like my brain is eating itself. And, what makes all this even better is that -- YES!! -- my perimenopausal decrepitude might last 10 years! And then I will shrivel up and die. Awesome. Here's but one example of my utter irrationality during this time in my life. I am sure Mr. Handsome could throw out about 3.478 more examples just off the top of his pointy head, but he's still busy trying to rip the duct tape off his mouth. We were supposed to go to the movies on Wednesday, and I got all excited because we don't just go to the movies every day or anything, and I was also really looking forward to buying popcorn and putting loads of cholesterol-...

With both our children gone yet again to camp for the week, Mr. Handsome and I were at a loss as to what to do with ourselves. Our nest was empty, our birds had flown. When the children were younger, Mr. Handsome and I would be gleeful when they'd go off to camp, because suddenly we were free to go out without having to get a babysitter. It was a treat, to be sure, because we rarely went out. As most of you know, with young kids, it's just hard. However, now, the kids are both old enough that they can be left alone for days on end hours, which is wonderful in one sense, but in another sense, it's so commonplace now that when they're actually gone to camp, Mr. Handsome and I would rather just stay home and enjoy the absolute peace in the house instead of go out someplace and have a bowl of chicken soup. In fact, we end up going to bed by 9:30 every night and sleeping. Not an exaggeration. The most excitement we've had recently is Mr. Handsome's craving for ...

So Dee has left for camp for a week. And Em leaves Monday for a week to yet another camp. Yes, again. Clearly, I try my hardest to see the kids as little as possible during the summer. This means I have almost 5 days of absolute freedom, whereby I can lie in my own sloth, pig out on nothing but Nanaimo bars, Cheetos, and margaritas. I might shower, but chances are better that I won't. In other news, * You should read this if you haven't already, because I'm actually not complaining for a change. I know! * Y'all, I get Mother of the Year Award, and it is well deserved. Word.

This is why I win Mother of the Year Award. I couldn't upload the images, so you'll have to link to them. I'm extremely sorry for this, but it's par for the course when you put me in a room with a computer. So, just click on the following links and you'll get the picture. Pun totally intended, because I've got nothing else for y'all today, folks. I'm spent, as in, my brain has fallen apart and I am now walking around zombie-like and full of anger because just as I finished the last of my requirements on Thursday to get into the paramedic program,  I got the Period From Hell, and a wicked eye infection, which has now spread to both eyes and requires me to put antibiotic drops into my eyeballs thrice per day, and squint in pain the rest of the time. I also feel all left out because, once again, I'm not going to BlogHer, and I kind of wanted to go this year, mostly because it's in New York City, but I knew right from the start that I wouldn...

I am surrounded by love. It is wrapped around me like a warm blanket, no gaps to let in the cold. I had this realization just now, as I ambled back down the stairs to get the phone and a bag of cookies before returning to bed. Don't judge. The contentment I felt thinking this was as close as I think I've ever been to the purity, the clarity of it all. Mr. Handsome and Em are coming home late today, after three days in Toronto visiting family, leaving Dee and I here to fend for ourselves. Dee's been battling a stomach virus for awhile, but is on the mend, although he wasn't well enough to take the trip to Toronto, so he had to stick it out with me instead. Although he is 12 years old and no longer a little child (as he reminds me almost daily), he is still my little boy, and always will be. The weekend home with him was decidedly uneventful, with him slowly returning to eating food other than rice, applesauce, broth, and yogurt. Moody, yes. But nothing out of the ...

My brain remains cluttered with chemical equations and laws, and I'm beginning to look like the frazzled professor we've all had at one time or another in university: unbrushed hair, no shower for three-plus days, and no change of clothing. Here I wait for my chemistry exam that seems to have disappeared into the ether (little chemistry joke there), somewhere between here and Toronto, hoping the time comes sooner rather than later to write the damn thing so I can finally begin to forget all those useless things I've been jamming into my poor little brain over the last five weeks, and refill it with things that actually make sense, like what flavour ice cream is best for a dinner alone, or how does one get away with only brushing one's teeth once a week but look like one brushes three times a day. Those things. Spending the weekend at home alone with Dee, who's had a stomach bug that just likes it a bit too much inside his intestines to leave (Mr. Handsome and Em...