Holy Mackerel

Why, yes. Yes I am still alive. I think. Just a second, let me check. Yup. Still here. Although I have no feeling left from the neck up. It's been yet another whirlwind of a week (or whirledwind, as some people say, which actually drives me crazy, but I'll just leave that alone for today), but I still haven't written my last exam (it's somewhere in-between Toronto and here, which probably means it's in Tokyo, knowing our postal service). I've been studying chemical equations and gas reactions, and meanwhile, Dee has been sick as a puppy with a stomach thing that makes him pass out everytime he goes to the bathroom, which makes this mommy very very sad. I'm hoping he's feeling better soon, because this has been going on since last Thursday, and there are no signs of it letting up. And I have a raging bladder infection that makes the normal act of peeing seem like you are actually putting your urethra through a meat grinder. Over and over and over aga...

We decided to have a nice family night on the weekend, and ended up watching Deliverance . What? We played Hearts afterwards, so it's all good. Mr. Handsome (who is apparently reading my blog again -- read it and weep , buddy) said the movie was entirely inappropriate, and he walked around all serious-like and feigned authoritative license, and then said dinner was ready and we were to shut off the television. I let him know, in no uncertain terms, that the stuff he has allowed the kids to watch (including all those video games that do nothing but glorify violence, blood and gore) is so much worse than anything on Deliverance . Oh, and we won't even go into watching Die Hard on Christmas Eve, and stating that it's a perfectly fine movie to watch on Christmas Eve because -- hello! -- it takes place at Christmas time. Or, how about WWF Smack Down wrestling matches? Or those caged wrestling matches you and Dee seem to adore? Yeah, let's talk about that for a moment, s...

It's been a week since I last posted anything about my amazingly exciting life, and for that, I apologize profusely. I've been so crazy busy, though, that I'm surprised I'm still thinking straight. Okay, I lied. I haven't been busy at all. Not really, anyway. Unless, of course, you consider sitting on the toilet for 16 out of 24 hours every day busy, moaning as your insides are no longer inside. That awful noise you heard the other night that woke you out of your wonderfully deep sleep? Yeah, that was me. On the toilet. I'm STILL sick, and I'm sick and tired of being sick...and tired. I finally got in to see my doctor, and told him I've had this stomach thing going on four weeks now, and isn't enough enough when it comes to diarrhea? And you know what? He agreed. There is, in fact, a stomach virus making the rounds in the nation's capital, but four weeks is still an awfully long time. He told me to take some Imodium to try and settle things down...

Quite a weird and wacky last few days, I must say. And what's weirder is actually starting a sentence with that. Maybe not. I spent the weekend getting things together for my job interview this morning. Had to put together some references (now, that's a job in itself, actually finding people who would say nice things about me!), polish up my knowledge of all things library, and last, but not least, find my damn job interview clothes. And all this in the midst of what seems to be a stomach bug that's been creating some havoc with my insides (as if they need any help in that respect). It's tough being me. I ended up in bed for most of Saturday with gut cramps that would down Rocky Balboa for the count and a headache that just would not leave me alone. Needless to say, I didn't get any job interview preparations done that day, or much of anything else, including speaking more than three words to my family, unless you count "Uhhhh," "Ohhhh," and ...

One of my least favourite ways to wake up in the morning is to the sound of high-pitched, screeching tires, with a touch of wailing as if the person (or thing) is in extreme pain. Unfortunately, I wake up to this noise more than only once in a while in this household. The cause of this noise, you ask? My children, of course! What else? Em and Dee often get up on school days before I manage to fumble my way out from between my warm blankets and to the bathroom to put in my contact lenses so that I don't stumble down 20 stairs and break my nose. They don't really need me any longer to come down and make their breakfast, make sure they're dressed, etc. They're pretty much self-sufficient, but I still like to make an appearance to show them I care, to make sure they eat something and brush their teeth, and, on some days, to ensure that they don't kill each other. Such was the situation on Wednesday when I awoke to the screeching banshee sound and knew that either someo...

I am happy to announce that our Thanksgiving was a success. Yes, including the entirely homemade apple pie that Em and I made FROM SCRATCH, crust and all. I KNOW! I'm still reeling from the thought of it. My hands working hard at making the apple pie crust. Notice the flour that happened to end up everywhere, including halfway up my arms and on my sleeves. Despite our inexperience, the crust turned out perfectly. No pastry cutter tool needed for these experts. Look at that pile of apples. That's what I'm talkin' about! Mr. Handsome's and Dee's extraordinary pumpkin pie. To.Die.For. Excuse me while I run to the fridge for some leftovers. Be right back. The long weekend went by way too fast, as it always seems to. Today, Mr. Handsome is back at work, the kids at school, and me? I'm still here, fumbling along, looking for work, trying to figure things out. Feeling rather out of sorts, withdrawn from life, forcing myself to take nibbles of whatever is put in fr...

I can't do anything right. And I am an awful mother. This is what my daughter thinks of me. And I have to ask myself, how did we get to this place? I know. So many friends with children older than mine have told me this is what it's like. "Just wait, it gets worse before it gets better," they tell me, smirking. Except, it's not so funny. And although, if I can step back and look at it all objective-like, pretending I'm just an observer, I can accept this place we're in, and know that this is all 'normal' and expected. But it feels so abnormal, so wrong, and so awful, that I can't for the life of me see how it could be normal, in any sense of the word. Because it was just yesterday that I was holding her tiny hand in mine, and she looked up to me as her everything, her adviser, her truth teller, her safe place. Where did that little girl go? Now, we have a girl who is still a little girl in so many ways, but is also growing up all too quickly, ...

My father was a good father. He was the kind of dad who would spend his only free day of the entire week with his kids. He would take us camping every year without fail, on his own, because we loved it. He tried to teach us life lessons with every event, and sometimes was just as happy not to, and to just "be" with his children. He raised his children mostly on his own, after his wife left him. He did the best he could with what he had and knew. My favourite time was squeezing in beside him in his old rocking chair, placing my head on his chest, and listening to his heart beating. And the best part was when he would speak: his low voice reverberating in his chest and through my head, almost putting me in a trance. He was a great father, a great friend, and I miss him a lot. Happy Father's Day, Daddy. ___________________________________ Mr. Handsome is a good father. He spends his weekend putting a basketball net together for his son. He invites the kids to come along bik...

Planting flowers at our dad's (and now our mother's as well) gravesite. Dee, my brother Adonis, and myself. Our annual ritual. Bitter cold that Sunday. There was hail that day, and rain. The wind whipped our bare hands as my brother and son dug and watered and planted, and I stood supervising and taking the odd photograph. Those are my specialties. That, and drinking consecutive mojitos and eating an entire supersized bag of Cheetos in one hour. A sad time, for sure. Lots of memories. This year, however, we did some laughing as we reminisced. Remembering the silly things our parents would say or do. It is our first year planting flowers for our mother as well. She passed away in March. And although our parents separated way back in 1972, my father paid for a spot for my mother next to him, to make sure she had somewhere to go and that she'd be taken care of. My brothers and I are now orphans. And, when I really think about it, I am very sad, and don't really believe ...

The bowl of ice cream sits beside me. Frost lines the bowl. The spoon shifts as the mound begins to melt ever so slightly. I take a spoonful and let it rest on my tongue. The chocolate envelopes my every sense. My mind goes back in time. I am nine years old. It's summertime. The heat rises from the pavement in front of the house, waves of vibrating heat, so thick I'm sure I could touch it. The buzz of junebugs fills the air. I spend my days on my bike, or running through neighbour's yards, soaking in the sun's energy, so happy to be alive. I feel happy, healthy, and am able to forget about the sadness that rests inside my home. My father comes home from working a hard shift. His familiar smell as he walks in the door greets me. Sweat, oil, fatigue. He works hard. I check his pockets and pull out the slim box of gum he always seems to have. I feel like he keeps the gum there for me. Fruit-flavoured. My favourite. I take a couple of pieces, a special treat, and replace ...

This weekend, I get to babysit this and snuggle with this and cuddle with this and kiss and hug and play smooshy face with this My little nephew. My only nephew. Gotta love the little bugger. It's going to be an awesome weekend.

I just finished calling my daughter a f*cking bitch ... to her face. Yeah. I'm pretty sure she's old enough now to hear the truth, no mincing of words necessary... She accused me of not being fair, once again, and I guess I've just had it. Today was not the day to play with my mind and play the old guilt trip on me. I just buried my mother today. Do I need another reason? I'm bitter, and I'm exhausted, and I'm sick and tired of being accused of never being good enough, of never having her best interests at heart, of not loving enough. This time, it was about asking for my money back that I had given Em for her trip to Toronto. She didn't use it there, and it was given to her as an emergency fund. She immediately accused me of being unfair because she didn't have to spend the money, and I wanted it back. Somehow, this is all my fault and I should now feel bad about it. Then she had some other choice things to say about how I never do anything for her, an...

I really don't have much to say today, except a huge thank you to all the generous and kind comments regarding my mother's recent passing. They really mean so very much to me. So, thank you. I've spent the past few days in Toronto with my gorgeous baby nephew, and if that's not the best way to forget about one's troubles, I don't know what is. Today's the visitation for my mother. The funeral and burial take place tomorrow morning. My feelings are all over the place. One minute, I'm so very sad. The next, I'm almost fine. I didn't know how I would react when the inevitable happened, and now it has, and I still seem very confused. I'm so sad, but it's not the same sadness I felt when my dad passed away three years ago. This time, it's a sadness for the loss of what might have been between my mother and I, the concrete disappearance, perhaps, of that one last chance that things might be good again between us. Although the chances of t...

My mother died last night. I don't know how to feel or what I feel. I am sad, but not just because of her passing. I am sad for a wasted lifetime of anger, resentment, and hatred. She'd been in and out of the hospital over the past few years and was getting on, but you know, when it actually happens, it's always a shock. It doesn't matter how much time you have to mull things over, knowing this is bound to happen sooner rather than later. It's still unbelievable when it finally does happen. This last time, she had been in the hospital for about two weeks, but had been doing quite well. They were just waiting for a bed to open up for her at a longer-term care facility so that she could further recuperate before returning home. She was in the hospital for multiple spinal fractures. Thank you, osteoporosis. Nothing at all related to her eventual demise. Last Sunday, she was walking the halls in the hospital. Monday, she didn't feel so great. Tuesday came and she b...

It was Family Day in Ontario yesterday (President's Day in the U.S.). This is only the second year Ontario has celebrated Family Day. Before that, we had no holidays in February, which meant the month was full of doom, gloom, dirty snow, despair and a huge loss of libido. Just ask Mr. Handsome. February has never been an easy month. That is, until the pronouncement of Family Day by ye gods in provincial government . Now we look forward to the second month of the year because it means an extra day off, except for federal government employees. They don't fall under provincial jurisdiction, so they have to work while the rest of us loll about in our pajamas all day long, drinking margaritas and watching The Duggars preach to their have more and their children. Mr. Handsome works for the federal government, so he doesn't normally get the day off. Last year, he worked while the children and I made snow cones, went to museums and then napped. So, this year, he wisely decided t...

I really don't know what's wrong with me these past few days, but it's almost like a dark cloud is hovering over me, squeezing all my creativity out of my tiny little brain. It takes all I've got, and more martinis than I have olives, to squeeze out one little fart-like pippet of a blog post. So, today's post will be about the lychee fruit. And the question I pose to you is this: Is it pronounced LEECHEE , or LICHEE ? Please help me. And while I'm on the topic, how in hell's name does one do the "strikethrough" text on their blog? I cannot for the life of me figure this tiny detail out. It's been a storm in this house since Dennis mentioned he wanted some lychee fruit. And since it's my month to get groceries , it's been up to me to get some. Of course, I haven't, but that's not the point. Dennis and Milly are fighting over the damn pronunciation of the stupid fruit, that which I have never even tried in my entire life. In fact...

Recently, I was whining. What? Yes, I know. It's a rare occurrence, to be sure. I had good reason to whine, however, as opposed to the times when I just whine because I know everyone loves to hear my sweet voice ring through the halls. Tra la la la! Anyway, I was whining , as I said. About what? About the fact that I'm responsible for getting the groceries this month (Mr. Handsome & I take turns getting groceries so that neither one of us cracks under the pressure), and there never seems to be any food in the house . Ever. No matter how often I go to the grocery store and spend all our pennies on all the goodness nature can bring. Things like super-sized bags of potato chips and cocktail wienies and marinated artichoke hearts. Nummies. So, I go to the store at least once, sometimes twice, a week, filling up our fridge and pantry as any good mother should. After all, god forbid my offspring or -- horrors! -- Mr. Handsome be without for more than maybe three seconds tops. Y...

I have absolutely nothing to talk about today. So, instead of not posting at all, I thought it might be fun to see how much I could talk about absolutely nothing. Which, I suppose you could argue, I do every day. But today, it really is...about nothing. But then, what is life really? Let's ponder this for a moment... So, I got up today with my daughter telling me it was time to get up. She needed a drive because it is -30C here in beautiful Ottawa today, another reason why I hate January. I wouldn't want my children to freeze their cute little adorable faces off, so I drive them to school when it's cold enough to freeze the butt hairs off an Eskimo. Politically incorrect, you say? Whatev. I know Eskimos have butts, and hair. I don't spoil my children. In fact, most of the time, I ignore them and leave them to their own devices. That way, I reason, they will learn all about life so much more quickly and adeptly than I could ever teach them. Socially responsible parentin...