Holy Mackerel

I am going through a bit of a downward spiral these past few days. I've gone from feeling pretty damn good about myself and my achievements to feeling kind of like, "WTF EVER possessed me to even THINK I could be a goddammed paramedic?!!", except with many more swear words. My emotions are all over the place, and although I kind of know this is just the way it is, it still sucks mightily. I had a test pretty much every day last week, and I did pretty well in every one of them, except the last one, which was the only physical one. Of course. The one I knew would be the most challenging. At least my expectations are spot on. I had to do four lifts (as in, lifting actual people who have actual weight), and I had to do them using proper body mechanics (meaning, don't do anything stupid and hurt your back, stupid). I did two of them quite well, and two of them, not so much. I get a second chance at the end of this week, but just the fact that I couldn't do what wa...

My days go something like this: I wake up to the sound of the kids getting ready to go to school. Usually they're very quiet and well behaved, so that I can turn over and go back to sleep for a few minutes. Finally, I groggily get up and put in my contact lenses so that I don't pee all over the floor by mistake. My process-of-elimination skills aren't so great. Then I brush my hair, which is mega important, because if you don't start the day with brushed hair, your day will suck. This is for real, guys. Believe me. Brushed hair = awesome day. Then I go downstairs and promptly make myself a big cup of coffee. Not as important as the brushed hair stage, but almost. And then I either get dressed and go to school, or I sit down with my mega-pile of science books, and I study, read, and study some more. Then I practise lifting people off the ground, putting stretchers into make-believe ambulances, and study some more. This is now my life. Yes, I get to see my family e...

Me: Holy crap! Mr. Handsome: What? Me: I'm reading all about sweat glands here, and I just found out something I probably would rather not know. Mr. Handsome: *Silence* Me: Hello? Did you hear what I said? Mr. Handsome: Yes. I'm just not sure I want to hear this. Me: Oh, you do... Mr. Handsome: *Long pause* Okay. Me: Did you know that the milk my breasts make are actually sweat glands???!!! How cool is that?! Mr. Handsome: Like I said, I didn't want to hear this.

There I was, wheezing, as I tried to keep up with everyone else. Give up I did not, however. I carried on, trudging wearily, slapping one tired foot in front of the other on the hard cement floor, focusing on the prize: my dignity. Clearly, I didn't get the prize, because I have no dignity left . There I was, in my gym class, which all we paramedic-wannabes have to take in an effort to get into good enough shape to be able to lift and carry ill people and equipment, all while eating an ice cream cone, or possibly that salami sandwich that you just found stuffed in the side pocket of your pants. You know, guys, it's not easy keeping up with a class full of mostly 20-somethings, especially when your mammary glands keep hitting your knees. There they all are, gleefully skipping around the room as if they're in a field of daisies and they're lazily making their way toward their lover. And there I am, my ass slapping the backs of my thighs as I grunt my way around the...

So, it's like this, guys. I'm old, decrepit, and feeble. And yet, it kind of feels good to hurt, if you know what I  mean. Do you? Or am I just fumbling along, trying to make sense of my feelings again? What I mean, I think, is that, despite my sore muscles from my Fitness Till Death class, and my newest class -- Lab -- whereby we get to lift each other off the floor and simultaneously rip our pants from fore to aft, I'm loving the pain, the feeling of muscles regenerating, the knowledge that my body (and mind) are getting stronger with every day. Trying to remain positive, y'all. Bear with me. On another positive note, I had a birthday yesterday. Yeah. Just in case I didn't already realize I was old, now I'm older. Despite that unfortunate fact, I had a wonderful day, as always. Mr. Handsome and the kids have "The Knack" and somehow just know how to make my day perfect. Em had stayed up late Saturday to put up decorations and she made my b...

So, let me just say that that thing called Fitness Class should actually be called The Class That Throws You Into a Fatal Chokehold And Slowly Kills You. Because that is what happened yesterday. So yes, I am writing to you from the Land of the Dead. Trust me. I exaggerate not. My arms, they will not move, my legs are like rubber, and I feel like I walked out onto a busy street and got hit by two milk trucks, a semi full of lobsters, and about 30 motorcycles, who obviously are part of a gang (because why else would they have run me over, and why else would the leader of the group have a monkey on his shoulder?) If that didn't make sense, don't worry. I'm dead, remember? Dead people don't make a lot of sense at the best of times. Anyway. I actually woke up the next morning and was not as sore as I thought I would be, by which I mean I could actually move my limbs without screaming out in excruciating, ear-blistering pain. Which, to me, means I'm actually in bette...

As you read this, I am in my first class at college, looking very out-of-place and rather nervous as I look around the room and notice that I could be anyone's grandmother. Update: OK, maybe I was a tad too quick with that last statement, because as I was getting ready to go to my first class (gym/fitness), my bowels exploded and I ended up sitting on the toilet for more than half the class. To which, Mr. Handsome would reply, "Typical." And he'd be right. So much for my fitness class. Well, at least my bowels are in shape. I think. The rest of my first day was a little less eventful, shall we say? I had Psychopathology, which is right up my alley (I could have written the text, yo), and then I had Anatomy & Physiology, which is just another way of saying the class looks and examines the naked body. Again, right up my alley. And guys, I won a prize! Why? Because I am the definition of awesome, that's why. Actually, it's because we had this really odd...

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...