Holy Mackerel

I have probably never wanted a holiday as much as I do this year. No, that's not true. I KNOW I have never wanted a holiday as much as I do this year. Yeah, that's better. Because, guys, I've been working so very very hard. So hard, in fact, that I've pretty much lost every single reader I ever had on this blog, which would amount to about 2.5. It's been so long that I almost forgot how to write a blog post. Oh, you're so funny. I heard you say, "Forgot? You never could write." Hahaha, very funny, folks. So, like I said, I've been really busy, probably busier than I was when I gave birth to my firstborn child, Em, when I believed I was so incredibly busy I only had time for two naps a day. Since September, I've barely had time to scratch my left butt cheek with the vigor I am used to, having to resort to a quick jab with the point of my pencil as I study. And study. And study some more. And now, the semester is over. One more exam tomor

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Finals. That is all.

Mr. Handsome, while brushing his teeth: You know, I keep forgetting. Me: What? Mr. Handsome: I keep forgetting...brush teeth first, THEN have a crap.

Amidst all the crap that was last week, the worst thing that happened finally happened: our first, and oldest, pet passed away. You know how sometimes you just know that something really bad is about to happen? Or how sometimes you just know that someone (or something) is going to die shortly? Well, I had that feeling about Furry, our guinea pig. The six months or so, she was moving a little slower, sleeping a little more, and losing a bit of weight. We started giving her more food by hand because we thought that perhaps Mo, our 2-year-old guinea pig from hell, was stealing all the food (because she does). I'd sit with Furry and she'd nibble on pieces of cucumber (from the middle part out) or green pepper, as pleased as a pig can be. Although she never really gained back any weight, she seemed fine otherwise. Totally happy, eating, drinking, curious, doing all the normal piggy things. But all along, I watched her, because something told me her time was coming. It wasn't

Like it's not bad enough that I struggle daily to keep up with my mammoth studies of anatomical drawings of men's gargantuan genitalia, but now the final exams are looming, I still can't lift a 200-pound person in a chair up two flights of stairs, and my arthritis has flared up to an entirely new level of agony and utter torment. That is probably one of the worst parts of having arthritis: the routine unpredictability of it. For weeks, nay months, I can feel pretty damn good. I am never without pain (that would be waaay too much to ask for, of course), but then, almost overnight, I will wake up and feel nothing but. Last night, I took codeine and some Tylenol so that I could actually fall asleep and maybe get a few hours without the gnawing of my joints waking me up (or keeping me up), but even that was apparently too much to ask for. This strange thing happens now and again when I take codeine, and the fact that I never know when it's going to happen makes my life

Note to Mr. Handsome: Read this post at your own risk. Don't blame me if you fall over in a dead syncopic episode due to extreme prudishness. I've finally figured out a way to totally gross out Mr. Handsome, and make him pray for freedom from the chains of marriage.  You may think that an odd statement regarding one's spousal unit, but then, you obviously just don't know enough about Mr. Handsome's and my relationship, for our relationship is entirely based on one-uppance. And that is why it's worked for so many years. Either that, or we're insane, which is probably very true as well. Every week at school, we have a class called Medical Terminology, whereby we have to study some body system, learn the spelling and meaning of all the words, and then spew them out during the weekly test. So much fun. Seriously. Especially when said system for the week is the male reproductive system, in all its infinite glory. The other evening, I sat down to go over the

If it wasn't bad enough that I had a wee eyeball issue last week, as well as a major toothache that is still rearing its ugly head with pain, I came home today to dog crap on our living room carpet. Five nicely-shaped nuggets of the canine variety, more specifically, poodle-like. Oh, yeah. And no one saw it until I came home. Strange coincidence.  Guess who picked up the chocolate bananas? Yup. While I wore my paramedic uniform, no less. That's how brave a medic I am. In addition to the rather large Tootsie rolls on the carpet, this week also brings a megaload of tests. I had one today to make up for the one I missed last week because of my stupid eyeball. I have one tomorrow that should be fine, and is supposed to be written, although the teacher's definition of "written" isn't written at all. More like fill in the blanks and match some words and definitions. Wednesday brings us a test on the male reproductive system, and we all know what that means. Lot

That does it. As if it wasn't enough that two of my teeth decided to give me grief the other day...Now I have to go to the hospital to get my eyeballs checked out because I think I may have another retinal detachment happening, which wouldn't be a good thing, in case you were wondering. Looks like the Cloud of Doom has decided to sit right on top of me and give me just a little more grief. Yeah, sure. Bring it on. I love grief. And doom. And then the dog vomited. And peed. On our living room carpet. Again. Now all I need is a couple of Jehovah's Witnesses coming to my door with pamphlets on how I too can be saved...

As if I needed any extra help in realizing the realities of my situation, Mr. Handsome recently decided to make things clearer for me. Me: You know, I am finally seeing a big difference in my strength. It took long enough, didn't it, for my work-outs to make a difference? Mr. Handsome: Not really. Me: What do you mean, "Not really"??? Sure it did. Mr. Handsome: What I mean is that you forget that you've been out of shape longer than most of your classmates have been alive. Touche, dear, touche.

Oh, hello there. Me? I'm fine. Still alive, yes. Thanks for asking. Despite my super-human strength, and abilities beyond any other human's, I too have failures. Yes, it's true. My failure is not keeping up this blog. Oh, and maybe never seeing my family, not getting enough sleep, barely eating, and perhaps having really bad gas -- if you are one of those people who see bad gas as a failure. I see it as a major success. Anyway, the weeks go on, I keep stumbling through, bringing my head up for air every once in a while. I've turned into a mole (or a vole, depending on which one you think is cuter), and in rare moments, I bring my head to the surface and -- oh, hey!! what happened to all the leaves on the trees?! And why am I so cold?? Yeah, that's basically my life now. Not complaining, just explaining. Mr. Handsome was out of town late last week AGAIN, so I had the kids to myself. Of course, I was a bit concerned, seeing as I had a ton of work to do (nothing

Well, I believe this is the first time in the history of this blog that I've only posted once in an entire week. I've gone from posting pretty much every day, to four times a week, to three, to two, and now one? Of course, I have good reason, and I know all of you know what it is.  Where was I? Oh yeah... My readership is going downdowndown, my Alexa rating is dipping, I have nothing to talk about anymore except how much work I have to do and how much Mr. Handsome likes to see me in a uniform, and lo and behold, my third blog anniversary is just around the bend. Six days, to be exact. If anyone cares. Which, by the way, I don't. Care, that is. Which is probably pretty obvious to everyone out there because I'm only posting once a week. See how I did that? Made a complete circle, bringing the beginning around to the end and back to the beginning again? Clearly, I'm a writer. Oh, and I also realized this past weekend that I actually married one of the mountain

Some childhood memories are never forgotten. It is surprising that even what might seem like the most mundane, idiotic and immature of events can become such an ingrained part of who you become as an adult. When I went back to college in September,  I had mixed feelings. Here I was, a middle-aged mom who's been out of school for 20 years, going back, knowing full well that my class would most probably be filled with nubile young things who thought they were pretty darn hot, smart, and amazing. I was scared. Scared of what they might think of me, scared they would laugh at me. Just scared. I was also very excited to be entering a new and very big part of my life, a part that could make me a much happier, more self-fulfilled person, something I have not felt for a long time. But, try as I might, those feelings of fear and insecurity kept looming up, overwhelming the excitement that kept trying to keep its head above water. What it came down to, I finally realized, was that I w

Can't believe it's already the middle of freaking October, and by that I mean HOLY CRAP, TIME IS MOVING WAAAAY TOO FAST!!! And then I ask myself, 'Poodle, how does this happen?' Does time actually go faster at various moments in the space-time continuum, or is it that my brain finally exploded and caused me to lose track of a few months? I'm voting for the brain explosion, because that's how I've been feeling. There is just so much to do, and so little time for any of it. In fact, I feel totally guilty keeping up this blog because really? I should be studying. Or doing a load of laundry. Or buying a turkey. Oh yeah. It's Thanksgiving this weekend. Awesome. In fact, I LOVE Thanksgiving. One of my favourite holidays, because it's full of food AND PUMPKIN PIE, which has been my favourite pie of all time since I was in utero. Oh, and by the way, whipped cream just ruins it. You're welcome. So, usually at this time of the year, I'm all exci

I started writing a post the other day in the midst of my paramedic schooling fog, and then I had to stop because the dog screamed out in his sleep, and when I finally went back to writing it, I totally forgot what the hell I was writing about, and nothing I had written made any sense whatsoever, so I had to hit delete and here I am. My brain is mushy, like a nice big pot of Kraft Dinner left on the stove just a tad too long. My needs are many, such as more sleep, regular meals, less stress, and more time with my family. But I'm not complaining, although I'm sure it sounds that way. In fact, I'm happy. Really, really happy. This program I'm in is beating my butt, but it hasn't got me down. Well, it does at times, I won't lie. Like last week, when I had to redo a couple of tests because I didn't lift people properly. I am too hard on myself, and I know it, and yet, I continue the self-harassment. In the back of my mind, there's always this little voice

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