Thinking of the good things

At the end of a weekend do you ever focus on what you couldn’t or didn’t get done instead of what you did?  I certainly do in fact, my “to do” list causes me great amounts of anxiety and I often go through my days overwhelmed and feeling like there aren’t enough hours in the day.

Recently I’ve been working on coping mechanisms for my anxiety because truth be known, there is NOT enough hours in the day for the list I set for myself to accomplish. I set unrealistic expectations of myself and then am somehow shocked and dismayed when I don’t meet them.

I often walk into work on Monday morning and when asked how my weekend was say “Not long enough”.  So puttering in the kitchen a few minutes ago, singing along to my music, it came to me.  I had a GOOD weekend.

My weekend consisted of:

·         Cleaning my house

·         Grocery shopping (included some school supplies!)

·         Cooking some clean options for lunches

·         Making my husband’s lunch for both Saturday and Sunday

·         Doing a friend’s taxes

·         Cooking dinner for a friend

·         Mini golfing and lunch with my son’s, friend and her kids

·         Gardening

·         Reading the rest of my book

·         Watching a movie on Netflix

·         Composing some comments for performance plans at work

·         Drinking a lovely glass of wine

·         Working on my long term goals list or as my friend calls them “miracles”

·         Flirting with my husband via text or before he had to leave for work

·         Cuddling with my five year old

·         Playing a board game with a friend

·         Soon to play cards with another friend

·         Making lunches and getting things ready for work/daycare on Monday

 

I’d say the above is a pretty great list of accomplishments.  I’m sitting in my dining room, looking at the lovely flowers a friend sent me, typing on my laptop, with the sun shining through the windows.  My five year old is running around in circles squealing and my husband is getting ready for work.

 

Dinner is bubbling on the stove and there is a giant pile of laundry behind me to be folded.  But it’s all good because the list above is enough.  If I get the laundry folded bonus.  If I don’t that’s okay too. Don’t get me wrong, my “to do” list is still massive.  It’s just been shoved to the back of my cerebral junk drawer to be found another day.

 

I know this isn’t my usual sarcastic, make fun of my family kind of posts but it was on my mind so this is what you got.  Suck it up princess, there will be plenty of Scott bashing next time :P

 

 

This one's for you Scott

Happy Father’s day to all of the dads I know.  You take a lot of crap from us. In honour of this special day I thought I would write a blog specifically about the love of my life and one of the father’s of my children.  Even typing “one of the father’s” make me feel just a little bit naughty.  What can I say; I’m one of THOSE women, who likes to mix it up. Back to the story at hand; Scott.  He just loves it when I write about him here.  He is still recovering from the last blog post I dedicated to him.

When I met Scott I had two kids, Logan who was two at the time and Meghan who was six. Not only was I a recently single mom but he had a baby on the way with his lovely ex-girlfriend.  Have I ever mentioned that he and I don’t do things the simple and traditional way? We like the complicated, slightly awkward to explain way of life.  It’s just the way we roll.

Besides being instant love (and lust) Scott was a keeper from the beginning when it came to my kids.  He was amazing with them, just having a natural talent for being around kids without going completely insane.  That is the definition of parenthood is it not?  That and to make sure your children have a real reason for the future therapy bills.

Between Scott and I we have four children.  Two are mine, one is his and thanks to the water in Mexico 9 months after our wedding, we popped one out that is ours.  Although I think Scott may be my biggest baby of all:P

So Scott baby, this one’s for you.

Some memorable moments with Scott as a dad (in no particular order):

OH MY GOD, I forgot him!:

When our youngest son Finnegan was six months old I went back to work and Scott took the remaining six months of parental leave.  Shortly after he took over the mommy duties I gave him a call around the time school let out to see how his day was going.  We were chatting about nothing much, his day, my day, that he had parked at our friend’s house a couple of blocks away and walked to the school.  I asked how Finnegan was and suddenly dead silence, followed shortly by “OH MY GOD I FORGOT HIM IN THE CAR I HAVE TO GO” and click.  My heart stopped as I waited at the phone for a phone call.  A very relieved and chagrined Scott called me back two minutes later with a sleeping baby in arms.  He got a frantic lecture from me and an almost heart attack.  He did learn something that day.  Never park far away from school, he CAN run like the wind when pushed and never ever forget the baby.  He never did again, although I still rag him about it now and again.  Sleep deprivation is fantastic and Scott had the pleasure of experiencing that!

Mrs. Hill wants to speak to you:

When our son Logan was in Kindergarten we got a call from his teacher one day.  His teacher, politely and awkwardly explained to us that Logan was “adjusting” himself in class and could we please ask that he stop doing that.  Scott handled it like a pro, sitting Logan down and talking to him about public vs. Private and suggesting to the teacher she send him to the bathroom if she noticed him doing it again.  Scott saved us from a lot of embarrassment, had she spoken to me I would have probably suggested we tape his penis to his leg, make him wear footy jammies to school, wear mittens, or duct tape his pants closed.

Meghan wears diapers?!?

One weekend when we were cleaning up our house and doing regular weekend things  like laundry (we’re living the dream, what can I say) Logan walked in on his sister in the bathroom.  She happened to be menstruating at the time and he caught her in the middle of changing.  He took one look and said “Meghan, you wear diapers?!?!?!” to which she firmly screamed for him to get out.  He went running to Scott and said “Daddy, daddy, Meghan wears diapers?!?!?”.

Scott calmly looked at him and replied “Go talk to your mother”

Daddy’s car goes faster than your car:

One day when I was driving down the street with the kids, Logan piped up from the back seat “Daddy’s car goes faster than your car mama.  AND sometimes, it even goes side to side”

I don’t do puke, I will NEVER live in Surrey and I will NOT drive a minivan:

All I can say to this is that you better watch when you say “never”.  One week after we started dating Scott kneeled beside me on the hall carpet helping me clean up sick 2 year old boy vomit.  Seven months after we met he moved in with me.  In Surrey. 

Four years after we met we bought a minivan.

All kidding aside, Scott is a great dad, who demonstrates by:

·         Being the hot lunch lady at school

·         Being a playmate when one is required (oh the sacrifices he makes for his kids)

·         Wiping away their tears, snot, poop, and other disgusting substances with only minimal gagging

·         Kissing away the hurt, the tears, and the fear (and not just for me!)

·         Never flinching when Logan introduced him to strangers as “This is my dad, I have another dad too”

·         singing aloud and off key to the Arrogant worms Pirate song complete with hand movements in the car

·         watching Barney, The Backyardigans and the Wonder Pets without hesitation

·         Reciting lines from Sponge Bob Square Pants to relate to our life

·         Wearing the sexy (even typed that with a straight face) uniform of a Scout leader

·         having a sense of humour, god knows he needs it

·         almost not falling asleep when I was in labour with Finnegan

What amazes me about him is the capacity for love he has, for the kids, for me for others.  We live a complicated, chaotic existence and I wouldn’t want to do it all with any other man.  Happy Father’s day my love, and thank you for being not only a fantastic husband but a wonderful dad too.

On a side note, when we were leaving a friends tonight (had dinner there) and I was headed home, him to work, he leaned into the van window and gave me a kiss.  From the back seat, Finnegan piped up “EWWWWW they licked tongues”

I can certainly say there is never a dull moment.

 

Lessons on the Grind

I had a profound experience on Saturday.  Before I reveal that experience, let me give you some background information.  My training partner Carol-Ann and I made plans last week to hike the Grouse Grind on the weekend.

For those of you not familiar with the Grouse Grind, it’s a brutal 2.9 kilometre trail up the side of Grouse Mountain.  There are 2830 stairs and markers every quarter of the way to tell you where you are.

When Carol-Ann and I started talking about it at work (we are team members at work) people were shocked that we were planning to do it.  Every person I spoke to commented on how hard it is; that we’d be sore and wished us good luck with a grimace.  Some told us of how they had attempted it and for some reason never made it past the ¼ mark.  As the week wore on I began to wonder about our sanity.  We had been training really hard for almost a month in the gym, three days of weights and two days of cardio.  When we had made the decision to conquer the Grind, I had felt certain we could do it.

By Friday I jokingly told team members that I may require them to push me around in my chair on Monday or to watch out for the flares coming off the side of the mountain on Saturday morning.  The only thing that kept me on target was my training partner, who I had committed to doing the hike with. 

So with doubts I cleaned my house on Friday night in case I couldn’t move Saturday afternoon and settled in for the night, setting my alarm clock for the crack of early.  When I woke up to the horrible sound of my alarm clock on Saturday morning, I showered, dressed and ate, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach and that voice inside of my head quietly chanting “crazy”.

 

I got to Carol-Ann’s and we drove to Grouse Mountain together, both clearly a little nervous.  Just seeing her and how far she had come with her training in the recent weeks, I also started to feel excitement.  I started to think “I can do this...and if I can’t she looks strong enough to drag me”

We got our backpacks stowed at customer service, went to the bathroom, strapped on our water and headed to the entrance of the Grind. I was excited that I could possibly accomplish this and a little scared that I couldn’t.  We entered the trail and started to climb, up and up and up.  Ten minutes in and my lungs were burning along with my calves and quadriceps.  We had a steady pace and stopped every 100 steps or so to breathe.

We walked, and walked and walked, climbed up and up and up and up.  After what seemed like an hour, we reached a sign that cheerfully told us that we had reached the ¼ mark.  We stopped for water and a picture, so I could prove I was still alive and I had a moment of doubt.  If I was this winded already, could I make it all of the way? As people cheerfully passed us, we got back on the trail and kept going. 

 

 

We saw people of all ages, from the very young to the old, men, women, in various states of fitness level.   We had people who passed us and some we passed.  We had people who rushed past impatiently stating “on your left” as they got down to business and pushed past those of us in their way.  We had a few people actually running up the trail.  My personal opinion on those people is that they are either mentally unbalanced or super human. 

Between the ¼ and ½ mark we encountered a site that simply blew what remained of my breath away.  In front of us was a blind man.  He had a long white stick and a very patient guide, who told him exactly what was in front of him and exactly where and how to step forward.  Their speed was slow but steady and they progressed without any hesitation.

This inspired me like nothing else could have, which comes to my profound experience.  If this man could do it without sight but great direction what was stopping me? I have both sight and with my training partner direction.  I have to admit that seeing that, at that very moment in my journey gave breath to my lungs and power to my heart.  It reminded me that no matter what the obstacles we can always overcome and succeed.  Sometimes it takes the help of others, along with your own perseverance and dedication to get there.  It takes commitment, hard work and constant encouragement certainly helps.

As I walked behind the man and his guide for a while I saw the man stumble at certain points when he wasn’t clear on the direction.  I related that to my own life, where I have stumbled (and certainly will stumble many more times) and have felt like giving up or that it was just too hard, yet somehow most of those times I made it through anyway.  It could have been the great people that have guided me when I was blind to that potential or the commitment and perseverance I have had to succeed. 

We did eventually pass this man, but he stayed with me all the way to the top.  One hour, thirty-four minutes and eighteen seconds after entering the trail Carol-Ann and I emerged at the top, successful in our journey.  At that moment, once I learned how to breathe again, I felt like I was literally at the top of the world.  That I can conquer anything and that this very short journey proves that all it takes is commitment, great team work and inspiration to accomplish anything.  Despite the doubt and the dire warnings of either imminent pain or failure, we walked up the side of a mountain.  One step at a time is all it took.  I’m not going to lie, many of those steps were tough and were only achieved with hard work, sweat and will power.

The even more unexpected thing, I woke up this morning without an ounce of stiffness in my limbs.  I woke up with a clear mind and limber body.  Sometimes what holds us back the most is that fear.  Can I do it?  Will it hurt? Will I fail?  Instead of thinking of these things, next time I will be thinking about that feeling I had when I reached the top.  When I’m halfway there and my enthusiasm is starting to wane I will remember that blind man and the lesson he taught me.

 

 

Some realizations I had from my first climb on the Grouse Grind:

·         Believe you can do it and then go and do it, even if it is one slow step at a time

·         Even when you cannot see what’s in front of you, keep moving forward and if you need help, accept that guidance

·         Having a training partner to do it with me made all of the difference.  I was never alone and I always had support. I was also able to give support, which really showed me again the true meaning of team

·         Accept when you need to pause to get your breath, nobody is judging you, they are simply trying to make it too

·         Let those in a hurry pass but don’t try to catch up, you’ll get there when it’s your time

·         Hard work pays off, especially when you know exactly what you are working for

·         Celebrate each success, even if you aren’t finished the journey.  Every marker we stopped to admire our progress

·         When you look back when you are on the path, really see how far you’ve come, even if you still have far to go

·         The crowded gondola smells really ripe on the way down; success doesn’t always smell like roses ;-)

 

I would do it again. In fact, I challenge YOU to get out there and climb those 2830 steps even if it’s only to prove that you can.  If you don’t think you can do it alone, that’s ok.  We can do it together, because sometimes in life, when you cannot see the way, all you need is a little guidance to succeed.

I’m sitting here on a Saturday afternoon, in a relatively mellow mood, pondering life.  The mellowness may be the glass of wine I consumed while bottling this afternoon, but I’ll just go with it. 

For those of you close to me, you know I’ve been on a journey these past few months, to lose weight, to get healthier and to feel better.  Now if you think the next sentences are going to be motivational and uplifting on how my life has changed, you may want to turn back now...

Let me set things straight.  Exercising and dieting suck.  They are hard work.  Sure I tell myself that it’s good for me, that it’s satisfying and on a deep level makes me a better person, and all of that is probably true but to be blunt, it’s been brutal.  Until you start counting calories on everything you consume you have no idea.  When I started entering in my food, I was a bit cocky.  Breakfast, not bad, I have LOTS of calories left that the handy little app has indicated are my calories for the day.

By 4 PM out of boredom or hunger or whatever it is, I look at that handy little app as I browse the snack items at the Tim Horton’s by my work and quickly realize that dieting SUCKS.  Yes, sure, I can have that donut that is blinking seductively at me from behind the glass but then I can’t have dinner AND I have to work out 30 minutes more than planned.  I don’t even LIKE doughnuts but damn, me on a diet and my cravings go into overdrive.  That doughnut is evil and dieting, truly sucks.  It is completely beside the point that if I weren’t on a diet I wouldn’t even have looked twice at the evil mass of dough.

So no snack for me, only tea, two milk, no sugar.  Sugar is apparently evil.

I have lost 30 pounds and not sure how many inches so far, but have suffered through every single one of those pounds.  I have discovered some pertinent facts about myself through this process:

·         I like eating

·         I don’t particularly like salad

·         I really don’t like salad without dressing

·         I really, really don’t like broccoli and plain chicken breast

·         I really, really, really, love bread

·         I have no patience, I want results, like NOW

·         My willpower is very weak and requires constant discipline

·         Exercising is HARD work and nothing like the joy of sex

·         I hate that stupid little calorie counting app

·         I am fundamentally lazy

·         I hate dieting

·         I am not as flexible as I thought

·         Sweating is not sexy

·         Red is the colour my face turns as a result of cardio

·         Drinking more water just makes me have to pee even more (In fact if I drink much more at work I might as well set up office in the bathroom and use the cubicle like a confessional for all of my team)

·         White fish tastes like rubber

·         Egg whites taste like sponge

·         Anything that tastes good I can’t eat

I have been reading a lot of blogs, facebook messages, websites, etc. To motivate me and give me advice and I personally think they are all crazy.  Who truly believes this is a better lifestyle?  Fine, I am looking a little better, and feeling a little better and I’ve lost weight and inches but I have fought off every single one. Anything that resembles work does NOT resemble fun..

Final exams and bad decisions

So I had a final exam today, for the program I am working on which is number nine out of ten and starting the last course this Thursday.  The course I just completed today was “fast track” which takes place over four weekends, then the final exam a couple of weeks after the last class.

So essentially I am the most fun person on earth to live with for that time.  Now the following dialogue is actually about me for once and not an opportunity to poke fun at my family (Although Scott gives me the best material). 

So let me tell you about the last few fun filled weeks in the world of Shannon.  I worked a LOT over the last few weeks on projects going on at work, so sneaking in some study time between things was pretty much impossible.  I get terribly odd looks when I cart my textbook into the bathroom at work so no go there either.  This meant my family got the pleasure of sharing study time with mama.

Those of you, who know me, you (even grudgingly) understand my incessant need for perfection even though it’s an impossible mission.  Those of you who don’t know me, first of all, how much do I owe you for actually reading my blog and second, you are lucky you don’t have to witness the train wreck called perfection.  When I receive my new textbook for each course (which I get about six weeks in advance because you’re supposed to read the entire text before the first class) I get all excited and motivated, thinking that I will read the book and write all of my study notes well before class.

Another little secret, I have a short attention span.  This means the motivation wanes about a day after I get the textbook and I make every excuse not to read the text, from I have lots of time, or I’m really busy at work, to  a million other little excuses that I would certainly not accept from my children (but then double standards will have to be another blog post some day).  So I procrastinate until about a week before class and then it hits me that holy crap I have about 300 pages of dry, insurance related material to read and try to absorb in a week.

That is officially the beginning of panic mode and the official sign that for me, the course has actually begun.

I then diligently go to class, read the material, study every day, freak out, get confused, re-read, get a bit less unconfused, go to class, have someone ask a question and get confused all over again.  I then put my family through six weeks of “crazy mommy” mode where I eat, breathe, talk course material.  I get interrupted by the newest crisis like the four year old crying because his brother kissed him and his kisses are disgusting.  I give them the “stink eye” and my fourteen year old who truly understands “crazy mommy” mode, quickly herds the four year old to safety.

It’s bad when the look of relief washes over my daughter’s face when I let her know my exam is done.  She gets her time back that she slaved away babysitting while I studied.  That and crazy mommy now becomes only partially crazy mommy.

So like I said, my exam was today.  A word of advice for all of you future final exam goers, it is not advisable to take laxatives anytime close to your exam date.  I am currently dieting, which oddly causes my system to back up (all that roughage clogging the pipes).  On Saturday night I decided it was time to get things moving.  The package said that the dosage would work in 1 to 5 hours.  Sunday night came, a full 24 hours since the first dose.  Nothing happened, unless you count the noxious cloud that followed me everywhere.  So I ask my husband, who is getting ready for work if I should take another dose.  Now the first mistake I made was taking advice from someone who has no medical background or idea.  The second mistake was taking the second dose the night before my exam.

Sunday night consisted of massive stomach cramps and odd dreams about my course material, which lead to major whining when my alarm went off bright and early this morning.  The stomach cramps however had receded and I was feeling okay other than tired.  So I made my way downtown with my study partner to meet up with another study partner.  The morning is relatively uneventful, spent in a coffee shop trying to cram any last minute terms, definitions and concepts into my overstuffed head.

We had a nice lunch and were just getting ready to head to the exam when all of a sudden my stomach let out a giant howl and I had to book it to the bathroom.  I just made it before the sewer pipe burst from the back up and the roughage finally made it through, in great quantity and with tremendous force.  There I was, thirty minutes before a two to three hour final exam and the two doses of laxatives decided to work. Of course they did.

Not my smartest decision ever.  I had to text my study partner to warn her not to come into the bathroom it was that bad.  I made three more trips to the bathroom in a thirty minute time period and if my scale doesn’t tell me I’ve lost weight tomorrow than I am giving up dieting for good.

Now the exam is done and I can breathe a sigh of relief (for more reasons than one it would seem).  I have to wait five weeks for the final grades to come out.  When I left the exam I thought to myself that I had surely passed the exam.  My natural paranoia has begun to set in and has me wondering already maybe I didn’t do as well as i assumed.  After all I was in a weakened state at the time!

The next five weeks maybe won’t be crazy mommy time, but paranoid mommy time, which is so much better.  Really (Be quiet Scott!)

The ideal of romance

 

For this day of love I thought I would blog about love and how our idea of love and romance evolves as we get older, have kids, experience life, etc.

When I was in my teens (back when the dinosaurs roamed the earth) I had a definitive idea of what love was.  It was perfect, the all encompassing, never sad or mad only ever ecstatically glad.  I would meet the man of my dreams, we’d fall instantly, madly in love and we’d live happily ever after.

I did meet someone and got married at the very young age of 19 (wisdom does not belong to the young – although over double the years the wisdom sometimes alludes me!).  Little did I know then that years later my life could have been an episode of Jerry Springer. 

I’m remarried now, and between us we have four kids (which explain the romance later in this blog).  Two I brought with me to the relationship, one was born very shortly after we started to date (from his previous relationship) and one which we had together.  We have ex’s that we try to maintain relationships with, kids that go back and forth (except the youngest who is going to start to feel left out soon) and a chaotic but oddly satisfying life together. 

Love now certainly doesn’t look anything like what it looked like twenty years ago but it’s real and it’s lasting and it defines us.

Now comes to the romance part.  When you were young and adventurous (those of you still young and adventurous close your eyes) did you ever have naughty fantasies?  I admit, I may have had one or two and let me tell you, fantasy and reality can be vastly different!

For instance when I envisioned being in the shower with two men I did not picture my husband and I jammed into our little bathtub with a toddler and all of his toys in-between. (Stop thinking I’m a pervert, I haven’t ever actually fantasized about that...or have I?).  When I fantasized about having someone hanging off of me wanting me desperately, listening to my every word, I did NOT mean literally.  My four year old thinks he should be attached to me at all times,  he sneaks into our room in the middle of the night, climbs on top of me and goes back to sleep.  Again, not what I imagined.

Romance when you have kids can get a bit creative.  Some great examples from my personal experience:

1.       I remember the Monday after Scott and I got married (before our youngest son).  We were in bed, sleeping when our then six year old son Logan banged on the door with all his might.  When I answered he yelled under the door “HEY – ARE YOU IN THERE MAKIN’ ME A BABY BROTHER?!?”

 

2.       A couple of weeks ago my husband had a lovely candlelit bath ready for me when I got home from work.  He got the toddler distracted with a movie and decided to join me in the tub.  There we were squished into the bathtub like a couple of sardines enjoying the peace and quiet when the toddler came barreling into the bathroom yelling “I GOTTA POOOOOOO....”

 

3.       It’s 10 pm, my husband climbs into bed, snuggles up all hopeful and I say something really sexy like “OK fine, but you have 5 minutes ‘cause I’m tired”

 

4.       Our date nights tend to end by 9pm at which time we come home and wrestle the four year old to bed because the fourteen year old has lost track on the time.  By the time the task is accomplished, it’s 10pm and romantic moment number 3 above repeats

 

5.       Romantic evenings at home typically include us cuddling, watching TV.  An hour long show always takes us twice that to watch because every 3 minutes either the toddler or the ten year old run in with the newest crisis.  Finnegan is screaming, Logan is looking at me, Can I have a snack? I have to go potty! Can I play on the computer? Can I play on the iPad? Logan’s not playing with me? The Wii remote batteries are DEAADDDDDDDDDD, you get the picture

 

Despite all of the above examples of our modern romance, I love my husband with all of my heart.  After all, he always gives me more fodder for my blogs :P

Happy love day to everyone, better watch what you wish for, it just may come true!

For you my love: http://animoto.com/play/0X8HeCmOMjy2lreNvwVDLA?utm_source&utm_medium=player&utm_campaign=player

How my husband Inadvertently chased away the Sunday "blahs"

 

It’s been a while dear blog readers, for that I am sorry.  Life has kicked me in the ass and told me to get to work on other areas, so I’ve neglected you.  All eight of my reader base, all of which have mostly been obligated to read based on either family obligations or the shackles of friendship.

So life is still insane but there’s been a blog post burning to let loose since last Sunday, so without further ado:

As part of that life kicking me in the ass comment, I was reviewing some work files last Sunday, sitting on my bed, my sinuses throbbing, feeling a solid case of the “blahs”.  I decided to turn on the TV and watch some movies on Movie Central on Demand while I worked. (multi-tasking at its finest).  I scrolled through my options, looking for a movie that I hadn’t seen and that looked interesting to me.  Since I had watched a lot of movies over Christmas my choices were limited.  There were a couple of movies that I considered but continued to scroll.

Finally, I came across Twilight, Breaking Dawn Part 1.  Now I’m not a huge Twilight fan, but had watched the other movies (some friends are fans).  I decided to watch it, thinking it would be a good movie to watch without my husband (I try to save any he would like to watch together).  I clicked on the title which took me into the menu.

Instead of “Play” it said “resume”, which happens if the movie/show has previously been watched.  It then gives you the choice of resuming where you left off or starting over.  I sat there perplexed for a minute trying to rack my brain.  Had I already watched this? I was sure I hadn’t, and I was almost as sure I hadn’t had a mental lapse (although it was indeed a possibility).

I then thought, “Hmm, maybe Meghan watched it”.  Then I started to giggle because Meghan, although being 14 and in the age demographic the movie/book is geared towards, she wouldn’t have been caught dead watching something so “mainstream”. (which is a totally different story some other time).

Then it hit me.  The giggle turned to an ear splitting grin and then full blown (and a bit maniacal) laughter.  Scott.  My big, strong man had watched a teen movie.  Even funnier, without me as an “excuse” as to why he would have watched it.

Since I was on my work laptop and Scott was at work I sent him an instant message through our internal network and the conversation went something like this:

 Me: um, honey...did you watch Twilight on Movie Central on Demand

Scott: um....yeah, but a long time ago

Me: hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahaha

Scott: What, I watched it for the fight scenes

Me: hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahaha

Scott: shut up

Me: uh huh, for the “fight scenes”...did you cry?

Scott: sigh

So I stopped teasing him and got back to work, clicking the “restart” button on the movie.  I watched the entire thing grinning like an idiot.  There was one whole two minute fight scene in the entire movie. 

So what did I do you ask?  I did what any other responsible, mature wife would do.  I’ve teased him mercilessly since.  I even asked him if his mangina was okay (it’s a good thing he has a fantastic sense of humour).

This morning when he came home from working graveyards I was teasing him again and his new excuse was “How am I going to have an opinion about something if I don’t watch it”

To that I replied “Who are you debating with, 12 year old girls?”

He threw a pillow at me.

He must be really secure in his manhood.  Normally he watches movies like that or the romantic comedies that I love (I’m a hopeless romantic under this bitchy exterior) with me.  Quite often when we are in the movie theatre I will look over at him and ask “are you crying?!”

To which he always replies “No...sniff”

I love my husband even if he sometimes acts more like a girl than I do!

Okay folks now it’s your turn to tell me if you want me to continue to write these silly blogs...

I love to write and I want to make time in this crazy little thing we call life but I want to concentrate on the things that add value.  For me writing is writing, I love writing anything.  Do YOU want me to write more blog posts?  Email me to let me know your thoughts at shanlovestowrite@gmail.com. 

Walking through the memories

I was walking back from my sisters this afternoon thinking about life in general and all of the things that I’m thankful for.  Too many things to count came to mind, like a home movie running through my mind, making me grin like an idiot. (People walking by probably thought I was high or crazy or on medication).

You’d think those memories were all mushy, but most of them were the ones who make me laugh out loud (which by the way doesn’t help with the crazy grinning idiot walking down the street).

So to prove I’m not crazy I thought I would share some of the things that came to my head...

Meghan with an O:

When my daughter Meghan was 2 and ½ she asked me to write out her name on a piece of paper.  Once her name was on the paper she studied the paper intently and then the conversation went something like this:

Meghan: Mommy, where is the o?

Me: There is no o in your name baby

Meghan: yes there is

Me: No honey, look there is no o in any of your name (I wrote her middle and last name next to her first name on the paper)

Meghan: Yes there is!  Where is it?!? (She was such a stubborn toddler)

Me: No there isn’t (she didn’t get her stubborn nature from her father)

Meghan: Yes there IS!

The last two lines were repeated a few dozen times, until inevitably one of us gave in...I carefully wrote an o at the end of Meghan on the paper.

So I said “there you go meghano”

She turns to me all vindicated and said “No mommy, it’s not Meghano – it’s Meghan...with an o”

Her third birthday cake said “Happy 3^rd birthday Meghano”

Logan’s lack of filter:

My son Logan is not just honest like other kids, but I swear the kid was born without one of those filters that most people have that prevents them from telling them the truth without any softening.

For instance, one time we were in the grocery store line up and a gentleman was in front of us in line.  The man looked like the stereotypical biker, with long hair, tattoos and earring, jean jacket and big black leather boots.  My lovely, innocent, four year old son pipes up “hello mister, my name is Logan, why do you have long hair, you look like a girl, and why did you colour all over your arm, did your mom get mad? And what’s that in your ear, you sure look funny”  - let me just say it’s a good thing that big burly biker had a good sense of humour and Logan was so damn cute.

My best memory of Logan’s lack of filter was when I was pregnant with my youngest son Finnegan. I was about 8 months pregnant and for a lack of a better term – huge.

Logan came into the bathroom one morning when I was getting ready for work, hesitated and then said...

“Mama? ...I’m not gonna tell you that you’re big and fat...even if you are.  ‘cause that’s not nice”.  He looked at me so proudly, patted my tummy and strutted away like a hero. 

I sat there for a minute not sure if I should laugh or cry.  Again, it’s a good thing that boy is so damn cute.

Scott – the terrible apologizer:

I love my husband and he is a great man and a good father, and I am thankful for all of those things, but to be honest he SUCKS at apologies.

Let me give you an example...

One Saturday afternoon we had gone out and done fun and exciting stuff (if you consider grocery shopping an adventure) and we had just come home.  We were putting away the groceries.  Scott was in the kitchen and I was putting toiletries away.  I came downstairs and rounded the corner into the kitchen just as Scott pulled open the fridge.

Fridge connected with my funny bone and I yelped out in pain.  MY husband looks at me and instead of saying what most people would l say (“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you come around the corner, are you ok?”) he states:

“Well I wouldn’t have hit you with the fridge door if you hadn’t come around the corner and walked into it!”

Ummm....

I laugh about it now but I was a little irritated with him at the time.  It’s like the when you force a kid to apologize for calling their sibling stupid and they something like “I’m sorry you’re stupid”

Finnegan and the chocolate syrup:

Finnegan is my youngest son and he makes me laugh all the time, with his great dance moves, his monkey like cuddles and his evil brain.  Finnegan is one of those children that figures things out quickly and who you could never fool by hiding an object.  Most babies/toddlers when you took something out of sight, would quickly forget about that item and move on.  Not my son, he would wait until I left the room, pull a chair over to wherever I had stashed said item and retrieve it when nobody was looking.

It reminds me of a time that daddy was in charge (you know by this very sentence it probably didn’t end well).  I came home from work one afternoon, pulled into our parking spot, glad to be home.  I got out of the van, put my key in the lock and swung open the door.  Standing in the doorway of the kitchen was Finnegan, wearing a diaper, a giant ear to ear grin and chocolate syrup.  I don’t mean a little bit of chocolate syrup, but an entire giant bottle of Nestle Quick chocolate syrup poured out onto the floor, and then painted onto said toddler, in every crease and every inch of skin.  There were also many chocolate foot prints in the kitchen, hallway and down the stairs (which are carpeted) to the rec room.

Where was daddy through all of this you ask?  He had fallen asleep.  Needless to say daddy got rudely awakened by me yelling his name in my “not happy” voice.

So you see why I must have looked like a crazy person walking, thinking about the above memories, laughing, then frowning in turn.

I am thankful for many things, including my husband, my children, the people in my life that make me who I am.  I’m also thankful for having the kind of sense of humour that keeps me laughing out loud and scaring unsuspecting passersby.

Happy thanksgiving world and thank you for giving me cause to laugh.

Shan