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

A cautionary tale of friendship and slow pitch...

 

Have you ever had the email from a friend that asks you to participate in something that seems so harmless; saying no isn’t even an option?  I have, and this tale is about that.  I caution you, pick sanity over friendship!

My friend Tracey sent me an email last month saying she and her business networking group, The Driven Dragons, were participating in the 2012 BNI slow-pitch tournament and were short players, and would I like to play.

I read the email in about ten seconds and sent an efficient reply, “sure, sounds fun” (or something like that).  The reality of what I had committed myself to did not hit me until ten o’clock the night before the tournament (last night).  At that point it was obviously too late to back out, although my strange and imaginative brain did think “What if I got the plague?” Thankfully that thought did not get heard by the universe and I woke up whole and healthy this morning.

That’s another thing I should mention, I had to be there for 8am. Another reality check hit me in the shower while I was trying to will my body to wake up this morning for the tournament.  I suddenly thought of:

·         The fact that I hadn’t played softball in almost 20 years (and I wasn’t that great back then when I was thirty pounds lighter and 20 years younger)

·         The fact that I don’t exactly work out on a regular basis these days (intentions are there, 70 hr a week job, 3 kids, working on my designation, trying to get writing in there somewhere, kind of puts a kink in that – by the time I have time to work out, I’m beat – that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it!)

·         The fact that I was going to drag a 4 year old and a nine year old and my husband out of the house by 7am when only the nine year old is a morning person

So what had possessed me to say those three words, “Sure, sounds fun”?  I still can’t reason that one out; it obviously seemed like a good idea at the time.  That or friendship played the trump card and won.  If Tracey is suggesting it, obviously it can’t be that bad, right?

So I dragged my sorry ass out of the shower, dressed, hustled people into the van and drove to Softball City at the crack of 7 (well more like 7:30, getting kids and husbands organized is kind of like herding cats...).  We got there, dragged our chairs, ourselves and our super sized coffee to the field.

The first game was fun, except the ultra serious, stick up his derriere, cantankerous old umpire who had dreams of umping for the big leagues and got us.  Every chance the ump got, he called an out, a foul or yelled at us about the rules.  I was truthfully too busy trying to remember to breathe than to worry about a bunch of silly “rules”.

We won two and lost two today, and in the end I’ll grudgingly admit I did have fun (the people were fantastic and supportive).  Fun won’t help me now though, as I sit here typing this, sprawled on my bed, stiffer than that stick up the umpire’s rear end and sore in places I forgot I had.  Just a tip – if you don’t exercise regularly, playing 4 games of softball in a day probably isn’t the smartest decision you’ll ever make.  In fact, I’m staring longingly at the ice cold beverage sitting just out of my reach, and instead of reaching for it and taking the first, thirst quenching sip I’m sitting here trying to convince myself I’m not THAT thirsty.

Some crazy fitness instructor somewhere once said that pain is gain.  Yes but at what cost.  I did gain a fun day but I also lost the ability to move my legs and arms.  It’s all a compromise I suppose.  Do you think my team at work would be willing to wheel me around in my chair for the next couple of days?

Super heroes really do wear capes

For all the parents out there, have you ever had moments that just make you so proud?  I had one of those recently.  Now you’d think that it was because my daughter got straight A’s (well except for gym where she got a B – she has my grace) but that isn’t it.  I’m proud of that but this isn’t the moment that still sticks with me and makes me grin.

Let me tell you what happened.  Keep in mind I heard third person and there may or may not be some dramatization of this story (no guarantee!).

Meghan had a drama presentation so needed to bring some props from home.  Sunday night she asked me if we still had the old cape she had when she was younger. (When she was seven she wanted to be a teen titan).  We dug through her room and found the cape, which in truth I was surprised we still had.  Meghan may have packrat tendencies but I am the opposite.  If you’re standing still too long, you’re out!

Anyway, back to the story at hand.  We found the cape in her closet, and she swung it up and over her shoulders and buckled it at the neck.  “Look it still fits” she exclaims happily.  The cape is designed for a seven year old and although it does indeed do up, the once knee length cape now falls to her shoulder blades and looks utterly ridicules, except for the enormous grin on her face.

Meghan, ever diligent, brought the props to school a couple of days before her presentation and placed the items in her locker.  Of course she forgot practical things like a sweater or jacket on a rainy day.

Skip ahead to gym class, where Meghan’s gym teacher announces that they are going outside to play football.  She instructs everyone to go get a sweater or something because it’s raining.  She turns to Meghan and asks “Meghan don’t you have a sweater?”

Meghan turns to her teacher and replies (I can just imagine the little raise of an eyebrow) and states “No, but I have a cape”

(Now I imagine her teachers look, confused and a little unbelieving).

Teacher: “Ok, go get it then”

Meghan obediently retrieves said cape from her locker, places it around her shoulders and saunters back to gym class.

Her teacher: “You really do have a cape”

So off they go outside to play football in the rain.  As Meghan is running down the field, cape flapping in the wind one of her peers turns to her and asks “Um, Meghan...why are you wearing a cape?”

My brilliant, wonderful, slightly sarcastic daughter turns to her peer and asks “Why aren’t you?”

Later that night when her friend relayed the story to me I had that moment.  That moment when you have a jolt of total and utter pride that makes your smile so wide it hurts. 

That’s my girl!

Precautionary tales about peanut butter

I have a confession to make. Two actually. This morning, I was a distracted driver and I have proven yet again that I am not terribly good at multi-tasking. You sometimes receive messages that inspire you, lift you up or educate you; this is not one of those. This is more of a precautionary tale…

So, I was rushing out the door this morning (as usual – I don’t do anything at a stroll – I know this may shock you) and remembered last minute I hadn’t eaten yet. My brain function is at an all time low in the morning so you can understand how one could forget about eating. I pride myself on being quick on my feet and decide I’ll just pop some toast in and bring it with me. Ten minutes later, I’m in the car, headed to work, back on track. I approach an intersection, the light turns yellow, and I diligently come to a stop like a conscientious driver. Now this is where it all goes awry…

I look over to my passenger seat and see the toast with melted peanut butter glistening in the light (as dull as that light is today). My stomach says “GRROWWWLLLL” and my brain says, “I’m at a stop light, I could take a bite”. I reach over, take one of the pieces and take a bite, and it’s as good as it looks.

As I pull a finger away, I notice I have peanut butter on my hand from the bottom of the toast. Stacking the pieces seemed like a good idea at the time. No worries, I lick the peanut butter from my fingers and a brilliant idea comes to me. I’ll just lick the bottom of the toast too so I don’t get any more peanut butter on myself.

The light is still red at this point (Oddly what seems like hours, was only seconds). So I bend the toast to clean up the bottom. I’m such a great problem solver I think to myself. As I reach out my tongue to scoop up the mess, the hot, gooey, melted peanut butter pooled on the right side of the toast tumbles down in a waterfall of peanut buttery goodness, splashes onto my sweater, down my seatbelt, all over the steering wheel and onto my pants. I don’t mean little droplets; I mean great splotches of melted peanut butter everywhere.

I look in horror at the mess I’ve made and as I am contemplating, do I laught? Do I cry? A loud honk sounds behind me from the semi-truck driver. The light has finally turned green and I am holding up the line. Ten seconds later and a “high five” and two more honks from the lovely truck driver, I sprint into action, peanut butter dripping from the steering wheel as I turn the corner on the advanced left (sadly because of my delay the truck driver did not make it through the advanced left).

I pull over once I turn, take a moment to breathe and then dig all over the car for a napkin, a cloth, something to clean up the mess. I find a napkin of uncertain cleanliness (three kids can be messy!) and go about cleaning up the mess. (One more honk as the truck driver blasts by – I may have made him 30 seconds late for wherever he was going!)

I sat in my car, covered in peanut butter and just laughed. What else could I do?

This brings me to the second part of my confession – multitasking. I know they say women are supposed to be able to multitask, and I should be able to, with 3 kids ranging from almost 4 to almost 14, a busy job, CIP classes, PAC, etc, but I confess. I suck at it. I normally try to do single tasks in rapid succession, and every time I try to do two tasks at the same time, I fail. The peanut butter staining my pants as I type is a great reminder.

So kids, don’t eat while you are driving. More importantly don’t eat peanut butter toast. Even MORE importantly, don’t try to lick the errant peanut butter off the bottom side of the toast or you will end up with a car full of peanut butter (Did I mention I’m driving my hubby’s car today – he’ll be so thrilled), an angry trucker, a tangible reminder of the folly’s of multitasking and bruised pride about problem solving skills. But then again, if you need a laugh, this certainly did the trick.

Anticipation is overrated

It’s been a while since I’ve written a blog post, so those of you who actually read this without my begging you too, sorry about that.  This thing called life keeps getting in the way of the things I really want to do, like write and sleep.

I’ve been writing many blog posts in my head but sadly they haven’t created an APP for retracting thoughts yet!

There has been a story in my head for almost an entire month that I kept meaning to write but haven’t quite had the time.  So I thought I would steal a moment to torture you with my stories.

Without further ado:

Last month, it was a sunny May weekend, and for once my husband was off so we got to hang out doing all of the fun things we do together.  Thrilling things like cleaning the house, doing laundry, getting groceries and doing errands.  What can I say we’re living the dream. 

Anyway, I fail to mention I was very excited that day as I had received a notification from Canada Post that I had a package waiting for me at the Pharmasave post office and I could pick it up any time after 1pm.  So I went about my errands happily anticipating whatever lovely surprise awaited me in that package.

I should have known better, I really should have, but I do have moments of hope that someone could have actually sent me something great.  But back to the story

We pulled up to the Pharmasave just after 1pm to get my long anticipated package and I barely waited until Scott pulled into the parking spot before jumping out.  I practically skipped into the store and stood impatiently in line while the lady in front of me wrote the address on her package she was sending.  (Who doesn’t have that already prepared before coming to the post office, seriously?)

Finally, after what seemed like twenty minutes but was more like two, it was my turn.  I handed my slip to the lady and hopped from foot to foot while she went to retrieve the package.  When she handed me the package I turned it around to look at it and saw the box on the outside.  I thought to myself, “no, that can’t be what it is, what would they send me...”

Stubbornly I marched back to the van and got in and wrestled with the massive amounts of tape to get the package open.  Scott was watching me like I was a lunatic (which I am but that’s besides the point).  Finally, success!  I opened the torn lid and looked inside.

Yep – a sample of baby formula.

Talk about the world’s biggest let down.  Here I had wondered all day who could have sent me a package not once thinking it was a very unintelligent marketing gimic that was sending me formula FOUR YEARS TOO LATE.  Nice.

I think maybe the world was trying to tell me something, I had been feeling sick for a couple of days prior to the package, I was moody and my boobs hurt.  Then the formula.  I think the universe was conspiring against me.  Good thing I screwed them over by having my tubes removed last year.  Phew, me one, universe, oh never mind, who’s keeping count anyway.

 I wonder what I’ll get next, maybe a sample of incontenance “underwear”.  Fun times.  Really.

Buckets of lists or lists of buckets

I know I haven’t posted in a while, as life interrupts my random thoughts it seems to pull me away from what I love to do – write commentary on life.  Like a giant monologue that nobody really wanted to read and sharing too much information to leave those who dare to read with a lasting image of an otherwise mundane life.

The problem is, in my current state of mind I can’t find that funny tidbit to share with you.  I’m sure I could drag some story out of the pooping battles I’m currently having with the three year old or the comedic mishaps that happen here often in the McEwen household.  I just can’t muster the energy.  January has been a cold and gray and dreary month filled with too much work and not enough play, which oddly enough doesn’t really stimulate my silly story juices. 

So instead I’m going to be all serious on you.  Do you ever think about death?  Now don’t panic, I’m not thinking about death in the imminent sense or the “I can’t take it” sense but more in the “what do I want to accomplish” sense.  Scott’s grandma, who was a lovely lady, just passed away at the age of 90 last week and it got me to thinking “what if I don’t have that much time?” It made me do a little mental inventory.

I thought about the ol’ bucket list.  Now I know some people have places they want to see but if I never travel again that would be okay.  Rather boring I suppose but not earth shattering.  I always wanted to see Ireland for some odd reason but from what I understand it rains there a lot.  It rains here in Vancouver a lot too, so is that enough?

I think my deepest, most selfish personal wish would be to publish a book.  Writing is my passion, it actually makes me happy to do, and it makes me even happier to have people read and enjoy.  Still, realistically and statistically speaking I probably have just as much of a chance of getting run over by a bus.  Not my preferred method of departing the world but at least it wouldn’t really matter if I was wearing clean underwear.

No, I think the number one item on my “bucket list” is to make a difference with my kids.  When I die, and I will one day, sadly the case with every human, I want my children to look back at their childhood with me and believe that their life is better, even a little because of me.  The one thing I would like my children to have a positive idea of is their self worth and self esteem.  They mean different things according to the internet.

According to lessons4living.com self worth means “Self-worth is what you are born with. As one of the creations of the universe you are worthwhile and have value, which cannot be taken from you. You can’t lose it, but you can lose sight of it. You can forget your value.”

Self esteem means “How you feel about yourself is self-esteem. It is your perception of how you are doing in the world. Self-esteem may go up or down depending upon what is happening to you”

The reason I find this so important is sometimes I forget my own self worth and I have to really work at finding it again.  I don’t know why that is, whether the people in my life when I was a child didn’t talk about it or I wasn’t listening (which is a distinct possibility) but through my life I have had moments where I honestly couldn’t see my worth.  I know I am an intelligent, caring, hard working person that sometimes gets through just on stubbornness alone, but I often have to remind myself of that.  My hope for my kids is that I tell them enough and they build their self esteem and confidence enough that they won’t spend so much time having to focus on it.  It will be an innate sense of self that creates confidence (not arrogance) and selfishly I hope they look back and think “My mom helped me with that”.

That may go back to my own self esteem issues and wanting people to acknowledge that I am worthy:P

Not an exciting or titillating bucket list so far:

1.     Maybe visit Ireland – or stand in back yard in a rainstorm with Celtic music playing in the background

2.     Publish a book but not at the expense of getting hit by a bus

3.     See my children grow into strong, confident and lovely adults

4.     Oh and I suppose I should add spend as much time with my husband as possible so he doesn’t feel left out

I’m working on that list, in the meantime I’m staying away from buses and hoping to have 90 or so years to figure out what I really want to be when I grow up.