Chicken Beans, That's What

Duncan and I spend a lot of time together in the kitchen. He, rummaging through the pantry for something to eat. Me, cooking, sweeping, loading the dishwasher. Sometimes he "helps" me make meals. He's a cooking commentator, really. He tells me what I'm doing, what I'm going to do next, and announces what a great job I'm doing mixing or chopping or whatever the case may be. If there's chocolate involved, he's also chief pourer and taster. Sometimes, he spots an ingredient he's not familiar with, which always surprises me from a kid who has asked for avocados, mangos and agave since he was barely old enough to talk. Such was the case with Garbanzo beans. I tried to explain that they have two names, Garbanzo beans or Chickpeas. He could never remember either name, and so decided they would henceforth be called Chicken Beans. It has completely caught on. At our house, at least.

Super high in protein and fiber, and really versatile, I'll try pretty much any recipe that includes the lauded bean. Here is one we've made for years, great for those who like chicken beans but maybe don't love the strong taste of hummus. Mmm, hummus. Anyway, use this concoction like you would egg or tuna salad, or even as a dip.

1 1-lb can garbanzo beans, drained
1/3 c. chopped celery
1 TB minced green onion
2 TB relish (dill tastes better than sweet in this)
3 TB mayonnaise, Miracle Whip or Vegenaise
1 tsp mustard (I like dijon, but any kind works)
dash of garlic powder or minced garlic, to taste

Combine all of it in a food processor, and blend to desired consistency, chunkier for a sandwich, smoother for a dip. Keep it in the fridge. YUM.

Proof

...that I've lost my mind. I have never wanted a dog, or any indoor pet bigger than a goldfish. I'm an animal lover from a distance (I do love horses, but then they don't live in your house). Dogs are fine, but they're stinky, hairy, loud and just in the way a lot of the time. Watching my parents trying to live with an insane Wheaton Terrier in their early empty nest days was enough to solidify my "no inside pets" policy for good. The dog would regularly do his business outside only to come back indoors with a few nearly-camouflaged poop ornaments still adorning his behind. And then he'd sit on the carpet. The same carpet my kids were crawling around on. {{Shiver}} Plus, as I mentioned, the dog had some screws loose, something my parents could not have known when they brought home an impossibly cute little puppy.

My life is nuts. Four kids. One baby. One son with special needs who requires a lot of energy. I am cross-eyed-dizzy loony-bin-ready pretty much all day every day. But here's where the dog thing starts to make some sense. I say, several times a week how much it stresses me that I can't be by Noah's side every minute. You never know when a seizure is coming. You never know how bad it's going to be. You never know when he'll figure out a knob or lock or handle or latch for the first time that lets him cut himself loose and run. And run. When he gets free, he has no sense of danger or direction and he doesn't answer to his name when you call him. He has only escaped a few times, but it was terrifying each time. Enter Service Doggy.

A lab or retriever, trained in search and rescue and in reading other cues or issues in a boy like Noah may actually allow me to breathe. No more guessing which way Noah went. No more wondering if, out of sight a few minutes too long, he's seizing and choking on something life threatening.

Questions remain. Can I deal with even more poop in my life? Can I handle more appointments for a 4-legged family member? Can my gag reflex be desensitized to, among other things, hot steamy dog-food-laced breath in my face? I don't know. Maybe. There may be a dog out there, getting ready to stand by Noah when nobody else can. But maybe a well-placed micro chip and several surveillance cameras are much less hairy solutions.

I Am Woman, Hear Me Snore...

I'm tired. So very, very tired. I have this baby who, although she just turned one, still has no interest in sleeping through the night. I'm coming up on 400 straight nights of getting up anywhere between 1 and 4 times. I find myself at my wit's end too early in the day most days, my patience and energy running out way before the daylight does. I start to complain sometimes, but I'm stopped in my tracks.

You see, I am a woman. In many ways I admit I've seen us as having gotten the short end of the stick. Between PMS, childbirth, post-partum blues, maintenance of the outward appearance, and many other things that come with being a woman, there's a lot to complain about. But there are blessings that no man can fully understand. Of six pregnancies, I've managed to grow and give birth to four amazing children. I've been able to give birth to all of them within the walls of my own home, and to experience the work that made their arrivals the sweetest bliss of my life. Something out of this world happens when you've felt the whole thing, every pang, stretch, burn and pain. There's a floating-above-the-earth euphoria that engulfs you the moment that baby arrives. For me, that is the closest to God and the closest to God-like that I've ever felt.

I am a woman, and so my friends are my sisters (and brothers) whom I love and to whom I am loyal right down to the last helpful thing I can say or give to them, even when distance or time may separate us.

I am a woman, and so although I face challenges imperfectly, I will, even crawling, keep moving forward.

I am a woman, and so when you suffer, I feel it with you.

I am a woman, and I am the glue of my family, past, present and future.

I am woman, and I believe I have not only a Father, but also a Mother in Heaven, who like most mothers, quietly and lovingly guides me, especially in those areas where women have stewardship.

I am a woman and I am tired. I'm busy and I'm a mess. But on the inside, I feel like this...

...and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I Don't Get It: Men's Figure Skating Wardrobes

I can appreciate athleticism, strength, grace, speed and some wicked loops and lutz's. I can sort of appreciate that there are men who want to skate/dance around on the ice in a non-hockey sort of way. I in no way begin to understand what some of those men wear.

I am assuming male figure skaters have a say in what is worn while performing on the ice, that their costumes are not being strapped or zipped onto them against their will. I don't think their coaches use the skaters' potential outfits as punishment for a few bad practices... but then the questions remains, wha-a-a?

You'd think skaters would be concerned with aerodynamics, and practicalities like not having fluffy bits blowing into their faces while they fly down the ice sideways. And you'd think at least half of these guys' mothers would just throw down a mommish "You are not leaving the house in that.". Instead, I'm seeing vinyl, spandex, tulle, lace, sequins, and polyester, in odd configurations, with ties, puffy sleeves, high layered collars, and other parts for which there are no names, but for which I'm demanding an explanation.

Hot pink bungee cords. Wide bands of black feathers. Patches of leather in the strangest of places. Shirts open to the navel over chests that are winter-in-London-white or at best, pale pink... this stuff is not winning anyone any medals. An actual costume, that goes with a theme or story that allows skate-ability without being distracting, okay. An ensemble that looks like it was decoupaged on by a pack of hyper three year-old girls, not so much.

Double axel and salchow your hearts out, boys. Maybe just grab something to wear from Target.

Having a Moment

Being the mom of a special needs child means ups and downs enough to give you whiplash. Here's an up and a down all mixed in one:

I was putting a video on for Noah, and he was looking at me, super present, smiling. You have to grab these moments with a kid like Noah because a lot of the time he keeps to himself or does his own thing.

Me: "Guess what?"

Noah: "Guess what?" back to me, looking me right in the eye, which doesn't always happen. A sweet, rare Mother-Son moment with my boy, I was thinking.

Me: "I love you so much, Noey."

Noah: "WOMBAT???"

Yup. That was our moment.

Mr. DeMille, I'm Ready For My Tantrum

This morning I wondered if I had somehow accidentally wandered into the same hole Alice fell down where she met all those crazy people. But then I thought no, no, this is much much worse.

My sweet Duncan, who was a perfect 2 year old that did nothing but make me laugh, has morphed into a 3 year old Godzilla of the scaleless variety. He is still hilarious and sweet, he's just taken that up part-time of late.

Without getting into all the gory, sweaty, tear-filled details, there was a tantrum in Costco this morning, the likes of which will rarely ever be seen again. Duncan took off behind something where I could not see him, for the second time in as many stores. The first time, he was met with an immediate consequence, scooped up, put back into the cart and a firm but calm reminder was given about why that's not ok. He understood. The child is beyond bright. Genius verging on diabolical. But then he did it again.

He was scooped up, placed in the much roomier Costco cart, and again I started to explain why and what was going to happen (an extended stay in his room once we were home). But that was when he cracked.

See, when we go to any store, he knows there's the possibility of some kind of snack being a part of the trip (a blessing and a curse at Target where little kids can get a free cookie from the bakery on every visit, and he knows it), and at Costco, often we luck out and he gets a few free samples. On occasion, on particularly storybook errand days, there's the possibility of a churro or some pizza. Well today, as it turns out, he had been silently gunning for a churro, something I was let in on once he was screaming bloody murder and wildly shaking the cart like it had something to do with his misfortune. The rest of the shoppers were also duly informed. That is if they could understand Tantrum Kidese, where everything's loud, but none of the words are quite finished: "AAAAAAAAH WAAAAAAAAAAH A CHUUUU-RRO!" (you'll have to imagine the volume, brain-piercing.).

I kept shopping, ignoring him. Marley sat in petrified silence. He went for nearly 25 minutes, from start to finish. I might have been impressed if I wasn't so embarrassed and mad.

It was in the car that he finally realized it was over. Churro-less and with his mommy no longer speaking to him, he dissolved. He asked me to help him buckle his car seat, in a little voice, lip quivering, remorseful tears welling up over the angry ones. We used the drive home to recover. He still had to go to his room (but not for the original 3 days I had been planning on), and now is happily playing with trains in the kitchen.

I guess I should have known this day was coming. Tantrums are sort of a right of passage. It was just never supposed to happen with my kids. And guessing by the looks from some people while going through the checkout line, it never did happen with their kids. Uh-huh.

Ah, Agave...

Agave nectar (ah-gaw-vay) should be in your pantry. I never thought I'd be using anything from any kind of cactus besides aloe vera gel, but this stuff tops my list of "must have" ingredients. It is sweeter than sugar, and works anywhere you'd use honey or syrup or other sweeteners. It is recommended for diabetics or those at risk for diabetes because it's said to not cause the spike in blood sugar that regular sugars do. For more detailed information, go here. You can find it in any health food type stores, and Costco even carries it sometimes. It does cost more than honey, but in my view, food is part of your health insurance, so spend money on things that will positively impact your health and life.

Here's one recipe I'm making often these days that includes agave. It has eggs in it, but is dairy free if you use milkless chocolate chips. Cookies I don't mind my kids sneaking. And your house will smell heavenly while they're baking.

Chocolate Oatmeal Cookie Bites

1/2 c. unsweetened applesauce

1/2 c. sucanat (Now don't freak out, it's just the fancy name for evaporated cane juice crystals, find it cheapest in the bulk food section of your local health food store. It's brown and grainy looking.)

1 large egg

1 tsp. vanilla

1 TB agave (use honey if you must)

1 TB olive oil

1 c. whole wheat flour

1 & 1/2 c. rolled oats

1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

1 TB cinnamon

3/4 c. dark or semi-sweet chocolate chips (my kids like the miniature chips in these)

Oven 350 degrees

Mix applesauce and sucanat until creamy

Add egg, vanilla, agave, and olive oil, mix well

Add all dry ingredients until just combined

Add chocolate chips

Bake about 10-12 minutes (taste test the first batch to see if they're dry or just right once they've cooled, and then adjust the baking time if necessary)

With fiber, protein, healthy fats, and no post-snack high then crash, these are more filling than regular cookies, which will keep everyone from eating their normal dozen or so. Don't expect the taste and mouth feel of regular chocolate chip cookies, call them something else if that helps, but these are sooo good, and there's not a guilty moment from shopping to last bite.

I Don't Get It: Diet Food Ads Featuring Already Skinny People

Special K cereal may well help you lose weight if you eat it twice a day then eat a sensible dinner. I'm not bored enough to try to find out. But these ladies they feature in their ads that can't do up the buttons on their shirts or are horrified when they look at the scale (um, try removing your giant 3XL robe before weighing yourself), I'm pretty sure are somewhere between regular skinny and bone scary skinny when they set foot in the real world. They look scrawny on tv. That's skinny. If you're going to show a "before" or someone who desperately needs your weight-reducing cereal or yogurt, show someone who actually has some excess fat to lose.

This is when I hate television. In their freak show world, tv and film folks are out of touch with real people, including those who are at and maintain a normal, healthy weight through normal, healthy means. And they're convincing the masses that what is on tv is real, and worse, right.

Back pre-kids when I was auditioning for tv and film stuff on a regular basis, I got a little bit sucked into the weight-obsessed vortex that is the entertainment industry. I, at the time, was hovering right around 100 lbs, which at 5 foot 1 is little but not skinny. My thighs still touched, and my Nordic ancestry still gave me some extra, uh, energy storage in the tummy area. But I'd go to auditions, about a size 4 or sometimes a 2, and be the biggest one there. I actually thought I was chubby. Now I find that both hilarious and a little bit sad. I was at a healthy weight for my height. I was not operating in the real world though, and I realize that, especially when I pay attention to what I'm seeing on tv now.

Don't tell me, lady with collar bones I could cut myself on, that you need any weight loss product. Give me a break, woman who's ribs I can count through her shirt, that the holidays caused you to pack on some extra weight. A little perspective and reality would go a long way with the people peddling diet foods. Skinny people don't need to lose weight. And I don't need to have my pants precariously perched on my jutting hip bones to be happy. I'm all for healthy weight loss, don't get me wrong. But can we shoot for health, wellness and peace of mind? I might actually watch the commercials selling that. Heck, I'd audition for 'em too.

Vegetari-raw-vegan-lacto-kindahealthyarians...?

Ah, forget it. We eat weird. Vegetarian, yes. Sometimes vegan (no dairy or animal products at all), nearly entirely raw foodists for about a year, no deep-fried stuff, no high-fructose corn syrup, no hydrogenated oil, carbonated drinks maybe a few times a year, no bleached flour... we've experimented with a lot of different kinds of eating, for health, and sometimes pure curiosity. I'm sure we're not through with trying different ways of eating and hopefully improving our health and well-being. That's not to say we are pillars of health and health food, we ate lots of unhealthy stuff over Christmas, especially, but we do try.

I get asked questions about the things I do all the time, because let's face it, we're a little off the beaten path in more ways than one over here. But far and away, the question I get asked most is "So what do you guys eat?". So my question is this, would anyone care to know? Recipes, individual ingredients that you might not know about or know how to use... not that I'm wanting to do a "food blog", but I could include posts about it since food is kind of a big part of every day life. Tell me what you think, friends. I'm hungry.

M-y-y-y-y-y Fridge! Busted.

I can't decide if I used to have better luck choosing great long lasting high quality things to buy, or if people just make junk nowadays. Here's a list of a few of the things that don't work/are broken/need repairing in my home right now:

Fridge- leaks water mostly out of the freezer side, I regularly defrost as suggested by the THREE repair guys that have charged me a fortune to tell me that little tidbit of info. Apparently there's nothing wrong with it that their crack investigative skills could find in the 3 minutes they each spent shining flashlights onto the suspect parts of my freezer. Now the flooring underneath the fridge is buckled, and probably starting a nice layer of mold. (If you aren't familiar with my love of mold, go back to the very beginning of my blog.)

Dishwasher- makes creepy, nearly vulgar sounds as it half-way cleans my dishes. Sometimes it withholds cleaning altogether. It just takes days off. It won't turn on until it's good and ready.

Dryer- the piping at the back will not stay attached to the dryer. Duct tape, fancy attachments and swearing at it have not worked (Mormon swear words, of which my non-Mormon readers can request samples). If there is a single smidgen of lint in the lint trap, it will not dry in less than 2 cycles. It's awesome.

Garage Door Opener- it is currently only functioning as a blood pressure raiser. It opens with all buttons, but does not close with the car buttons, and only with the wall one if you stand there and hold it down. I have smashed all records for backing out, turning off the car, locking the kids in, running into the garage, holding down the *#!O~# button, shutting the house door, sprinting to the front door, locking it behind me and diving for the car as I unlock it remotely. It has been this way since August.

Van- did you notice how I said car all through that last bit? I'm still in denial about the whole van thing. And this van, I hate with a white hot passion. It works ok, I just had to get that out there. I digress...

Vacuum- I shouldn't even waste the electricity. I spend half the time vacuuming over stuff and the other half picking up the crud it leaves behind, by hand. The bags get changed regularly, the filter is clean... I'd say it sucks, but it really, really doesn't.

My Mom had the same waffle iron for 40 years. She had this one mixer that worked for ages. I used to get birthday presents that wouldn't break the first time I played with them, something my kids experience less and less often. Is it just me? Am I just a really really unwise or unlucky consumer? I want things to work, and to last. Well, except for the companies that made all this junk.

Happy New Tuesday!

I've never been a big "New Year's" person. Sometimes I go to bed before midnight. Sometimes I don't make any resolutions. Next Tuesday is still just next Tuesday, and life doesn't change because I hang a new calendar on my wall. I guess I used to think maybe a new year brought something new with it besides a number change in the date, but really, it doesn't. The year matters in terms of births, and other historic events, but ups and downs happen, regardless of the year and what you set out to do or decided ought to occur.

For instance, at the start of 2008, I'm sure I had some things in mind that I wanted to accomplish. By mid-February, all of that had melted away, and all I wanted to do was make it through the day. By the end of March, I just wanted my kids to stay alive. By summer, I wanted somewhere to call home. Any notion I had had of doing something great with the year was entirely vapor by then. You don't know what you are going to be called on to do in any given year. 2008 was particularly rough for me, for our family. 2009 was hard and wonderful in totally different ways, just not as outwardly dramatic. I have hopes for this year, but mostly I just hope to be the person I know I can and should be through whatever is thrown my way. And it would be fine with me if what's thrown my way is solid gold bricks. You know, just for a change of pace.

I Believe.

Christmas. Easily my favourite time of year. This year, it looked to be a scary time of year as we looked at our situation and wondered how we would find a way to avoid seeing disappointed little faces on Christmas morning. So I decided to sell apples. I figured I could at least try something. It went well. I was satisfied that we could at least keep a little bit of magic alive with what I earned. I was (and am) exhausted, and under the weather, but it was totally worth it. I believe in hope and hard work. I believe they pay off.

But then there were still many things, written in childish letters, and wished for from sweet little lips, that we didn't have and could not provide. I assured myself that it would not matter, that all would be well. I have literally done all I could do this Christmas. But then a knock at the door... bags of gifts and two plain envelopes, and 2 faces with sly, no, merry grins that we did not recognize, only identifying themselves as Santa's helpers. Presents, some that were precisely those yet-unfulfilled wishes, and much more... we, humbled parents, sat and cried. And cried. There are times there are just no words. How did they know? How could they have known? Who could have done this? Was it one person or a group of people? Questions hung in the air, but were in the shadows of the gratitude we were feeling. Money donated toward Noah's tuition... they could not fully know- that's like breath to our son's lungs. I believe in angels. I believe in goodness for goodness' sake.

There have been cards, offering extra help. There have been friends, stretching themselves to relieve my stress. And not one bit of it has gone unnoticed or unappreciated. In fact, there has been amazement, momentary disbelief, there have been prayers of thanks, many tears... and strengthened faith. It's not even my birthday or anything. It's Jesus' birthday. I always tell my kids that we get to have presents at Christmas because Jesus loves us and shares His birthday, and His presents with us. Santa Claus is just Jesus' delivery guy, as far as they know. It turns out, Jesus sent out a few more beautiful "delivery guys" this year. I believe in the Christmas Spirit. I believe that Jesus Christ will always find ways to show us that He is still there, and that Christmas is still His day. I believe one day I will help to make somebody else's Christmas as profoundly full of His love as you Christmas angels, known and anonymous, have done for us.

Somewhere, A Fat Lady Sings

That's it. 22o apples ordered, and I'm calling it good. I guess it's kind of like women say about having kids, you just know when you're done. What I should have anticipated, and didn't, is that most people would want their apples in the week or so before Christmas, and as a result, I have scarcely left my kitchen for the last week, and won't for the next five days. My original goal was to sell at least 200, so having slightly exceeded that, I'm content to close up shop (five days from now), and cram a month's worth of Christmas shopping and preparations into a couple of days. But at least now I can do the cramming, which didn't seem likely or even possible about a month ago.

I am so grateful for everyone who supported me and who ordered, I've been pleasantly surprised at the response, really. I wish I was talented at something less messy and less fattening (for all of you, I doubt these apples will look appealing to me for quite some time), but nobody wants anything I could fashion from yarn or paper or I don't know, vinyl. I'm also oddly relieved that I can start filling my blog with all the randomness I've been pondering alone the last month and a half. So Merry Christmas, everyone. And, note to Barbara Streisand, "Favorite Things" is not a Christmas song.

Read While Hungry

Christmas is coming. You knew that. Some of my friends have received one of my super-delicious-made-with-love-but-more-importantly-awesome-ingredients-apples as Christmas gifts in the past. Don't you think everyone you know should receive one this year, or at least the people you like? Caramel, chocolate, roasted almonds... aaaw, yeah.

Yeah, I have officially lost my mind. As if I don't have enough to do, I am going to attempt selling apples this year. As in, taking orders and staying up all night covered in almond dust and cellophane bags. There's a reason not everyone I know gets an apple every year. They take some serious time and effort to make!

Why are you doing this, Wendy? Um, Christmas is coming. My kids might want a few things. I'm poor. That's right, I said it. P-O-O-R. I'm not crafty. I make food. That's one thing I'm fairly good at. So if you have co-workers, teachers, neighbours, etc, that you need to bless with a unique Christmas gift, or if you just need to kiss up to somebody, help a craft-impaired girl out. I realize a sales pitch on a blog is super lame, but whatever, it's my blog.

Here's the nitty gritty:

*Apples are $7.50 each, or $6.00 each if you order three or more.

*They come in individual cellophane bags, tied with pretty ribbon, which you are free to change if you hate what I pick.

*You can choose milk or dark chocolate (I use good chocolate, no cheap waxy stuff here)

*They last a good 7-10 days in the fridge uncut.

*I need at least 3 days' notice if you need them for a certain date, especially for larger quantities, ie, more than 8.

*I can't ship them as they require refrigeration.

So there you go. Fancy Schmancy Apples. Made by me. Yum.

I Don't Get It: Baths

This is the first of what I'm sure will become a series of posts about things I just don't get.

I don't get baths.  Relaxing, soothing, blah, blah, blah.  They're not any of those things. Explain to me why, any reasonable grown person, why would you want to sit in a tub of your own funk? There you sit, marinating in a hot steaming tub of all the grime most people are aiming to clean off when they take a shower.  Well what about swimming pools, you ask?  That's why pool water is treated.  And it's not hot water.  And it is still just a little bit gross. 

 

Soaking in hot water is fine for a pinto bean, but I'm fairly certain people aren't meant to.  You come out sweaty (yes you are, you just can't tell because you're wet), more wrinkled than when you got in, and you still need a shower.  

My kids take baths because you can't make 'em stand in the shower when they can't even stand yet, and they love to play in the water.  But at my house they do not get rinsed with the water they've just been sitting in, nor is the water overly hot.  

Adults tend to take hot baths.  Hot water removes gunk.  That's why you wash dishes in it, that's why you sterilize things in it.  You would not wash your hands with that dish water after the dishes were done and call it good.  A hot bath is really the only way that something from your armpit can come in contact with the space between your toes.  Oh and that's just one example. Don't even get me started on all the places your toe jam could end up migrating in that lovely jetted tub.  Dim lights and a 2-foot layer of sweet-smelling bubbles floating on top does not change the fact that you're sitting in what is, in effect, body backwash.  

Maybe I'm missing the boat on one of life's great joys, I don't know.  You can keep your hot tubs and bathtubs.  De-funkification will be shower-centered at my house.

Tuck Me In and Go Get Me Some Water

Why do kids get all the good stuff?  They have the best blankets, all the silkiest, cushiest softest blankets there are.  What makes blanket manufacturers think that I want wool or not-soft cotton, just because I'm a grown up now?  I want a silky on one side, plush on the other side blanket in king size, thank-you very much.

Shoes with velcro, I'm just sayin', some mornings, would come in very handy for me.  And speaking of shoes, why can't I find a pair with Jude Law on them?

Not once after watching Law and Order has anyone on there told me how smart I am at the end for following the clues and solving the mystery.  But kids shows, you get kudos all the time for helping or guessing or tapping out a rhythm correctly...  I can totally do all that stuff, but no one cares.

Where's the Root Canal Fairy?  I could have used some money under my pillow that night, let me tell you.  If for nothing else than to help me pay for the darn thing.

I covet so many of my kids' toys, I don't know where to begin.  The Bilibo is probably the one for which I most want to not exceed the weight limit.  Is it a stool?  Is it a chair?  Is it a super awesome spinning ball of breath-taking fun?  I think so.  I'll never know unless someone decides to make a much bigger one. 

Sometimes I might want to colour a little bit while I wait for my food to come in a restaurant, but does anyone offer me crayons or even slightly more grown-up pastels? No.  Maybe a little toy ipod with my meal?  Nope.

I wouldn't mind, if every so often, one of my books had a pop-up, or a picture that changes when I move the page back and forth.

Their cereal has cute bright pictures all over the box, puzzles, and mazes... Adult cereal? Twigs. Ingredient lists that highlight fiber.  Brown.  Beige.  I ask you, who needs bright colours and mind awakening puzzles in the morning?  Me, having been up 3 times at night with a baby, stumbling into the kitchen with 4 kids in need of service?  Or the kids, who wake up bouncing off the walls, thrilled that the sun finally came up so they could come out of their rooms? Where's my cereal with a prize inside, maybe a scratch-off lottery card?

Well, I'm off.  Off to brush my teeth with non-sparkly toothpaste, put on my boring cotton non-footy pajamas.  Kids have no idea how good they have it.  They won't know until they aren't kids anymore.  Of course, I wouldn't want it any other way for them, I just wish it all lasted a few decades longer.  

  

Lying Liars.

It's not you.  It's me.  

I'm fine.

It looks great!

I'm just tired, that's all.

That's ok.

Nothing.

How many times a day do you lie without even batting an eye?  The lady behind you in line who just rammed her cart into your ankle for the second time in 30 seconds is fine, is she?  It's ok that your friend didn't call you once all week after swearing she would?  That's ok?  Really? 

Your kid broke an arm, you haven't slept for days, your marriage has been rocky for years, you are nearly completely broke, you are so lonely you've named the pit in your stomach so that you feel like you have company, you have red eyes today from crying last night over something no one even knows about, not from allergies, your friend's new haircut, not exactly flattering, you are haunted daily by mistakes you made decades ago, you have an ex-spouse who's still trying to run your life, you're questioning things that used to be so basic to you, you haven't eaten for days, you've been eating enough for 4 people lately...

Maybe you really are fine.

Maybe it really is nothing.

Maybe you really are just tired.

It could be you and not them.

Or maybe we all struggle sometimes, sometimes with really big things, and we should be able to say so.  Why do those seemingly small lies slide so easily off of our tongues?  Every time I say I'm fine, and I know it's not true, is that virtuous because I'm not complaining, and not worrying anyone around me, or am I just a big liar who might be denying someone an oppourtunity to help me?  

Some people I know tell me how it really is for them, but most people don't.  I'm guessing that most lie most of the time.  Why?  I get being optimistic, and being grateful, and not griping constantly, but I also get that we don't live on earth one at a time.  We aren't here alone, because we need each other.  The earth will not spin right off of its axis if you tell me the truth when I ask you how you are doing.  The world will not stop and stare if you say out loud sometimes that things are not wonderful.

I may not have answers for you, some things may be nobody's business, but for the love of Pete, can we stop lying?  I know you and your life are not perfect, you KNOW I'm not perfect, we're not fooling anyone.  Well, we might be fooling some folks some of the time.  But let me listen, or help, or pray, or support, because you probably need it.  And so do I.  That's the truth. 

Did You Know...

... you may be the truest friend I've ever had?

... you came to my door with something I wished I had earlier that same day?

... you made me laugh so hard I cried and my face muscles were actually sore the next day?

... you make me happy because you think I'm funny too?

... I couldn't have made it through one of the worst times of my life without you?

... your generosity toward me has moved me to tears more than once?

... you reminded me of who I was, that I was great, and that maybe I still am?

... I love that you wanted my advice?

... you probably saved my son's life?

... I still cannot get over that amazing gift of your talents and time, that I did absolutely nothing to deserve?

... I trusted you when I was so shaken I felt like I couldn't trust anyone?

... you were literally an angel to me, with that one tiny gesture?

... your note came in the mail on a day when I could not have needed it more?

... that you're way too far away from me and that I miss you?

... that you brought over that food right when I was wondering how we were going to be able to buy any?

... you said exactly what I needed to hear, you weren't even nice about it, but that you were right, and I wouldn't have listened if you were nice?

... I wish I had valued you the way I do now, much sooner?

... your combination of honesty and dry humour is refreshing to me?

... it's possible that no one has ever loved anyone as much as I love you?

Did you know?  Well, now you do.

Music- It's A Love/Hate Thing

Music, most music is really geared toward a certain phase of life, late teens/early twenties when the possibilities seem endless, you just want to go dancing, and you're maybe just naive enough to believe that song lyrics are true to life.  Rod Stewart, you realize as you get older, really had no business singing "If you want my body and you think I'm sexy..." but when you're 20, you're like, hey, why not?  It's kind of ironic and I can totally lip sync to it while I get ready to go out.  And Howard Jones, he was kind of a liar when he slow danced us all into believing that "No One Is To Blame".  Oh, there's someone to blame alright.

As you get into the more sensible settled 30's, music you sang your little heart out to only 5 or 10 years earlier can suddenly come back to bite you in the proverbial behind.  It bites to realize that even though you're a girl, you can't just have fun.  Thanks, Cyndi Lauper.  It's just not nice for someone to look back and see that "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel misled you for years- there's no  heat in your eyes, except maybe what's brought on by allergies or insomnia.  I just heard "If  You Could See Me Now" by Celine Dion and thought what a pretty song, until I really listened to the lyrics, and thought how awful a song it could be for someone who had actually dumped the love of their  life and realized it too late.  It would be enough to make you want to drive your car into a tree.

Not that sad songs don't have their place, they can make you feel like someone understands how cruddy you feel, and I suppose that helps somehow.  But oh, it can just stink when songs you had been almost self-righteously singing along to for years, directed at whatever jerk had most recently crossed your path, take on a whole new meaning when you're looking backward and see the number of people that sang along and probably thought of you.  ("Who Will You Run To?" by Heart or maybe "Thorn In My Side" by the Eurythmics?)

 Or there is the music you've listened to for years, sang along with, enjoyed, and then with more years and experience under your belt, you are horrified at the lyrics' meanings and implications... yes, I mean you, Alison Moyet, you and your "Love Resurrection".  No more blasting you in the car, especially with the kids around.

I enjoy not knowing the real lyrics to songs, sometimes it's best to make up your own because the real ones are just dumb, dirty or depressing.  But I have the unfortunate gift of lyric recall.  I can hear a song a couple of times and know the words before I even realize I do.  There are songs I wish I could forget... there are Milli Vanilli and Backstreet Boys songs I never wanted in my head in the first place that I can still sing start to finish.  Back when "Ice, Ice Baby" was on the radio all the time, I was caught more than once rapping/singing it as I assembled Christmas gift baskets at my job at the time.  Humiliating.

What I want are some songs that speak truth.  Songs that speak to where I am in my life right now.  Where are the dance tunes that bemoan being knee-deep in diapers and spit up?  The songs that talk about my love affair with my favourite pair of jeans that still almost look cute on me post- baby?  Songs that give me hope for a blissful rainy day full of chick flicks and maybe even a nap.  What about one titled "Baby Go Bankrupt With Me"?  I need concrete, real stuff nowadays.

I love Colbie Caillat and Josh Groban for almost making me believe in "Magic" and that maybe I really am a "Machine", even if their catchy tunes are making my head a bit foggy and out of touch with reality, temporarily.  I love my lesser known favourites that are like my little secret like Mike Oldfield, October Project, John McVey, Loreena McKennitt and others.  I love love the songs that have gotten me through rough times- that liar Howard Jones did a lot of that for me in the 80's and 90's.  And Natalie Grant's "Held" was one of the only things that gave me some peace for myself and in thinking about my amazing sister following the death of my sweet brother-in-law nearly four years ago.  Of course I had to pull the car off the road every time it came on, cry, and then try to drive again, but that music said everything I was feeling and hoping better than I ever could have myself.

Over all I know music is a good thing, and I do love it.  I'm not discouraging listening to it.  But if  you suspect it is giving you angst, sadness, false hope, unrealistic expectations, fewer brain cells, ugly thoughts or a need to dance at really inappropriate times or places, you really should just turn it off.  

I've got to leave it at that... I think I'm Bleeding Love.

Eh For Dummies

I've found that there is a lot of confusion in the United States about the proper use of the Canadian word "eh". Sometimes I find it funny when people attempt to use it, and other times I want to yell, "Please STOOOOOOOP!! I'm begging you, use it the right way, or don't use it at all."  So I give to you now, "EH: A Tutorial".

Contrary to popular belief, "eh" is not just thrown on at the end of any and every sentence.  Nor is it used in the way the Fonz  made it famous (Henry Winkler, incidentally, is a very nice guy). 

Eh can be used to assess the continued interest or agreement of the person being addressed, as in, "The guy just flew by me, eh, and I didn't even see him!" to which the listener might respond with a nod or a "yeah?".

Eh can also be used at the end of a declarative sentence to turn it into a question, as in "Nice day, eh?" or "That was the worst game ever, eh?" or "You're a real snob, eh?", or "So you left last week, eh?".  So here it means things like "right?", or "don't you think?", "aren't you?", "isn't it?".

Eh is used to emphasize agreement, like, "I know, eh?"

Eh is used as an exclamation, as in "What a game, eh?!"

Eh is used a bit like "y'know" or "right" or "see", as an unconscious pause mid-sentence.

So that is pretty much all you need to know in order to use "eh" with some level of confidence and accuracy around picky Canadians like myself.  Sorry, but we get a little territorial about things that are strictly Canadian.  I can supply you with a list if you're interested. 

Oh Canada! Great country, eh?  :)

Somebody Stole My Liahona

Why is there no rewind button on life? I cannot even begin to list the number of times I've wished I could go back and say or do something differently. I'm not an overflowing bucket of regret, but sometimes I think we should be allowed a do-over here or there.

There are so many roads you could wind up on, and just based on the seemingly tiniest of decisions, the entire course of life is altered for good. Ever seen the movie Sliding Doors? I love it and hate it because it illustrates that idea so well. I'm not one that buys into "the one" or the "meant to be" stuff. Of course there are exceptions where God has other plans, but we're not beholden to some predetermined destiny thing.  Over all I think there are many different lives we could lead and be happy. Maybe to different degrees, but happy. Different people you could end up with. Different challenges you could face. Different experiences that change you for better or worse. All because of  choices we make.

Of course, there are some of those choices that lead to regret. And others that may have been bad choices, but ultimately got you where you needed to be, some that were initially good, but didn't take you where you'd hoped in the end, and then choices that led you somewhere better than you imagined.

I guess what bothers me, is that so often we aren't making informed decisions. Sometimes we're permitted to go with our best guess. Sometimes our best guess is, well, crappy. It's then that we should get to go back, revisit and rethink, and take some other road that takes us somewhere better. Something akin to stopping and asking a local for directions. We're not commanded in all things, which I'm grateful for, but does that mean that some decision made in haste or under stress or without all the facts or with rose-coloured glasses on should be allowed to skew the entire path of our lives?

That is why I'm grateful for the idea of gratitude. No matter where we are or how we got there, if there is something, anything that we're grateful for, we will be okay. Then that path is a good one. It may be better or worse than we thought, it may have different scenery than we'd hoped for, but I suppose as long as it's heading in the right general direction, we're doing alright.

Now, where the heck am I? Didn't I already pass that tree?

My Boy

I know people mean well. But my son is not autistic.

He has autism. There are plenty of parents who refer to their own child as autistic, and so you are free to do that too. But there are many more parents who shudder every time you say that about their child. I'm one of those parents.

I have this little boy. My little boy. He is funny, a great singer, has perfect rhythm, a smile that covers his whole face, he's got amazing recall of song lyrics, he loves wind chimes and swimming and lights, and saying prayers that are only about what he is grateful for, he does this dance we call the elbow dance that is hilarious, he adores the rain and snow, he's the only person I know that looks good in every single colour. And he has autism.

What if your child has cancer? After you leave a room, do people lean over to their neighbours and explain, "He's cancerous.", to which the response is a collective "Ooooh.", as though the child's entire being has just been explained? My boy is a lot of things, but HE is not a condition or disease. That is not who he is. That is not all he is.

You may think I'm nit picky or too PC, but I'm his Mom. I carried him for 9 months, gave birth to him, have loved him every moment since, and always will. I also had a mourning period where I lost the little boy I thought I'd had. I have worked, researching and trying to find anything to help him. I have celebrated every little bit of progress he has made. I have cried knowing there will be people who will never see him the way they should. I have taken the brunt of most of his "bad days". His bad days are not like your typical kids' bad days. We're talking sometimes hours of screaming, throwing things, hitting himself or others, my own nose has been bloodied more than once...

I'm not trying to get sympathy. I have a child who I know is perfect in all the ways that matter. I'm trying to tell you that I (and other parents of special needs kids) have earned the right to decide how you will refer to my child. At least in front of me. Listen to how parents describe or refer to their child and then follow their lead.

No person is any one adjective. My boy certainly isn't. He HAS autism. And little feet. And a sudden appetite for animal crackers. And the best cowlicks that give him the coolest hair. And an infectious laugh...

Have you seen my boy? Have you seen the angels around him? They see Noah. Really see Noah. A perfect being that's here to teach us a thing or two about what we lack, what we need to learn. That's who he is.

Because It Makes Me Laugh. Hard.

My name is Wendy, and I'm An Addict

     A few friends and some family are aware of my addiction.  Some have helped feed it in the past.  I've gotten other people addicted.  I'm not proud of it, but there it is.  Every winter, as Easter very slowly approaches, out come the Cadbury Mini Eggs, the dark purple packaging easy to spot from aisles away.  Every year, I might as well hook up an I.V.  I don't have a problem with over eating in general, in fact, several friends are mildly freaked out by how healthfully we try to eat at our house, but the problem with mini eggs is they come out once a year, for maybe a month or two, and then they disappear.  This creates a sort of desperation in  addicts like myself, because you know they will sell out weeks before Easter, and if you miss the boat, that's it for a year.  Plus it's Cadbury chocolate, which is pretty much the only chocolate in North America worth eating (my apologies to Hershey's fans, but I cannot stomach the stuff).

 

     This year is different.  I just had a baby, and I'm still pretty much house bound.  Knowing the mini eggs are out there, and not having easy access to them is enough to bring on anxiety, shaking, and a little bit of panic.  And then today, my friend Sharon dropped by, mini eggs in hand, and suddenly the world seemed a little brighter.  I've gotten maybe 4 hours of sleep in the last 48, so I'm thinking a little sugar and caffeine is not an entirely bad idea.  I may actually survive the next 48 hours now.  This same friend was informed the other day that some lady had come in to Albertsons, and bought out all the mini eggs they had.  I had to stop for a minute and make sure it wasn't me.  But alas, I had no mini eggs.  Some other poor soul out there is as addicted as I am.

     I may miss out this year- no stocking up for Easter, no stashing for the dark days ahead when they disappear again.  It may throw off my whole year, I can't say for sure.  As for the rest of you mobile, rested folk, grab a bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs and think of me.  And of course, I'll be accepting any left overs.

MARLEY ASHLYN!

I'm new to the whole posting pictures thing, so sorry these are not in chronological order.  If not for my awesome friend Mindy, there would still be no pictures here, so out of order is better than nothing, right?

Marley's first full bath- Tuesday Feb. 17th

Above is just from yesterday, on our way to see Suzanne, our midwife for the 2 week check-up.  She has already gained 5 oz from her birth weight!

Daddy cutting the cord, only about 10 minutes after she was born.

Miss Cheeks on her first day of life.

Sleeping Beauty.  She is a really calm baby so far.

Oh Baby!

This will be short and sweet for now- pictures to come...

We had our baby!!!  Feb. 5 at 4:28 am,  we welcomed a beautiful baby girl, which shocked us.  I had to have my midwife double check and reassure us that it really was a girl!  She's 9 lbs, 3 oz and 21 inches long.  Not the easiest birth  since she decided to turn posterior sometime between my water breaking and pushing.  Can I just say, "Ouch"?  Thank heaven for water birth, a supportive and loving husband and an awesome midwife.  So she's here, she's healthy, and we couldn't be happier!  We named her Marley.  No middle name yet.  :)

Why Two is Not Terrible

This is one of my conversations with Duncan from this past week (keeping in mind that all his r's and l's still sound like w's):

D: Mommy, Duncan need change my diaper!
W: Let's change you then.
D: I need cream for my bum.
W: Ok then, go and get it.
D: (looking all serious and concerned as he walks back to me, cream in hand) It has a crack!!
W: What has a crack?
D: My bum!!
W: It's ok, everbody's bums have cracks, there's nothing to be alarmed about!
D: (very skeptical) Noah's bum have a crack?

And then he had to ask about pretty much everyone else he knows. Two is my favourite age. I'll take a few screaming fits to have conversations like these any time.

Yeah, I've Got Nothing...

     We aren't finding out what we're having this time.  It was a decision we agreed on and we feel pretty good about it.  I'm thinking we're having another boy, and Duncan says so too, every time we ask him.  It would be weird to never have a girl, and I'd be sad about never getting to do that, but that doesn't mean I'd be disappointed with a boy.  I love boys.  But we can't come up with a name that works.  We've used the names we like on the first three boys.  Here are some we've come up with and the reasons they don't work:

Graham- we like this one a lot, we love Gray for short, but I've noticed in Utah most people pronounce it like "gram".  It's a two-syllable name!!  Then our friends from Australia kindly pointed out that calling someone "such a Graham" in Australia is saying they're a really big dweeby nerd.  Super.

Reuben- we both really like this one too.  When I was a kid, we had our cousins from Norway come visit one summer, and the younger boy was named Reuben.  I remember him being really excited about bubble gum, and stuffing an entire package into his mouth at once.  If our last name is pronounced correctly, it sounds fine.  If it's pronounced how it looks, however, the two names together sound really dumb.

Milo- we have tossed this one around for quite a while, and can't decide if it's cool or a bit nerdy.  I think it's a really great name, but again, sounds a little odd with our last name (?).

Merek- I've had this one on my list for years, like before Gabriel was even born.  There have been a couple of hockey players with this name, and I really like it a lot.  It sounds out of place with the other boys' names.

And then there are those that have come up, but not as seriously:

Theo

Maddoc

Asher

Grady

     I don't know.  Aren't you supposed to be a little excited about your baby's name?  Shouldn't it sound good with your last name?  What if he ends up working in Australia?  What then??  

The same Australian friends are having a baby a week before us, a boy, and are naming him Willoughby.  We could never get away with that!  Say it with an Australian accent though, and suddenly it sounds really cool.  If I were British, for instance, we could have a Charlie or a Desmond.  Here?  Nope.

      Anyway, feel free to weigh in.  If you're secretly appalled at the name we choose in the end, boy or girl, sorry.  Gabriel and I were looking in name books a while back, and found some doozies, so just be glad we didn't call our kid Frick.  

Oy Vay.

     So I'm in the underworld of emergency preparedness.  Not because I'm not doing it.  Not because we don't have anything.  Because I have a very zealous husband who nearly has me convinced that the world as we know it may end in the next year.

     We have not had a single day in over a month where we have not had some kind of list making or review or brainstorming session.  Somehow I got roped into spending 2 hours at Cabela's on Saturday, comparing cots, looking at portable "shower" stalls, and enduring every grown man that came into the store gleefully testing out the duck and goose callers.  Every other time Jer comes home, he has bags in hand, with more gear.  Hand warmers, snow pants, a tent, freeze-dried fruit... I am grateful that he's serious about getting us the rest of the way prepared, but sometimes I just long for a day where we chat about the day, watch some mindless TV, and go to bed laughing about something.  Instead I'm having nightmares about my family freezing/starving/dying, and even dreams about some of my friends not having what they need, and then I'm panicking about them, too.  

     Then there's the problem of husbands buying the kids' clothes.  He's concerned with function.  Fine.  And warmth.  Great.  My only real quibble is that I'd like the clothes to be the right size, and cute doesn't hurt.  One pair of boots that were meant for Gabriel were big enough for me.  The coats are huge.  "They'll grow into it."  I guess the kids will at least be warm while they roll around on the snow, trying to find a way to stand up.

     The problem with delving in to all of this is that you find you're never going to be done.  Fourteen foot tent?  Have more kids, you need a bigger one.  Sleeping bags that work up to 20 below?  You should have the ones that go to 40 below.  Storing water?  Super, it's just that you really should have barrels, wooden crates to put them on, and a filter that can do at least 13,000 gallons.  And then with us, you throw in the unique add-ons like a 5 year old that can't yet eat solids and is still in diapers, the fact that we're vegetarian but realize that we have to have means to change that if our lives depend on it, and oh, did I mention that same 5 year old is on seizure medication that I'm pretty sure we aren't going to find in freeze-dried form so that we can store a year of it?  Oh yeah, and I can't even make bread.

     I do, however, plan on adding basic birth kits to the pile, so if the world is ending, you're pregnant and going into labour, come find me.  I'll be the one with my kids tethered together with some combination of bungee cords, duct tape and tarps, dragging them behind me through the snow, traces of dehydrated spinach frozen to my face.

Noah's Favourite Song...

This song is making us very happy at our house right now.  You have to see Noah dancing and singing at the top of his lungs to get the full effect, but you'll enjoy it just the same.  Happy Sunday.

Some People...

I love good people.  Real, genuine good people.

People who offer themselves rather than trite words.

People who are somehow there for you even when they're miles and miles away.

People who "get" my boy with special needs and treat him like the awesome person he is.

People who leave notes of support when you're suffering, and they don't even really know you.

People who appear out of nowhere right when you're pretty sure you'll shortly lose your mind.

People who offer help no one else can, and don't care one bit if anyone else ever knows about it.

People who almost effortlessly gain the undying love of my kids.

People who have a laugh and a huge smile for Duncan as he jogs through Target, hair flying in all directions, saying "Otay, Mummy!" to every direction I give him.

People who know when and how to laugh with you, and know when to weep with you, too.

People who are raising more good people.

People who keep in touch even when you're having a stretch of not being so good at it.

People who you know won't talk about you behind your back when you leave the room.

People who remember days or events that matter to you, even some of the time.

People who still rejoice when a baby is born, even in Utah where that happens a lot.

  This has been on my mind lately, as this has been a very rough year for us.  I'm glad I've shed tears over people's goodness so often this year, not just over the bad stuff.  I learned from my best visiting teacher ever, to just offer what you can give.  Instead of  "Call if you need anything.", it was "I can do A or B on any of these days, what would help the most?".  There are no small or useless offers when you're offering yourself in any way.  A former teacher of Noah's gets him, thinks he's hilarious and entirely lovable, and probably has no idea how much I love and enjoy how much she loves and enjoys him.  It makes my day.  Noah's too.  I am sooo not as talented at some things as other people I know, but I'm good at other stuff.  That "other stuff" might be just what someone else needs.  I wish I could adequately thank all the good people in my life (hopefully you all know who you are), but mostly I plan to just spread all that good stuff around.  Yup.  

A Little Plug

So the beginning of the school year is approaching, and I just wanted to tell/remind everybody that if you do any of your shopping (now or ever) on Amazon.com, you can help Noah's school.  It is called Clear Horizons Academy, and is for kids with Autism Spectrum Disorders.  It is phenomenal, and I'm pretty sure all the teachers there are half angel, half saint.  If you'll just take an extra 20 seconds, go to clearhorizonsacademy.org and click on the Amazon link right there on the homepage.  Then 5-10% of your purchase on that visit will automatically be donated to the school (you have to do it each time you shop).  It's a really easy way to do some good.  You know you want to.  :)

Adjustments, Not By My Chiropractor

     Yes, it has been nearly a month since my last post.  We've been a little busy.  We moved.  Out of 2 houses.  With three little boys underfoot.  This was no small feat, and thank heaven for helpful friends and neighbours.  We're sort of settled in to our new place.  I'm still waking up not sure where I am after a full week of sleeping here, and going to church today was just weird.  We've been in the same ward for 7 years, one where we were one of the quiet-ish families, one where there were four nurseries and nearly no older people, one where, we decided today that the Bishop does at least twice the job of most Bishops-  into one with mostly older people, one nursery, and we were by far the noisiest family there.  I didn't trip over a single kid in the hallway between classes.  It was like the twilight zone.  

     I'm trying to be as outgoing as my kids, but it's not working.  I don't have nearly the eyelash-batting-power that Gabriel has, I can't get away with talking to people's feet like Noah, and somehow, diving under the pew to grab people's shoes in the row in front of us like Duncan did didn't seem to be appropriate for me, at least not during an actual church meeting.  You just can't make friends like kids do.  They can say and do such random things, and it works.  Noah can ask total strangers for a high five, and if people don't respond, he keeps trying new approaches until one works.  He had tried with this one guy this week when we were out, and the guy wasn't paying him any attention, so finally on his 6th or 7th attempt, he yells "Chicka chicka high five???!!" ("Chicka Chicka Boom Boom" is one of his favourite books).  That got us all laughing.  I guess it will just take more time for us grown-up types.  Am I anti-social?  Am I a snob?  Am I just weird?  I feel like I'm 6 and a 1/2 again, starting a new school, across the country from where I had been living, having left my close-knit Grade 1 friends behind.  And this time, I have no stickers to trade.

Oh, Canada!

Big week for my family.  It's my big brother's birthday (Happy Birthday, Craig!) today, tomorrow is Canada Day (our day for fireworks and the like), and then it's the 4th of July.  

    Mine will be the red Toyota Sienna with the Canadian flags on the windows all week (thanks Mom!).  I know I live in the U.S.A, and have met some of the best people I know here, but I am Canadian, and I really love Canada.  I miss a lot about it.  I miss being able to say Canadian/British words without anyone looking at me like I'm speaking Chinese.  I miss watching hockey without anyone saying "How can you even see the puck??".  I miss Nanaimo Bars.  I miss the smell of ice rinks.  I miss everyone around me using "eh" in the appropriate way.  I miss the more sing-song-y way that most Canadians speak.  I miss good, and I mean GOOD chocolate bars (if they're made of chocolate in Canada, they're chocolate bars, they have to be made of candy to be called candy bars).  I miss touques ("touque" rhymes with "duke").  I miss being able to say I'm from Ontario, and not having anyone assume I mean Ontario California.  Most of all, it's family and friends I miss.  My parents, my sister and her kids, my younger brother, all three of my living grandparents, some cousins, aunts and uncles are all still there.  Canada is beautiful.  If you've been to one province or city, you've gotten a glimpse, but you haven't "seen Canada".  So Happy Canada Day tomorrow.  It's this really great, beautiful country to your north that you really should visit if you ever get the chance.

    Let me add, I have to thank all of my south of the border friends for helping me see the very best parts of the U.S.A... that's all of you.

     A lesson on the proper use of "eh" will be forthcoming.  Try to contain yourselves until then.

You Know Who You Are

After nearly having a too-close encounter with a semi yesterday, I'm just saying, would all you people who change lanes without signaling or looking over your shoulder, or turn right from the center lane instead of the actual right turn lane, or text while driving, or brake repeatedly when you're going the speed limit or slower and there's no one in front of you for miles, or tailgate me when I'm in the right hand lane and you have 3 other lanes to drive in besides mine, or straddle the line for a mile or two before actually choosing just one lane to drive in, or just go at a four-way stop whenever the spirit moves you even when it's clearly not your turn, or turn on to a main road in front from a parking lot, cutting right across my path, when I'm on the main road waiting to turn in to said parking lot, and I have a little thing called the "right of way", or act like the deserving queen of Sheba when I wave you in front of me so you don't have to wait for hundreds more cars to go by before you can go ( just give me a little thank-you wave, everyone feels better), please, please, take some driving refresher classes, or just stay home.  

      My friend JaNae  has a picture on her blog (hit the "Jorgensens" link to find it) from a few months back that her husband took (from the passenger seat) of a woman full on crocheting  while driving about 65 mph, neither hand on the wheel!  Enough!!  I'm out here, obeying the rules, being careful, and fearing for my life because you can't handle your shiny steel and metal torpedo of death.  It's not cool, not cute, and you have to follow the same rules as everyone else.  "Out my way!" as my friend Dee Dee used to scream as she wildly circled her bike around her cul-de-sac.  I am making the same plea, minus the crazy driving.  Come on, fellow citizens.   You know who you are.  I've got my kids in my car.  We just want to make it to Target alive.

Yes, we're (nearly) homeless...

     We've got mold, people!  Some very kind friends are letting us live in their house while ours undergoes an investigation of sorts.  Really it's more like insurance company runaround.  We've had a leak in our basement, mold was growing for a while and we didn't know it, so now that we know, we're out.  The insurance company sent a "leak specialist" out to determine where the water was coming from.  After looking around in the offending room for about 10 minutes, he comes out and announces "Well you've got a big crack in your foundation!".  NOOOO! REALLY?? Nice work, Sherlock!  Actually, I'm beginning to think I'm a leak specialist and just didn't know it. So with our fate left in the experts' hands, we are searching for other places to live.  We're not happy about it.  We're still trying to decide if the more economical choice is to just get a bunch of haz-mat suits for the family, and a good air filtration system, and call it good.  We'll let you know.

     So it's the most low-tech blog ever, but, ta-dah!  Here we go.  So many of my family members and best friends live f-a-a-a-r away, I hope this will help keep us all in touch.  I will get pictures on here, eventually.  I must warn all who read, there may be some pretty random topics on here.  This Mommy, wife, daughter, sister, friend, Mormon, Canadian, actor, vegetarian, home-birther, mosquito-dentist-and-country-music-loather, hockey fan, baby enthusiast, thinker...  I have some opinions, ideas, questions and thoughts on a lot of things.    

     Here's the low-down on us:

Wendy (Me): Thirty-something, and, see above.  Married 11 and 1/2 years to...

Jeremy:  Thirty-something, talented, singer/actor, handsome, hard-working, all around good guy.

Gabriel: 7, scary smart, animal obsessed, stress butt just like his Grandpa, thoughtful, sweet,   planner.

Noah: 5, singer, jokester, dirt, water and light lover, attached to his blanket

Duncan: 2, SO happy, fearless, can open anything, motto: "Destruction With a Smile"

     We hope that's not the end of this list.  :)