The Gopher Apocalypse Part 3: The Hunter and The Hunted

It's been pretty quiet around here lately - and by quiet I mean the badgers have moved on out to the East side, and most of the gophers have hit up deluxe apartments in the sky . . . until today.

If you missed my previous blogs on this topic, please feel free to catch up by clicking the links below . . .

The Gopher Apocalypse Part 1

The Gopher Apocalypse Part 2: Descent into Madness

Today is not so quiet. There are four of the creepy creatures frolicking in my yard without a care in the world. Yes, I know it's only 4 - but still, gotta send those little beasts a message.

It's time to pull out the big guns. Or in my case, the pellet rifle that sounds more like a cap gun with the scope so out you probably can't hit the side of a barn . . . or maybe it's me that can't aim properly. I'm gonna go with it being the scope.

Gopher hunting is not for the faint of heart. Those little suckers are slick I tell you - and they WILL mock you at every turn. If you can't handle the frustration, don't pick up the gun. Thankfully I have three little children running around the house that try my patience at every turn, so I'm used to dealing with frustration - but even I was unprepared for the feelings of inferiority that come along with being beaten by a gopher.

The last time I went out hunting, I got within 8 feet of the hole where a sentinel was chirping out orders to his crew. I'm not sure what kind of trouble a gopher has to get into to be relegated to a sentinel role, but it must be bad. At any rate, I decided right then and there that I was going to take him out.

I carefully raised the gun to my shoulder and spent the next few minutes trying to see him through the scope. Finally I got him in the cross hairs and I took a deep breath then exhaled slowly so as to get my heart rate down - just like in the movies. My trigger finger twitched, pulled back and - pop.  A big puff of dirt flew into the air just behind the gophers head and he just looked at me. 

I repeated this process 20 times - the only time the sucker moved was to turn around and shake his a$$ at me like I was stupid.  I managed to make a pretty good divot in the ground though - so next time he will know I mean business.


Well, time to go dust off my camo pants and load up on ammo . . . on second thought, maybe I'll just add a little more Bailey's to my coffee and let the little buggers die another day. When my husband is home. So I don't have to cry myself to sleep because I'm a horrible hunter.


Yup, Bailey's it is.

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The Gopher Apocalypse Part 2 - Descent into Madness

Monday, June 18. 2012

While getting Zach ready for school, I watch as the gophers confer with one another about how best to take over the property. I shudder . . . and for good measure, I shudder again. I open the window - one looks up at me - chirping and mocking. I close the window and pull the blind. This cannot be happening. They were all supposed to die. Why, WHY, WHY can they JUST.NOT.DIE?

I look out the front window at the three crows on the roof of our shop. My, my, my - now what do we have here? They are feasting . . . feasting on a . . . gopher? YES! I feel positively giddy and grossed out simultaneously!

Mike has gone back to work - so I alone hold the fate of these gophers in my hands. And yesterday, I discovered the secret weapon. A weapon so unexpected . . . so novel . . . it is sure to send these little suckers on their way to gopher heaven in less than a week. There's no gassing here - no shovels, no guns. I have the perfect weapon, and today, I declare WAR!

In this bag lie 57 packages of Bubblelicious gum in an assortment of flavours. I am told that the gophers will try to eat the gum, but as they cannot swallow it, they will suffocate and die. AWESOME.

I proceed to put on rubber gloves and peel the gum wrappers off (you know, so the little suckers don't know this is from me - heh heh heh). 

The kids clamour up on the counter - eager to watch what I am doing (or hoping for a stray bubblegum - not sure which). Soon, we are all salivating.

We must.chew.gum.NOW!

Oh man, this is soooooo going to work.

After unwrapping 250 pieces of gum, we put on our hunting gear (gloves), grab a shovel, and head out to work. 

Mike, being most concerned for my safety, decided to set four traps last night before leaving to work. Hmmmmm . . . thinks I, wonder if we caught anything?

We head to the first hole. In it lies a gopher with its eye pecked out. The kids stare at it wide eyed. I almost pee myself. I want to vomit. I summon up every ounce of courage I have and try to pick it up with the shovel. Well, actually, I dig a huge hole because I'm scared to touch it with the shovel. But I digress. I grab a plastic bag, urge the kids to hold it tightly, close my eyes, scoop up the gopher and quickly deposit it in the plastic bag. Elizabeth says "My knees are shaking". Mine are too. Is this really what hunting is all about?

We proceed to a number of holes and deposit the gum, when we come to a trap. Oh Gawd. There's a gopher in it! I tell Zach to get it out. He looks at me blankly. I squeal as I pick up the trap and try to free its prey. I try and I try and I try to get that freaking gopher out of the trap and you know what?! I did the only thing any sane hunter could do - texted my bestie. She rushed over, plopped the gopher into the bag, and to her credit, didn't tease me once about it.

Feeling sufficiently grossed out, I rush around to the other holes, depositing my precious gum and praying for a speedy death. 

Later that evening, I get a text from my neighbour asking if I put the gum in the holes or beside it. Son of a . . . .

I look outside the window - they are EVERYWHERE - chewing like cows and blowing bubbles. I close the window and pull the blind. This cannot be happening. They were all supposed to die. Why, WHY, WHY can they JUST.NOT.DIE?

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Subway Shenanigans

The other day was a busy one - Mike was due to come home and the house still looked as though a bomb went off. I managed to convince the kids to help me out for a couple hours (amazing, right?), and then they took off and did their own thing outside.


Ben was being a bit stubborn that day, and was in full refusal mode about getting dressed. Not really a big deal as we live on an acreage and it was hot out - all the more power to him if he wanted to rake grass in his ginch.


I decided that for supper that night, we would just run to Subway and pick something up. Normally the kids stay in the car and watch a movie while I quickly run in and grab the subs. I piled all the kids in the car, briefly thought about making Ben get dressed, then decided that world war 3 could be fought about something different.  Off to the store we went.


Midway through ordering the subs, I happened to look out the window. There's my Ben, trying to do cartwheels in the parking lot in just his ginch and that's it - not even any shoes. His brother and sister were hanging out the car windows, cheering him on. 


Sigh. I had to leave the line up, go holler at him to get back in the car, and return to many snickers and some outright laughter as I finished my order. Safe to say I will not be able to return to Subway for at least a couple weeks.


There are some days when I just wish I could be rescued from the madness  . . . thank goodness for Gin. Lots and lots of Gin.




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The XXX Summer Olympics

Sigh.

Ever since Mike brought this to my attention, I can't stop thinking of the summer games as the Naked/Porn Olympics.

Even worse, we have 40 more years before XXX is no longer part of the countdown! One would have thought that they might just skip years 30 - 39 lest there be any kind of confusion or cheap knock off sport videos sprout up somewhere.

Then again, who knows? Perhaps our species will evolve over the next 40 years, and in the future, athletes may discover that all the spandex and gaudy uniforms really don't have an impact on performance so they might as well be naked.

In truth, watching the mens cycling this morning, one has to wonder why they even bother covering up - other than the padding on their a$$ might make the seat more comfortable. There are already naked cycling events that take place - why not move into the forum of the Olympics? 

Gymnastics? One only has to look at the popularity of Cirque du Soleil's Zumanity to understand that naked acrobats are entertaining. Although they may have to eliminate the pommel horse event - that thing looks like it's designed to be a nut blaster even WITH pants on.

That being said, I'm not so sure that any sport involving balls would be appropriate to play au naturel. In particular, Table Tennis comes to mind - one wrong move and BAM - there goes an entire lineage of table tennis hero's! Of course, if you got some talented strippers playing, you might not even need a paddle - just saying.

I just got finished watching some women's tennis. It really is the XXX games - at least if you close your eyes. Is grunting like that mandatory? Talk about leaving nothing to the imagination.


Well, that's my two cents worth. Now I want to know what YOU think? Should the Olympics go naked?


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Bedtime Story?

The other night when I was putting the kids to bed, the topic came up about how they were born.

I explained that they had to cut my tummy open to take Ben and Elizabeth out. Elizabeth came out first, then Ben started to cry and peed all over me before they could even take him out. This caused great gales of laughter and I had to pantomime Ben peeing several times before they were able to settle down.

Then Ben asked about Zach and Emily. I explained that Zach and Emily grew inside my tummy, but that I had to push them out of my bottom.

Their eyes grew wide - Zach and Ben began laughing and shouting "FOR REAL?!?!" repeatedly, while Elizabeth started this weird hyperventilating laughing that wasn't really laughing but an attempt to show she wasn't as grossed out as she felt.

After about 20 minutes they were all settled, and I assured them that no matter how they got out of my tummy, I loved them all just the same. They seemed ok with this.

I proceeded with the bedtime snuggles. As I was rubbing Ben's back, he started to whimper. I asked him what was wrong . . .

"But I wanted to be pushed out like poop too - just like Zach".

Sigh.

Sometimes, there is just not enough gin in the world.

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Me vs. Him - I'm Right . . . Right?

Normally I don't discuss disagreements my husband and I have, but tonight I'm going to make an exception - simply because he is taking longer than usual to finally come to terms with the fact that I, of course, am right.

The issue is this:

I don't believe it is appropriate to pass gas (him) while standing around having a conversation with someone (me). Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about the little ones that inadvertently 'slip out' before you realize what is happening. Of course you have little control over that.

No, I'm talking about him being in the middle of saying a sentence and letting the thunder roll for 10 seconds without even altering the conversation in any way, shape, or form - then acting like NOTHING just happened.

To his credit, it probably is a gift that he can make his farts so loud and long - I certainly have never met anyone with quite this same capability in my lifetime - and he is obviously very committed to his motto of "it's not worth doing if you can't share it" - but seriously?

Here is a typical conversation:

Me: How was your flight?

Him: Well, it was pretty good, but for a while there (cue start of fart) it got really bumpy and at one point my stomach felt upset (end fart) but then things settled down and it was very smooth.

Me: (Disgusted) I think your stomach is still upset!!! Was that your way of introducing mood music to illustrate your point???

Him: What?  I don't know what (lays a blackie) you're talking about.

Me: THAT! That's what I'm talking about.

Him: Just because you can only push out squeakers doesn't mean that I can't be amazing!

And if I'm honest - he might be a little bit right. I'm more of an SBD kind of girl to be sure - but sometimes it would be nice to pack a little punch. I'm pretty positive I could eat a thousand pounds of beans and NEVER make a sound like that - and if I did get so lucky, I wouldn't even WANT to look in my underpants! 

Sigh. 

So whose side are you on?

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Double Exposure

After listening to the kids whine and complain about not being able to go swimming, I finally relented and agreed to take them to the pool. What's the point of parenting if you can't be inconsistent, right? Sigh.

All went well for the first hour - kids were having a blast on the waterslides and were generally very well behaved. Then they came into the pool to play. It was all going great until Ben reached over to grab me, caught my bathing suit, and whipped out my boob for everyone to see. Well, perhaps I exaggerate - my boobs are so small, even if one is whipped out, it's likely no one will notice.

I got everything tucked back in, and we had a fantastic time - then someone pooped in the pool and it was time to clear out. After a quick shower and change, we packed up and headed out. On our way through the lobby, Ben started yelling 'fox, fox, fox' and pointing to the fox pictured on the wall. Unfortunately with his speech delay, it sounded more like the other F word and we were able to get some really interesting looks from people walking by.

On our way out to the car, Ben decided I was going too fast and gave my pants a quick pull. Yup - I got 'pantsed' in the parking lot by my 5 year old. Sure glad I was too lazy to put on my underwear when I was getting changed. Fox.

I can hardly wait to go swimming again . . . only this time, Ben might have to stay home.

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My Kids are Brilliant

Due to the massive mosquito bite still disturbing my centre of gravity, I had to inform the kids this morning that we would not be able to go swimming today. They were understandably disappointed, but got over it quickly. A little too quickly. Never a good sign.

I got started on gathering up the laundry from their rooms, and by the time I had finished, I heard the worrying sound of maniacal laughter that only happens when they've had a really brilliant (read: potentially trauma inducing) idea.

I came around the corner, and this is what I saw . . .

Apparently they decided that even though we weren't going to the pool, it shouldn't stop them from 'jumping off' the rope.

Sigh.  There's only two good things that came of this:

1. No one was injured during their escapades.

2. My bathrobe belt is sufficiently stretched that I now need to wrap it around me twice in order for my robe to stay shut. This makes me feel skinny. Very, very skinny. Guess what I'm wearing today?

After Bite

I was planning on taking the kids swimming tomorrow. But then something awful happened.

I was cooking dinner tonight, and my butt cheek started to itch. So I scratched it. And I scratched it again, cause everyone knows once you start scratching, it just itches more, right?

Five minutes later I had an inflamed mosquito bite the size of Mt. Everest hanging off my a$$ and I couldn't stop scratching! 

Finally put some anti-itch cream on it and resumed my domestic duties. Like most things, the incident vanished from my mind as I took the next few sips of my G & T.

A while later, Mike walks in the room and starts staring - literally staring - at my butt. My inner hotness shouts - "oh yeah, these shorts make my butt look HOT! He can't take his eyes off me!"

Then he says "What the hell is that thing hanging off your a$$?!?!"

There's NO WAY I'm putting on a bathing suit!

Password Protected

It seems as though every time I come up the stairs lately, there is a kid standing there - arms outstretched - saying "What's the password?"  I happily reply "password" and the doors open and they allow me to go by. So simple and fun.

The other day, my sister sent me a copy of a note her daughter had written outlining her efforts to 'crack the code' of the family computer. I especially like the "Note to Self: Keep in mind, this is so freaking hard!!" because it basically sums up my experience with passwords.

I am hopeless when it comes to passwords - well - I should clarify - I am great at coming up with good passwords, I just suck rocks at remembering them.

It doesn't help that every website/agency/bank has different requirements for their passwords. Must have a capital letter, number, be more than 8 characters, be less than 8 characters - holy crap - it's no wonder I get confused. 

I even suck at password hints. I'll choose a question like "what was the name of your first pet" (I only ever had one so it should be easy, right?). Of course, 2 years later when I go back to log in to that account, and three or four invalid passwords later, I will click on the hint. Hmmm . . . first pet . . . and suddenly I can remember the dog, chicken, and kittens that were part of my childhood. I start entering names without success. Next thing you know I am locked out of the account, and required to call the help desk.

So I call the help desk. The first thing they ask is for my four digit verification code. I go through the last four digits of every single phone number I have ever had. Nope. I ask for a hint. They give me one and I still get it wrong. Sigh.

In an effort to 'help myself out' with this, I decided to create a "Password List" document so I could easily reference those secret keys for unlocking websites. It was genius I tell you. Every single password for every single website - including a link to the sign in page. Brilliant! 

I just wish I hadn't password protected it. Son of a . . .

Of Trampolines and Jumping Jacks

If you are a woman reading this title, you can probably already guess what this blog post is about . . .

The other day I was having coffee with a friend when we got to talking about the dangers of jumping on a trampoline. No, we weren't worried about broken bones or landing on our heads - rather, it was the inevitable "I'm going to pee myself/I'm peeing myself" moment that goes hand in hand with getting on a trampoline.

As a child, the only time I jumped on a trampoline was at a gymnastics class when I was 7. After that, the opportunity just wasn't there. One evening, when I was first dating my husband, we walked to a friends house and Emily started jumping on their trampoline. Thinking this looked like fun, I eagerly got on and bounced once . . . twice . . . oh . . . my . . . Lord?! Once I started, I couldn't stop - and I'm NOT talking about the jumping!

Of course I was embarrassed, and I'm sure Mike and Emily wondered why I walked like a penguin all the way home (longest two blocks in my LIFE)! I vowed there and then that I would NEVER jump on a trampoline again.

Fast forward a few years . . . we moved to an acreage and got a trampoline. I was hopeful when I climbed on, and shamed when I climbed off. Apparently, the only way I will ever be able to jump on a trampoline again will be if I'm wearing a diaper - and I'm pretty sure by then I won't be able to get onto it with my walker.

Unfortunately, doing jumping jacks has the same effect - and I now believe that it's only a great workout if I've wet myself. It's my new sad reality, and I am not ashamed to admit it.

The other day on our way home from holidays, we passed an acreage that had a trampoline in the yard with an outhouse right beside. Someone brilliant lives there. 



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I'll Love You Forever

We've all been there - usually in the grocery store or some other very public place. 

I am always very impressed with how committed my kids are to their tantrums in public. There's just no holding back. We've got yelling, screaming, kicking, biting, pulling hair - they will pull out all the stops to try and get that chocolate bar, package of gum, or pair of princess panties in Ben's case.

I can remember going grocery shopping one afternoon with the kids, and the store owner came up to me and suggested that I might benefit from a drink when I got home. I appreciated his suggestion, and was glad I had a case of Tonic in the cart.

Sometimes, their enthusiasm is contagious, and I start crying too. It is usually at this point I tell them that my head will start to spin and eventually fly across the room, spewing blood and gore everywhere. This was a great strategy until, unfortunately, Zach asked me to "prove it" one day - turns out my head won't spin and fall off despite my best efforts. And believe me, at that point, I did try!

Today I went to Costco and left the kids at a friend's house.  I could actually look at things without trying to keep them in sight, and when I stopped by the book section, I didn't even have to re-shelve everything! There was no whining, fighting, crying, or other mortification inducing moment at the check out. I was able to push my cart to the car and unload it without incident. 

In a word . . . boring. 

But I'm getting old, so boring is good ;)

Where Do You Eat YOUR Pancakes?

Today was the Westerner Days parade - got the kids up early (yes, I actually had to WAKE them up!), and headed into town to meet up with some friends and grab some pancakes before the festivities began.

Turned out the closest pancake breakfast to where we parked was at a local Funeral Home. Considering we arrived at the tail end, it was pretty dead around there and we were able to get a seat in the limo bays pretty easily.

I must admit, it was a little weird for a few reasons:

1. I don't usually eat pancakes in the arrival/departure area of a Funeral Home - guess I can cross this off my bucket list.

2. Elizabeth described the location as "such a beautiful hotel" repeatedly.

3. Ben managed to locate the elevator and cooler doors that were hidden behind screens. He thought this was pretty cool and made sure everyone knew it.

Later this evening, as I was tucking Miss E into bed, I asked her what her favourite part of the day was . . . Yup - you guessed it. "Going to that beautiful hotel - do you think we can stay there sometime?"

Honey, I sure hope not. At least not anytime soon.

Time for a Cocktail?

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The Nails on My Chalkboard

I'm not gonna lie - I'm crabby tonight. Really, really crabby. I think it's because I haven't really accomplished anything today - just tried to keep up with the children and didn't even do this very well. We all have days like this, right? Please tell me it isn't just me!

Most days I can handle the constant barrage of questions and continual repetition of answers - but on days like today, it's like nails on a chalkboard making me want to rip every last strand of my hair out. So in an effort to save my sanity, I'm going to ask for your help . . . here is my top ten list of annoying questions/statements . . . please take time to share one thing your kids ask/say that irritates you most . . . you know, so I can feel better ;)

Here goes . . .

10. We didn't get to do ANYTHING FUN today.

9. But I can't clean up by myself! (usually said in a loud, whiny, wailing voice)

8. I'm so so so so so hungry! (usually after eating a meal)

7. Why don't you ever feed me??? (again generally within 30 minutes after eating)

6. How many more minutes? I'm just asking. Well, how many now? (asked at least 3 times per minute and right in my ear)

5. Can I play on the iPod? Why not? Why? Because why? You're so so mean!

4. You never let me do ANYTHING!

3. I'm SO SO SO SO bored!

2. They're copying me Mom! See?! I told you! Stop copying me! MOM! See guys, you aren't copying me anymore. What? Now you are going to copy me again? MOM!

and the number 1 most annoying question is:

1. What are we DOING today? What are we DOING tomorrow? What about the NEXT day? You NEVER let me have ANY FUN!

Sigh. Is it bedtime yet?


Your turn - leave a comment below - if you don't have a google account, click on the drop down menu and post as an anonymous user but please leave your name anyways ;).

Parenting: An Olympic Event

Only a couple of more weeks until the Summer Olympics - gotta say, I am so excited. I love the Olympics - especially the summer games. Many times when I was a child I would dream of being a gymnast - performing cartwheel after cartwheel in our yard, pretending the rustling leaves and branches were people cheering me on. Oh those hot summer days where the sprinkler was going, with poplar fuzz floating through the air while the crickets chirped their merry tune. Great memories!

This got me to thinking . . . there are a lot of similarities between an elite athlete and a parent. As such, I think there should be a Parenting Event - kind of like the Decathalon, in the Olympics. It could be considered both a summer and winter event, so the marketing opportunities are endless. Can you imagine? Some events could be:

The Obstacle Course: An indoor/outdoor event.

The outdoor portion is comprised of a variety of children's toys, bikes, and other paraphenilia laid out along the walkway into the house that must be negotiated when it is pouring rain, on a night with no moon, carrying a sleeping child. Bonus points would be awarded for inserting the house key on the first try.

The indoor portion would consist of a variety of lego, thumb tacks, hot wheels cars, and squishy fruits between the kitchen and bathroom. Participants will be required to drink a minimum of 8 cups of coffee prior to competition, and points will be deducted every time you make a noise when stepping on an object.

Wrestling: Location - local grocery store.

In this challenge, a parent will be responsible for three young children while standing in line at a grocery store with various chocolate bars, gums, and candy on display on either side. To add a challenge, the parent in front of you will allow their children a chocolate bar after they have screamed long and loud.

100 m Dash: Also at the local grocery store

After the youngest child grabs a chocolate bar and runs away, the parent that chases them down the dairy isle and back in the shortest amount of time will be declared victorious.

Alternate Version: As the competitors place the last item of a full cart load of groceries on the conveyer belt, they will suddenly remember there is only one sheet of toilet paper left and be required to obtain a 24 pack of bathroom tissue and return to the checkout as quickly as possible.

Weightlifting: Requires two toddlers.

In this event, both toddlers will fall and scrape their knees simultaneously in the middle of a crowded room. Competitors will be responsible for transporting both children to a quiet area in order to attend to their injuries.

Yes, Parenting requires commitment, dedication, and determination in order to be successful. Much like an athlete, one must practice, fail, learn, strive for improvement and persevere when faced with challenges. If successful, they will receive endorsement deals full of hugs, kisses, and love from the wonderful children they have been blessed with.

I may never be an Olympic Athlete (well, this is probably a given but I would hate to rule anything out haha), but I will work hard and train every day to be the best parent I can be to my children. In the end, they are the only ones who matter anyways.

In the meantime, let the Games begin!

Have Kids: Will Travel - Reprise

As I sit here longing for my darling children to finally go to sleep, I smile as I remember the many highlights of our journey home today.

Things started off great with Ben howling - literally - at 6:15 am because he didn't want to go home. Since leaving him there alone wasn't an option, he finally relented and climbed into the truck.

We hadn't even gotten to the end of the road when Ben and Elizabeth started arguing about getting married. They almost/actually sounded like a married couple, and by the time we reached Tim Horton's Ben was practically in tears. Zach told him that maybe by the time they were grown ups the rules would change - this pacified him for a while.

In the meantime, Elizabeth found a green stamper from a Kinder Surprise and managed to give herself some very nice facial tattoos that would be perfect for St. Patty's Day. We were able to get most of them off except for one below her eye - it looks like a green tear and is kind of cute.

Things were quiet for a while - well, if you consider Elizabeth reciting every line from the Phineas and Ferb movie they were watching. While wearing headphones. I'm pretty sure people driving past us could hear her.

Eventually she fell asleep, and not long after Ben squealed excitedly "Mom, Mom! Look at my beard!" It was very cool indeed and was made out of bubblegum. Very sticky bubblegum. I'll finish picking it off tomorrow.

Other than Zach dumping out all the fish hooks in the backseat, things were pretty uneventful until about hour 8. That's when the kids started crying because we didn't go mini golfing while we were there. I pipe up excitedly (in an effort to distract them) "yeah - but did we go bowling?" This prompted more keening and wailing as we had not, in fact, gone bowling at all. Strike (out)! Sometimes my brilliance leaves me speechless! I don't even know what I was thinking!

A short while later, someone (the other adult in the car) dropped a massive stink bomb. Because it was pouring rain, I could not open the window, and the smell was nauseating. I was on the receiving end of many strange looks as people we passed saw me huffing into a bag of peppermint lifesavers. Hey, don't judge - I thought I was gonna die! I REALLY need to order those fart pads!!!

Finally, after 11 hours, one time zone, a few potty breaks, lots of laughs, and a few moments of tear your hair out fun, we arrived at Home Sweet Home.

Now if only the kids were as excited about sleeping in their own beds as we are ... sigh.

A Tale of Two Fishies

It was the best of times . . .

After a fun filled day in the party raft, a delicious steak dinner, and perhaps a margarita or two, we all made our way back down to the dock to let the kids try their hand at fishing. Lacking worms, but having a ton of left over steak, we decided to use this for bait, and carried with us a large sandwich bag full for the fishies pleasure.

The kids had a blast - there were some pretty good casts tonight - and some pretty crazy ones too. My favorite had to have been Mike using the Barbie rod and his hook and line flying off the dock behind him! Fortunately no children were harmed in the incident.

It soon became apparent that fish do enjoy steak - there were lots of little nibbles to be had. Unfortunately, Ben the bait snatcher was with us, and within 5 minutes of getting to the dock, he had eaten the whole bag of steak. When we asked him to stop, he moaned in a sad kind of way "I just can't quit." Even the dog was amazed!

By then, Emily was the only one with bait left on her hook. After a close encounter with a large trout, she removed her hook to discover one piece of mangled meat. Ever the optimist, she continued trying to catch that elusive fish.

Meanwhile, Mike continued on with the Barbie rod, and surprisingly landed a little fish all on his own! It was great fun watching the big guy reel in the fish with his little pink rod hahaha. The kids were thrilled to see a fish up close, and were eager to take their turns holding it before finally releasing it to rejoin his friends.

Not long after, Emily caught a fairly large trout as well. Her squeals of excitement echoed throughout the valley on this calm night. Unfortunately we didn't have a camera, but I swear it really happened!

Finally, we decided to put our rods away and return in the morning with some hot dogs and fresh coffee. On her way off the dock, Emily encountered a gigantic spider - that kid literally flew up 80 stairs in no time flat, sharing sound bites of sheer terror the entire way. Her cousin Courtney was not far behind. In all fairness, the spider WAS the size of my thumb, so definitely no laughing matter for an arachnophobe!

Yes, it was a great night indeed. I love my family :)



It's All About Aim

Sigh.

I am SO tired of sitting on a wet toilet seat. In fact, it's getting to the point where I would rather my boys leave the seat up and I can fall in rather than sit on a pee soaked seat.

This got me to thinking . . . . is it really so hard to pee standing up? Is there some force of nature that causes the pee to go everywhere BUT in the toilet bowl? One day, I even found pee on the wall above the back of the toilet . . . how does that happen?!?!???

One of my boys (I'll not name names) refuses to pull his pants down far enough when he needs to go pee, therefore his 'aim' is compromised by material that keeps things pointed up.  He's too lazy to pull down his pants.

As a woman, I simply can't understand this. Boys were given a gift in that they can actually stand to pee - no squatting on the side of the road with a full moon, pants wrapped around your ankles preventing a quick getaway in the event someone rolls up. How hard is it to drop your pants what - a whole 6 inches - in order to hit the toilet?

I guess I would understand if the boys had to stand 3 feet away from the toilet, and the bowl was half the size - of course they would miss occasionally then. But seriously - their weiners are hanging OVER the bowl - it's RIGHT there! What gives?!?

Sigh.

Suggestions anyone?

Heartbroken

It was a very sad night in our house tonight.

After explaining things about a thousand times, I believe Ben and Elizabeth have finally come to terms with the fact that they will never be able to get married.

There were tears shed as Ben asked "not even when we are grown ups?", and Elizabeth sobbed "but who shall I marry then? I love him!".

Zachary tried to soften the blow by telling Elizabeth he would always love her, to which she replied "Yeah - but I never planned on marrying YOU!"

Young love. Sigh.

Have Kids: Will Travel

I've learned something very interesting in the past few days . . . when you are living (albeit temporarily) in a very beautiful location on a lake, it is very difficult to write a blog. I've  also discovered that beer and wine taste so much better when shared with wonderful people.

Needless to say, a few beers and several glasses of wine have been shared, and the blog has not been a priority. It's been amazing to just sit back, visit with my Aunt and Uncle, and have a great deal of fun with the kids. Food for the soul indeed.

I'm not gonna lie - the trip out here was . . . entertaining. As any family with children knows, long journeys by car can sometimes require a great deal of recovery time once arriving at your final destination. Ours was no exception. It went something like this . . .

Eat breakfast and dress the kids.

Ensure everyone uses the washroom. Load half a can of garbage into the car to throw into a dumpster on way out of town.

Herd everyone into the car.  Realize everyone in the family except YOU have used the washroom. Endure loud sighs and laughter.

Listen to husband gag loudly and repeatedly until garbage has been thrown in the dumpster.

Stop at Tim Horton's - upsize to an Extra Large. Listen to Zach start telling his siblings that HE gets to go fishing because he has a fishing rod and they DON'T.

Ten minutes later, hear the 7 words no one wants to hear: "Dad, I have to poop REALLY bad"! Drive super fast to the nearest town hoping and praying that "It's coming out RIGHT NOW" is just an expression.

Find a washroom, discover clean shorts, breathe sigh of relief, and continue onwards.

Fifteen minutes later listen to other children in the car complain about having to pee. Take a long drink of coffee and think to self "If it wasn't illegal and dangerous, there would be Bailey's along with cream in this drink". Endure more fighting about the fishing rod.

Stop at next town to allow other children to use washroom. Get another Extra Large Coffee and mentally add Bailey's. Explain to children that 7 a.m. is too early to have lunch. When Elizabeth firmly states she is 'ready for this trip to be over' realize that the next 7 hours might feel very long.

Ten minutes later express disbelief when children begin complaining about needing to pee.

Stop at next rest stop so children can pee. Again. Give them snacks in the hopes they will sit quietly for a couple hours. Commence fighting over fishing rod and complaints about fairness.

Fifteen minutes later note nasty rumbling in stomach consistent with drinking too much coffee. Start counting down kilometers to next rest stop. Engage butt muscles and start praying when sign says next rest stop is 50 km away. Wish the fart pads you ordered had arrived prior to leaving on vacation. Endure teasing and gagging for 20 km. Arrive at rest stop and wait for 20 minutes while the kids try to find their shoes and get out of the car. Stand in line in bathroom for 5 minutes. Thank god when you see the toilet.

Resume journey. Listen to children complain about being so so so hungry for one hour. When Ben asks "When the heck are we going to be in the mountains anyways?!?" patiently explain that we have been driving through them for over an hour already.

Stop at restaurant for lunch. Wish you had brought tie down straps to keep the kids in one place. Repeat bathroom breaks X2. Resume trip. Thank the lord repeatedly for in car DVD systems. Contemplate throwing fishing rod out the window.

Breathe sigh of relief that kids finally fall asleep. Feel relief quickly turn to dread once you realize that the car needs gas.

Stop at a park so the kids can burn off some energy in ways other than kicking seat backs and wielding the fishing rod like a sword.

Pay $50 to walk through the woods and see bad papier mache story book characters at the Enchanted Forest. Contemplate a real estate purchase when arriving at the Old Shoe and discovering how much the kids enjoy being inside it. I am an old woman after all. Grimace when husband purchases bird seed so the kids can feed the ducks wandering around the exit of the park.

Resume trip. When Zach asks "how much longer", patiently state "one and a half hours". Spend the next fifteen minutes explaining that I did not say "Talk to a trucker", I said "one and a half hours" and no, we weren't going to try and find a trucker to ask either.

Stop in Vernon to purchase fishing rods for Elizabeth and Ben.  Attempt to ensure no one is injured by swinging fishing rods on way out of store. Take the wrong turn and end up heading back the direction we came. Innocently joke that we are going home and endure twelve solid minutes of sobbing and wailing while apologizing profusely.

Arrive at destination. Thank the Lord for getting us here safely. Be grateful for a wonderful Aunt and Uncle who share their home with us. Commence relaxation.

Got Gas?

In my many efforts to procrastinate today, I thought I would try to find out when the iPhone 5 projected release date is . . . imagine my surprise when on the side of the article was a link for a flatulence deodorizer. Really! I'm including the link below because I'm certain that most of you will just think I've gotten a little too cozy with the G & T's today . . .

http://www.idesigntimes.com/articles/1861/20120703/flatulence-deodorizer-pads-fart-stink-deoderizer.htm

So I'm reading and thinking, this is really quite brilliant. I mean, we've all been there at some point, right? Surely I can't be the only one who has accidentally dropped a silent but deadly in the middle of a public place and had to do the "it must have been THAT guy" look to those around me.

In fact, when Zachary was a baby, he could have used something like this. I can vividly remember taking him with me to watch Emily's choir perform, and every time he dropped a bomb you'd swear the sewer was overflowing. People would start gagging, look at me, then shake their heads when I pointed to the baby. It really, truly WAS the baby - how something so small and cute could smell so foul is beyond my comprehension, and apparently everyone else's as well!

I can remember shopping for appliances when we were building our house - while talking with the sales lady at Leon's, it became quite clear that a 'release' had just happened. Mike looked at me quizzically - I indicated 'no way', and we both tried to pretend that everything was OK. Next thing I know, Emily appears out of nowhere and is sniffing around behind each of us to determine just exactly who the offender was! At any rate, I think it was hard for all of us to keep a straight face while the detective was at work.

Perhaps my most embarrassing moment EVER was in Junior High. It was almost recess, and it was all I could do to hold it in while I waited for the bell to ring. I'm pretty sure I was sweating my stomach hurt so bad. It finally rang, and I raced - and I mean RACED - out the door and outside as fast as I could, grateful to finally find relief! I ran back to another door to head back inside (I didn't want to be 'caught'), and walked back into the classroom. Everyone started gagging and choking - apparently, I have a knack for leaving a very long snail trail. Of course, I was called a variety of colourful names for months afterwards. 

But just think, these fart pads could be quite the liberators.

No longer would we need to walk through the mall clenching our cheeks and hoping nothing squeaks out. 

We wouldn't need to fear leaving a little something behind when we bend over to grab something off the bottom shelf at the store. 

No more rushing to the bathroom, or trying to pretend that we really are listening to what someone else is saying while we hold it in! 

Got enough gas to fuel a jet engine? No one needs to know but you! 

At dinner, we could break wind along with our bread, and none would be the wiser.

Yes, brilliant indeed! Would you buy one?

Scraped Knees

My heart is happy.

My oldest daughter moved out to BC earlier this year, and as a result, we do not get to see her very often. It is a strange feeling to wake up every morning and have someone so important to you no longer living in your house - and not even close enough to pop by and have a visit with. I miss her terribly. Don't get me wrong - she is following her path and is happy - for that I am very excited and grateful.

This weekend, she came for a visit. Yesterday, we were able to have some much needed Mom-Daughter time, and for the first time in a very long while, I felt whole again. I love how our relationship is evolving - and while I miss my 'little' girl, I am so incredibly proud of the woman she is becoming.

We had a great time reminiscing about the time she cut the screen out of her window in an attempt to have a bird fly into her room so she could have a pet. Thank goodness this never came to pass as I am deathly afraid of birds and probably would have had a heart attack if one was flying around in my house.

Of course, we had to talk about the time we had to call the fire department. We laughed at how they announced over the loud speaker that the oven was on fire to our entire neighbourhood hahaha. Oddly enough, no one ever accepted our invitation to come over for dinner after that . . .

I remember my little girl, who on the first day of school, fell and scraped her knee on her way out the door that morning. She was so upset - angry and scared she would be late for school and stinging from the scrape.  After some cuddling, deep breaths, and a healing band aid applied, we were back on our way so she could take part in that ever so exciting day.

If I could go back to that day, I think I might have told her this . . .

Life is full of scraped knees. Sometimes they happen because we aren't watching where we are going. Sometimes it's because we are in such a hurry and need a reminder to slow down. At other times, there will be no reason at all. They will sting. They may leave a mark. You can put a bandaid over it, but if you don't look after it, it will continue to open and take longer to heal. There are some scraped knees that are large and messy, but may not hurt very much. Others may be small and barely seem to scratch the surface, but hurt a great deal. Some may not leave a scar - others will. One thing that will ALWAYS be true is this . . .

I will be there to comfort you when you are hurting. I will be there to help you carefully clean and dress the wound in the hopes it won't leave a scar. If it does leave a scar, I will be there to listen when you talk about how you got it. I will be there to remind you that you have had many scraped knees in the past, and have always gotten through them . . . and you will this time too. 

I love you my beautiful daughter, and I promise you this - I will ALWAYS be there - no matter what. Thank you for being such a wonderful gift in my life.

xoxo