Archive for the ‘Family’ Category

I’m sort of a kid’s book snob.

I take the girls about once to twice a month to the library load up on about 60 books and take them home awaiting adventure. Some are new, some I read as a child, others are magical storied with excellent illustrations… and a lot of them are really bad.

Not only are they poorly written, but my one year that currently has green Sharpie strewn all over her face could have done a better job illustrating it.

Yes, not only am I a book nerd, I am a children’s book critique – seriously, make a rhyme an actually RHYME, “like rhymes’ are still not rhymes if they don’t sound like the word your trying to rhyme with…

Now its a punishment I endure because not only do my children enjoy good books, but when you find a gem it becomes that more special, like renting a movie you never heard of but liked the cover and it turns out to be a great movie…

And yes mom, I know what your thinking, I should just write my own if  I’m not satisfied with what is out there…

One day…

When the kids are not longer screaming when I’m on the phone, smearing lipstick on the walls when I’m in the bathroom, or pulling the keys off my keyboard…

I digress.

About a year back I remember picking up a book by Oliver Jeffers when Olivia was not in her pirate/dinosaur phase but during her penguin stage.

(Side note- I wish library’s would keep children’s books together by similar themes – for example all the FICTION stories relating to dinosaurs would be in one section, all the stories about cats in another and so on.

It would save me at least an hour of searching through each book by the author’s last name, flipping through the pages looking for a dinosaur…

Just saying.

I digress, again.

The penguin stage.

So as the diligent mother I am, I remember painstakingly pulling out hundreds of titles looking for any story about a penguin and I came across Lost and Found. It is a cleaver, and simple story about a penguin who appears one morning, on a boys doorstep and the adventure they ensue to find it’s home.

I swear I only remember it having 20 sentences throughout the entire book, but the images are lovely, and it’s just one of those stories and stuck with me – probably more so than Olivia.

Long story short, they made it in to a lovely little movie… here is the trailer

*Note to Self
Maybe they will make my book in to a animated movie…

So the Hubby and I (okay, the Hubby, MY parents…and I…watching the children) decided to finally tackle the hedges we have been staring at for over three years.

Over the years, they have eaten up at least a hundred feet of backyard space. Though the privacy is nice, maintaining them, is not.

Unfortunatly, what I didn’t plan for were the consequences of the removal project.

Issue 1 – The Squirrel is back, and he brought 10 of his friends to clean out my walnut tree.

The walnut tree was always well hidden amongst the hedge; so much so most people thought it lived in the forest right adjacent to our house.

It does not.

Upon cutting down the hedges, Squirrely and friends now spend hours eating nuts, and aggravating the dog.

Olivia is naming them.

They are NOT our friends.

Issue 2 – I need to clean the remaining mess.

With the removal of the hedges, not only did we gain massive amounts of yard space, but we also gained 30 years of hedge debris. Which is fine, I don’t mind a work out now and then, but what I do mind is ALL the walnut bits now scattered all over the yard.

During one of my lawn mowing expeditions – which I admit I am a bit obsessive about- the poor children had to wear helmets for fear of walnut shrapnel.

Olivia’s helmet is pink.

Walnuts are NOT our friends

Issue 3 – Things that once lived, I assume, in the hedge are now in MY house.

Over the past few weeks while the hedge mess was occurring, I kept our back door open over the evening. The first reason was because it was so hot out. The second was for laziness.

I hate getting up and letting the dogs out to pee at 3 am. Plus, one dog ALWAYS has to go in the middle of the night and the other one just stares at you when you tell her to go. Needless to say I leave her behind, let the other one out, get back into bed and 30 secs later… guess who has to go?

I know she waits until I get all tucked in… So I leave the door open, that way they can also let themselves back in.

I digress,

So the other night I had company coming over at 3pm (Yes, I know I have shifted a titch from the course of this post but bare with me on this one) I made a lovely dinner (Minestrone soup, fresh with veggies from my garden, grilled Cajun chicken, homemade fettuccine with Alfredo sauce and fresh jubilee corn from the corn drive thru- it’s Abbotsford, yes, we have a corn drive thru).

So upon completing my masterpiece, I opened up my cutlery drawer to set the table (it was 2:45pm) and discovered,

MOUSE SHIT.

Yes, I just yelled that.

15 minutes before guests arrived I not only had a bleach nightmare, but an uninvited guest already over for dinner.

This was beyond not cool. (And for the record I had made dinner without utensils from that drawer – you were thinking it…)

So the Hubby and I spent the rest of the evening sharing the odd, wide-eye ‘DUDE WE HAVE A MOUSE!!! DON”T SAY ANYTHING, BUT DUUUDE –THERE IS A MOUSE IN HERE!!!” glance.

Company gone, exhaling, I ripped through the remaining cupboards under the sink, looking for either evidence of the mouse, or a little door that read ‘The mouse lives here’.

Alas there was no door, but a rather large gap around the hot and cold water pipes. The only place he could go from there was inside the cutlery drawer attached to those cupboards, or to the hot water tank. So, in all my wisdom I deduced that the mouse must have come into the house through the back door last night when I had kept it open, made himself comfortable in the laundry room (which is where that door leads) followed one of the tank lines, found cutlery and decided to leave…

It sounded plausible.

The following morning, while checking the counter, in the cutlery drawer, and under the sink, I saw nothing.

I figured we were in the clear.

I let the dogs out that morning – who, by the way, are the WORST mouse hunters in the world. Inhaled the fresh, mouseless, morning air and felt rather pleased with myself and went over to start the morning laundry.

The laundry basket was… FULL OF MOUSE SHIT.

So I did what any self respecting person in a crisis would do…

I googled.

NEVER GOOGLE.

Do you know mice can have over 100 babies in a year!

It never crossed my mind that the mouse would have invited a friend. What if she was already pregnant? That could be 10 new mice, making 12 mice…

I live in a very small house.

Cleansing breath…

I resolved that I cannot suspect how many mice were actually in here. And I was not going to start assigning poo.

And so began:

OPERATION BLEACH

So the better part of Monday, okay ALL DAY Monday was spent pulling out appliances, cupboards, and drawers bleaching, looking for poo.

Funny, I think I spend every day dealing with someone’s poo…

And found nothing.

(By the way, the children spent the majority of the day fighting, while I slaved on my hands and knees scrubbing…Did I mention I bought the new H20 Mop Deluxe with the hand steamer, I enjoy it immensely, but make sure you get the accessories…)

I next tackled the laundry room.

(The children kept fighting…)

And all I found were long lost socks, and two little poos beside the hot water tank. (I started to suspect my initial theory was accurate and the little guy was somewhere in or around the tank pipes)

A couple sticky traps and a night later, the Hubby accomplished his part of Mission Mouse.

Olivia still believes Mickey lives at Disneyland.

Mice are NOT our friends.

*Note to Self
Well, at least now I have a REALLY clean house…

Every once in a while I hide out in the bathroom from my children.

Yes, we all need a moment of piece and quiet and for me the bathroom is it.

It has a lock.

On an even rarer occasion I hide out in the bathroom from a really awful diaper.

And it’s not because I expect my little one to change herself, I just know I can wait out her father.

On the occasional Sunday when the Hubby is home and I hear my Lil’ A working on a “project” (knowing full well yesterday was corn on the cob night and she hadn’t pooped in two days) I  take the opportunity to grab the magazine I bought two months ago which I still had yet to read, and hide.

It only took half an hour.

Granted, I had to put up with the sound of groaning disgust declaring that THIS was (of course)the worst diaper of all time…

Pa-lease – do you not know how many diapers I have changed! Don’t talk to me about all time grossness!

And then there would be the occasional moment of silence when I could hear the hubby listening, waiting to see if I would come bail him out.

Fat chance.

So I sat there, pants on, covering my face laughing hysterically waiting for the pitter patter of a cleaned bum kid to find me.

*Note to Self
This never works to get the dishwasher unloaded.

*PS
The Hubby also felt it was necessary to find me in the bathroom, with the dirty diaper in tow, as so I could feel its sheer weight in my hands…

Yes, dear… I’m VERY impressed…Heavest diaper ever…My hero.

Both my little children have completely different personalities and I have started to notice that Audrey, who is generally my little comedian, has developed a bit of an evil streak at 20 months.

Case in point, I am currently typing on a laptop without the “J”, “F1”, “.” or “?” keys. Instead I have little white nubs.

NUBS!

Fortunately I have managed to painstakingly reattach the other 9 letters she pulled off while I had innocently ran outside to grab something from my car.

I think I was gone for about 20 seconds.

Imagine had been outside for a full minute.

I’m hoping this will just be a phase that will pass through briefly, so she can catch up to her sister’s current “Why?” stage.

Because that’s an awesome one…

It seems every Olivia conversation now revolves around the word ‘why’ and her need to understand something so intensely that she insists on asking ‘why’ after EVERYTHING.

EVERYTHING.

(Good morning Olivia, would you like cereal?

Why?

Because, it’s an important part of your morning.

Why?

Because it starts your brain.

Why?

Because without your brain starting, you can’t think.

Why?

Because I said so.)

Yes, every conversation is beginning to end this way.

Ironically enough, as I just sat down for 5 minutes to type this post, I just turned around to see, the littlest one drawing on the wall…

Sometimes I wonder if this mommy will every have five minutes without disaster striking…

Did I also mention Audrey is doing a screaming thing? Try spending two hours at the Apple Store with a screaming kid.

It’s fun!

I also notice a lady who was in there just to use a computer (I mean seriously…Do you really need to be there?)  opted to put ear plugs in.

Who does that?

*Note to Self
Awesome… X-large double double, now all over the kitchen floor… thanks Audrey…was that 5 minutes?

My hubby and I are opposites (cause you know, it ain’t fiction, just a natural fact) and we seem to mesh pretty well together except when it comes down to air conditioning.

I hate sleeping in a cold room. Now, I don’t love a super hot one either, but I’m pretty easy… that’s how I got pregnant for a third time…

(Just kidding mom…you thought it too).

But in the summer I opt to sleep with no blanket when I’m hot, and in the in the winter, when I’m cold, I choose to use a …blanket.

Simple right?

Apparently not.

The hubby doesn’t like to function under the same guidelines. He just likes air conditioning, naked, freezing, drooling with love for air conditioning. And I mean, freeze you out of house and home, I need to wear flannel in the middle of summer type air conditioning.

Not cool.

And because of that I now have an air conditioning cold that he is NOT taking responsibility for.

A cold in the middle of summer! I am dryer than a desert, and I feel like a creepy California raisin.

Now don’t get me wrong… I do like the feel of a cool room on a hot day. But Siberia in July is not my party destination.

In fact, if I had a choice… its winter in Australia right now… That means it’s like…30 degrees… right?

But how can one argue when you love your Hubby?  I must somehow take this all in stride, and try to survive the freezing summer nights, because what’s living like a Popsicle, for a man who would defend my pond, naked, at 2am from a pack of rabid raccoons, while holding a garden hose…?

*Note to Self
At least when it’s hot at night a girl can sweat off a pound or two…

Today I wanted peanut butter.

And when you want peanut butter, there is nothing worse than opening up a jar and looking down into nothing but scraps and old crumbs.

That didn’t matter. It was 7am, and I had already made toast. What’s a girl to do?

I literally took out a rubber scrapper and wiped that puppy clean, for the smallest amount of peanuty goodness.

It was pathetic; I was literally spreading 1/2 tsp over a sad little piece of toast, and the instant joy I felt was incredible.

Thank god I don’t have a drug problem…

Usually I don’t have peanut butter on hand. Lil’ A is allergic to peanuts, among other things, and I make Olivia suffer with her by eating almond butter. I still call it peanut butter… but even she knows the difference.

I’m just trying to keep the dream alive.

I tried almond butter.

I even tried to like it. But let’s be real here, if you spent your entire life just eating Skippy… Almond butter is like switching to Adams… You just don’t do that.

It’s a sacrifice, I just can’t make.

So secretly in the way back part of tallest the cupboard, I keep a lone jar of peanut butter… for me.

Can you blame me? It’s just for the odd breakfast pregnancy craving; nobody needs to know about it…

Sometimes…I just want PEANUT BUTTER.

Oh… did I just mention I was pregnant…?

I think I did.

Surprise!

Ok not really. I was out doing the Fort to Fort last Sunday, and while in line for the bathroom at Wendel’s another woman in front of me looked over and asked me how many weeks I had left to go.

Yeah…Like 37… This is gonna be awesome…

So I guess if I already look super pregnant, there is no point in hiding it and letting everyone assume I was just getting fat for the next 5 weeks.

Speaking of eating…

RIDICULOUS NO FLOUR PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES

1 cup peanut butter
1/2 cup white sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 egg
1/2  tsp vanilla

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (180 degrees C).

Combine ingredients.

Roll out into bite sized ball and place on cookie sheet, and squish with a fork. Sprinkle liberally with more sugar.

Chill in the fridge for 1hr.

Bake for 8 minutes.

Makes 1 dozen (so double it…) lol

*Note to Self
Maybe this time around my ass will stay small…

Ahh, so much to write about….and yet feeling so lazy.

Is that normal?

I just spent the last week up country, first with my girly friends and later with my parents in 100 Mile visiting my grandma. It was lovely…

If you exclude the extreme heat and bats.

Yes, I said bats.

Don’t tell grandma I told you, or she would be mortified.

Actually they are quite a common occurrence in the homes up there and if you are ever staying up country in a room where you hear a lot of early morning and midnight chirping… those are not birds.

To be honest the chirping wasn’t that awful, it did, however, add an element of paranoia.  Sort of like when you’re a kid sleeping in your bed at night and the lights are all off and you can hear a lone mosquito, and you swear its buzzing right in front of you so you spend the rest of the night sweating under the covers to save yourself from the little bugger.

A night with bats is the same… except your just keeping your neck covered.

*Note to Self
Last week to sign up for the Apron Swap!!

So last night I got spend the better part of two and a half hours watching other people’s children dance.

The highlight was not only a bunch of little mice that forgot their lines, and the four other people that got to sit in agony with me, but also the smallest little crocodile in the pinkest shoes on the planet.

*Note to Self
Proud mama… yes.

Bookclub Day! click here, or follow the link above…

In other news, Ms O had her last day of preschool on Thursday. It was full on pomp and circumstance… okay I wasn’t, but it did have a few cute moments…

When asked what she wanted to be when she grew up Olivia had said she wanted ‘to be a girl named Olivia’.   Well,  she may not be reaching for the stars yet, but at least she won’t be changing her name to Olivier anytime soon.

But if she did, I would still love her, and with her father’s Greek lineage, facial hair will never be problem…

*Note to Self
I’m gonna miss my Tuesdays and Thursdays…

I’ve been such a lazy poster lately, and now that the sun is out… I guess I just have to get up that much earlier.

I’ve actually been rather busy so you can’t completely blame me. I had the Hubby working on a ‘honey-do’ job…

After a least a year of plotting, and planning and trying to figure out a way to get the hubby to do a little building project  AND finish said project now titled “The Husband Project” …

It actually happened.

All household activities stopped for two days as my father and the Hubby put together a greenhouse (on Fathers Day), reminiscent of the Amish barn raising in Witness…unfortunatly without Harrison Ford OR Viggo Mortensen.

The hubby, however, did sport the beard.

The building itself went up without any trouble, the same cannot be said for a pair of tomatoes plants.

It still hurts my heart.

I have come to assume the men in my family do not really realize their sheer strength when it comes to prying posts and toppling into gardens.

Just saying…

PS – thanks Olivia for squealing. Mommy loves you most.

We will be calling this ‘Mommies New Office”… She is very happy.

Perhaps it’s also time to announce summer bookclub books? What could be more exciting – a greenhouse AND new books!

Fine, I don’t get out much.

Moving on, I decided to put both July and August up in the spirit of the two months of summer…

Our July selection is Kate Morton’s The Forgotten Garden

From Booklist

In 1913, a little girl arrives in Brisbane, Australia, and is taken in by a dockmaster and his wife. She doesn’t know her name, and the only clue to her identity is a book of fairy tales tucked inside a white suitcase.  When the girl, called Nell, grows up, she starts to piece together bits of her story, but just as she’s on the verge of going to England to trace the mystery to its source, her grandaughter, Cassandra, is left in her care. When Nell dies, Cassandra finds herself the owner of a cottage in Cornwall, and makes the journey to England to finally solve the puzzle of Nell’s origins. Shifting back and forth over a span of nearly 100 years, this is a sprawling, old-fashioned novel, as well-cushioned as a Victorian country house, replete with family secrets, stories-within-stories, even a maze and a Dickensian rag-and-bone shop.

And, Muriel Barbery’s The Elegance of the Hedgehog, for August

Description

We are in the center of Paris, in an elegant apartment building inhabited by bourgeois families. Renée, the concierge, is witness to the lavish but vacuous lives of her numerous employers. Outwardly she conforms to every stereotype of the concierge: fat, cantankerous, addicted to television. Yet, unbeknownst to her employers, Renée is a cultured autodidact who adores art, philosophy, music, and Japanese culture. With humor and intelligence she scrutinizes the lives of the building’s tenants, who, for their part, are barely aware of her existence. Then there’s Paloma, a twelve-year-old genius. She is the daughter of a tedious parliamentarian, a talented and startlingly lucid child who has decided to end her life on the sixteenth of June, her thirteenth birthday. Until then she will continue behaving as everyone expects her to behave: a mediocre pre-teen high on adolescent subculture, a good but not an outstanding student, an obedient if obstinate daughter.

Paloma and Renée hide both their true talents and their finest qualities from a world they suspect cannot or will not appreciate them. They discover their kindred souls when a wealthy Japanese man named Ozu arrives in the building. Only he is able to gain Paloma’s trust and to see through Renée’s timeworn disguise to the secret that haunts her. This is a moving, funny, triumphant novel that exalts the quiet victories of the inconspicuous among us.

*     *     *

I have to say I am especially excited about the first of these two books; I have been racing through the Shadow of the Wind just to start it…

*Note to Self
Ah, books and gardening what more could a girl ask for… perhaps a man servant and a latte?