Monday, September 29, 2008
"Pweas take me to music lessons right now? In your van? To the house over there?"
When I told him there were logistical problems (what music lessons, where, with who), he frowned. "You get in the van and drive to the house!"
"Miss Plett you got a tub? You want have a tub right now? With me too?"
I raised at least one eyebrow. "You want to have a bath with me?"
He raised both eyebrows. "No fank you Mrs Plett!"
"The hopsital people is taking a picture of Mommy's baby. Right now."
"Hopsital?" I asked.
He frowned. "No. The HOS-PIT-AL people."
"Miss Plett, you got monsters in your room." Quite emphatically.
"I don't think I do.." I replied.
He laughed. "I don't got any at my house either. But I could be one." (proceeds to roar a lot)
Also the fun thing about two year olds is if you ask them to jump up and down and shout "Please!" when they ask you for a snack, they'll do it.
Also he can carry a tune better than I can.
Aren't you glad I didn't start blogging when I was raising two year olds?
Take a two year old and a dog to the park for a walk.
ETA: If I go silent, I have died from the cuteness. I'm babysitting and working on poetry and S just asked me "Pweas turn the songs on?" and I was taking a few seconds to figure out what he wanted so he helpfully added "La la la la la laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa - wike dat. You wemember?"
He had to wait till I stopped laughing.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Blinds in back of house open because of lovely view.
Neighbours on left have moved back home after renos.
Neighbours on right have attractive young man building deck 2 feet from your kitchen window.
Must wear pants around house today.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Apparently I was going for clinical.
*willing to bet there are no other blog posts with that title. Will wager a nickel.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Females become mature at about 18 months. A very interesting and detailed courtship takes place involving extreme vocalization, a very elaborate and somewhat comical dance, and then after the dance the male showers the female with urine.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
...so I spend the whole day taking out words and adding in words and banging my head against walls both literal and metaphorical and what passes for sane inside my head is shifting and really, by the end of the day, I am convinced that I am completely unable to string two words together in any semblance of coherence so even though things happen that I want to blog about (like yesterday. Wow. Yesterday would have made Mary Poppins sink to the floor sobbing.), I do not have the fortitude to face WORDS by the time my work day is done.
Also, what is a more compelling way to say "High School Reunion" when the poem in question is talking about running into an individual that you'd rather forget because "there's a dangerous quality to your light/layers that swirl through shadow/promise a journey less ordinary/than meek sailing to harbour"? (Flicka, I know you can do this!)0
Off to pick a child up from a sport. I do that a lot. I have the sports acuity of Jello, and yet I have these two satisfying active children who race up and down fields and rinks and score. It's ...lovely, is what it is, and that's the other reason I didn't blog yesterday. Who cares if I dropped the soup and burned the cheese toast and melted the square of chocolate in my pocket and could NOT stop talking to B's poor teacher who really just wanted to put a face to my name and finally went to bed so nothing else could happen? Who cares? Because my kids rock, and my husband grins and winks at me and likes to hear about my day (even if it involved a dentist's bill of $1800 and the dog was so sick of errands she ran and hid when I asked her if she wanted to go for a car ride) and I am BLESSED. It's like being in Fiji and complaining about sand in your shorts. It's like SHUT UP already.
Eek. Almost late. Later kids.
Monday, September 15, 2008
I appreciate that so much that I wanted to make a very public note of it.
Also, my driving sounded worse than it is, as well :) (except the part about the guy drawing numbers in the air because I had slowed down to 45 kph half a block before the playground zone, where I would have to slow down to 30 kph. I'm not so hot at math, but 5 kph difference over half a block equals ...not even time to tie your shoes, if you happen to have left home without tying them, not that I would ever do that.)
Why would someone make only HALF of a queen sized bed? There's no note, reading "Dear Delicate Flower Who is Currently Driving Our Beloved Child to the Bus Stop*: I know how exhausted living with me makes you, so I have kindly left your side of the bed unmade so that you can crawl right back in and get your much-deserved rest."
Alternate theories, anyone?
*why, AP, why? you may ask. Why drive your able-bodied child to the bus stop? So I will tell you - because she is 17 kinds of a sweetheart, and although both her father and I are willing to drive her all the way to school because it is nice to have a bit of time with her in the morning, she chose to take the bus this morning because she has a friend who is taking the bus this morning who is NOT being home-schooled this year for the first time in her life (she's in grade 8) and she thought K might like some company on her first ever bus ride to school. The bus stop K gets on at is several blocks from our house, so I took her to meet K. And it was worth it for the way K's face lit up when she saw us.
Edddditttted to Add: I just made the other half of the bed. It took about 30 seconds. I'm exhausted. Can't even go back to bed now, cause I just made it.
Also, if it was ME, I could understand it, because I am more than capable of making half a bed and forgetting what was I doing on my way around the bed to make the other half, particularly if there are shiny things between me and the other half of the bed. However, the person in question has never lost his car keys, and if he had glasses, he would always know where they are. I'm flummoxed.**
**best reason to blog: opportunity to use the word "flummoxed".
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Thing 1) You might be in Chapters while your daughter is at dance class (one hour dance class half an hour away from your house) and you might find this:
You might turn to your son and exclaim "The big wee hag is back!" and get thee to a cash register p. r. onto.
Thing 2) someone who clearly does not know you very well may leave a comment on your blog that is a bit unpleasant. Whoever it is will not mince words, and you may feel a bit like you've been slapped in the face. You may have many reactions to this. What may bother you the most is that the commenter will not sign his or her name, thinking that that makes them anonymous. And that is the thing that may make you want to respond, because here's something maybe Anonymous doesn't understand:
When you sign yourself Anonymous to a comment like that, you don't become someone I don't know. You become everyone I've ever met and I spend the rest of the night wondering who it is I know that thought speaking to me like that was the right thing to do.
Thing 3) your son may suddenly stand up and go into the kitchen and tell you to stay out, and not let you in until supper is cooked, even though no-one has asked him to cook supper.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
I know I drive you crazy because I do not drive 50 all along the main road that circles our neighbourhood. I know that I have driven you to wild gesticulation and the drawing of the number 50 in the air hoping I am looking in my rear view mirror, and I'm sorry, I really really am.
I'm almost sorry I laughed at you writing "50" in the air like that, but I was doing fine until you started flashing your fingers at me in groups of ten. I didn't count how many times you flashed, actually, because I was looking for the Playground Speed Limit sign.
You don't have to look for it because your Speedy Sense tingles and you slow down. I have no such tingler. What I *do* have, however, that you likely don't, is a depressing collection of speeding tickets from that very playground zone.
It's very far from my house (at least a 3 minute drive). I remember it when I get into my vehicle and then by the time I reach the playground zone, I am talking to someone or dreaming of coffee or wondering if I turned the iron off or trying to figure out if that last line should be "lean in and listen" or just "lean in, listen". It's very busy in my head, and frankly, it's a wonder I can even drive a motorized vehicle without hurting anyone or anything.
I don't really want another speeding ticket from that very spot. The police department has taken to including pamphlets on driving courses in the envelopes they mail the ticket to me with. It's only a matter of time before someone is on my doorstep and I am carried off to a Remedial Traffic Basics course.
And you may not know this, but speeding tickets cost money. I am a writer, self-employed, barely making enough money to send out SASE's for my rejections to come back to me in. Mail that essentially boils down to billing my husband for marrying someone with my brain is harshing the marital mellow, to state things gently. I'm not sure that level of unexpressed frustation is good for his blood pressure. Maybe you can teach him how to gesticulate wildly, although I'm not sure that calmed you down all that much.
And I'm also really really sorry that when we both pulled into the mall parking lot 15 minutes down the road, I was ahead of you, after you passed me like that. That hardly seems fair.
The Woman Who Did Not Get Her License From A Cracker Jack Box, Believe It Or Not
Edited to add:
1. obvious and intentional exaggeration.
2. an extravagant statement or figure of speech not intended to be taken literally, as “to wait an eternity.”
Monday, September 08, 2008
how your skin felt beneath her palms
2.at least she still remembers
the way your skin sang
beneath her palms
3.at least she still remembers
the song of your skin
beneath her palms
4. Umm? and you no longer have a day job? Yikes.
Cast your vote below.
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Blood Brothers, by Rick Acker.
Okay here's the thing. I'm not the world's best book reviewer because I spend hours agonizing over how much of the plot to give away to people who haven't read it yet, and because some day I am going to write a book, and I want to reap what I sow. So if I am giving a blog opinion about a book written by a human being who is still able to read or be read to, you can be sure I liked it.
Here's the other thing. I'm not crazy about legal thrillers, with all the characters and the intricate plot twists and all the thinking. Makes my brain hurt. Give me emotional angst over brain calisthenics any day. Also, I don't like to think about bad guys who do bad stuff. They make me sad and weary and wanting to go Home.
And the other other thing: Blood Brothers is a legal thriller, and I ...loved it. More to the point, it's a Christian legal thriller. Christian legal thriller? you ask. What makes it Christian? Well I'll tell you, but not yet.
Point One: The author is a litigator (I think that's the right term), working in San Francisco. People who have more clue than I do about what happens in a courtroom have said that Rick's courtroom scenes are believable - what I like about them is they're not obscure. There's not so much verbiage that I can't figure out what's going on, and there's a lot of the protagonist (Ben Corbin's) internal dialog as well, so we know not only what he's saying, but what he's thinking, and we see, sometimes rather entertainingly, the difference between his internal and external dialog. As I am perpetually curious about how other people live and what their jobs are like, I LOVED that. I looked forward to the courtroom scenes.
Point Two: The Plot. Intricate and yet accessible. There are at least three separate physical locations, all with their own people, and then a few PI's who Know All thrown in, and yet I did not get lost, and I have a capacity for getting lost that would put many others to shame.
Point Three: The God part. Remember how I said I didn't like reading about bad guys who do bad stuff? I don't, and yet sometimes I even write gut-wrenching poetry about that very thing. I have been a few rounds in prayer about this very thing ("But God! It will make people SAD!") and what I have come to is this: Bad stuff exists. God is the antidote. So no matter what I write, however negative, to me, it is not finished until there is at least some small redemption to be found.
Rick's book - wow. I got to the end of the plot, all threads tied up neatly, and there will still several pages left. Why? You'll need to read it for yourself, but those few final pages are what lifted this book for me, out of the legal thriller genre in the arena of Christian thriller. Instead of walking away feeling like I'd been peeking into the seamy underbelly of the world we live in, I walked away thinking about the way God changes lives and hearts.
So go get your own copy, is my advice.
Friday, September 05, 2008
2. I have yet to find something that doesn't taste better with a touch of Montana's Apple Butter BBQ sauce on it.
3. Hot lunches in those nifty new thermoses are all very fine, but who is going to eat the Mac'n'cheese that doesn't fit in the Thermos? (although - I could stir in a can of tuna and a bit of BBQ sauce - bet that would taste great!)
4. List of things that dog will eat includes metal miniblinds (yes, she ATE them, she wasn't just chewing them) and whole elastic bands but apparently does NOT include orange peppers.
5. Not liking orange peppers doesn't stop her from begging for them while I'm eating them, however.
6. Apparently my ankle is a bad sprain. 4 weeks after it happened, what that means is I feel like a big faker sitting around doing nothing so I get up and do something and then I'm in pain for the rest of the day/night.
7. Why do people buy 24 lb paper, TECHNO BOY??!?!
8. I hate clothes. Working from home is ideal for me. Working from home in front of living room window is not ideal for me. On the one hand, I can see anyone who comes to ring the front doorbell - on the other hand, hmm. Perhaps 2 pm is too late in the day to still be sporting morning hair and wearing a nightgown 3 sizes too big.
9. Didn't know they made them that big, did you?
10. Speaking of nightgowns, I just threw out my favourite one. It was a bit of a nightmare by now, having seen its better days long long before the children started school, but I really really liked it.
11. I don't exaggerate, I remember big.
As you were.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Seriously, what kind of a baby cries on her kid's first day of GRADE FOUR, I wanted to know on Tuesday. Then on Wednesday was A's first day of Grade Eight, and I had my answer. The same kind of person who cries as her long and lean beauty dashes across the street in her brand new first day of school clothes, headed for Grade Eight.
Also, I've spent most of this week stuffing about doing nothing so today I am going to write, yes I am. I am dressed and I cooked myself a lovely breakfast and made myself a coffee (remind me to tell you about that little fiasco sometime) and I'm sitting at my kitchen table instead of lolling about on a loveseat - in short, I am trying to tell my subconscious to PAY ATTENTION, WE ARE WORKING HERE.
I'll let you know how that goes :)