My Earth Day Cupcake Disaster

    Happy Earth Day!  I'm going to level with you on this one, I'm not really sure how I feel about Earth Day.  I'm conflicted on this one.  I feel like we should be making strides to protect our resources without needing a reminder.  I'm not a granola eating tree hugger, but anyone with any kind of intelligence can see that we are on a bad course and it needs to change.  It's all pretty much common sense, and yet sometimes I wonder how common sense is.  Now that I've had my rant....



    It's no secret that I am addicted to Pinterest.  As I scroll through those wonderful bright and beautiful pictures, my mind soars with all of the possibilities.  I imagine myself as more talented that I truly am as I look at those pictures.  One of those pictures was of "Earth Day" cupcakes.  They were fun and adorable, and I knew that my kids would feel like big shots if they took them in to share with their class.

    I started by making my cake mixes (I made 2 French Vanilla), and added blue food colouring gel to one bowl, and green food colouring gel to the other.  The colours popped.  I smiled, and congratulated myself on that plaque that the kids would soon be having made, "Mother Of The Year".

    I scooped green blue batter into the cupcake wrappers.  I then poured green cake batter into a mustard bottle.  Again I congratulated myself, but this time on my genius.  That smile fell away when I realized that I had no clue what the "earth" looked like.  Oh who would check, I just started making shapes.  The colours looked great, and very earth like.

    I popped those bad boys into the oven and set the timer for 20 minutes.  While I waited for that batch to cook, I repeated the whole batter process again.  I was so excited to see my master pieces when they came out of the oven.  In my head I imagined the kids in the class all congratulating Riley, Rowan and Grace on their Mother's genius.  The kids were all smiling as they received my accolades.  They were thinking how lucky they were to have such a great Mom (hey it's my fantasy I can make the kids think unrealistic things if I want to).

    DING!  I took a deep breath as I slowly opened the oven door.  I peered in, that stupid smile on my face fell off quickly.  I had forgotten that when the batter cooks, the mixture changes colours and darkens.  My "earth" looked more like paint splatter, yucky coloured paint splatter.  I kind of wanted to chuck that tin full of traitors against the wall, but I kept my cool and set them down.  Well they don't look the way they did in that beautiful picture that was posted on Pinterest, but let's face it kids would eat dog poop if it had icing on it.  I soldiered on.

    So there you have photographic proof.  Not everything that you see on the internet is true.  It turns out that I am not Martha Stewart.  My Mother Of The Year Award will just have to wait.  The kids were pretty happy to take cupcakes in for their class, even if they did look weird.



So here is that part in the show where I tell you that I am in a contest for Mom's of Multiples, and I really want to make the Top 25 (very prestigious) and so I need your help.  If you could just hit that little pink circle, then scroll down and hit the little pink heart to vote for me, I would be most obliged.

Game Night - Time I am Never Getting Back

    When I was a kid I loved games.  My parents were not "games" people, in fact I am pretty sure that they hated games.  I enjoyed playing board games with Gabe.  We would put a little Grace to bed and the pull out the snacks and the board games, it was good fun.  For some reason the fuddy duddy has slipped in and I am not so much a game fan anymore.  Perhaps it is more the fact that I know what's in store for me when I play games with the kids.  Someone's going to have a temper tantrum and someone's going to accuse someone of cheating and someone is going to stomp away from the table (usually me).  Games at our house are not a good idea, well at least that is my opinion.

    This year for Christmas Gracie asked for some games.  "Oh No I thought".  She asked for the game "Logos", she will never know them, it will just frustrate her.  Needless to say she really wanted it for Christmas and that is exactly what she got.  Since the second that she unwrapped it she has been harassing us to play it.  The plan was to put a movie on for the other kids and just the three of us would play. All of the kids really wanted to play ... mistake number one!

Grace just couldn't take it anymore!

    The game began with Elly singing "Santa Claus is Coming To Town", at the top of her little lungs.  Apparently she only knows the words "Santa Claus is coming to town." and she sings it like Bruce Springsteen.  I thought I might loose my mind.  Riley would only speak using a combination French / Italian accent (did I mention that it was funny at first, but got old very quickly.  Did I mention that she did it for the whole game?).  Both Rowan and Riley were so excited that they could not keep still in their seats, they just kept dancing around.  At one point Elly was not only singing Santa Claus is coming to town, but she was making our game pieces kiss and talk to each other, you know instead of what the place holders are supposed to do... hold our place.

    There were parts of the game that the kids were being so loud that you could not hear the question.  When it was Rowan's turn to read a question, when the question was answered he would do this crazy "awoooga" sound.  He kept switching it up, and no one knew if  "Awooga" meant they had given the correct answer or the incorrect answer.  He would then be disgusted that no one knew.

    There were parts of that two hours that I considered slamming my face in the side door, just so that I could quit playing.  There were times that I honestly thought I might loose my mind.  At the end of it, with all of the chaos and craziness it was a lot of fun.  Most of the fun was poking fun at each other.  At one point Christopher laughed so hard I thought he might need CPR.  

    Will I schedule a once a week games night?  No, no I will not, I am not sure what little sanity that I have left could take it.  Maybe I will be more open to family games.  Yes, there will be a guaranteed temper tantrum (maybe from me), but there are also guaranteed gut laughs (sometimes from the temper tantrum).  We love to watch movies together, but watching movies is passive.  When we play games, we are all together, we are talking and laughing we are all interacting.  Perhaps I should be more open to games... I guess we will see. 

Curse You Evil Furby!

    My three youngest really, really wanted Furbies for Christmas.  That is all they could talk about leading up to Christmas was how all of their Furbies could play together.  One day  before Christmas break Grace came home from school and told us all that her friend's little sister has a Furby and it turned evil...seed planted.  After that story, Riley kept saying "I really want Santa to bring me a Furby... I hope it doesn't turn evil".

    Christmas morning came.  The three little kids all came tearing down the the stairs (you will notice that I said "little kids", because Grace is setting the stage for her teen years and would sleep until 2:00 p.m. if we let her).  You could hear the hoops of delight when they saw their Furbies.  At that point if you had asked them what their favourite gift was... hands down "FURBY"!  Later in the afternoon Gracie downloaded a Furby app onto her ipod. Apparently they can feed their Fuby using this app.  Riley was so excited, that is until Gracie being the awesome big sister that she is fed Riley's Furby hot sauce.  At this point I have to say that were I Grace I would have been tempted to do this myself.  So a moment later I hear screaming.
"Mommy, Gracie fed my Furby hot sauce and turned it EVIL!"  I used my best calming voice "I'm sure it's not evil."  "Mommy there are flames in it's eyes and it's talking in a freaky voice."  Sure enough that stupid Furby had electronic flames in it's eyes and was doing an evil laugh... just what I needed.
    The hysteria continued on through the night "What if it stays evil?"  Being the awesome mother that I am, my reply was "I'm pretty sure that your evil Furby will not try to bite you in throat."  Just when I thought all of the hub ub was over there would be a renewed "My Fuby's evil.  If it doesn't turn nice can I get a new one?" "What will I do if it stays evil?"  Honestly if I heard the word "Furby" one more time I thought I would loose it.  Then the unthinkable happened Rowan came tearing in "Riley's Furby turned my Furby evil!"  sure enough it had those creepy eyes and the creepy voice.
    So now I have three kids afraid of their new expensive Christmas toys.  Elly kept her Furby upstairs in her room afraid that her Furby will catch the evil from the other two, but in actuality she was just plain afraid of her stupid Furby.  Riley and Rowan were frantically shouting "I love you" to those stupid toys.  I'm not sure how much more I can take before I chuck those toys out into the snow bank.
    Today we were all supposed to be going to Acton to celebrate Christmas with Christopher's family.  It's a nice chance to catch up with all of his sisters and his uncle and aunt and of coarse his Mom.  We have a big dinner and exchange gifts, it's nice.  Unfortunately Elly went to the The Department Of Germ Warfare school this week, and she once again has caught some horrendous bug.  I feel like North Korea would do well to save their money on chemical warfare, and would be better served to just send their South Korean enemies to Elly's kindergarten classroom.  For the last three days baby girl has been down and out and has spent most of her time lying on the couch.  Yesterday she was able to open her gifts, and then she passed out on the couch.  This morning she was still couch surfing and so it was decided that she and I would not be going to Acton.
    Christopher and I got everything ready to go and he packed everything in the car.  He and I ran through our check list of what had been packed and what still needed to be packed.  We decided that the only thing still needing packed were the kids.  It was at that point that Riley's evil Furby worked it's evil magic on me.  The trip to Acton is a three hour drive.  Those Furbies never shut up, all they do is speak gibberish all day.  "Riley and Rowan" I shout out.  "You should take your Furbies with you.  I read that if you want them to turn back to being nice, you need to talk them nicely and sing to them.  They really need to be loved."   I could only imagine the electronic fire in my eyes.  Christopher's eyes were beginning to tear up at the thought of three hours in the car with the three big kids and two evil Furbies. Bahahahaha

    I would like to know what brainiac decided that Furbies should be able to turn evil.  What's next a real Chucky Doll?  Mental note, don't let the kids watch Chucky.

Tales of A Not So Talented Domestic Goddess.

    You may notice that I never refer to myself as a "housewife".  There is a reason for that, I'm honest.  I am a terrible housekeeper (just ask anyone who has ever been to my house).  It goes beyond messy.  I like to watch "Hoarders" because it makes me feel better about my housekeeping skills, or lack there of.  I have a list of excuses the length of my arm for reasons that I "can't" clean.  Some of them are really good, and the odd one is actually believable!
    I hate that panicked feeling when someone calls to say that they are dropping over.  It is at that point that I see the house the way it truly looks.  Ordinarily I will look around and see it as "messy", I become immune to the actuality of it.  The waves of dirty panic come over me when I "have" to clean.  Cold sweat, dripping down my back, my eyes huge and crazed, oh it's not good.  I begin frantically grabbing items and throwing them into my bedroom.  God help the kids if they get in my way.  By the time I am done my bedroom is more like a hazardous waste site, and opening the door comes at a risk.  I begin pacing like a wild animal, trying to see the house the way others might see it.  I then realize that I am playing a loosing game.  As I am cleaning (well cleaning is not really the word I would use, it's more like re-distributing) I am coming up with my lists of reasons why the house looks like it does.  I can get pretty creative.
    I consider myself to be a fairly intelligent person (some might argue with me about this one).  If every time you opened your front door you got hit in the face with a mallet, might you not start using your back door?  Not me, every time I would be surprised that I got hit in face with the mallet.  I make myself a promise that I will never be so humiliated again, I will be proactive and keep the house clean.  I concoct elaborate plans as to how I will achieve that.  I put more time into my elaborate plans than I do into the cleaning, and ...humiliation!
    Do you think that a club exists for dirty pigs?  If not, maybe I could put one together, I could plan meetings and make fancy badges, come up with a cool hand shake... all the while putting off doing my housework, yes this could work.

Finally, Fire #2!

    Although we were slow to make the beginning of summer fun, we are going gang busters now.  Grace's schedule did not co-operate, nor did the weather at the beginning of the summer.  We had the hottest, driest summer that I can ever remember.  We had a fire ban because we had one small rainfall for the whole month of July.  Fire ban meant no outdoor fires, a summer staple for us.

    Finally mother nature co-operated and brought us rain, glorious rain.  Last night for only the second time this summer, we had a fire.  The smell of the wood burning was heavenly.  It's funny but for me that is the smell of summer.  I love having a time lapse and then wearing a sweater that I have warn to a fire, and that amazing smoke smell that has woven itself into your sweater.  To me this is like an olfactory memory book.  The smell takes you back to that relaxing time, sharing giggles with the kids.

    Last night we may have had some of our best laughs ever.  It is part of our backyard fire tradition to go around the fire and ask each other questions.  Usually the questions are recycled i.e. no one thinks of a new one and we spend the time answering the same questions that we have just answered last week-end.  Last night saw for the most part a fresh batch of questions, most of them were crazy, but they were new questions.  The favourite question of the night, and by far the funniest answers came from Rowan.  He asked "If you had to hang out with one cartoon cereal mascot who would you hang out with?  Your choices are ...

Snap, Krackle, and Pop; Toucan Sam, or Tony the Tiger.  We laughed so hard at everyone's responses that I was expecting a call from one of our neighbours telling us to quiet down!  My response to this question...

I would not like to spend time with Snap, Krackle and Pop because they seem hyperactive, and I hate that.  Toucan Sam seems like he might be a bossy know it all, and everyone knows that I am a bossy know it all, and we would clash.  That leaves Tony the Tiger, and I would ask him to follow me around, point at me and say "Sheeeeeee's GREAT!"  I think it would really help my self esteem.  After my answer, and we moved onto to other peoples questions and answers, every so often Rowan would belt out "Sheeeeeee's GREAT!", and point to me.  This would throw us all back into hysterical laughter, which only caused to make him do it more often (I'm pretty sure Rowan is going to wind up being a stand up comedian when he grows up).

No we were not camping, we just still have not
taken down the tent from the back yard camp out.

    The other really fun aspect of our fire last night were glow sticks.  My friend came for a visit last night and she brought everyone glow sticks.  The kids had a blast.  There were tons of lightsaber inspired battles.  Many of those battles involved the biggest kid... Christopher.  

    We had a really fun night, and all it cost was a bag of wood.  There were no ipods, no televisions, no phone calls, nothing to distract us from just being together.  We didn't need anything except for each other.  Don't get me wrong, the whole illusion quickly dissolved when we came through the doors.  We were then assaulted with requests for snacks, and could they watch t.v. in their beds?  For that two hour period that we  sat around the backyard fire, no one else in the world existed.  We were surrounded by a chorus of frogs and crickets, only broken by the snapping sound of the logs, oh and lots and lots of giggles. 

The Case Of The Stinky Piano... Two many Pianos

    For a number of years my husband wanted a piano.  I had no objections to this, I don't play, but I would like the kids to learn.  I want to raise well rounded kids, and I feel like the arts are a big part of that (you notice that you never hear me singing praises for anything physical).  My cousin called me two years ago and asked if we would like to buy their piano.  I jumped at it, especially since they were kind enough to accept a ridiculous payment plan.  We found ourselves with a little piano.

    More times than I would care to have heard, I would hear my kids thumping on the piano, I mean playing the piano.  Christopher taught Grace how to play.  It was beautiful to see the two of them sitting head to head while my husbands huge hands directed Grace's small hands onto the correct keys.  Often I would come home from being out with the kids and find that Christopher had come home before us.  There he would be at the piano, a serene look on his face as he played.  That little piano fit perfectly into our home, not just in the case of space, but in the case of making our house a home.

    Last year our next door neighbour became very ill.  Her daughter had to place her in a nursing home.  That meant we would have a new neighbour.  One day when her daughter was there cleaning up her Mom's house she asked if we would be interested in purchasing her Mom's full sized piano.  Christopher's eyes became large.  He wanted that piano!  I did not!  I liked our little piano.  It fit it's little space perfectly.  Christopher began to harass, I mean explain why the large piano was better.  "There is no point in the kids learning to play a piano that did not have all of the keys!"  That was his first argument. "But I like our little piano".  There was no point, I knew it was all over, we would have the full sized piano.  I decided to play my last card, "If we can sell our piano, we can buy Pat's".  Agreed.  

Thankfully my stipulation proved a great bargaining chip for me.  I had no idea how difficult it is to sell a piano.  I was not sad about not selling our piano, or getting a much bigger one that would not fit into our tiny little house.  I was selling the piano for what we had paid for it, seems simple.  

    Everyone is talking about kijji.ca.  It's a free site that allows you to list items that you would like to sell.  It's pretty easy to set up.  The only thing we had close to an offer was someone who offered us less than half of what we were asking, and wanted delivery.  That was a NO, but perhaps I acted to quickly with my NO.  A year later, we still had my little adorable piano.  It looked like that was how it was going to stay, oh and I like that.  It allowed me to come out smelling like roses!  I was still the awesome wife who begrudgingly agreed to the new, much larger piano.  It was not my fault if people don't want to buy small adorable pianos.

    Last week our old neigbour's daughter was at the house.  She was finishing up the last bit of cleaning before they put the house up for sale.  She thanked me for keeping an eye on the house, and for being such a great neighbour to her mom.  I was humble, and told her that's just what neighbours did, no big deal.  It was around that time that my beautiful stroke of luck failed me.  "I know that you guys were wanting to buy the piano, but you had to sell yours first.  We would really like you to have it.  I know a local lady who would take your smaller piano, like a trade." she said.  My plan lay there on the floor, dead.  "Oh that is so kind of you, are you sure?"(please say no, please say no).  "It will just be nice to see Mom's piano being used!"  When Christopher came home he was over the top delighted, I was not!

    The big day came.  Christopher asked his bosses to help him move the piano.  I took the kids out to the park so that they would not be in the way (o.k. the truth is that my house was not as clean as it should have been to have Christopher's bosses see it.  It just pretended to be a nice lady and take the kids out so as to avoid embarrassment).  I came home from the park with three happy little kids, only to discover two pianos in my tiny living room, one of which stunk very, very much.  There really are no words to describe how bad the new piano stinks.  The closest I can come is take an antique that has been dosed in nicotine, and old urine, and a heavy dose of mildew... yup it smells that good!  So apparently the other lady had not been consulted, and by no way shape or form did she want our piano.  So now I have a piano that smells so much that it permeates through the entire house, leaving the living room uninhabitable.  I have a second adorable piano, that is on the other wall.  The kid's will only play the non-stinky piano.

    I poured vinegar into one cup and baking soda into another cup and placed them on top of the piano. I then took an entire box of dryer sheets and covered every spot of the piano with them.  The effect.... NONE!  Now I have to start the whole stupid Kijjii thing all over again!  Soooooo if anyone knows how to de-stink a piano, I could really use your help.  Also, if anyone is looking for a slightly used husband, he and the piano are available.

Another Stinking Bat In The HOUSE!

    I lay awake in bed last night thinking about today's blog.  I thought I might write about the adorable little tree frog we found.  I lay there thinking about what I would write.  I then began to read my book.  For a while now lots of lady's that I know have been telling me that I have to read "Outlander", and warned me that  I would not be able to put it down.  I began reading Outlander, and as predicted I have become addicted.  So it was pretty late last night when my eyes began to droop.  I turned out the light.  I had only just turned out the light, when my bladder yelled at me.  I stood up, turned the light back on, and then I heard the strangest noise.  It sounded like it came from the wall.  It was a flapping noise, then I looked up.  It was a frigging bat (I did not think "frigging", I thought another word that starts with "F", but is decidedly unfamily oriented.).  I then jumped in bed, pulled the covers over my head, and started punching my sleeping husband and screaming.
    My husband has been working a lot lately.  People are dying left and right, and they all choose to die early in the mornings for some reason (just a little black funeral director humour for you).  My poor exhausted husband had been in a deep sleep just before my screaming and punching woke him.  I think I might have been screaming "bat", but there is a really good chance I was screaming gibberish.  During this time, that stupid bat is still circling around my room, like something from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.  At this point my husband who is not great in a crisis situation to begin with jumps out of the bed all disoriented, when he realizes what I have been screaming about.  He then begins to shout obscenities.
    All the while my husband is spazing out, I am shouting things at him from under my covers.  THANK GOD I had pulled the covers over my head, because it was shortly after that the bat landed on my face.  This set Christopher over the edge (I did not much care for it myself).  He is still at this point really disoriented and he starts shouting "It's on your face, it's on your face!"  I know it's on my face, I can see it's silhouette through my quilt.  So today I can see that it would have been really funny.  It was not unlike the scene in Christmas Vacation where Chevy Chase is running around with the squirrel on his back.  So I have a bat on my face, and a husband who is acting like he might be on drugs (for the record he's not on drugs... well I don't think).  I am waiting for my husband in his panic to hit me in the face with a tennis racket in an effort to kill that bat.  I am waiting for it to come, and yet powerless to stop it, it is at that point that I begin to pray.  I'm not sure if I was praying that bat wouldn't eat my face, or that my husband wouldn't rearrange my face.
    I think I should at this point in the story share with you that my husband is quite tall.  At 6 feet 4 inches, he  is not all that far from the top of the ceiling where our unwanted guest is flapping around.  At some point the bat flew off my face.  Christopher started yelling "Where did it go?"  At that point I pulled my head out from underneath the covers, only to discover that apparently the bat that was sitting on my face had pooped on my quilt, and that said poop was now on my face.  I decided to brave the bat attack and scrub my face until there was no skin left.  When I was satisfactorily disinfected, I ran like they do in horror films back into my room.  I then shoved my husband with all my strength out of our room and shut the door.  "What if the bat is still in our room?" he asked through the closed door.  ""You'll know because of my frantic screaming!  Now catch that frigging bat!" (I didn't say frigging.  For that matter I said quite a bit of that bad "F" word that night).
    I sat bolt upright in my room, listening for the "caught it!"  I felt like if I just sat there bolt upright, it might give me super human hearing.  There was profuse swearing.  Christopher shouted words that I did not even know existed, and strung together other words that I did know even went together.  After what seemed like hours, my husband staggered into our bedroom.  He was covered in a thin layer of sweat, and looked like he had just been in a war.  "I caught it, and you'll be happy to know I released it outside!"  He then fell into the bed, and fell instantly asleep.  I was too wired.  I picked up my book again, listing the whole time for more bat attacks.
    I don't know how those stupid bats are getting into the house, but by the God, I will (what that really means is that Christopher will, because one bat sitting on my face is good enough for a life time).   It turns out that bats are great outside, they eat thousands of mosquitos.  In the house... not so awesome!

The Story Of How Elly Broke My Nose...

It's hard to believe that someone who looks so angelic
could inflict such damage with the back of her head.

    I have been promising you two stories for a few days now.  The story of how Elly broke my nose, and the story about the cast on my nose.  I will share the first story with you today, and you can stay tuned tomorrow for the second story (I know cliff hanger right).  This is not just any story, no, it's a story that has intrigue, and adventure... o.k. it's a slice of my everyday life.  This story takes place about two years ago....

    As you may recall, my husband is a funeral director.  He finds his job to be very personally fulfilling.  Because he works for a small family owned company he is on call literarily 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  It is not unusual for him to work a 9 hour day, get home for an hour, and be called out again for several hours.  At first it was very difficult to get used to this.  When he goes to bed at night, it is not uncommon for him to receive a 3 a.m. call to go out.  After 10 years, I do not like it any better, but I am accustomed to it.  There, I have set the stage for the first part of the story.
    On this particular early summer evening, Christopher had been working non-stop.  I think it may have been like a 60 hour work week he had put in.  He had left for work before I woke, and had arrived home from work at about 8 p.m.  The kids had been really bad for some reason that day (maybe it just felt like extra bad because I had been a single parent that week).  I was at my complete wits end when Christopher came home that day.  He had been on a Toronto run.  When he finally stumbled into the house he was speaking like Spider-man "Don't feel so well, got to lie down".  With that he, without further speech went into our bedroom and collapsed for the night.
    I was so frustrated.  I put the kids to bed, and they fought me all the way.  I lay with Elly to get her to sleep, she would not settle.  She thrashed, and kicked and fought me.  "Want Dadda, Want Dadda!!!" She then brought her head back as hard as she could into my nose.  I just lay there, in white hot pain, seeing those little white dots in that darkness.  When the white hot pain slightly subsided I cried and slid out of the bed, trying not to move my head.  "You are on your own little girl", I angrily told her.  I took some tylenol 3, and finished up all of my "have to's".  By the time I was able to climb into the bed it was 1 a.m.  I was not a very happy lady, and my nose kind of filled my face, and my black eyes were beginning to develop.
    I had just dozed off when Christopher woke me moaning.  "My stomach is killing me." he said.  Now I am not trying to make excuses for my less than compassionate response, but I feel I should include some history at this point.  For as long as I have known Christopher he has suffered from stomach problems.  I have rushed him to emergency dozens of times with him doubled over.  In the end they send him home with some strong painkillers and no answers.  He is super dopey for a few days, and then he is right as rain.  This has been going on for twenty years.  Every time it is the same thing.
Back to the story.... so I had just dozed, he woke me moaning.  I, being the compassionate loving wife (with a nose that was by this point completely spread across her face) rolled over and said in a not so loving voice..."Well if it's that bad, maybe you should go to the hospital."  He decided that he should, it was approximately 2 a.m.  As he was leaving I shouted after him "Drive carefully", which sounds like a nice thing to say, but not in the way that I said it.  I then fell asleep.
     I woke up to the phone ringing at 8 a.m.  It was Christopher, I was expecting the "I just have to wait for the drugs to wear off, and I'll be home.", instead I got a groggy "They are prepping me for surgery, it's my appendix".  My response "OH MY GOD, I'll be there as soon as I can get there!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
I then made a frantic call to my parents for Mom to come and watch the kids, and for Dad to drive me to the hospital.   I got there just before they took him into surgery.  His response on seeing me
"Oh my God, your nose!"  They then took him into surgery.  Apparently if he had not gone in when he did his appendix would have ruptured.  It was in really terrible shape when they took it out.
    That is the story of how Elly broke my nose, and I was a royal _itch to my husband.  My nose healed to look like the letter "C", and I was SUPER nice to my husband for a week (it wore off again after that).  Stay tuned tomorrow for the story of my surgery.

Bats In The Bedroom - No this is not an erotic story....oh no, not erotic.

    The kids just did not want to settle last night.  There were many calls for drinks, can you fix my blankets, any stall tactic they could think of really.  Consequently Christopher and I were later getting to bed (we need some alone time together before we can go to bed).  Christopher has that gift that I would love, as soon as his head hits the pillow he's out like a light.  I was reading a good book.  It was late, but the world was a good place at that moment in time.  I heard some rustling in the kitchen or living room.  I thought maybe something was near the open kitchen window.  I didn't think anything of it until I saw the bat fly into our bedroom.
    I tell Riley that I like bats, but I am a liar liar pants on fire.  I like bats... in pictures.  On Christopher and my very first date we went to the ROM.  They had a bat cave exhibit.  I wanted no part of it.  At that point in time I was much, much smaller and so he picked me up and began to carry me into the exhibit.  He thought that was hilarious, until I went mental.  I think he might have scars still from that date.  My point, I am not a real fan of live bats in my house!
    So this bat is flying around my bedroom and it looks HUGE.  I start squealing, a high pitched squeal, and simultaneously shaking Christopher to wake him.  I then pull the covers up over top of my head (they say that bats won't get caught in your hair because they have this complex sonar system, but I don't trust "them").  My husband is a good man, he is an amazing father, and an amazing husband, be he is not your man in a panic situation.  I think that it is safe to say that he did not miss his calling as a fire fighter or an ambulance attendant, he's probably better after the fact (remember he's a funeral director... they are already dead).  So I'm under the covers squealing and Christopher is sitting bolt upright in bed, then he sees the bat and for some reason he starts jumping on me (I can't see why, because my head is under the covers... remember).  I am shouting at him in a muffled tone to quit jumping on me and to get the @@$&$&$ bat!  I'm not sure what he was thinking but in a panic he hit the bat with a pillow.  " I think I killed it" he says.  "What did you use to kill it with?" I ask.  " A pillow".  So now I'm going to have to throw out that pillow and I'm pretty sure that it's my new Fieldcrest one.  "It's not dead" he shouts "I'm going to go and get my shoe." "What the Hell are you going to do with your shoe?" meanwhile I know full well what that idiot is going to do with his shoe.  I am picturing bat guts all over my floor, up the sides of my bed, the wall.  I scream out from under the covers "OH NO YOU DON"T!!!!!" "Get a small box and throw it over him." ( I'm just barking out orders from under the safety of my covers.)  "Yeah, and then what am I supposed to do?" he says in a disgusted tone.  "We'll get some card-stock, or the dustpan and slide it underneath.  Then you can take it outside and let it go".  To me this plan was brilliant, fool proof.  He found a shoe-box and set the plan into motion.  "I'm going to need something to slide under it" he says in that disgusted tone.  "I'll help, but that bat had better not get out of there, or I swear to GOD...." I peak my head out only to see the bat's little head peaking out of a small hole in the box.  I quickly return to the blanket fort.  "NOW WHAT?" my husband who is by day a very even tempered, good man is slowly turning to the dark-side.
    I don't know where the tennis racket came from.  Perhaps unknown to me Christopher keeps it stashed under his side of the bed, so that he can sneak out for midnight tennis matches, but the next time I peeked out from under the safety of my blankest he had the bat trapped under the tennis racket.  It looked much smaller when it was not flying around the room.  I felt sorry for it, it was kind of cute, until it started making clicking noises at me.  I ran and grabbed a garbage bag, "What am I supposed to do with this?" my husband asks.  "Just put it over the top, then let go of the racket and it will fly up into the bag."  "That won't work!" "Oh it will work, just trust me."  I will be honest, I was not really as confident in my plan as I let on.  The one thing that I have learned living in a family of panicers is to never show weakness.  You have to pretend to be confident, even if you're not, or else it's game over!  The next thing I knew Christopher had the garbage bag wrapped around the tennis racket.  It looked like a hillbilly Christmas gift.
    After the tennis racket had been wrapped like a Christmas gift, Christopher starts shouting at me "Open the door, how am I supposed to hold this and get out."  Last night was not my husband's finest hour.  I admit that if he had not been holding a garbage bag with a bat in it, I may not have been so pleasant.  I ran obediently and opened the door, and then propped open the screen door.  I then ran like my pants were on fire back to my hiding space under the covers.
    Mission accomplished, the bat was no longer our house guest.  It's pretty funny today in the day light, with no bat flying around the room.

A Happy Birthday Message To Aunt Ella (She's Turning 100)

Uncle Alistair, Papa, Nana, Aunt Jean, Uncle Johnny, Uncle Bruce and My Mom
It think this must have been taken shortly after they came to Canad

    My mother came to Canada on a huge boat when she was 4 years old.  My Papa had come over 6 months earlier with my Aunt Jean (she was 16).  He was laying the ground work for them, finding work, finding them a home.  Remember these were the days before Skype, before computer or internet, a time when it nearly cost a weeks pay to make a transatlantic phone call.  Nana left the only home she had ever known to sail across a huge ocean to the great unknown.  She left Scotland to make a new life, what she hoped was for a better life.  My Mom was only 4, Uncle Bruce would have been 9 or 10, Uncle Johnny 11 or 12, and Uncle Alistair 14 or 15.  Perhaps Uncle Alistair was old enough to be a help to Nana, I'm not sure.  Nana would have been younger than me when she came ( I always put things into what it would be like for me).  I try to think about what was going on in her head as she watched her country, her Mother and Father, her brothers and sisters fade like a dream.  I try to imagine myself making that HUGE trip with my four kids all alone, without Christopher's help.  When I think about it, my Nana who has always been my hero, becomes even more of a hero.
    I come from a long line of people who have achieved old age.  Meaning that if I change my junk food ways I might live long enough to see great- grandkids.  My Nana lived to 82 years.  Her father, my great-grandfather was nearly 100, or so the story goes.  This May, my Great- Aunt Ella will turn 100.  Aunt Ella is my Nana's younger sister.  From the time I could remember family stories I have been told of my Aunt Ella's great beauty.  When I say great beauty, I don't just mean physical, I mean her inner beauty.  When my Mom talks of Aunt Ella she always gets a little peaceful smile on her face (I'm not sure if she knows this).  I met her once, my Aunt Ella, when I was 3.  I remember it in memory snap shots.  I do not have a running movie memory.  I remember that she was nice, but I was 3.
    The beauty of the age we live in is technology.  Technology has allowed us to be in touch with people around the world with minimal effort and maximum joy.  Simply by turning on my computer I am able to be in touch with my relatives across the ocean.  Across that ocean which took my Nana and Mother away from all of them.  Thank you Facebook!  Because of Facebook I know have the privilege of knowing my cousins in Scotland.  I even get to Skype my cousin Patricia (who is really nice and has a bit of a look of my Nana).  It is because of this technology and newly found family that Mom received an email from her cousin David.  Would we like to send a greeting for Aunt Ella's birthday party?  It's not every day someone turns 100, of coarse we would.
    It seemed like such a lovely and simple idea.  "Mom, we could send her a video greeting!"  It would just take a few minutes, famous last words.  Mom and Dad came over and we cleaned the area that would be caught on film (no one is going to accuse me of being a clean freak).  We placed everyone, set the video camera on the tripod.  We sat, ready to go.  Mom wanted the kids to say "Happy Birthday from Canada", and then we would all sing Happy Birthday to Aunt Ella.  So sweet, so simple.  The camera was rolling, everything was ready... until I happened to glance at my husband. There he sat, dead panning the camera, poker straight, perfectly still.  He just sat there unmoving, like it was a photo we were taking.  Not just that, for some reason that is so completely unknown to me in every single picture that I have of him, he feels the need to stick out his lower jaw in all of his pictures (not unlike Bubbles from the Trailer Park Boys).  I took one look at him, and that was it, I was in hysterics.  Unfortunately after I have given in to one batch of hysterics, I'm a lost cause.  Every single time we tried again, I would peel into laughter.  I would stop, go rinse my face, get myself together.  "Are we ready now?" Christopher would ask me in a slightly irritated tone. "Oh I'm ready" I would tell him.  I was ready, I swear I was ready, and then I would go into hysterics again.  As I went into hysterics, my mother was helpless not to follow.  Mom and I spent most of our "face time" in peels of laughter.
    It took an hour to get salvageable footage.  Sadly the only footage we could use was not excellent, but merely passable.  It was near the end of the hour.  At that point my eyes were all puffy, my nose was a nice shade of purple.  Our family in Scotland will be worried about poor wee Katrina's daughter and her drinking problem ( you know because of the puffy eyes and purple nose).  We have edited to the best of our abilities (that's not saying a lot).  It's ready to go to Scotland.  If nothing else, it provided me with the most laughter I have had in months.

Happy Birthday Aunt Ella!

The above video was not sent to Scotland, it is a blooper real.

Picking Our Own Oranges!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Every year for the last 15 years we have gone to Campbell's Orchards in Prince Edward County and picked our own apples.  It is a family tradition that we love.  There is something to be said for eating an apple that has just been picked that second.  We have not missed a year yet.  We love it so much that 7 years ago we planted an Empire Apple tree in our back yard.  5 years ago we planted a Macintosh Apple tree in beside it.
    How could we go to Florida and not pick oranges?  As you enter the Florida Welcome Centre they hand out free glasses of orange juice (of course when we arrived it was on a Sunday, so they did not have samples).  Oranges are synonymous with Florida.  Having said all of this, try to get someone in Florida to tell you where you can pick some.  Every single person we asked had that same blank face and replied "I have no idea".  In the end I found a place online just up from Orlando called "Showcase of Citrus".  This "pick your own" place boasts over 50 different types of citrus.  I sat in the car as we pulled up clapping my hands with excitement like I was 3.  When we were there they were finishing picking grapefruit, and valencia oranges as well as tangerines.
    We picked valencia oranges.  I was so excited.  As you leave the little store there are stacks of what look like lacrosse rackets at the door.   Apparently these are what you use to pick the tall oranges.  In the apple orchard they use ladders.  The first thing that I noticed as a skipped, yes you read that correctly, I skipped like a little girl, was the smell.  Growing up my mother wore orange blossom perfume.  For me the smell of orange blossom perfume is synonymous with my mother.  I stood still, eyes closed breathing in that smell.  At first I could not place that smell.  Was it honey suckle?  No, wait... ORANGE BLOSSOM.  The perfume smelled exactly like the real thing.  I just stood there in one place inhaling the smell of my childhood. The kids all ran around me, Christopher, who knows what he was doing, I just stood there, eyes closed, like the world around me ceased to exist.
    When we pick apples there are always windfalls.  There the apple are just lying beneath the tree.  I was shocked to see oranges on the ground.  It seemed so alien to me.  I felt like someone should be in trouble for wasting all of those oranges.  I wonder if they use the windfall oranges for juice like they do with the windfall apples?  Did I mention that they sold fresh squeezed orange juice like they do apple cider here?
    As we left to pick our oranges there was a sign at the door "please do not eat oranges in the grove, pay first."  When we were out in the grove I was excitedly picking all the oranges my arms could hold, when I look over at my husband standing there peeling an orange.  "You're not supposed to do that !" I tell him.  He looks sheepish and replies, "but I always eat the apples right off the tree, I just want to see what an orange right off the tree tastes like."  He gets his orange peeled and puts it in his mouth.  He has that expectant look on his face like he knows that this is going to be the experience of his life.  I am standing there waiting for the earth to move.  "and?"  his reply "this orange is really hot.  Turns out it's better chilled."  They really are better chilled.  In fact these are the most delicious oranges I have ever eaten.  The juice runs down your arm.  They look a little sickly, with their brown and orange skin.  I know that the oranges I buy in the grocery store have been sprayed to be orange, but still it takes a while to process that fact when I look at my fresh off the tree oranges.
    All and all, if you find yourself in Florida during orange season (November - April) find yourself a grove.  It is a great adventure that ends with orange juice running down your arm.

The Great Underwear Fiasco of 2012

    One more day until we leave for Florida.  With the way I've been talking about it, you would think that I would have had everything all packed and ready to go... silly you.  I am the procrastination Queen.  Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?  This motto bites me in the butt every time.  A smart person would learn, but I am apparently not that smart.  As I type this I have a laundry basket on my bed, and an empty suitcase ready to be filled.  I have to separate everyone's clothes into piles, make sure that everyone has full outfits.  I have added a new check to my check list.  This new check comes about because of the week-end's underwear fiasco.
    We were to leave last Sunday morning for our trip to Toronto.  Saturday night Christopher asked me if I had packed everyone's bags.  "Oh I'll just throw it together tomorrow morning, it's just one night."  He gave me that "that's a big mistake, but I'm too afraid you will bite my head off if I suggest your mistake" look.  True to my word I got up super early Sunday and packed three bags, one for us, one for the big kids and one for Elly.  We were on the road by 10:00 a.m. as planned.  I secretly congratulated myself on a job well done.  We dropped Elly at Nana and Popa's in Tweed, Grace, Riley and Rowan at Grandma's in Acton, and headed to the Royal York.  We had just come back from Canada Blooms, and were lying on the bed watching t.v., enjoying doing nothing.  Christopher turned to me and said "You know hon, I have to hand it to you, you really had it together.  When you told me that you weren't going to pack Saturday night I thought it was a mistake, but good for you, you did it".  The words were barely out of his mouth when Christopher received a text from Grace (who knew you could send a text from an ipod).  "Did you know that mom packed Riley four pair of underpants and me none?  One of Riley's pair of underpants are dirty."  We laughed and laughed.  " I guess I spoke to soon!" he laughed.  I gave him a smack and we laughed again.
    That night I called to check in with the kids.  I called Mom and Dad's first.  "Did you know that you forgot to pack Elly underpants, or pull-ups?" my mother asked.  At this point I shook my head and peeled into hysterical laughter.  I then shared the first underpants story with mom.  When Christopher called his mom, each of the kids on their turn to talk told Christopher how mommy had packed Riley 4 pair of underpants and Grace none.
    The next morning I got up and showered.  I then pulled out my clean clothes for the next day, only to discover I had packed Grace's underpants in my bag, and none for myself.  Again, peels of laughter.  I took quite a bit of good natured ribbing from my husband for most of the day.  When we picked the kids up and were in the van on the way home the kids again brought up the fact that I had packed Riley four pair of underpants and Grace none.  I then told Grace that she was mistaken, I had packed her underpants, I had packed them in my own bag.  More laughter.  After that a small voice from the back, "Hey Mom, I'm commando, you didn't pack me any underwear either." shouted up Rowan.  I was 2 out of 6 on the underwear.

    So today when I mentioned to Christopher that I planned to pack tonight, Grace said
"Hey Dad, you might want to double check that Mom packs us all underwear."  Nice real nice.

My Cinderella Moment ... and not the awesome one!

I had already started cleaning when I took this picture.

   You know that part in Cinderella where she has just had the most wonderful night of her life, and is sighing deeply looking into the eyes of Prince Charming.  For her the world cannot get any better.  Then she hears that stupid clock chime midnight and she knows she has to haul it.  She takes off at break neck speed.  She is hauling it so fast that she does not even know that she lost a shoe!  There is a point when she looks down at her bare feet standing in stinking pumpkins guts, mice are running everywhere and she wonders if it was really worth it.
    I had a not so dissimilar moment this morning as I ventured into my kitchen.  Last night until 9:30 p.m. ( apparently my Fairy Godmother has a curfew) I was the good Cinderella, the one where she's a princess.  Yesterday was so wonderful.  Coffee and danish to greet me.  Dinner was lovingly prepared by my husband.  My parents came, we laughed until I was cried.  I was showered with gifts.  "Don't touch anything, it's your birthday" my husband firmly insisted as I got up to clean up.  My parents came, we all laughed until I cried.  Life was good.  After Mom and Dad left and the kids were tucked in bed, it was our time.  I should say my time, because Christopher fell asleep on the couch at 9:30 p.m.  I sat and watched mindless t.v., then shuffled off to bed.  At no point did I look into the kitchen.
    When I got up this morning and walked into the kitchen, or should I say municipal dump, my jaw dropped.  There was no a single uncovered area.  The dishes were piled a foot everywhere.  The left overs were still on the stove.  It looked like a dirty bomb went off, literally.  Let me take a moment here to qualify that I am by no means a good housekeeper.  I would rather do pretty much anything else but to clean.  I like to sew, to craft, to cook, to cut my own arm off, o.k. maybe the arm being cut off is a little over dramatic, but I am no Martha Stewart.  Anyone who has been to my house will be all too happy to testify to this fact.  However, having said that, it does not usually look like you could expect a rat to scuttle out at any time.
    So I began cleaning dishes, making piles, swearing under my breath.  I now wonder if it was worth it.  I mean I got pretty spoiled rotten yesterday, but.......... I'll let you know after I clean the pumpkin guts off my bare feet.

The Laptop Fiasco

     For the last few months I have been trying to figure out how to get a laptop.  We are going to Florida ( like you didn't already hear that a million times), and now that I have become addicted to blogging, I need to blog everyday when we are there.  All hotels now have computers that are made available to guests, but I can't load my pictures in there.  How would it look if I blogged from Florida and had no pictures?  People would feel so sad (what I really mean is I would be so sad).  It had become a full time job trying to come up with convincing arguments to persuade my husband to the merits of a laptop.  In the end I would end with a whine (it works for the kids sometimes) "but I want one!!!!".  Finally my poor battered husband just took me by the shoulders and told me "you know I will give in, just give me this."  In the end I would like to say that it was my compelling reasoning that caused him to concede, but I am pretty sure that I just wore him down.
    You know how when you are fantasizing about something it seems really awesome?  I mean honestly if Duane Johnson (The Rock) knocked at my door and told me "So Tristan, your husband says you have a free pass with me.  Let's head the nearest hotel, shall we?  Did I mention that I only find overweight women attractive?"  I mean we all know that will never happen, but if it did,  I know that I would say no and maybe cry.  My point?  My point is that sometimes the game is in, well the game.  I have made it my mission to harass my poor husband to get my own way, and when he finally said yes, I wondered what I had done.  Now I would need to get a laptop.  They cost a lot of money, what if I can't figure it out, what if the one I pick goes on sale for half price in a month?  What if it's a dud?  In my fantasy the laptop just appeared, and was AWESOME.  The reality was something different.
    You may recall a few days ago that I shared our experience purchasing a camcorder and just looking at laptops.  It was scary.  It changed my self worth.  To the world I would be modest and say "oh I get by", but in reality I had always considered myself fairly intelligent.  That peach fuzz mustache kid crushed my self image (o.k. really the computers did)!  Now I did not even know what I wanted.
    Yesterday I drove to a local computer place.  It is on a native reserve and so everything is tax free. They also boast that they load all of the programs onto the computer for you.  It was a savings of time and money I told myself.  I just asked for their entry level computer.  It came fully loaded with programs and was good to go.  I did not ask how many rams or gigs , because I have no idea what I should be asking.  I also bought a wireless router (I think that's what they are called).  I drove home feeling all proud of myself.  I also had these fantasies of having it all up and running before the kids got home from school to surprise them.  So that did not happen.  When I got home I had a panicky feeling, "what if I've made a mistake?"  What if it does not work?  What if I've been duped?  Then we could not get the router to work, and my husband spent 2 and 1/2 hours on the phone with someone from the company.  He kept playing with my Mac.   I sat there terrified he did something to it I could not undo.  I was filled with buyers remorse.  What had I done?
    After two and a half hours on the phone, the person on the other deduced that our router was defective and that we should return it.  Today I called Bell (our internet agent), and ordered one of their products.  Cross your fingers for me.  Cross your fingers that this all works out, because I have my doubts.  I guess I better start thinking how I can blame it all on Christopher....

Tales of the Technologically Challenged... (our sad tales of buying technology).

    My husband and I went shopping for a camcorder and a laptop yesterday.  I have never felt so stupid in my entire life!  I have always considered myself to be fairly intelligent.  I never had delusions that MENSA would call and ask me to join, but I'm not mentally challenged, or so I thought until yesterday.
    So here we walk in like lambs to the slaughter.  We started looking at the camcorders first.  The salesman  and I say "man" tongue in cheek, because I am not sure he was old enough to shave.  "Can I help you?"  It seemed like an innocent enough question.  "We are looking for a camcorder".  It seemed like a straight forward answer. The last camcorder we bought was 11 years ago.  It was really straightforward.  You put the tape in the side, and pressed play.  I mean your arm began to shake after holding the camera for a few minutes, and you needed to take muscle relaxers after a special event, but it worked.
    "What are you looking for?"  I thought we had already answered this, but apparently he was asking us some secret code that we did not understand.  "So how much gibble gibble goo do you want?" ( I say gibble gibble goo, because what he asked made just about as much sense.  "We just want it to take movies of the kids".  So finally we decide on a camera, then the next question "So do you want to look at cards?"  We are in Future shop, they don't sell card, ohhhhhh memory cards.  Now we are in whole new level of challenged, at this point I am beginning to feel like my Grandma.  "Hey sonny, how much moving pictures can I trap in this one" (ok I sounded a little smarter than that).  He starts quoting gigga bites and mega bites.  I just want to know how many hours I can hold on it, that's all.  I don't understand new technology, it scares me.  So that is all figured out, I have a tiny tiny little shred of dignity, and we move on to laptops where my dignity that I do have dissolves.
    Enter now a new peach fuzz mustache kid.  Peach fuzz mustache kid asks "What do you want to do with it?"  Who knew buying a computer was so complicated.  He started talking about quad processors and motherboards and mega bites, and I stopped listening because I was in the corner curled in the fetal position whimpering.  I just want to put my pictures on it and send emails, I'm not clever enough to do anything else.  So we decided to go to another store.... big mistake.
    So at the next store we are helped by some kid who doesn't even look old enough to grow a peach fuzz mustache.  I start asking my old fart questions.  He answers my questions in gibberish and not only that he keeps looking at my husband like it was he who had asked the questions, and I was not even there.  Now here's what the kid does not know.  I may be an idiot when it comes to technology, but my husband is THE village idiot when it comes to the computer.  So we left there more confused than ever.
    When did I become an old woman who wistfully looks back to the old days?  Why didn't someone warn me this would happen?  Why can't they have sales people who know how to dumb it down for us technologically challenged people?  I think I should take my ten year old shopping next time, I think she knows more than both of us put together.