Fabulous news first: Jakob has received the student of the month award for respecting the school/class rules and people and also for his peace keeping initiatives. This is an incredible honour and I could not be more proud of him. I'm trying hard to push down the thoughts of "My Jakob? Peace Keeping Initiatives? You mean the 6 year old who lives in my house who is currently on the floor having a massive fit because he's sucked at at Guitar Hero? AFTER ONLY ONE TRY. That one?" Wow, crazy.

Another piece of fabulous news: I found in my mailbox a cheque from the city for $1,356 because we did not kill the city-owned tree at the front of our house when we renovated THE BACK OF OUR HOUSE. One credit card paid off, healthy payment on a second card. Sweet. Of course no interest, and I almost feel like they deducted a few dollars as their fee for kindly hanging on to it for us for no reason.

And the final bit of fabulous news, the magazine is done and I can now go to bed before midnight because god knows I need my beauty sleep. Make-up can only go so far. And I can rename the voodoo doll for who ever pisses me off next.

So...I went into St. Thomas this past weekend to visit my mother. My mother and I have a complicated relationship, based on a sense of mutual dislike for many years - though she will deny it, while not taking to me for years. To get a sense, I started putting together my feelings since I was completely cut off from the internet while on the train:

I am currently sitting on a train without internet access, having just had a glass of mediocre Spanish wine….but it was only $5 so how can I complain? I am also confined to my seat with a full bladder.

I would say this is the most unenjoyable train ride to London I have ever experienced. I had visions of working on my photoshop assignment but that was a pipe dream. The train shakes like a $3 vibrator and I have nowhere to place a mouse. And try highlighting a chain link fence without a mouse or stylus…I dare you.

I’m off to London, well really St. Thomas, to visit my mother because of concerns she might be dementing or to see if her increasingly disintegrating memory is the direct result of an extremely poor diet lacking in anything nutritious, especially proteins, but heavy on Tim Horton’s muffins. Not good when you’re a diabetic. Plus she called me quite upset asking me to spend time with her, she felt like she was being bullied and not listened to.

I have been dreading this trip. My last experience with my mother was while visiting my brother in Edmonton and upon return I had accepted that if I never saw her again, I would be fine with that. But over a short period of time my bitterness wore off and I began to feel more concern for her welfare. I called occasionally to be caustically told that she would never call me again, that way I could call her when I was available. Meanwhile she systematically calls all my siblings every night of the week. I struggle most with that here is this woman who was nasty to me from birth until mid 20s when our relationship evolved into more ambivalence and here she is old, memory shot, and now expecting me to drop everything and come stay with her, to be the shoulder she needs right now.

It’s hard to put aside my bitterness.

I'll continue writing about my weekend and the dysfunctional relationship shared by mother and daughter later as I promised my little scholar and his brother (who was asked to the SCHOOL DANCE BY A GRADE 8 GIRL - man I am not ready for this) I would take them to the Sufferin' Mall to check out Halloween costumes.

I'm sitting here drinking a glass of wine and pouring through all the goodies found in my Clinique gift bag from Holt Renfrew. A cornucopia of treasures.

I had visions of having the most indulgent afternoon, at least until 3pm but it was not to be because my cell phone began ringing incessantly just past 1:30. It's now 8:02, I'm on my third glass of wine and bordering on a nervous breakdown...and the name of my voodoo doll has been changed to Garth.

And it's snowing. I'm not prepared for the plummeting temperatures. I'm not even prepared for Halloween. I don't have the energy to hoist my camera and take a picture of the most awesome spider decoration every, purchased for $20 from Shoppers Drug Mart.

It's 9:00 pm and I'm counting the seconds to put Jakob to bed.

I have to say that I am the QUEEN of time management.

Not only have I VOTED like all my self respecting anti-Harper friends and family (at least I'm keeping my fingers crossed) but I have also designed a logo for a truffle goddess, in fact 2 versions, revised an ad for a certain magazine that will NOT go away and two other options because they just couldn't be happy with the original version...oh no, because let's want other options for an ad that is perfectly fine but dick around getting final revisions to me on everything else. For of course I want to stay up all night tomorrow. Wow, where did that rant come from? But really, I need my beauty sleep, it's not like I can photoshop myself before going to work. And honestly, it's seriously impacting my blogging. Seriously.

I also began sketching ideas for a painting that needs to be finished in 4 weeks, I should say needs to be DRY in 4 weeks, for the office United Way auction. Then made soft & hard tacos for the family, accommodated a play date for Jakob, made popcorn and I'm not even done yet.

But let's change blog direction, let's touch briefly on my relationship with my contractor. I email, he emails, Paul emails, he emails - it is now left up to Paul to schedule a date for him to come through the house...because I'm SICK of him. So this is where we are right now...waiting to schedule a time for him to come through and assess and hopefully correct. Hopefully. Because you know the warranty ran out forever ago and it's only his big generous heart that has him coming this final time and the sound I hear is the clock ticking and not the feeble blip of his pacemaker.

This is the day where I wish my little neighbourhood shop sold lottery tickets because I am positive this is my lucky day. Earlier this afternoon I did a quick run to the Sufferin Mall because Lucy my beloved cleaner was here and she's really chatty and it's hard to clean when your chatting but on my run I forgot a couple of critical things like leaf bags and feminine products. So after returning home I go to get the mail and what do I find on my front porch? - no NOT maxipads, those were in my mailbox in a giftbox from Shoppers Drug Mart - LEAF BAGS from some incredibly sweet real estate agent who wants me to sell my house. How fabulous was that! Satchel thought that by accepting the leaf bags we were morally obligated to sell our house RIGHT NOW, so I clarified for him by saying "No, you're just morally obligated to use the bags to clean up all the leaves on our property RIGHT NOW you little brain-changing sweetheart."

Now that it is 9:30 and not one edit has come through, it's time for me to put Jakob to bed and throw the big smelly one into the shower.

It is a sad time when I am too busy to blog - there are so many moments each day when I think "must tell the world about the craziness that is Jakob." or "must NOT mention how I had a breakdown yesterday and screamed FUCK OFF at the children as they continue to fight and wrestle and say nasty things to each other."

I am so busy right now that with any luck I will actually make the Friday deadline and can then sleep for 12 hours straight and boot up my computer without wanting to weep.

This will also give my eyes a chance to learn how to refocus again.

The 12-year-old changing brain is pushing me over the edge!

Last night all the first floor phones went missing, including the swishy brand new one. The only person who actually gets/makes phone calls (because his parents are phone-phobic) is Satchel.

Paul went ballistic when the base starting ringing at 9:45 pm and he couldn't find a phone to answer. After I finished putting Jakob to bed I came downstairs and hit the locator button - first phone FOUND, buried in the couch where Satchel had been talking to his two friends.

Pushed the next locator button and followed the beeping to...Satchel's backpack. He had it buried deep inside, under the foul gym clothes. This means he took the phone to school. But why? It's not a cell phone, the range isn't even that great.

So up Paul and I go to talk to him...he protests, he didn't do it. He didn't put the phone in the couch or the backpack. Why would he put the phone in the backpack? That wouldn't even make sense! Why do we always blame him for everything.

hmmm...because it was in YOUR backpack?

Life is completely unfair, neither phone was his fault, we're always blaming him, Daddy's retarded.

That was how he ended his argument.

I wanted to end the discussion with yeah, well you smell bad. But being the more mature of the retarded lot of us, resisted.