What a day!

First, so proud of our Canadian athletes.

Second: today is my honey's birthday and if anyone has any advice on how to get the #$@#*($&@#* ipod touch, his fabulous birthday present, to link the to the internet/wi-fi please let me know because all we get is "invalid argument" and I really want to ease my husband's crankiness. I will promise to love you forever!

But not as much as you babe, you're number 1! Happy birthday from your trophy bride!

And finally, perhaps most importantly, I was id'd at the beer store and if you have any idea of how old I am, you would understand how fantastic this is and how I can only love the person (and of course anyone who can help me with the aforementioned ipod issue and my husband - he's #1!) who asked me!

My heart is being torn apart and stomped on, bits ingested by cat and then furballed out, as my 8 year old decides to call me mom instead of mommy.

I try to ignore him, pretending there is no such person called MOM in this house but it doesn't work. He just keeps saying Mom! Mom! MOM!! MOM!!!! until he's shrieking, the volume equivalent of doing 0-60 in under a second.

Then to humour me, as he is now the master of patronization, he finally concedes and says Mom-mie, with the "mie" part falling down and no way is it getting back up.

He reasons he is too old to say Mommy and he's sorry but I'm just going to have to get used to it.

But I don't want to get used to it - it sounds so harsh and foreign to my ears. I'm barely used to Satchel calling me Mom, though he does tend to slip up now and then. Thankfully he's not quite so militant and focused as the small one.

Oh well, time to introduce this little Mom caller to Mr. Litterbox.

A lovely start to my day:

Stress Can Make You ‘Dumb’ & Fat!

My result from a work health survey we were asked (read: forced) to participate in.

I truly believe that Monday should be a kind and gentle day, one that begins with much needed latte after latte to help recover from the weekend, and then once the world is viewed as if on speed, moves kindly into an afternoon filled with frothy yummy cocktails to help slow the shaking.

Not a day filled with maternal failings and personal insults!

Am I wrong?

I have failed as a mother.

I just walked my 13-year-old son through the steps to make toast.

The evolution of the English language when you are thirteen and have hormones popping like Orville Redenbacher's is enough to take down the most staunch professor, but frankly, leave my words alone! I need them, I depend on them, and taking them away from me is pure evil and reeks of selfishness.

Changing brain and I were having a conversation which went something like this:

Mom, what's this made of? as he picks up a bowl from our counter.

Wood.

Mom, that sounds so wrong!

What? Why? It's made of wood.

Ha, you said it again!

Wood? I don't understand.

Laughing hysterically: Don't you know what wood means?

OH MY GOD, it's a product from trees that we use to build and create things with. Of course I know what wood is.

Laughing harder if that's possible: Mom, it means *****!

No it doesn't - WOULD (I threw this in deliberately, enjoying my new power) you stop already!

Ha ha ha ha! Now he's bent over, holding his stomach together.

It reminded me of when we had to strike all words that rhymed with grass because they contained A*S*S which would leave Jakob gasping for breath.

One enjoyable facet of the new English: taking advantage of 13 year old boys who speak in acronyms about 50% of the time. After a bit of friendly father and son bantering, Paul called Satch an L. O. S. E. R. and Satch said What's that? Laugh Out.....?

Paul said No, it means you're a LOSER!

I was going to write about the insane dreams I've been having, how vivid and colourful and dramatic, in fact even better than Avatar! I've been spending my nights saving my children by killing monsters with poker hot steel rods, had a colleague take me for a ride in a 5-story airplane, an ex-colleague having eyeball transplants and sending me before, during and after shots, watching a movie with a dead sister who passed away too many years ago...

Then I thought, nope I'm going to write about today's hospital appointment and the decisions I have to make: do I lose one ovary, two ovaries, the whole kit & caboodle...can I have the surgery at the same time as a mastectomy or should I have two separate operations? And gene testing, let's get that done first and then talk to the one million doctors I have at my disposal to figure out what I need to do first.

But instead I'm going to write about having just returned from having pints with good friends at the Duke of York and who should be there? Why Daniel Craig! Yes, we drank with James Bond, Lord Asriel, guy from Layercake and oh yeah, naked guy from Tomb Raider! He signed an autograph for Jakob which proves that he's not just a really good actor but also a great guy because I can only love people who tolerate my children! And he peed with Satch! They shared bathroom time! And he even chatted with Satch!

Plus he has a great bottom while climbing the stairs because I was RIGHT BEHIND HIM! OBSERVING!

A fabulous end to a crazy day.

Ahhh, the hormones are getting to me but I'm not sure if it's changing brain's or mine. He was very angry with me last night, feeling that I don't really listen to him.

Which to be fair is true.

But I have made a promise to try harder and as god is my witness and there is wine to consume, I will. But it's all so painful.

So this is how I get back at the children for forcing these promises upon me (and the 13 years of poor sleeping): I make Valentine's Day cards for them.

Jakob's were adorable Clone War cards complete with a chocolate heart attached to them and therefore boring and not worth posting.

Satchel's were brilliant if I do say so myself and only slightly soggy from the tears of laughter I shed while folding them in half. What 13 year old boy wouldn't want to hand these little beauties out? Frankly I'm surprised I'm not working for Hallmark.



click on photo to enlarge image

I made these specifically to hand out to girls. Satchel looked at the cards, flipped and read the cards, looked at me and said in a serious voice "now why do you think I would want to hand these out?"

I couldn't help myself, I started crying again.

Once again, rather than work on my assignment which is due tonight, I am sitting here in the kitchen thinking loving thoughts of my children and drinking beer from a bottle because I just read that drinking beer reduces cholesterol - or something. Whatever.

Back to loving thoughts about my children.

Jakob has taken to showing up in our room every night because he "sleepwalks" and therefore has no idea what he's doing or how he ends up perpendicular in our bed. And, he says emphatically and also with triumph, it's not his fault because he has no control over what happens when he sleepwalks. Fortunately while sleepwalking he does come prepared, he brings his favourite blanket.

I am pretty much a fragile shell of a person because I haven't had a good night sleep in 13 years due to the wrath of god giving me two children who have never been good sleepers. Changing brain is now but only because he's a teenager and hard-wired to sleep for however long he can. So I'm pretty much beaten down and can't move myself in the middle of the night to force him back to his own room. Paul sleeps like a rock so he's of no use to me and will no doubt be phoning me as soon as he reads this line in protest.

So out of desperation I have placed a sleeping bag at the bottom of my bed and have told Jakob that he is under no condition to ever get into my bed again, or Satchel's, and instead if he does wander in must sleep in the sleeping bag. My thinking is he's going to find it so uncomfortable and unrewarding that he will eventually just stay in his own bed.

So far the success is that he hasn't climbed into our bed but has ended up on the floor every night - and this morning it was 5am by the time he crawled into the sleeping bag! Jakob does wake cheerfully every morning to proclaim that he has just had the best sleep ever, though he has no idea how he got there...with his pillow, blanket and now tiger.

Tomorrow: how I'm scarring my changing brain teenager for life by creating very special valentine's day cards to hand out to girls.

There is nothing better than rummaging around in second-hand shops in small towns because not only do you find a Jean-Michel Basquiat (one of my absolute favourite artists and yes, I did make an embarrassing noise when I saw it hanging on the wall) poster mounted for $8! but also precious objects like this for $2:


Now who would ever want to get rid of something so absolutely fantastic?

"Oh I don't know, sane people?" says Paul, rolling his eyes.

I'm sorry, did you say something? Didn't hear you. I'm far too distracted fantasizing about how brilliant this will look on Valentine's Day covered in chocolates or truffles...for me.

My son, finder of green snot in stew, says I'm totally pissing him off because I'm suggesting Grade 1 calibre sentences for him to complete his spelling with rather than Grade 3 calibre sentences as instructed by his teacher. And, he spits out venomously, my sentences don't even make sense they're so bad!

Not to mention I almost made him late for school this morning (he's on a roll now) because he couldn't find his coat and to NEVER DO THAT AGAIN! And will I just put his pencil, eraser, pencil sharpener and highlighter back in his knapsack?

Ummmm....NO.

Wait until he finds out we're having reheated stew for dinner tonight and this time there may just be a little extra something lurking in the broth.

And we shall call that retribution. Oh how I wish it was one of his spelling words.

Oh my, where did the weekend go?

Saturday night was spent at a birthday party surrounded by the beautiful people: ballet dancers and models, and a certain male figure skater. Combine the weight of all other guests and compare that total to Paul's and my combined weight and I would NOT want to bet on which group had the higher number. Of course the upside was all the cake that sat untouched on the table: carrot cake, banana cake, fabulous little cupcakes. All untouched because you can't maintain the body weight of an 8 year old by eating that evil refined white stuff! And I am nothing if not altruistic, coupled with being a very good friend, so to be helpful we ate as much as we could to relieve some of the stress the lovely hosts would have faced if left to manage all that food and possibly have to eat it themselves. We did our damnedest, Paul and I, and ate solidly for 2 whole hours. And then we drove home happy.

Plus I was a little lightheaded having lost most of our food to the big galoot.

I did make a lovely beef stew with dumplings tonight for dinner which Jakob dug into hungrily...initially. Until he found something suspicious. Was it the beef? The potatoes? The dumplings? The carrots? What!?

No, it was green snot. No way could he take another bite.

Green snot? I didn't put green snot in the stew. That would be disgusting, plus I never thought of it. I dare you to find and show me green snot in the stew.

Jakob dug through, he thought he had success. It was a dumpling with broth. And it was brown. It wasn't green.

But seeing as I nearly poisoned him, perhaps I could make it up by providing him with ice cream?