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?

The weekend is not going as planned. I have inherited many people's children while noting one set of parents boasting happily that the stars have aligned and all their children are out of the house at various sleepovers. Oh yes, you would boast wouldn't you as I have had one of your children for over 24 hours and yet have NOT sold him for profit on ebay but instead fed him...a lot.

Where 13-year-old boys put their food I have no idea.

Oh wait, yes I do, in the bathroom which we may as well torch because there is no saving it now.

I have just kicked three of them out of our house, reminding them of their real parents' names, and adding that I refuse to feed them anything more. Well except for the just made banana/chocolate chip cupcakes because I've obviously lost my mind.

Satchel kindly walked two of his friends to McDonald's because clearing out our fridge didn't quite do it for them - there must have been a small space in their left foot crying out for nourishment - and had the audacity to phone and ask if he could bring the big galoot home for a sleepover. What? Are you insane? He's the one that scares me most! I'm amazed that Jakob didn't get mistaken for a snack and come to think of it, I haven't seen the cats in ages.

So no, he's not coming home with you. And if that wasn't clear...NO WAY IN HELL. Okay? Because I'm already trying to get creative with the crumbs on the floor to create a balanced meal for dinner and I'm sure he would fight me, and win, over the pizza crust I'm eyeing under the chair.

First, I have to write I LOVE THAT IT'S THE WEEKEND! Thank god, one more day of work and I would have had to...well...do something not so very pleasant to someone other than myself. I mean really, what's the point of doing something to myself, that's not going to solve anything.

I realized it's been a while since I last did a wine post and since I haven't stopped drinking wine decided to blog in between glasses about a new cheap purchase made this afternoon and quickly shared with friends.

La Casona, 2007 Monastrell

They lured me in with their advertising: 89 points for $8.95.

A red that's bold with a complex nose of black cherries, violets, and casis notes, a little on the darker side. On the palate it's fresher and lighter than expected with moderate tannins and a bit more wood. Tastes like a more expensive wine with a good finish. Monastrell is the Spanish name for mourvedre, grown in the Rhone and Languedoc areas of France.

Definitely worth decanting the wine to give it a little boost and with my present from Santa this year, a handy dandy little creation that decants by the glass, a fabulous way to end the work week!

Okay old man, get outside. Now. Stop yelling at me and get outside. Do your thing, take a walk, relieve yourself someplace. Go!

No, I did not mention food. Get outside.


And you thought I was talking to Paul.

The evolution of my mood today:

Fine. Perfectly fine, it's a good day. No, wait, I'm irritated. Forget irritation, I am really angry. That's it, I'M FURIOUS. Wait, back to being irritated. Maybe I'll just have a chocolate chip cookie ... even though I hate chocolate chip cookies.

I think it makes sense for Paul to work late tonight, for his own protection.

Now irritated again because Jakob has a bum wiping emergency. Turns out he hates wiping his bum. Join the club I say, I hate wiping my bum too - but I do it anyway because IT'S MY BUM.

How can he not sense I'm in the throes of PMS and that he is walking a very dangerous line?

Calcifications look benign but need to have follow-up.

Eek - in May I have an MRI, June a meeting with my oncologist and July another mammogram.

Now I'm no pansy, I've had more mammograms than I can count, but holy CRAP, what I went through today at the hospital was no ordinary mammogram! Even the technician, God bless her, said "Brace yourself, this one hurts. Now this next view, we have to hold you in place for one full minute before we take the image. Now breath. Breath."

I was squished so tight there was no room for oxygen. And then when she said "Now DON'T BREATH!" I sincerely thought I would pass out, held up by a machine and one very flat breast.

I'm not entirely comfortable though playing the waiting game so in June I'm going to bring up the mastectomy with my oncologist. I think it's the only thing that makes sense because I sincerely can't deal with all this stress!

Off tomorrow morning for my follow-up mammogram and appointment with a specialist.

Wish me luck!

One day closer to C day! And now I have a sore throat and a stomach ache. But I have self medicated myself, with wine of course. Quite a few glasses! I took the day off work because after yesterday I realized that today is not a good day to be surrounded by people in case they make me...TALK TO THEM. It would not have been good, there might have been tears. And I was raised to not cry in front of people.

This count down to possible C day is not for the faint hearted. Every day that passes raises my anxiety level exponentially and all I keep thinking is SHIT, I just started two courses this week and I had better be able to finish them. And then...OF COURSE I decided to grow my hair because with my luck I'll lose it.

I can barely breath at work and avoid everyone so that I don't have to hold a conversation. And the amount of work that keeps coming my way is about to push me over the edge - sure it's good to remain busy but come on! Triple booking is not the answer to keeping me sane. I think tomorrow I had better stay home and hide from the world.

Wine also keeps popping into my head: how sweet it would be to have a glass right now, even if it is only 10:00 am and I'm at work. Actually I was probably thinking that Disaronno would be really sweet at 10:00 am. Now that it's 3pm, wine is a pretty good option - I have just poured myself my default white wine: Argento Pino Grigio.

This is what I've been thinking about lately: what do you do when you're confronted with a serious illness and you have small children. Do you protect them and not tell them anything and hope against hope, or do you give them a slightly watered down understanding about how your life is about to change but in a way that provides hopefulness and security? For example, if you are diagnosed with breast cancer (as I will have confirmed on January 18) or if you have a massive heart attack and your chances for a long life are very slim, how do you manage your life and your illness with your kids?

The first time I was diagnosed with breast cancer in September of 2006, Satchel: 10 and Jakob: 4, I was terrified. There is nothing like hearing the word CANCER and then thinking HOLY SHIT I DON'T WANT TO DIE. I came home shell shocked and sat on the couch crying until I had to pick up the kids. Of course at that time we were in the middle of a massive home renovation and displaced, living in a house a few blocks from my neighbourhood, my friends and my support system.

This time I feel better prepared having been through it once but I'm also hoping that what I have again is DCIS and contained in the milk ducts. Also I have a plan: I'm going to remove my remaining breast because it is obviously NOT MY FRIEND. And having breastfed for three years, my thinking towards breasts in general has become quite utilitarian and I don't really need it anymore (I'm deliberately not thinking about the fun part of having breasts). And again, THEY ARE NOT MY FRIENDS AND SEEM TO HAVE A DEATH WISH.

So how to deal with the kids. Satchel knows more at 13 then I will tell Jakob at 8. Part of my reasoning behind telling them is so that they have a slight understanding of why Mommy might be acting the way she is with slightly less patience and perhaps a tad hysterical.

Going back to the first time, before my mastectomy, I remember tearfully writing them letters letting them know how proud I was of them and how much I loved them ... and these were really good bye letters because the idea of a 7-hour surgery freaked me out, just in case the worst happened. But after a 15-hour surgery (I have small veins and arteries and a lot of micro surgery was involved) I'm much more confident this time around.

When I was 13, my dad had a massive heart attack and was in and out of hospital for the next 2 1/2 years before he finally succumbed. I find it curious that my mom and/or dad never sat us down to explain the situation. Looking back I would have been much more understanding to his mood swings, his explosiveness, knowing that he faced death every day leaving 4 young kids at home. Even understanding how the medication he was on changed his personality would have been helpful. But I think my parents were of the generation where ignorance is bliss and frankly better for the kids. And perhaps he wasn't ready to speak of his mortality out loud. I'll never know. I try to put the pieces together by asking my two older brothers questions, since they are much older than I and had moved into an adult relationship with my dad. And now with my mom dementing, I can't even ask her, or frankly talk to her about my current situation.

So where I stand now is that Satch knows I have a follow-up on Monday the 18th to determine what my situation is but also that I will be fine and Jakob knows nothing until I actually have information to pass on. And once I know everything on the 18th, well, I'll figure the rest out then.

But any advice is welcome!

Exhausting emotional day - the hospital called, need to go in again for more tests. Sigh.

Off to go cuddle with kids and watch Harry Potter AGAIN.

See, I do love them.

Okay - I'm in slightly more positive spirits. I have made popcorn, put on the new Harry Potter movie and my boys and I are cuddling on the couch watching.

Plus I have opened a bottle of wine.

No wait...by walking away to write this tiny post, the big changing brain has tackled the smaller.

Sigh.

This is just a musing really but I have a feeling that the majority of mommy bloggers are mothers of young children and/or babies...when the little darlings are still pretty much adorable all the time and don't spend every freaking moment of the day picking/fighting/wrestling/yelling/tormenting each other and breaking things in the house.

Writing at a time when the sweet little things are still at a stage where a slight raise of a voice or a timeout will curb unwanted behaviour and not when the mother is stuck yelling, physically separating, banning XBox for a month and wondering what else can be taken away because OH MY GOD THEY ARE NOT LISTENING AND THEY ARE NOT STOPPING AND I'M GOING TO HAVE A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN!

Is it because I have only boys? Would girls act like this? Or would having one of each gender reduce the fighting? And because of the age different 13 vs. 8 I feel compelled to step in when it looks like Jakob is about to get pummeled AGAIN. I can't help myself because these are never fair fights!

And just when we thought we could see the light at the end of the tunnel, Satch is old enough to babysit and it's pretty much the only reason he earns an allowance, now we can't leave them alone together because ALL THEY DO IS PICK/FIGHT....see above.

So this is my advice to the bloggers of young children - when they hit a certain age, trade them in for a younger model - like you would a car perhaps or a computer or cellphone...

I can't seem to shake off my post-holiday exhaustion. Even the mammogram at 8:00 this morning didn't squish me into awakeness! How am I supposed to type on a keyboard if I can't keep my eyes open?

Christmas was great, presents ripped open in less than 30 minutes. Behold the smug expression of "oh yeah Santa, I've been good...real good."


And also behold the only shot of me, face hidden by Jakob's head.


And finally - yes there is another picture of me, I lied earlier - my new baby! Isn't she fantastic! If only I could have an hour to myself to plug her into the amp and listen to her sing. Unfortunately every time I bring her out of her case, I am swarmed by in-laws or children. Fortunately the in-laws have finally returned home but I'm still trying to figure out what to do with the children.

Military school? The one that keeps children for a few years? Sure the haircuts are bad but they would return with excellent table manners.

Christmas Eve stillness. Well only in pictures, both kids are so excited that they can only speak in REALLY LOUD VOICES. Which of course is pushing me over the edge since they're standing beside me while screaming.

The story behind the gingerbread creation is that I have this romantic notion of parenthood and every year I think how fabulous it will be to decorate a house (Santa's sleigh this year) with Jakob (Satch gave up a couple of years ago, he's far too sophisticated and mature for this nonsense now that he's a teenager). Of course what really happens is that the icing is CRAP, pushes me over the edge, won't stick to the gingerbread regardless of how long I knead it, and then Jakob eats more of the candies than land on the floor and on our creation, and finally walks away leaving the rest to me. I end up yelling and swearing at the icing, Jakob is traumatized, and another few dollars goes into the therapy fund.



Bambi decorated with all his finery.



Much love and Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to everyone! xoxoxoxox

I know I shouldn't write this but...

Oh my god I'm so excited!

I picked up my Christmas present: the most beautiful Fender Stratocaster guitar. I am so going to be a rockstar by the time I'm 50!

When Jakob was born in 2001, I began the tradition of giving both kids a Christmas ornament as their first holiday present, timed with bringing home and decorating our Christmas tree. This year I surprised them with fabulous spiderwebs from our neighbourhood florist Fiori (http://www.fiorifloral.com/).



I hate to sound like I'm plotting their departure from home but my thinking is that when they do move out and settle into a place, they will have this fabulous collection of unique and mostly hand crafted ornaments that will create a wonderful nostalgia for every year celebrated as a family.


But, frankly, I will probably keep the ornaments here, forcing Satch & Jakob to return to the family home each year bringing bitter wives/girlfriends/boyfriends/partners/grandkids...because I can't imagine a Christmas without them.

And watching Satch play trombone as part of the jazz band at the school holiday concert proved to me how fast time is going by and that in a blink of an eye, they will be threatening to move out and start their lives.

So being the good mother, I have to start figuring out ways to escalate the guilt and plot to thwart their plans. And I've already started, I told Satch that when he does decide to move out, he should take Jakob with him. And he doesn't even have to rent a two bedroom apartment, a one bedroom will be fine seeing as they constantly bunk in with each other anyway. Save some money!

Noooooooo! I've been hit with the stomach flu and there are only 8 DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS! And I have a crazy amount left to do! And I had a dinner party to go to tonight!

Deep breath.

Quick post and then I'm going to bed. I am already in my pajamas, just waiting to pour myself in between the sheets.

Jakob turned 8 yesterday and had a fabulous birthday...until bedtime when he realized that it would be another 12 months until his next birthday and then, well not much point to life now is there?

But during the happy time, when he found his birthday presents scattered throughout the house and opened them before breakfast, taking the coveted DSi to the pub for his favourite dinner of fish and chips, coming back to the requested home-made banana chocolate chip cupcakes in lieu of cake, and another present of more candy than a boy could imagine from Kim - for those 14 hours, life was pretty good!

Monumental moments which make me take pause from all the stress that is my life right now.

Monumental moment number one: my baby is turning 8 tomorrow! Eight years old! How this is happening I do not understand. I remember his birth so vividly, like it was only moments ago. Granted Jakob did have a big head, hard to forget that moment in time! I still walk funny.

Monumental moment number two: we just returned home from watching my 13 year old play trombone in the jazz band at his Christmas concert. While watching Satch play I kept flashing to his 3 year old version who would sit at the bottom of the steps after daycare, rip off his socks and say "here are you toes Mommy!"

I haven't been posting lately because work has been crazy, home is crazy - though DUI guy did finally move out and I have the best mother-in-law EVER because he would still be here if she hadn't kicked his sorry butt over to his new apartment...turning it into a home rather than a drinking den to hide out in while returning here to sleep, eat and shower. And then there's that little holiday called Christmas and finally, returning to monumental moments, Jakob's birthday tomorrow. And that every single day there is some kind of event going on.

The introvert in me is finding this very difficult.

I also feel like crap; like there's a serious cold or flu bug just waiting to take me down. Right when I finish all the shopping and decorating of course.

One of the many things I do love about this time of year is pulling out all the Christmas ornaments - they feel like old friends that have been missed terribly. I have the tree decorated(and will photograph TOMORROW), Bambi the silver deer head has his Christmas baubles, Silver Buddha in the bathroom has his Santa's hat perched at a jaunty angle, peacock wreath is up in all its feathery glory, and our new addition to the family ... shiny silver Ikea tree in the kitchen.

All to be photographed ... Jakob included.

Now time to prepare the kitchen for tomorrow's birthday surprise and then bed!

And the painting belongs to Beth - which makes me very happy!

Tomorrow is the auction and here is the finished painting - not horribly different from the picture posted last week. A bit more paint, some black lines, a signature...but enough I say! Plus I had a deadline to meet so the file has been sent to the printer to make the Christmas cards and the painting is hidden away at work waiting to be unveiled tomorrow.

I'm going to miss it though, it's really grown on me. The photograph doesn't do it justice.

So here's hoping someone I LIKE buys it. Someone who's name starts with B.

I will post the results tomorrow!

I think I have to move. Just me, and to NY. I found this real estate listing through motherhood in nyc and really it's perfect - I wouldn't even have to paint! And if the current owners leave me their furniture, even better. And I think mortgage would only be around $65,000 US per month. And all my girlfriends could come visit. And the children - they could too because I would devote the entire 4th floor to them. And of course Paul, Paul would love it!

http://www.sothebyshomes.com/nyc/sales/0134678#

The kids will just have to get used to part time living in NYC and when DUI guy realizes there are no more dinners being served around 6pm ... well, he'll just have to adjust too and acquaint himself to Mr. Microwave.

Back to reality, I think I just got my mother-in-law a little drunk. The love in the house is crazy - hugs, kisses, telling me I'm beautiful ... Wait until tomorrow morning when she wakes up with a hangover. She won't be feeling the love then.

The beginnings of a painting - note the horror that is my painting station. Yes, that is a washing machine.

Still hoping against hope that it will be finished this weekend so I can photograph, design a card and send to printer by Tuesday.

Paul's working late tonight, Yves (who is Yves you wonder? he's the other presence in our lives, living with us for the past two+ months that I have made a gigantic effort not to complain I mean WRITE about) is at his apartment puttering but will be returning home soon to eat, drink, sleep, drink, shower, drink more ... and because it's just me and the kids, I have made crap for dinner.

Why did I think making crap was such a good idea? Sure a dinner of nachos, mozza sticks slathered in a pasta sauce, fresh tomatoes with balsamic dressing and goat cheese (at least that was healthy and yummy!) sounds GREAT when you are tossing ideas out to the kids ... but after? Caulisse de tabarnaque (thank you father-in-law for teaching me to swear in French!) I feel bad.

I'd be a perfect candidate for a Pepto Bismol commercial and man, I'd be dialing right now if they really had a hotline: "You ate what? Really? And how old are you?"

Instead I think I will cuddle with Jakob and watch Van Helsing for the 30th time and avoid the stupid painting and ever approaching deadline ... and perhaps the glass of red wine I'm cradling will make me feel better.

Holy crap - November 21 is the third anniversary of my mastectomy! Crikey time has flown by fast.

This also means it's time for my mammogram, for the onslaught of emails from Princess Margaret Hospital as they continue to fundraise for the The Gattuso Rapid Diagnostic Centre which reduces the time from initial testing to diagnosis to a mere 3 hours instead of days and/or weeks. Which for a woman facing the crushing diagnosis of breast cancer means more than I can adequately describe because she can begin planning immediately rather than live in fear, facing the unknown for however long it takes to get an appointment with her oncologist.

Now onto other November tribulations:

I did not take Jakob to the Santa Claus parade this year because I still have not recovered from our November 2007 excursion ... which is covered in detail if you would like to revisit the nightmare that was that afternoon. Not that he wanted to go this year anyway, I could barely get him dressed such was his mood. Or perhaps he was hesitant because he remembered yelling "Santa SUCKS!" as we waited for the sled - reducing the crowd to silence.

While reading through some old November posts I realized I have written virtually identical comments about volunteering to create a painting for my office Christmas card and then donate it to the United Way auction - and each comment was me vowing to never, ever, get sucked into doing this again. Yet here I am once again cursing, stressing, drinking wine (well not at this very moment, it is only 9:44 in the morning after all ... and I'm at work) trying to make this painting look at the very least ... okay.

I'm hoping that very soon I will hit the magical moment when everything comes together and the painting is finished within 30 minutes.

I am also hoping that the magical moment happens this Thursday around 8:00 pm.

But if it doesn't, my back-up plan is to look through older paintings and see if one is appropriate and can be sacrificed for the cause.

And then this year will be the VERY LAST TIME I put myself in this position.

I hope.

I spent part of the afternoon at a fundraiser for MonkeyBiz hosted by Eat my Words (http://www.eatmywords.org) and had the privilege of hearing Stephen Lewis speak (http://www.stephenlewisfoundation.org). He is always so engaging and really makes you want to get involved and help create a better world.

But first let me introduce you to the newest member of our family:




According to Stephen Lewis, ~90% of the money raised through the sale of these beaded creations goes right into the bank account of the families the organization aims to help, with hundreds of homes having already been built for those devastated by aids. Which is incredible considering these are areas where there are traditionally no homes. We are also in a time where governments are pulling away from promises of financial assistance citing economic times and cut backs so organizations are more than ever dependent on fundraisers like the one I just returned home from.

But back to my little elephant. I was told that with some of the creatures, like mine, the form was inspired by a child's drawing - usually an interpretation of an animal they had never seen, only heard of - and then created by the artist. I am absolutely in love with it and that the purchase will help a person or family or community is like the icing on the most delicious cupcakes provided by Eat My Words.

Here's a little blurb captured from Eat My Words website:

The addition of MonkeyBiz to Eat My Words is a match made in the Southern African sunshine. A non-profit organization, MonkeyBiz commissions artists from the townships of Cape Town, skilled in the country’s ancient beading tradition. Each beaded artwork is an enchanting, one-of-a-kind piece signed by the artist, making them wonderful gifts which support a truly worthwhile cause. By supplying the richly coloured beads, MonkeyBiz creates employment and empowerment for some 450 disadvantaged women. Able to work out of their homes, the women can now provide for their families. The love child of ceramic artists, Barbara Jackson and Shirley Fintz, MonkeyBiz flows all profits back into the communities.

Remembrance Day is a day when I step back and think about my Dad who served as an Ordinary Seaman in the Royal Canadian navy during WWII on board the frigate St. Therese. He was a scrawny teenager desperate to sign up, counting the days until he turned 18. So scrawny he almost wasn't accepted because the naval doctor considered him suffering from malnutrition and his parents had to prove that no, he was just skinny.

I feel great sadness in my heart because I would love to hear his stories but unfortunately he died in 1980 from heart disease. And as a young teenager I had no time or thought to ask him the questions that I would now give anything to hear the answers to.

Or to be able to tell him how proud I am to be his daughter.

Jakob - topless and hunched over our double sink, sucking up water with a straw from one sink to blow into the other - just told me a joke:

Why did the M&M go to school?

So he could be a Smartie!



I'm kind of hoping this gives me 30 minutes.

Okay 2 minutes, I forgot his cheeks can hold half a swimming pool.

It has been another month of over extending myself. You think I would learn, year after year, but no, not even close.

Once again I have a painting that I need to finish with a deadline of November 20th looming, and what is required is one that can be auctioned off with money being donated to the United Way and the image then turned into a Christmas card from our Toronto and Montreal offices.

Of course what I have right now is a barely touched canvas sitting on my dryer begging for attention. Because I meant to start this painting in September, not yesterday.

It's been such a crazy couple of months between taking the course from hell, well not the course, having the INSTRUCTOR from hell; a quick little freelance job; a brother-in-law living with us for 2 months while we desperately try to get his life in order (and though we now have his...stuff...into an apartment around the corner, his life is far from settled) and now the painting.

The bane-of-my-existence painting.

But at least I have an idea that I'm running with. Which has been very helpful as I repeatedly get asked how the painting is going. "Fine." What's it of, what does it look like? "It's a secret."

And the acceptance that this time next year, I'll be copying and pasting this post.

The happy couple on Halloween night - post scarring the neighbourhood children for life...and pre pneumonia.


I promise that this will be my last Halloween post - for this year anyway.

I am in mourning for Halloween so I'm posting a few more photos of our decorations and keep in mind, that I haven't even started photographing the kitchen!


A girl needs a place to hang her wings.

What happened to this week? And how did I not take any Halloween pictures of my 13 year old bottle of mustard and my 7 year old black phantom? I'm hoping my neighbour sends me the picture of Paul and me because everyone needs to take a look at Paul with his eyes gouged out - I think it may be a contender for this year's Christmas card!

All I have to post is a poorly shot picture of me as a fallen angel in between parties and how even Hamish has embraced the event by requesting his food corner decorated.

A few pictures from Jakob's birthday party with Tricky Ricky. That man had the kids hysterical! Jakob could barely breath when Tricky Ricky had him "accidentally" smack Ricky's backside with his wand.

When I look at profile pictures of myself, I kind of like to pretend I have Gwyneth Paltrow's nose. I don't, I have my father's, but it does make me feel better.

Sorry posting has been light this week (light meaning NON EXISTENT - I know, I know, I really was trying to be good) but every once in a while a little job sneaks its way into my life and eats up all time not devoted to sleeping or updating my blog. Note that I didn't mention children, spending time with the children. Frankly my children are driving me insane at the moment ... all of them. Big ones included.

Once I can actually spend time downloading pictures I will post some of the photos from the KICK ASS early Halloween-themed birthday party I threw for Jakob on Sunday. Complete with magician (Tricky Ricky: http://www.handsonent.com/tricky-ricky), black dragon pinata, mini scavenger hunt and costume contest.

A bit of a digression, I just checked in on Jakob and his lava lamp looks exactly like a dead fetus in a bottle of formaldehyde. A bit freaky. Wish I had my camera handy.

Anyway, back to the party. It was perfect! There were enough activities that were timed so beautifully that as we finished the final event, the costume contest with awards handed out, the parents began to show up. And the day was spectacular so all 10 kids stayed outside THE ENTIRE TIME!

Fast forward a few hours, the phone rings and one of the kids at the party has lice. Fast forward to yesterday and now Jakob has lice. And as I'm treating him and going through his head carefully with an eagle eye, pulling out little lice corpses and nits, Arthur the old cat starts scratching and making a hideous racket - yes, he has fleas. In just over one hour I had one child and two cats treated, one child checked, pillows and blankets in the dryer on high and entire house sprayed.

Then, I drank. The end.

Why, when you just want to get ready to meet friends, does your son sneak into the bathroom with his DS and poo for 30 minutes. With the door locked. The bathroom with the make-up bag, the hairbrush, the toothbrush, the extra strength muscle relaxers... everything that I need. Come on already! How he does he even stand the smell for that long?

Of course I should be happy he opted for the upstairs bathroom with the door closed when it wasn't that long ago he would sit in the powder room minus the door, treating it as his own personal little pooping room, while we all passed out near dead on the kitchen floor.

I can only hope he doesn't have his recharger and that the battery is getting low because otherwise, he could be in there until morning.

I love this! Especially since I'm still recovering from being doored last week. How can we get these on all cars?!

I do believe there will be some celebrating tonight!

I have my last class in Acrobat (not acrobatics sadly) and I have never had such a useless instructor (I'm loathe to call him a teacher because he's NOT) in all the years of schooling I have under my belt. He is a total waste of oxygen - though to be kind, he does have a nice speaking voice. Which you don't hear because he's actually talking about the program, instead because he's complaining to the girls in the back about how tired he is, or how he's only had a granoloa bar, or look, here's a few pictures of my twin brother's daughters.

Stop whining I want to scream, you do not know how many guys are currently living in my house! Do not mess with me!

My friend Ted (who's taking the course with me) and I are positive we must be on camera, that Ashton Kutcher will jump out at any moment and yell "PUNK'D!" And then I will grab whatever fashionable knitted hat he has on his head and let him run away. Because how can anyone really be this bad unless on purpose? And with each class, he just lets the bar fall lower so that you now trip on it as you enter the class.

But whatever, just give me my A, I'm one step closer to getting my certificate, and after a few glasses of wine I won't even remember your name.

But the object of this post wasn't solely to complain about useless waste of oxygen instructor guy - though that did feel good!

I thought that I would post a picture of my teenager! Do not be afraid, it's not a scratch and sniff blog, you can't smell him. You can admire how cute he is though!

And in this picture do not be confused, it is him, not an 80-year-old man hiding under heavy blankets. He was just tired from not sleeping virtually the entire weekend. Of course this is only minutes before his friends & family party is about to begin.


But in some ways, he does take after his father (also taken minutes before the guests arrive... and yes, that is a tv remote in one hand, beer in the other).


And finally a rare moment in my house when the kids are NOT fighting, calling each other horrible names, swearing, wrestling on the floor, Satch dragging Jakob by the foot out of his room...when they love - well, tolerate each other.

I never realized what a poet the neighbourhood crazy man is.

While walking home with Satchel and Jakob, taking advantage of a gorgeous afternoon by stopping by Starbucks for their child's size hot chocolate with whip cream and lots of chocolate sprinkles, there he was in front of us, muttering away.

Sheer brilliance, this little number:

"God bless Adolph Hitler
For he invented lemonade
And the dish ran away with the spoon."

Then he noticed us behind him, following him down streets and around corners.

He yelled:

"Good looking wicked woman! Say that five times fast! Good looking wicked woman, good looking wicked woman..."

I said to the boys that I do believe I just received a back-handed compliment.

Back during the Labour day weekend, which feels like a million days ago, my niece and I made our annual pilgrimage to Wilson NY where we threw ourselves into serious outlet mall shopping, wine drinking, magazine reading and finally TARGET! shopping.

As male farting contests (between the over 40 group) continue in my kitchen, I can only think back to those 3 pure days where no one asked me for anything except the salesclerk requesting a credit card, a waiter wanting my menu choice, or my niece asking if I would like a top up on my glass of wine...and I realize that one weekend a year is NOT enough to keep me sane. Not even close.

Time to start recruiting the girlfriends.

TARGET! withdrawal alone is making me shake!

While shopping that weekend, I found these three little guys at Pier One of all places. Tucked in with the stinky candles and over-the-top home decor, they really needed to be mine! With their mix of materials, bulging eyes, Tim Burton-esque design - they needed to join the bling and the peacocks that I have been decorating my living room light fixture with. And with Halloween coming up, they are perfect!

I'm back my internet friends!

I would love to write that I spent my extended vacation somewhere fabulous - perhaps close to a small vineyard in the south of France where I would sit with the locals, make up french words and consume their wine while counting sunflowers and thinking about the direction this little blog should take.

But truth be told, I fell in love with Twitter. A sordid little love affair where all my thoughts were condensed into passages 140 characters or less. And it just felt so right...yet so wrong..and so dirty...and so gratifying! But it wasn't enough, though I will still keep tweeting, so I have returned home to where I belong and I'm sorry it took so long.

I also felt I had to take a break just to think about what I wanted to do with the blog. Do I end it? Do I still have stories to tell now that the renovation projects have dwindled until next year (the porch is still not finished but I do have a couple of photos of the progress). Are my stories even that interesting? Probably not, but frankly BETH scares me and now that I have an email instructing me to get my act together...well, it's time to begin the ride again.

But just to let you know, the 13 year old? With the changing brain? STILL INSANE. And we have a new addition to the family - Paul's oldest brother has been living with us for the past month. Oh yes, another beer drinking, xbox playing GUY which now makes me weep into the phone begging my neighbour to let me take refuge in her home from all the testosterone and farting and swearing and urinating into the toilets WITHOUT closing the door...and thankfully she has yet to say no.

I have to get back to my homework so I will end my first post in what feels like forever with a couple shots of the front porch.




And I promise, I will be back tomorrow!

Since you're staying home from camp today, I've left you a few chores to do, should take 15-20 minutes.

Changing Brain: Oh ... what.

Nothing much, unload the dishwasher, load the dirty dishes and then wash whatever doesn't go in the dishwasher.

CB: What do you mean wash.

Ummm...fill the sink with hot water, not so hot you burn yourself, add dish soap...

CB: What do you mean dish soap?

The soap you wash the dishes with.

CB: Yeah, I don't know what that is. Okay, I better let you go because this is going to take a lot longer than 15 minutes.

Oh wait, I also want you to put all your dirty clothes into the baskets in my room, and then carry them down to the basement.

CB: What? Oh....(groan)....okay, I've gotta go.

Changing brain is turning 13 tomorrow - how can he not know what dish soap is?

Ohhhhh...the PARTY, the front porch...the flu.

Where does a girl even start?

The party was a great success even though my mom is getting a bit...nutty...in her old age. And I say that with great fondness as she is my mother after all. And if she wanted to sit inside the club while 40+ people sat outside on the deck, in the shade, over looking the water - well that's her prerogative.

And the front porch - we're stuck on stain colours right now, with none really doing the cedar justice. We have purchased quart and gallon of every colour imaginable only to come home, try it out on a test piece, shake our heads and drive back to the stain store. We're beyond frustrated and I think the next step is to try something more opaque - with colour sampling beginning again tomorrow since the shop is open until 8pm.

And the flu...I've been sick at home for the past 2 days, sleeping so much my hip hurts. But I think I've finally beaten it, except that the smell of coffee makes me feel ill - and I have to be in pretty dire shape to not drink my coffee in the morning.

One positive this past week was that Arthur lost his voice Thursday (he somehow managed to get a sore throat which I didn't realize even happened to cats) and has been following me around silently yelling for wet food. I love Arthur but the constant yelling comes close to pushing me over the edge. Sadly his voice is starting to return and because I have been coddling old Artie this past week, he wants nothing to do with that nasty dry food I keep trying to ply him with ... where's the steak? the chicken? even the remains of that crappy beef soup that was eaten for lunch today. And how about a nice pinot noir to wash it all down with! Tap water and bagged food? Don't think so.

The reason for my being turned 80 today. 80 YEARS OLD! How can I continue to lie about my age if I have a mother who is 80? I did call myself a medical mystery to a colleague when he professed surprise - though I'm sure he just wanted something.

We had an interesting conversation, talking about the passing of time and how we are constantly shocked at our age when it doesn't feel like that much time has gone by, or that we feel younger than we are. In my head I'm 30, maybe 32 on a tired morning. My Mom said she doesn't feel 80, she feels so much younger...that is until her body betrays her. And the absence of those she loved in her life who have passed before her is upsetting. She's very nostalgic.

The birthday girl (looking pretty darn good!):


Mom around 1955, 26 years old.


Even though she doesn't read my blog, I have to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM, may you be surrounded by much love - and you will because I'm throwing a massive birthday party on Sunday. God help me.