My Lovely Lady Lumps

I didn't appreciate the body I had when I was in my late teens early twenties. I just didn't.

I was always complaining about how I looked and finding faults ... not even just finding ... seeking out faults and pointing them out to anyone who would listen.

I thought that my bum was too big ... that my legs resembled that of a character on Charlie Brown FAR too much ... that I was too short ... that my hands and feet were too small ... you get the picture.

I was miserable with what I had been given.

Then I had my first pregnancy.

I literally ATE my way through that pregnancy. One of my co-workers at that time had just had her first baby and, in all her wisdom, decided to tell me that the weight just falls off once the baby arrives and that I should just eat whatever I wanted because the baby needed the extra calories and if I was craving something than my body was basically asking for that particular food.

I soon discovered that my body was constantly asking for Big Bacon Classics. And boxes of chocolate covered almonds. Like entire boxes. All at once. And New York Fries with cheese sauce. And doughnuts. And cake. And chocolate milk by the gallon.

(Oddly enough my body - and my growing baby - didn't crave veggies or fruit or good grains like brown rice and lentils.)

I just ate whatever was in a two mile radius because I was feeding my baby and I was a pregnant woman and I was allowed to gain weight because I was growing another human being in my body. And I wasn't too concerned because my doctor said I looked cute in maternity clothes.

And then one day it happened. I woke up and went to get dressed and the maternity jeans that I'd been wearing every day wouldn't go past my knees. I was mildly concerned but thought that it must be the "water retention" that everyone had told me about. So I found some larger pants and squeezed into those and then put on my "go to" cute black long turtleneck shirt. And then I almost DIED.

I stared at myself in the mirror and I saw my cute (LARGE) baby bump (MOUNTAIN) out front which was normal. And then I saw two giant lumps out back just above my bum ... which was not normal. It was so very far from normal.

I cried for about four hours and then pulled myself together. And then had a doughnut. And then I cried again. And then I pulled myself together again.

Needless to say the rest of my pregnancy was much the same. I gained a LOT of weight.

After my baby was born I didn't lose the weight right away. It didn't just FALL OFF like I had been told. I found myself dreaming of my old body. My wonderful teen and early twenty-something body. It was gone. Lost forever under extra skin and stretch marks.

And I was sad that I had wasted all those years with my pre-baby body complaining about my cankles (cankles = when a person's calves go all the way down to the top of their foot ... no ankles ... cankles).

I've since had baby number two. And I've managed to control the urge to eat anything within a two mile radius.

And as much as I lament the loss of the body I never fully appreciated, I wouldn't trade my kids or my "post baby body" for anything in the world.

Except maybe free liposuction.

And a red velvet cake.

"If you want to destroy this sweater ..."

Grade 9 is a hard year. In Grade 8 you are the top of the food chain. In Grade 9 you are the algae scum that lives on the bottom of the ocean.

Every little detail matters. Who your friends are. What classes you have. Where your locker is. What you wear. But most of all ... it matters who says hi to you. It matters who acknowledges you. And it especially matters if the uber cool kids from Grade 13 (OAC back in my day) say hi to you.

At least that's the way it was for me ...

When I was in Grade 9 I dreamed of being friends with the older and way cool OAC students.

(I was kind of like the main character "Christine" on that stupid sitcom "The New Adventures of Old Christine" in that I was totally obsessed with what other people thought of me and was of the opinion that what was on the outside mattered more than anything and popularity was my ultimate goal in life. Yeah ... shallow.)

Anyway ...

One particularly devastating day one of my friends and I were standing at my locker in an empty hallway. I was loading up my backpack for the remainder of the day when we heard some voices approaching.

I looked around the corner and saw that two of the coolest OAC girls were walking towards us. One of them, I'll call her Alice, was the coolest person I had ever seen. She was like IT. I wanted to BE her and I wanted her to like me and say hi to me and be all like "big sisterly" to me. She had the coolest clothes. She was friends with EVERYONE. She was athletic and musical and funny and pretty and she was nice. (I didn't know she was nice from experience ... she had never said a word to me ... but she didn't mistreat the "bottom feeders" the way the other OAC students did, meaning, she didn't slam heads into lockers as she went by or ask Grade 9's to give up their tables at lunch or in the library, so, in my opinion she was an angel.)

I crammed my books into my backpack so I could give the approaching Alice and "whatshername" my undivided attention. My friend just kept repeating "be cool ... don't do anything stupid."

(It's important at this point to tell you that I had one of those trendy backpacks ... ya know ... the green canvass ones with the two small pockets on the front and the big flap pocket on top and you only ever wore it over one shoulder and the other strap hung down ... I liked my backpack and was proud of the fact that it was the backpack of choice for those in the "in crowd".)

So as Alice and whatshername passed us by I swung my cool backpack onto my shoulder and simultaneously said "hi" and flipped my hair all to demonstrate how nonchalant and awesome I was.

And Alice looked at me and said hi. And I almost fainted.

I grabbed my friends arm and we quickly started walking in the opposite direction so I didn't do anything stupid to ruin the moment because I had suddenly jumped up in status BIG time and didn't want to burp or trip or vomit or do anything that would land me back in nowhereville.

As we walked my bag kept sliding down my shoulder. I was irritated but just kept yanking it back up. (I have small shoulders and generally things just don't stay up on them.) After a few more steps it started to feel like it was actually HARD to walk and that something was pulling my bag off my back. So I looked down.

There was a black piece of wool hooked around the strap of my backpack. I looked to see where it was coming from and saw that it went around the corner. I was trying to figure out what the heck was going on when I heard someone shout "what the??" from far around the corner.

And then I remembered that Alice was wearing a black wool sweater. And I almost DIED.

My friend put it all together much faster than me and ran away before I had a chance to beg her to stay.

I walked slowly around the corner and looked down the hall. A very angry Alice was stomping towards me with an armful of black wool and a half-unraveled sweater.

I was literally speechless. I just stood there staring at her and blinking and opening and closing my mouth but nothing came out. Sorry just didn't seem to fit given the level of destruction that had just happened to the sweater (that I could only assume was hand-knit by her great-great grandmother on her death bed) and offering to fix it wasn't quite appropriate either. So I said nothing. I just stood there.

She finally just said "thanks a lot looser" and stomped off.

I was horrified. My high school days were over before they'd had a chance to even begin. Alice had called me a looser. I had UNRAVELED her sweater with my backpack.

In keeping with my initial assessment of Alice she was rather nice about the whole thing in that she didn't ruin my reputation and write awful horrible things about me on the bathroom walls or try to trip me in the hallway or tape embarrassing things to my locker. But, she didn't talk to me or look at me or say hi to me for a long time.

She only started to talk to me when I was invited to go on the Jazz Band trip that year. I was the only Grade 9 to go on the Jazz Band trip which was pretty cool. But, during free time I fell out of my canoe into a freezing cold lake and almost died of hypothermia which was not cool at all and there was all this drama and I think she pitied me after that and started to say hi and stuff ...

And all I could think of for the rest of Grade 9 was what kind of person has this kind of misfortune ...

Seriously.

The McDonald's ... Gang?

A week or so ago Jackie Chan and I were walking down the street together and said to me "Mom, do you know the game Grand McMuffin?"

So I said, "No babes, I don't. I've never heard of that game before. Are they giving it out at McDonald's?"

He whipped his head around and looked at me like I had suddenly morphed into a dragon with three heads wearing a nightie and said, "Mom, McDonald's doesn't give out video games, they give out toys from movies. You know, movies ... that are in the theater ... they give out the toys from those movies."

So I'm like "yeah, I know buddy ... it's just that McDonald's has like people like mascots, ya know ... Ronald McDonald ... and Mayor McMuffin is one of those guys ... so I thought I was a game about him ..."

(Blank stare from Jackie Chan)

"Seriously. McDonald's has like a whole gang of mascots that are like McDonald's people ... ya know, they'd be around at birthday parties and stuff and on the bibs and the high chairs in the restaurants ... "

(More blank staring)

"Forget it ... they were a big deal when Mommy was younger ... I guess they're not so well known now. Anyway ... I have no idea what Grand McMuffin is, sorry buddy."

And Jackie Chan says, "No Mom, it's a real video game ... Liam has it."

So I sigh and say, "maybe Liam is lying to you baby ... I don't know much about video games, but I know I've never heard of Grand McMuffin."

Jackie Chan is clearly frustrated with me at this point and says, "Mom, it's real. Liam plays it and he says you have to steal things and beat people up and kill cops to win the game and I just want to know why he plays it ..."

When the realization of what he's talking about hits me I am no longer able to walk. I am doubled over - totally inappropriately - laughing at what he has just said.

"OHHH," I say, "Grand THEFT AUTO!"

Jackie Chan: YES!!!!

"Baby I have NO idea why Liam is allowed to play that game. That is a terrible game. It's full of terrible, awful things that kids should NOT be allowed to do."

I watch his little brow furrow as he takes in this information ... so I keep going. I explain that there is no way a child should have access to a game with such violence and disregard for the law. That even some adults shouldn't play it because there are a lot of adults who don't know right from wrong and fact from fiction and stuff like that. And that video games that look so real can be really confusing and may even lead a person - who would otherwise lead a normal, jail free life - to do things they shouldn't. Like spontaneously steal a car and run over innocent people on the sidewalk. Or drive into the wrong part of town in a stolen car just to start a fight. Or eat a lot of fast food in order to keep their energy levels up. And join gangs.

And I tell him that I wish I was Liam's Mom so I could tell him that he shouldn't play that game, but I'm not so I can't ... but that I can keep my own son from ever playing anything like that.

And Jackie Chan's little face was full of questions and he was very, very deep in thought.

So I said, "do you have something you want to say or something you want to ask Mommy?"

And he nodded. And he said, "Um, Mommy, does Mayor McMuffin LOOK like Ronald McDonald?"

A Conversation ...

Bruce Lee has decided that pants are unnecessary.

I was drying my hair in the bathroom when I had a feeling. A feeling that things were much too quiet in the living room. So with hair half dried I went to investigate.

Bruce Lee was standing five inches from the TV (that's how he watches TV ... he will have pop-bottle glasses before his next birthday) and he's naked from the waist down.

So I say "hey buddy ... where are your pants?"

No need pants Mommy.

"OK did you take off your pants and put them somewhere?" (The pants and pull up are mysteriously absent from the picture).

Yeah. I take off.

"OK ... but I don't want you to go pee or poop on the carpet, OK?"

I no like pants on. Want pants off. Watch TV.

"Yeah, that's great honey ... pants are uncomfortable I know ... but you can't make a mess in the living room. You have to tell Mommy if you have to go pee or do a poo-poo in the potty, OK?"

(Silence)

"Do you want to put your pants on or are you going to tell Mommy when you need to go potty?"

Yes.

"Yes you want pants on or yes you'll tell Mommy if you have to go potty?"

OK Mommy.

"OK Mommy what?"

Yeah.

"Sweetheart, do you understand Mommy? Do you understand that you have to come and get me when you have to go potty or you will make a mess on the carpet (AGAIN)?"

No pants on. Watch frogs.

So I decide that the conversation is going nowhere fast but the odds of me having a really bad hair day are increasing by the second so I head to the bathroom to finish drying my hair.

About five minutes later there is a half naked two year old at the door.

I go pee.

"What? Did you pee on the carpet?"

No I go pee on potty.

"Oh! You have to pee now? You want to go on the potty?"

Yes.

So I put him on the potty and ... he peed.

I'm trying not to get too excited. Relapses happen. But I didn't have to clean up pee or poop or from the carpet. And that makes me one happy Mommy.

Every Idiot Knows ...

When I was younger one of my uncles would always refer to me as "DB" - dumb blonde. It wasn't because I was actually dumb, but more because I would rarely, if ever, think before I spoke.

Often what came out of my mouth sounded really really dumb. Or was a really really dumb thing to say given my actual knowledge of whatever subject was currently being discussed. I would immediately regret opening my mouth ... but it was always too late and my words and my thoughts were "out there" for people to have a good laugh at ... and repeat.

But ... I do have the ability to laugh at myself - truly laugh at myself - which is essential really when you grow up being referred to as DB.

Here's an example ...

My - now -sister and law and I moved in together after we had both finished school and had our first post University/College jobs. One day shortly after we had moved in she was watching TV and realized that we had well over 100 channels to choose from. She kind of panicked and thought we might end up receiving some massive cable bill so she took action and called the cable company immediately to discuss our options.

When the cable company answered the phone and asked what they could do to help, Erin (my - now - sister in law) explained that we were new to the apartment (which was actually a wicked cool three bedroom house that we'd rented) and that we didn't want whatever massive cable package the previous tenants had subscribed to ... so over the phone in that INSTANT the woman on the other end of the phone said "OK, you've been disconnected."

So Erin kind of freaked and said, "well wait a minute ... what package did they have?" And the woman said that the previous tenants had basic cable and they paid $20.00 a month for the service.

Obviously, Erin was irritated at this point and explained to the woman that if all those channels were basic cable and it was only $20.00 per month then we would like to continue on with the service that was currently being provided and simply change the subscribers names on the bill.

The woman was silent for a minute and then said "OK, well I can send a truck out to you sometime in the next two days to get you connected and that will be a $40.00 charge on your first cable bill."

At this point Erin was furious and very professionally but firmly explained to the woman that it was highway robbery to disconnect someones cable OVER THE PHONE before proper information is passed along to the client and then turn around and charge that same client $40.00 to send a truck out to reconnect the cable service that was just disconnected OVER THE PHONE.

We didn't win the fight and the woman agreed to send a truck as soon as possible but that ultimately, if we wanted to watch TV we would be responsible for the $40.00 connection fee.

Later that evening when my brother and I were both home from work the three of us were passionately discussing how completely stupid and idiotic this whole cable situation was and how the woman on the phone was obviously hired by the company to rob people of their hard earned cash and be a total wanker on the phone and how completely stupid cable was - that it could be disconnected over the phone but that a truck had to be sent out to reconnect it and how we probably weren't even really disconnected (except that all the channels we had been getting were all fuzzy and snowy) ... and I said this ...

"Besides ... every idiot knows there is absolutely nothing to do with the TV on the outside of the house anyway ..."

And then there was silence.

And then there was uproarious laughter - from my brother and Erin.

And I just stood there waiting to get the joke.

My brother finally managed to choke out, "only the cable box ... the cable box is on the outside of the house."

And I was like "oh .... yeah, I knew that" - because I really did. Because I had just graduated from Radio and TV Broadcasting.

Yup. Three years. Radio and TV Broadcasting.

And of course "every idiot knows ..." has turned into a family joke that will simply not go away. Ever.

Family Math Night ... and Magic

When I left work yesterday I had a really really strong feeling that I needed to get money out of the bank. I rarely, if ever, carry money around with me so it seemed strange to me to have such a strong feeling about getting money out to have on hand, but thought I might as well because having money in my wallet gave me an excuse to stop for a coffee after work.

So ... I was on my way home and decided to stop into a thrift shop that was having a 50% off sale to see if any of the kids stuff was on sale. I nabbed a fantastic pair of DESIGNER kids jeans ... like MEGA designer jeans (I'm such a brand name/label junkie, I know) for $2.50. Two dollars and fifty cents. Yeah. That's right. I rock.

I was sure that was the reason I'd had such an overwhelming sense to take money out of the bank. I was super excited about my deal of the century.

Later that night I had to take Jackie Chan to Family Math Night at his school. Yeah ... Family Math Night. I was a bit scared of Family Math Night to be perfectly honest. The information given to parents about this event was that there would be some magic show and then some of the teachers would be playing math games with the kids and parents to help parents learn fun ways to do math stuff with the kids at home.

Yeah ............. fun and math do NOT belong in the same sentence. Ever.

AND ... I was terrified that I was going to be completely humiliated because some primary teacher would ask me a ridiculously easy question like 9 + 4 and I'd panic and be all stumped and confused and look like a total idiot in a room full of public school kids and their super smart parents ... so I wasn't really looking forward to the whole experience. But Jackie Chan was. So, we went.

We were in the group that got to see the magic show first. Kids love magic. Jackie Chan LOVES magic. He was front row center and mesmerized the entire time.

He was dying to get up on stage. He didn't get picked and I watched his little shoulders droop when he realized the show was over and he wasn't picked to help out with a magic trick.

I was at the back trying to pull myself together on his behalf so I could have the "you're not always going to be picked baby" chat with him and turn it into a "wasn't that totally AWESOME anyway" conversation when I heard the magician say ... "At the end of the show you can purchase my instructional DVD that will teach you how to do these tricks at home to wow your family and friends for only ten dollars" ....

And my little Jackie Chan turned around with such a look of hope in his eyes ... as if his entire world depended on me having ten dollars in my wallet at that moment and if I didn't it would ruin his life forever.

And I smiled and nodded at him. Because I did have ten dollars in my wallet. Because I went to the bank. Because God told me to.

And my little Jackie Chan burst into smiles and was so filled with joy. He ran to the magician to ask for his very own copy of the DVD.

I have never been so happy to have ten dollars in my wallet. Ever. Not because I would buy anything for him at any time ... but because I know how much he loves magic and I know that he has asked me almost a million times how magicians do their tricks and make stuff appear and disappear and on and on and on ... And I was able to give him something in that moment that he'd wanted forever.

And it only cost ten dollars.

(As an aside ... the rest of math night was good as well and I didn't totally embarrass myself or Jackie Chan - much. There was a moment when I was trying to add up dice really fast and then add that number to the score in front of me and there was a teacher leaning over me saying "isn't this fun" and all I could think of was that it was about as much fun as giving birth and there was no baby as a reward at the end ...)

It doesn't grow on trees ...

My closet is in serious need of updating. Like, serious.

Most days when I get dressed I feel kinda like an 87 year old woman trying to dress like a 20 year old in University and only grasping the concept of avoiding elastic waist pants.

As an aside ... I never USED to be like this. I was always on the cutting edge of style. Until I had kids. Because not only does having babies destroy your body ... it decreases your sense of style.

Shut up if your style is still as good as it was before you had kids ... I'm so NOT interested.

So back to getting dressed ... it's frustrating. (And even harder right now because the light bulb in my cupboard is burnt out and heaven only knows when that situation will be rectified so I have to "feel" my clothes to choose them because I'm too lazy to change the bulb or even get the flashlight that's probably under my bed somewhere ..)

Every morning I try on about 9 different combinations of outfits - they all end up having the same boring, schizophrenic effect - and end up with something I hate anyway and I find myself in a really really bad mood.

So ... on my way to work today I decided to be proactive about this and started to seriously consider putting my "get money plan" into action.

My "get money plan" is simply this: I will ask 2000 people in the city of Toronto - at random - to give me $1. Not borrow. Give. Me. One dollar. If I ask 2000 people to give me $1 I will end up with $2000.00. I know you're impressed with my wicked awesome math skills. Don't ask me to divide 2000 by 42.3 ... not gonna happen. But 1 x 2000 I can do.

So ... I ask each person to give me a dollar. Why wouldn't they? It's just a dollar. People will do anything with a dollar. I've even seen people put a dollar in those giant gum-ball machines - as if THAT isn't a totally unproductive use of a dollar.

But to pool those resources and use each dollar to go towards new clothes for me. Now THAT is a good idea.

I'd have $2000.00 for new clothes! And it wouldn't even be my money so it would be like guilt free spending.

But then my conscience kicks in and I start thinking. If I had $2000.00 that I'd collected from willing people then I should probably put that money to good use. Like give it to an organization that will do something good with the money. Like for Haiti. Or the millions of children living in poverty all over the world. Or trafficked women.

And my plan goes out the freaking window.

Not because its a stupid plan ... but because what I want to do with the money is stupid.

So. It sucks. But I won't put my "get money plan" into action and instead I'll go about encouraging people to give their money to worthy causes while wearing my tragic wardrobe and avoiding any areas of the city that have any kind of unwritten dress code ... like "don't come here if you're wearing brown dress slacks on a Saturday afternoon and trying to pull them off as casual because you're wearing sneakers ... we are totally on to how completely uncool you really are ..."

Sigh.

Today is ...

Today is Administrative Professionals Day. It is not widely celebrated. Unfortunately.

I do a lot of work at my office. I try to be as helpful and supportive as I can to the staff in my office. I'm the Office Manager so I basically have to make sure that the office is managed. (As an aside, can you even imagine having to be an "administrative professional" with Michael Scott as your boss? Hilarious) I try to keep things in order as much as possible.

It's not easy. There are personalities. There are always personalities. But I forge ahead unswervingly.

Am I rewarded? No. Thanked? Not enough. Not really.

It got me thinking about life at home.

Last night my hubby, Curtis, and I were eating ... in the living room (don't knock it, you KNOW you totally do it too). The kids had already been fed and were playing happily. I was patting myself on my back for a job well done. Dinner made and yummy? Check. Kids happy and playing well together? Check. Enjoying a moment with my husband? Check.

Then Bruce Lee, currently in the process of being potty trained, peed himself. Sans pull up.

No problem. Curtis stripped him down and the wet clothes were sent to the laundry room and everyone was happy again. Our peaceful evening resumed.

And then it happened. Bruce Lee pooped on the carpet. In the living room. We had apparently neglected to put clothing back on Bruce Lee.

Curtis yelled "he's pooping" - we jumped up and went into action. Curtis carried Bruce Lee upside down to the bathroom - because more poop was coming out - and put him on the toilet. Meanwhile, I ran to get a paper towel to clean up the nuggets that were nesting on the wool carpet.

Bruce Lee finished his poop - appropriately - on the toilet. He was bathed and then put in bed. Happy.

Curtis and I were flawless in our handling of the poop emergency. Flawless in our parenting in that moment. Perhaps less flawed parents wouldn't have let their 2 year old poop in the living room in the first place. But you know what they say ..... "s-it happens."

So today as I reflect on the fact that absolutely no one in this office will remember or care that it's Administrative Professionals Day I can comfort myself with the knowledge that I do the best I can at work ... and at home.

And Curtis and I make a pretty darn good team of "administrators" in our home.

I can see you, can you see me?

A while back there was a story aired on TV on one of those news shows - a Canadian one - W5 maybe?? Something like that ... anyway ...

The point of the "investigation" was to determine if short people (vertically challenged people like me) were ignored more often than people of average size or people tall in stature. (I'm pretty sure a friend of mine was interviewed on the show and while he's what some would refer to as "not tall" he IS an Olympic Gold Medalist ... so yeah ... that's awesome ...)

I can't remember all the details about the show ... I most likely fell asleep. But I do remember that the majority of "shorter" people interviewed felt that in general they were ignored and/or often found themselves in situations where people would simply walk into them.

Case in point ...

Yesterday I decided to go for a walk on my lunch break. My walk took me to a dress store I've been dying to go in (I always feel when the weather gets warmer that I NEED a dress even though I never, ever, ever wear dresses ... it's like warm weather and dresses go hand in hand in my mind ... never mind that I look like a complete dolt in dresses). So there I was looking through the fabulous dress selection and I notice a woman coming towards me out of the corner of my eye.

I take my defensive "you'resonotgettingtothissectionofdressesIwasherefirst" stance, but I'm smiling sweetly all the same.

The woman comes right up beside me (like waaaaay too close, waaaay invading my personal space) and then she reaches out ... and ... she puts her hand into me. Not around me. Not in front of me. Not near me. Like right into me.

And the best part is ... when she hit me, she jumped! Like out of surprise and shock. Ya know, that there was someone there ...

And she looked at me all startled, and then kind of scowled. Because I had somehow irritated her. Because she had not been aware of my presence until she hit me with her hand. Really. True story.

I'm not kidding.

I'm short. I get that. But really. Really ....

Huh ...

On Global they have those "huh" spots where you find out some weird and usually interesting fact about one of the actors/actresses on the shows on Global. I'm a fan. And I usually respond with "huh!"

I find I usually have at least one "huh" moment a day. Sometimes more. It sort of depends on how much attention I'm paying to the world that exists beyond my little space.

Take this morning for example. While walking through the playground I overheard two teachers talking about trees. Not an over stimulating conversation on the surface but as I passed I heard the one teacher say "there are male and female trees" ............. huh.

Male and female trees. And, apparently, if the trees have horrible fruit like ginkgo you only want to have one sex on your property so they don't ... you know ... procreate. Huh.

Yeah. Because what I'd want to have to worry about in my day besides the kids, my husband, the bills, my job, the dishes, etc. is whether or not my ginkgo trees are procreating rapidly in the backyard and producing needless amounts of horrible fruit.

... and the rockets red glare ...

I LOVE that I am a Canadian Citizen. I LOVE Canada. I wouldn't want to live anywhere else. (Except maybe New York city. But who wouldn't want to live in New York??? It's only the best city in the world. And I've always dreamed of being on Broadway and getting to be one of the actors who stand in the back alley just before and after the performances and drink coffee and smoke - only I wouldn't smoke because that's just a really bad habit and makes your lungs all black and icky and makes your breath smell horrible and your teeth yellow and why on earth would anyone ever do that - and I would stand around with the rest of the company from whatever successful show I was in at the time and talk about how there is no way that Rachel should have been given the lead over Carolynn and you'd have to be a total idiot to NOT see that ... ) but, I digress ...

I LOVE Canada. And I was SO super proud of my country at the Olympics this year. Every time the national anthem was played as the Canadian flag was raised for yet another GOLD medal, my heart swelled with pride and I realized I really do like "O Canada" ... but not to sing. It's just kinda dull ... to sing.

It has been a dream of mine since I was a little girl - for as long as I can remember really - to sing the Canadian and US National Anthems at a really big sporting event. No starting small for me, of course, no "doing my time" at the Belleville Bulls games. No way. Bring on the Super Bowl or the Stanley Cup or the World Series. And while both anthems are usually sung, I would (of course) only be interested in belting out the Star Spangled Banner.

Because we all know the Star Spangled Banner ROCKS. And O Canada just doesn't somehow.

When you get to the part in the Star Spangled Banner where you get to sing "and the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night, that our flag was still there ..." - WOW. "O Canada we stand on guard for thee" .... little anti climactic really. (Again, let me stress how much I LOVE Canada.)

I would stand in my dining room as a young person (I won't ever admit to my actual age when all this was going on) and would belt out the Star Spangled Banner as loud as I possibly could. Yeah. I memorized the words.

I had to be ready, ya know, in case Whitney wasn't able to make it to the Super Bowl.

And ready I was. I was sure that I was the best anthem singer on the PLANET. And it wasn't an ego thing or anything, I was just really the best and I just knew it ...

Fast forward to present day ...

I've never been asked to sing the anthems. I'm sure it's only because I haven't the foggiest idea how one would go about securing a gig like that ... Like, do I walk over to the Air Canada Centre and say "put me down for the anthems please, I'm good for next Thursday night?" So, it's still just a dream.

Of course I practice all the time ... in the shower.

Heartstrings ...

No one really prepares you for parenthood ... we've all heard that. We all know it's true. But the thing I find over and over again is you CANNOT be prepared for the emotional roller coaster your kids will take you on ... you are never prepared.

Take this morning for example ...

Both my husband and I work full time, so, we have to be up and out the door Monday to Friday. We have a car but I don't drive (long, LONG story that I'll save for another blog ...) so I walk the boys to their destinations each morning and then walk to work. My husband also walks to work and he has to be at work by 7:30 am (he, bless him, makes the "school lunch" which helps a lot in the morning), so really, it's up to me to get the boys ready and fed and out the door all by 8:30 am ... it's challenging ...

Thursdays and Fridays are particularly difficult ... its the end of the week. We're all tired and pretty much done with the routine of the week. I have a seven year old and a two year old. Challenging.

My seven year old, Jackie Chan (to protect my children's confidentiality I've decided to call my older son, Jackie Chan and my younger son, Bruce Lee ... which is probably completely pointless because the only people reading my blog - I'm sure - are people who know me AND my kids and are fully aware of their names ... but I imagine you understand why I'm trying to have some kind of protection in place) at any rate, Jackie Chan has taken to sleeping in in the morning. I'm not sure why ... he gets about 12 hours of sleep a night without the sleeping in and I can't imagine why he would need more than that (we've not ruled out that this could be related to some kind of medical condition and are looking into it).

So this morning we had reached a point where we had 30 minutes before we needed to leave the house and Jackie Chan is still asleep. I decided I had to wake him up because he needs a shower because I can't remember when he last bathed and I feel like the worst parent EVER. I'm in his room gently trying to wake him so he's not all grumpy when he gets up ... and my efforts are wasted. He groans and grunts and complains about having to get up and wants to stay in bed. He's seven not seventeen. I'm confused.

I immediately get frustrated and order him to get out of bed, get showered, get dressed and get downstairs to eat his breakfast which is already on the table getting cold. Jackie Chan is not impressed with the "to do list" I've just thrown his way and is angry and stomps around his room.

Simultaneously my two year old, Bruce Lee, is screaming and shouting about needing to brush his teeth so I stomp to the bathroom, grab his toothbrush and prepare it with a pea size amount of non-toxic toothpaste and thrust it in his direction and order him to brush his teeth - i get that most parents don't leave the tooth brushing to the two year old, but cut me some slack - and turn my attention back to Jackie Chan who is still in his PJ's.

(As an aside, Bruce Lee does NOT just brush his teeth, he decides to brush his "potty" and then brush his teeth and then his potty again and then his teeth and I choose to ignore this horrific germ sharing display because bigger picture, we need to get out of the house ...)

The next 30 minutes are filled with me yelling at the kids, shouting orders, fighting back tears, dealing with more tears and temper tantrums ... until we emerge from the house ready to face the day.

I'm angry. Jackie Chan is angry. Bruce Lee is tired and crying (and probably getting sick because of all the potty germ sharing). But we are on our way.

It's not until I'm standing at the school watching Jackie Chan swing happily from the round "spinny" things on the play structure in the school yard, smiling away at me (because he knows how proud I am that he's able to preform this amazingly athletic demonstration) that I find myself choking back tears.

Choking back tears of guilt and regret because I spent the entire morning yelling at him. I suddenly am aware that he is tired. And he has had a long week. And he maybe didn't want to get up and out the door any more than I did. And instead of trying to understand I YELLED at him. I try to imagine what my morning would have been like if the moment I opened my eyes someone started ordering me about and yelling at me to get in the shower. And I have to fight back the giant sobs welling up in my chest. And I'm sorry.

I can't tell him all this because we're in the school yard and there are lots of kids around. So, instead, I clap at his new found confidence on the "spinny" things and give him a big smile and a big thumbs up and make myself a promise that I will somehow make up for the nightmare I was this morning by doing something extra special with him this weekend.

And I say goodbye and have a great day baby ... and I turn and walk away and silently pray that the next time I'm faced with challenges I will do better. And I try to ignore the emotions tugging on my heartstrings ... because, well, that's what parents have to do ...

A running what?

I went out for my second run of the new spring season last night ... feeling pretty good that I didn't follow it up with ice cream (however, I did eat PC Blue Menu popcorn, which I feel is a much better option).

As I was running I got thinking back to last spring/summer ... my sister in law told me I should try on some running skorts (ya know that strange clothing item, shorts and a skirt combined) because they were awesome and comfortable and made you look wicked good ... and seeing how amazing she looked in her running skorts, I thought I'd give it a try, i mean, how bad could it be really ....

Really ...

If there is one thing I know I should never ever again under any circumstances put on my body again it's a running skort ... I wasn't even running, or moving, I was simply standing still in the change room and I had to turn away from the mirror in shock and horror (you know one of those change room moments when you just keep repeating "don't look in the mirror, just don't look in the mirror" but you HAVE to keep looking in the mirror because one ENTIRE wall of the change room IS a mirror). It was so awful. It was like Kirsty Alley meets Lady Ga Ga. Even the pencil working the change rooms at Lululemon had to admit that perhaps running pants (translation: snow pants) would be a better option for me and that perhaps I'd be more comfortable with more coverage.

Yeah. Fantastic.

So ... I'm not aiming for any kind of running skort or short this season, regardless of how insanely adorable they look on other people. Sigh. Maybe next year.

It's been awhile ...

It's been a while since I was in the blogging world and thought I'd give it another go with a slightly different angle. Instead of blogging about ... well, pretty much nothing in particular, I've decided to write about my experiences with my family, my friends, my church, my passions, my job ... my life I guess!

Don't get too fixated on the name of the blog, although I do plan to include (from time to time) my perspective on life as someone who is relatively vertically challenged ... because - let's be honest - I'm never going to reach the 5' mark ...