Blah!! and other thoughts about shopping

This weekend I went to the mall. That doesn't sound overly exciting but stay with me. Not that I promise you it will become exciting but I'll do my best. I had a few things in mind to buy but nothing really solidified. I will confess that is my least favourite way to begin a shopping trip. You see I'm not a big fan of malls at the best of times. They are noisy and crowded to start with. The particular mall I chose to torture myself with just so happens to stretch between about 64th Ave and 58th. You got it....it's 6 blocks long. There are two floors so really it's more like a dozen blocks of walking if you don't count all the twists and turns as you try to get by the crowds of teenagers who seem to congregate in 12 packs and say things like "oh my gosh, you're kidding me" as if their friends are always lying to them. Trust me kids you're friends are telling you the truth as they know it. Now get out of my way. I have a lot of stores to hit.

So I start my trip to this marathon of a mall and in search of what else....a parking spot. You'd think in the middle of the slowest months of the retail shopping year it wouldn't be to hard to find a place to put my car so that I can spend some money. Surprise!! Apparently there is a flash mob at the mall. Oh happy day! I did manage to find a spot that was so narrow I practically had to get the WD-40 to slide into it and then a can opener to get out of my car. But the good news is that it's only about 100 feet from the door to the mall. Booyah!! That should really cut down on all the walking I'm about to do....yah, I'm not buying it either.

I managed to get into a few stores without a lot of luck finding anything. Of course remember I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for which makes it that much harder to find "it". Maybe if I'm lucky a little leprechaun will jump up out of the clothing racks and say "Ha ha, you found me pot of gold". That would be quite helpful. Maybe I'll write that on a suggestion card for the malls customer service people. Does anyone ever put suggestions in in there? If they do what sorts of things get suggested? Enquiring minds want to know. Surely nothing as brilliant as my leprechaun idea. Just think how much time you'd save if they had that feature.

So I walk into one of the more popular brand name stores and had been looking at clothing for about a minute when this wash of white light flashes from the ceiling of the store. I look up and the fixture is about the size of a can of pop. I realize I'm kind of thirsty and could go for a can of pop right about now but there is work to be done. The white light is madly spinning around when I hear a chime followed by another. The light continues to flash so I look around the store. Nobody seems to have noticed or cared what this light is. I wonder if this some sort of secret sale? Is this an indication that someone is shop lifting? What the heck is this light for? Still nobody in the store is reacting. I assume they must know that everything is fine because despite me not knowing them at all group mentality tells me that if nobody else is worried about this light I probably shouldn't be either. Famous last words? Hmm, let's take a minute to ponder........alright, I'm sure it's nothing. Just a random light flashing and chiming. I mean that happens everyday doesn't it?

I pick out some clothes to try on and head for the fitting rooms. This is always fun right? Seeing just how horrible you look in the latest fashion trends. I saunter over with the light still flashing and the occasional chime coming from the ceiling. Just after I walk into the dressing room (and a full three minutes after the light started flashing) I hear a reassuring robotic voice say "The fire alarm has been activated, please remain calm as we investigate and try to locate the source". Are they kidding? They have a high tech robot working for them and have lights flashing inside what I presume is every store in the 12 blocks of mall concourse but they don't know after 3 minutes where in the building this is happening. Awesome!!! And now I'm standing there in clothing that doesn't belong to me wondering what the heck to do. I decide very quickly that nothing looks good enough that I want the fire fighters to find my dead body in them so I get back into my own clothes and leave the store. Everyone is still calmly milling about when the announcement is made that the incident is now over and that we "can continue enjoying (our) shopping experience". Yah, I think everyone already was. Maybe this happens so often they don't notice it anymore. Great emergency system guys. Well done.

I walk back and forth weaving in and out of swarms of people who no doubt are as perplexed as I am about where the heck they are going. Recent renovations at the mall including the addition of a new wing have me completely lost. I'm sure I've double backed and retraced my foot steps a dozen times now. Did I mention how much fun I am having? Sigh. My next step is bra shopping. Sorry guys. This was too good to not bring up. Feel free to skip ahead if you must. I know you're probably getting a little squeamish at the thought already. We will forgive you. However before you go I do want to start this section with a big old thank you to the man (or men) involved in this part. I'm not sure exactly who the brain child behind this was but I'm pretty sure it wasn't a woman. You see every bra in the store had a tamper proof dye pack on it. This does not seem extraordinary and at first thought it's not. I'm sure that women steal bras all the time....even the really ugly ones. Who wouldn't want one of those army issue bras for their collection if they could get it for free? Not that they didn't have some nice ones but when I say they were all tagged I mean every one of them. Of course if they didn't make these stupid things $50 for a basic bra then people wouldn't steal them as much. But I digress.

So you'll notice from the photos that the genius who tagged these suckers put every one of them right in the middle so that when you try them on they dig painfully into your breast bone. Sorry again guys. I just said breast....breast, breast, breast. I suspect we've just lost half of the male readership. Either that or we just gained a few. Show of hands how many of you found my blog by Googling the word "breast" and are reading this by accident. Sorry about that...well not really. So lets continue. Now I could have gotten the lady in the over sized sweater and clunky shoes who was working in the change rooms....and who I might add had droopy "girls" herself.....to help me by removing this tag in order that I try it on without pain and suffering but she was busy helping some red faced guy who was desperately looking to buy his wife lingerie for February 14th. I say it was for his wife but really most men have figured out not to attempt this by the time they know their partner well enough to actually marry them. However for the purposes of my story lets say it was his wife. I don't know this woman but unless she is a size 0 (which in my humble opinion is a crime against nature to begin with) she is going to hate him. Less hope she's freakishly skinny because if not it's going to be cold shoulder Monday instead of Valentines day at their house.

So I was stuck attempting to try on a series of bras that have dye tags that dig into my skin so hard it actually left a bruise. I'd show you pictures but nobody needs to see that. Trust me I'm doing you a major favour. No need to thank me. Let's instead thank the super genius who attached all these tags where he did. Good job buddy!! The world is a better place I'm sure. Let's hope you've lead a good life because if not I know what is waiting for you on the other side. Brimstone and bras with dye tags, that's what!! Finally I give up and leave the store. Onward!!

Next is shopping for purses. I say a little prayer to give myself strength during the trying time to come. I hate purse shopping. I've had the same $40 purse for the better part of 3 years. I've been able to trash it. You know why? Because it only cost me $40!! I walked into one of the larger department stores at the mall today and headed for the handbags. I'm looking around and they are all designer labels. The cheapest one is $550 for some crappy looking nylon purse by nobody I've even heard of. I could get a nylon purse at Wal-mart people. In fact I could probably get 20 of them. Why would I buy one from here for that price? So a sales associate happens to be walking through. I politely ask her "where are the not $550 purses?" She smirks back at me and says we have this one here for $520. I don't think she quite understood me. Nor do I think she'd find the witty comeback I have dancing in my head at that moment amusing. I sigh and walk away. Don't get me wrong if I found the perfect purse and it was under $200 and I thought it might actually be worth having I'd probably just put out the money in order to save myself from the disgusted looks of the sales associates at the next store but I'd be insane to spend that kind of money on something that won't be durable enough to survive my lifestyle. A dog that pees on stuff, two wild and crazy kids, and my awesome coordination.  Yah, don't ask about that last one. Let's just say I trip going upstairs....a lot....and when I do I will try to save my face and my pride before my purse okay?

After a long afternoon I finished my shopping with reasonable success. I found everything I didn't know I needed, got sore feet, and a bruise in a place no woman would want one, and got a blog idea to share with you. What more could a girl ask for?......Other than a purse that costs less than a car and a bra that doesn't cause internal bleeding that is.

Midnight adventures

Last night as I was preparing to go to bed I heard some whimpering. It was a familiar sound. One that I have become accustomed to over the last decade or so. I had been down on the computer checking emails so I headed upstairs to where the noise was coming from. There squeezed behind a floor lamp was my daughter Camryn. She was making a crying sound and certainly looked disoriented and upset. However I knew that I needed to approach her in a calm way. You see she was sleepwalking and the crying was part of her dream. Both my children are nocturnal wanderers. They don't sleepwalk very often, maybe once a month but it is not uncommon for Cammie to be tearful during these episodes.

The first time it happened was when Andrew was about 2 years old and I was pregnant with you know who. He had fallen asleep on the couch in the evening and I just hadn't moved him into the bedroom yet. Suddenly he sat straight up as if wide awake and said something about how the car was yellow. Then he quietly laid back down on the couch as if nothing had happened. We didn't have a yellow car so I asked him to repeat it but he was already back asleep. Well in reality he had always been asleep but I didn't know that at the time. Often it's very hard to tell. Both kids will have their eyes wide open, come right up to you, and talk as if it were an everyday thing. The only way to tell is how they behave after that point. Drew will walk into my room at night, say something, and then go back to bed. He always says it with conviction as it it were some great philosophical words that I should write down but by the time I am awake enough to realize he is already climbing back under his warm covers. To date I have never been able to make out a complete sentence from him. I can usually gather the general gist of what he says but never the whole message. Often it's random and confusing....or maybe it's just me that is random and confusing leading to his profound words being lost forever. I hope it's not the solution to world peace because then I'd feel really bad about missing it.
 

So finding Camryn squished behind the lamp wasn't that unusual for her. I've found her asleep in all sorts of places in the house. Sometimes on the floor or the couch in the living room but some of the more amusing were sitting at the kitchen table, on the bottom step of the stairs, on an empty shelf in the bookcase, and of course now behind the lamp. Because I was awake and heard the whimpering I was able to get to her before she closed her eyes again. She was looking upset so I asked her what was wrong. She tends to stumble through a conversation when she is sleeping. She will stutter and seem somewhat confused. She can answer basic questions although sometimes in interesting or nonsense kind of ways. Drew on the other hand is just matter of fact about it. He will say something once and then don't bother wasting your breath. He won't clarify or repeat himself. So I asked Camryn what was wrong and she manages to get out that she "can't find it?" I ask her what "it" is and she looks even more confused than before. She continues to randomly talk about "it" but I never really found out what "it" actually is. I asked her if she wanted to go back to bed and she said "yes". If that's not proof that she was sleeping I don't know what is. Really, what kid would want to go to bed after all? I carefully walked her back upstairs to her room. She laid down and said "okay, she can come". Look at me, I seem to have just negotiated that "she" can come. I don't know who she is or where I talked Camryn into taking her but pat on the back for me. A few fist pumps and I say to myself "I deserve cookies for that". I go back down stairs and treat myself to my well earned treat.

So far I've been lucky that neither kid has done anything too nutty. I hear horror stories of people going outside in their PJ's which in our wonderful Calgary winters could be very dangerous. Neither kid has eaten anything or crawled into the bath tub or otherwise gotten themselves into a sticky situation but of course as their mother I worry. So far the only challenging thing is the waking up to a child's silhouette in my dimly lit room. A child who is standing over me starring intently at me. If you've never experienced this sort of thing let me say I suspect the adrenaline rush is similar to bungee jumping or sky diving. Nothing says wake up and fight for your life like someone unexpectedly starring at you while you sleep. I have a weird fear of being watched so even though these are my own children watching me sleep it's still a little disconcerting. Don't bother asking me where I got this fear from because I have no idea. It's not like I had any siblings who did this to me. It's not like I have ever had anyone (that I know of) stalk me. Alright well there was that one guy that I met online a few years ago that emailed me pictures of his cat dressed up and all his baby pictures for a over a year despite repeated requests to stop. And no we never even met for coffee. Can you say socially inappropriate? As unusual and creepy as that guy was I had this phobia long before him. Where this fear actually came from I'll never know but I must say waking up randomly with someone watching you does not seem to help a person get past it. 

So if in my old age I am a little bit off my rocker, talking about yellow cars, showing up at the bed sides of my fellow nursing home residents to watch them as they sleep, and regaling tales of how I was an ace negotiator for unnamed girls going to unknown places please just calmly walk me back to my room and tuck me in bed. I'll be fine and won't remember a thing in the morning.

Little White Lies

I'd like to start this blog entry with a declaration. I generally think honesty is the best policy. I don't advocate lying to people. It tends to just get you into trouble. But I'll tell you the truth.....I lie sometimes. Not that you should believe me....I just told you I lie. Maybe you're really nice though....of course you are....and you'll cut me some slack just this once. See you're a better person than me already.

I don't lie about my accomplishments or at least I try not to. I don't pretend to be someone I'm not either. I think that if someone is important enough to you that you'd want to impress them then they likely deserve for you to be honest with them. That being the case I have a confession. I've lied to my children. Yes, it's true. The two people that I love more than any other creature on the planet are the victims of my dishonesty. Some of them are pretty innocent like when they were little and I just needed them to get to sleep so I didn't go insane I would skip pages in a story book when they weren't looking. I've slipped vegetables into some of their favorite foods....of course I got caught almost every time. And I keep the best cookies hidden for myself. It's all true. They wouldn't know a good cookie if it bit them on the nose....they're kids. All cookies are great to them.

But today as I took the water tank from Andrews humidifier into the upstairs bathroom to be refilled I was reminded of one of my best and most sneaky deceptions yet. As I walked in I saw Charlotte. Let me explain where Charlotte came from and why she is now entangled in my web of lies. Andrews grade one year is mostly a blur to me. It was a busy year....or at least I assume it must have been because I don't remember very much from it. Of course we got the regular rounds of grade one worksheets and dried macaroni noodles glued in the shape of the number 2. Drew grew out of his new shoes by November and left his coat in the classroom almost everyday. Pretty standard stuff right? Then came Mothers Day. The beginning of the big lie. You might as well start warming up your voices to chant "Liar, liar pants on fire".

Andrew brought home Charlotte in a small painted flower pot. You see Charlotte is a spider plant....or at least she was a spider plant. Rest in peace dear friend. She was fairly new to this word and I imagine her root system wasn't strong enough to survive the Black Thumb also known as "Mom" in our house....me, okay....it was me. I admit it. Poor little thing. Day after day I'd walk into the kitchen and see her slowly withering away as she looked at me in her "Oh please water me" kind of way. Sometimes I'd do it and sometimes I'd forget. Well, mostly I forgot. I didn't mean to neglect her but it happened. That girl hung on for a few months. Every time I'd water her she would rally and perk right back up as if she were saying "I'll be okay. I can just walk it off" (cough, cough, wheeze). I think a part of me thought she was invincible. Truthfully I didn't want her die....especially after Andrew named her. I'd like to say I know where the name Charlotte came from but I don't. To my knowledge he had not heard the story of Charlotte's Web yet. Almost ironic though that our Charlotte would be part of a web too....a giant web of lies. I will point out that we don't own plants for a good reason. Case in point.

One day I went in and she was just laying there in the window sill. A dry, crackly, shrivelled shell of her former self. I knew she was gone. I felt terrible and hid the plant from Andrew thinking he'd probably never notice. After all he was only 6 right? The first day without her in the window went well. He didn't notice. Then on day two as I'm frantically scrambling to get dinner on the table I hear a little voice "Where is Charlotte?". My heart sank. How could I tell this sweet little face that I had murdered his Mothers Day gift to me? Now you may say that it's hardly murder when you accidentally let a plant dry up....or at least that's what I try to tell myself of in order to feel better. However the truth is that I knew she was there and I neglected her most basic needs. So how do I now say to this little guy that something he loves enough to name is dead and hidden under the sink until a suitable spot is found? "I'm not sure honey, I bet she's around here somewhere?" Did I actually say that? "Okay" I hear back.....and now did I also just hear him buy into that totally implausible lie? As if plants just get up and walk around the house only to be found in a sunnier window than you left them? Yes, yes I did just hear him say that. Problem solved right? I bought some time until he forgets about it. Great.

(Buzzer sound) System fail!! The next day. "Where is Charlotte today?" he softly asks again. And then day three, four, and five. The panic sets in. Now what am I going to do? The kid is waiting for her to come back and he's not forgetting. Luckily it was the kids weekend with their dad. That bought me some time to think, plan, and pull off what would become my 5 year deception. It occurred to me to go to the local garden centre and see if I could find a similar type plant. I figured he'll never know if it was something else entirely.....he's only 6 after all. So I hop in my car and head over there bright and early Saturday morning. It was summer so half of those stupid things were in bloom. The other half were so clearly the wrong type of plant I knew he'd figure it out. Some poor 15 year old whose parents probably own the place and make him spend every free moment of his life working there was quite baffled when I complained under my breath "Do all these horrid things have to have flowers already? Yeesh!!" I assume that the lone security guard was probably told to follow me through the store at that point. "Follow that mumbling, flower hating, crazy lady Jim....she might be trouble".

Finally I pass by an aisle I had been down several times but somehow failed to notice the 10 actual spider plants hanging from a beam above. As if the sun came out from behind the clouds I realized that I might actually be able to solve my problem. Now to look for the smallest most spindly looking one they have. It's like going to the SPCA hoping to find a dog with only three legs and Kennel Cough. Yah, I'm sure Jim the security guard had his hand on his can of pocket mace as I paced back and forth looking at all these incredibly robust, healthy plants. "Seriously, why are these all so healthy?" I say. Jim's heart starts pounding faster as he prepares to take me down. I find the smallest one which is at least 20 times bigger than Charlotte. This will never work I think to myself but what choice do I have? It seems even more insane to drive across town in search of a sicker plant to fool a 6 year old. Yah, now I start worrying about how crazy my plan seems. Where was this logic a few hours ago? I have sympathy for all of you who have tried this with a hamster or goldfish.

So Charlotte the sequel came home with me. She was much to big to repot into the original container so I just left her as is in the generic white pot she came in. The next night when Drew came home he saw her and with a hint of glee in his voice he said "Oh Charlotte you grew". I stood there flabbergasted. He's buying it. "Yes, honey, I found her upstairs by the window. She was enjoying the sunshine".  Now I'm just tempting fate. I tell myself to stop talking. He spends about 10 seconds looking her over and then leaves. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or annoyed that he's not throwing me some sort of party to honor all my hard work. Kids I tell you!!

Fast forward 5 years. We still have Charlotte II. She is upstairs in the bathroom hanging from our shower rod. Hey, give me a break. She's still alive so I can't be doing to bad a job. Okay, her pot....the same one she came in has started to crack as she pushes her way out. I noticed that 6 months ago but as always life has been busy. Who am I kidding? I'll probably be shopping for a spider plant this summer. And as I walked in tonight I swear I saw her shaking side to side in a disapproving "I'm so disappointed in you" kind of way. My lie worked but the plant torments me just a little every night. So if I had it to do all over would I?.....HECK YAH!!

Open letter to my Snow Man





Dear Snow Removal Guy,

We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. Please know that I love the idea of someone else shovelling my sidewalks. I really do. Especially in -34 C wind chills. For that I will forever be in your debt. However I would like to chat with you about a few things.

First it isn't very nice to bury my car as you pass along the sidewalk with your snow blower. Remember that time you watched me sweep all the snow off my vehicle? That glint in your eye. Me stupidly standing there with the snow brush still in my hand watching you mere seconds before you came along and blew twice as much snow back onto it. That was awesome!! Really one of my best moments ever. I think you thought I was mad at you when I was screaming and swearing but really in my heart I was trying to show you how much I appreciated all your hard work. I was just so overwhelmed with love at that moment I didn't know how else to express it. You got me good. Really funny to do that just as I'm leaving for work. Ha ha. Score one for you friend. 

My car partially dug out



I realize that I am partly to blame. After all I park so close to the walkway....the same place I have parked for over 6 years. Just because that is my assigned spot is no excuse and I agree that I should just accept it. But since we are such good buddies could I ask that when you are deciding between my car and the green space to dump snow could you please at least consider the green space as a possible alternative? That would be ever so sweet of you. Not that I don't love having to get help digging my car out of the igloo you have built over it. It's very creative and child centred of you to think how much fun the kids and I could have in there. I just don't want to have too much fun. I might stop appreciating the little things you do for me. I'm sure there are other people who deserve this kind of special treatment too. I certainly don't want to be greedy and keep all this excitement just for myself.



Stairs....yes really!!



Secondly I would like to point a little thing out to you. There is no point shovelling the walk and then leaving the stairs with a foot of snow and ice. It's actually not the flat surfaces that pose the greatest risk. No really. I mean it. I know it's hard to believe but understand that as your biggest fan ever.....EVER, I promise not to steer you wrong. I've watched more than a few of my fellow condo dwellers swan dive off those suckers. You may have noticed the deep indents in the snow where their bodies lay motionless for several seconds as they get their barrings. Me standing there wondering if I need to call 9-1-1. I appreciate the adrenaline rush but understand that my heart doesn't need any help to beat. It's doing okay without your assistance. Thank you for thinking about me though. Nobody clears the walks or cares like you do. I like the added touch of having the snow collapsing back onto the stairs. Makes it more treacherous for the senior citizens in the complex. You and I are both laughing about that one. "Oh here comes another one" we both say as we chuckle under our breaths. That just never gets old does it?

Third I would really prefer to sleep at 6:00am on a Saturday morning rather than listen to you randomly blowing snow around the complex. Of course there isn't much else on this earth more amusing than drinking my morning coffee while I watch you and your friends sabotage each others hard work. You blowing snow on your buddies freshly cleared walk way and then when you go around the corner he does it back to you. Oh man that's great. I get so much joy from this game of cat and mouse. Not quite as much fun as when you cover my car but it's still pretty awesome. I also love the fact that the condo is likely being billed by the hour. Makes it that much funnier to see you recovering the sidewalks and then having to go over them again.

Well buddy I think that's all for now. Thanks again for everything you do. I know that your strong work ethic and attention to detail will lead you far in life. I can hardly wait to see you move up the corporate ladder. You will be greatly missed once the snow disappears. Here's hoping for a quick end to winter.

Your friend,
Colleen

Super carb-aholic expialidocious

Picky eater !!

Two words that strike fear in parents who don't have one and cause an anxious knot in the pit of the stomachs of those that do. If you are already a member of this club welcome back. If you are not yet initiated we will save you a place. Lucky me I have two of them and guess what? They are picky about different things. Try not to be jealous okay?

Yes, Camryn is my super carb-aholic kid. If a food is white she'll consider it. If it falls into one of the following categories she'll probably put it in her mouth. Pasta, rice, potatoes, bread. All carbs, all the time. Regardless of what it is make sure it doesn't have any spice, no lumps for goodness sake, should be one solid color without a hint of extra anything in it, no funny smells or weird sounding names, and if possible should be a food she's already familiar with.

I would say that she's always been fussy about food right from the start. She certainly wasn't impressed with any solid foods except for Mini-Go yogurt. Those suckers were gold to her and she'd eat as many as you could find in the fridge. She'll still eat those things like they were going out of style. As a toddler it was all about Kraft Dinner. Gee that never went away either. Don't even get me started with how much milk that kid would drink. All that calcium was super helpful when she went through her biting phase. Yippee!! Strong teeth. She was so set in what she would eat that we even had to introduce brown chicken to the menu. This was a magical food at our table. Something my picky eater couldn't live without. Bet your dying for this mystery recipe. Okay here it is. Brown chicken and rice:  First go to the store and buy ground beef. Yes I said beef. You see brown chicken is not really even chicken at all. It used to moo. Brown it. No spice except for a pinch of salt. Serve it with rice. Voila!! A masterpiece. Only the fanciest dinners at my house. Wonder why I never have dinner parties? Now you know.

At the age of three there was absolutely no way she was going to eat anything but chicken so "brown" chicken it was. I couldn't believe she actually fell for it. The other day I tried serving "beef and rice". Silly me. She just looked at me like what garbage are you trying to pull Mom? What can I say it seemed like a brilliant idea at the time but now 8 years later we still eat our special brown chicken and rice. At least she'll put it in her mouth.

Then I have Andrew who is the most polite picky eater I have ever met. He will sweetly say "No thank you" or "I'm full" after only a few bites rather than consume a food he does not like. Now some of you are probably sitting there thinking to yourself "kids will eat if they are hungry enough". Please know I'm not trying to hurt your feelings when I say that's garbage. Maybe a perfectly typical kid somehow understands that theory but as a mother of a kid who would actually starve himself just believe me when I say that it's not always the case. When he turned three Drew didn't gain any weight for a year and a half because he simply refused to eat more than two bites of anything....yes, I mean anything....even candy. The biggest problem though was that his list of acceptable foods kept changing. That was actually harder than dealing with Camryn who was pretty reliable in what she would or wouldn't eat. Drew would love broccoli for 3 weeks and then one day simply refuse to eat it again for two years. The only food that never went out of style for him was good old PB&J sandwiches. That was really nice except that you can't take those to school anymore for fear of allergies. I've had to try and get creative with weekday lunches but truthfully he's just opted to go hungry many times. Given how skinny he is already you can see why I just try to give him what he likes.

For those of you that are still in the midst of your struggle I will offer you my not so sage wisdom. Who do you think I am, Yoda? This is all I got people....

1. If you change the name they will come. Okay, changing the name of a food may not fool your kid like it did in our house but it's worth a shot. What's the worst that can happen? They grow up and totally embarrass themselves when they try to order brown chicken steak? Serves them right for everything they put you through.
2. Give them a Kraft Dinner sandwiches if that's what they'll eat. Okay, so everyone you know will think you are completely insane....you probably are. Accept it and move on. You have years to lay guilt trips on them for all the anguish and public humiliation they have caused. Get them back by dressing them in a reindeer sweater, take a picture, and show all their friends when they are fourteen. You'll feel better I promise.
3. Keep putting a variety of foods on their plates. Even if you know they won't try them just have it sitting there. If they freak out about that put it on a plate near them. One day you just might be surprised and they'll put it in their mouth. Try not to jump up and down screaming "I win. Your going down kid!!". Scaring the heck out of them probably won't leave a positive association of that food in their minds. Sit back and do a happy dance in your head but on the outside be as cool as ice. You rocked it and you know it!!
4. Lastly with all kidding aside. Ask for help if you need it. It's out there. If your kid is so picky they really won't eat, are losing weight, are getting so selective that they are down to only 5 or 10 foods total, or it's really impacting your family ask your doctor for help. And tell them that I sent you. Gratuities are gratefully accepted but your undying adoration is more than enough.

Bacon: A cautionary tale

Almost 8 weeks ago I was in a car accident. Before you panic I'll tell you that I lived. Just in case you were worried. I don't want you to spend the whole blog thinking I hope she makes it. I just spoiled it for you. I did and you are welcome.

It was a relatively minor accident in the scheme of things but due to some ongoing issues I have been undergoing a few tests. Like a weirdo I find the humour in this experience. Now not everyone can be a true weirdo. It takes a lot of hard work and a little bit of luck. To be able to call yourself a weirdo you must first do weirdo things. Let me explain how I came to be in this category. For those of you who are regular readers I'm sure you've already bought into this premise so bare with me as I explain to our new friends. The other day I went to physio and found a jar of bacon bits in my purse. Random right? Okay, I had bought them at one of those stores that asks you if you want a bag for 5 cents. "Of course I want a bag, I have 23 items here". But oops, she forgot to charge me and I guess I failed to notice that my bill was 5 cents less than I expected. She goes on to tell me that she can ring in a bag on a new bill if I'd like. The one day that I don't even have 5 pennies in my wallet of course. I'm seriously not going to use my debit card for one 5 cent bag. The cost of the paper for a new receipt must be at least 5 cents which I'm now saving the store from having to spend by declining this offer so just give me the stupid bag and pretend that I paid for it already! There I am stuffing food in every pocket and of course my purse. Apparently I failed to notice that the bacon was still in there when I went to my appointment later in the day. Honestly how do you forget about bacon? Yes, I am very ashamed of myself okay? So try to imagine the horror as I opened my purse at the physiotherapy clinic to track down a pen and this jar of bacon bits rolls out onto the counter. How do you explain that quickly enough for them to not go for the panic button under the desk? And now I'm the crazy bacon lady. Wonderful. This is not the only weirdo thing I've done, it's just the most recent. They all have perfectly reasonable explanations. Really!! And now I am a certified weirdo. Good now we are all on the same page. Let's continue shall we.

So off for my battery of tests. First I was sent to the eye doctor to rule out of all things retinal detachment. Doesn't that sound like fun? I showed up at the clinic and began all the wonderful tests that someone with a significant phobia of things touching or being near their eyes would L-O-V-E. Did I mention I have such a phobia? The first machine we come to puffs blasts of air at your eyes. Why? Probably because it's fun to freak people out. I bet they video tape it and watch it on their coffee breaks. The woman performing the tests warns me it's coming and I swear there is a 2 minute delay as I sit and anticipate the blast of air  on to my eyeball. Just when I'm so anxious I want to vomit I feel the blast. Oh goody one eye done. Please tell me we get to do that again. We do? Fantastic!! I white knuckle it and make it through. Then she has me move to the next machine where they tell you to press the lever every time you see the squiggly lines on the screen. I sit there for what seems like an eternity. Is she kidding me? I don`t see any stupid lines already. What kind of sick joke is this? Great maybe I`m actually going blind. Nope she tells me don't worry about it. After telling me I should be seeing something she casually tells me not to worry about it. Right. Mind games I tell you!! As an added bonus I`m still nauseated from the last test so that the knots forming in my stomach have something to work with. Finally I`m given the great news. Next are eye drops!! Wow it's my lucky day. She comes at me with that little white bottle and it`s everything I have not to kick her in the shin and run out of the office. Blah. "Hold on Colleen. Get a grip. You can do this." After all your retinas could be ripped out of the place they are supposed to be and it might be good to know about it. So I hold on tight and try not to bite this lady who I`m sure in some sick way is trying to help me.

You may know these drops. They are the ones that make you look like a drugged marsupial. With my pupils as big as saucers and blind to anything closer than 5 feet away I wait for the next round of fun to begin. We are having fun right? After a retinal photograph the doctor tells me that my eyes are intact save for being a little shaken up and cloudy. Sounds like a play on a James Bond movie. "Shaken, not stirred". The mere thought of my shaken eyeballs makes me feel sooo much less queasy than before. Fabulous. Yikes. Oh and did I mention that it won't get better but the super news is that at some point I won't notice it anymore. Phew!! And here I thought I had a real problem. I know, I know my eyes could be falling apart right? It's all good.

Next is the spinal x-ray to make sure I didn't crack a vertebrae. Did they notice I'm walking around and not complaining of bones sticking out in places they shouldn't be? Maybe I should say something. Oh but wouldn't it be more fun to try to get my life time maximum of radiation with another x-ray? I show up for this procedure and am quickly guided to a room with a pile of paper towels and instructed to put one on. Of course they call them "gowns" in this clinic but we all know what they really are. Each one comes with a 6 inch ribbon of plastic which they call a "belt". Okay, I'm not that big of an idiot. This belt wouldn't fit around a newborn and they think I can wrap it around this post baby belly? Seriously? If it can't fit around the baby how do they think it will fit around something big enough to hold said baby? I decide to forgo this mockery and just hold the stylish garment shut myself. The best thing I can say about this so called gown is that it has lots of fiber. I bet that means it's good for my health. Look at me getting more fiber in my life and taking care of myself. I'm good at this. So the technician comes back and questions my failure to utilize the belt. I imagine I raised one eyebrow in some sort of "Are you intoxicated?" look. She grabs it off the bench and stretches this 6 inch thing into a reasonable facsimile of a belt. I knew that. I totally knew that!! Now I feel a little bad for looking at her funny. I blame it on the excess fibre I'm now getting. I think it's making me irritable. I wrap the belt around my waist and proceed with the x-ray.

Luckily I hadn't done any major damage to my bones so I was off for my next adventure in health care. The CT scan. If you ever need to go for a CT scan take my advise and don't Google it before hand. If you want to be freaked out then be my guest. I'm pretty sure that regardless if they detect any brain damage from the accident that they likely caused more in the process. It's probably best not to know what they will be doing to your long term health. I will say that I do not have the results of my scan yet. I am a little bit worried that they may come back and tell me that they know I'm a weirdo though. I bet they can see all the little thought bubbles and the wacky ideas that leap about inside my brain like a drunk frog. Okay, I can't say I really know what a drunk frog looks like but stay with me here.

I arrive for my test and am directed to wait in the "F" section of the hall. I was thinking I bet "F" is for fantastic. They took one look at me and knew that I belonged there. Those people are so nice to say such wonderful things about me. When I'm done my delusion I proceed along the hall until I find this area. There is only one woman in this entire section. I sit down in a chair across from her. She is wearing a leather skirt and top that barely contain the parts of her that I'm pretty sure should be contained. I didn't know this was a black tie event. Damn I'm seriously under dressed in my t-shirt and One Tooth yoga pants. I sit there self consciously for a moment until I hear a squeak. Was that a mouse? Then I notice this woman shifting in her chair. As she crosses and uncrosses her legs I can hear her leather skirt make this wretched noise like a sad little rodent. Awesome. I'm pretty sure that's not supposed to happen. I try to act like I don't notice but we are the only two people anywhere within sight. It's like trying to ignore a loud fart in an elevator. I vote to go with the crowd mentality and pretend that it didn't happen and I certainly didn't notice it either. Now I have to pretend there's a crowd here too. Great. Look away Colleen.

Finally I'm called in for my scan. Big sigh of relief. I walk into the large over sized room and have an instant flash back to the book Curious George Goes to the Hospital by Margaret and H.A. Rey. I can't explain exactly why but I love that book even to this day. This room suddenly fills me with a warm feeling from my childhood and any nervousness melts away. I assume this hospital is monkey-free so what could possibly go wrong in a room like this? The hallway had been stark and quiet except for a loud squeak that really needs to be dealt with. This room was bright blue and full of smiling staff and fancy equipment. I'm directed into position on the table and get my head strapped in. I'm moved into position inside the scanner. As I lay there waiting for the procedure to begin I see a thin glass window with a tiny sign positioned right above my head. I squint my eyes to see the words which are upside down from my position. I start reading. It says "Laser Aperture: Do not look directly into beam". Great planning. Let's draw peoples attention to the spot they aren't supposed to look at just before we fry their retinas....providing those retinas aren't already detached. Brilliant!! I start laughing.

The technician comes back with a worried look on her face and asks if everything is okay. Great, I'm really breaking out of the crazy bacon lady image I've created for myself. Super. Now I'm laughing because my eyes were almost cooked by a laser beam? That screams stable doesn't it? I thought I better write this blog before the men in white coats show up at my door in the morning. Please send me cookies and other yummy treats while I "rest" in my padded room for awhile. Please no bacon though. I already have some in my purse.

Wishes and stuff....

When I was pregnant with my son Drew about 12 years ago I tried to imagine who this little person would be. Would he have red hair like his great grandfathers on both sides? Would he have crooked toes like me? Or would he be impossibly skinny like his father? We had been told that we might not be able to have a child and were so delighted to find out I was already pregnant when they gave us that news. He seemed like a miracle. I hoped for so many things for him but knew that we had already been given so much. I couldn't have been more grateful or more unaware of the journey we have just begun.

When Andrew was born during a crazy heat wave in 1999 I fell desperately in love with this amazing kid. There was something about him that seemed so unique and wise. He never was like a baby the way most newborns are. He looked like a little old man with crazy blond hair on the sides and bald as ever up top. We called him the mad scientist. He would sit and watch the world in a way that seemed so thoughtful as if he were taking in everything that was going on. If you ask him now he'll tell you he remembers the time before he was born and there is a part of me that believes him. It was like he never missed anything.

"Colleen" you are probably saying to yourself, "All mothers think their child is special". Well my friends you are right. Most mothers do think their children are pretty amazing and they are. But I knew there was something really different about Drew right from the early days. I just didn't know quite what it was. As the years went on we had lots of laughs. That sweet boy of mine would sing the song of "E". What is that you ask? Well the song of E was a haunting tune Drew would sing as he rode in the car or when he saw a fan. We wrote it off as vocal play. Basically he liked to hear his own voice. Who wouldn't? As a toddler he would gladly wander around the yard in his diaper watering every flower until they died from drowning.

By the age of 2 I saw the first glimmers of a skill in language that just 7 years later would be almost untestably high. Andrews fascination with words, how they sounded, and what they meant kept us hopping. Now at age 11 he uses words that I sometimes have to look up in the dictionary but don't tell anybody....especially not him. You may assume that having such a gift means life would have been easy for Drew but that was not always the case. Despite having such a broad vocabulary he was unable to distinguish between his letters in Kindergarten. I, apparently being the only person on the planet who didn't go to Kindergarten had no idea even what it was all about. Take a moment to get over your disbelief. Yes, I never went to Kindergarten and look, I even turned out okay. Well sort of but the way I turned out had absolutely nothing to do with missing that year....at least I don't think it did. So I'm only guessing at what it's all about. I've heard all my friends rave about it and say they loved it and I imagine that the days are filled with blocks and crayons and snack times and magical talking unicorns....I can have unicorns if I want to. So when your sons teacher tells you not to worry that your child thinks train starts with an "s" sound and keys begins with "m" you try to go with it. After all what did I know about it? Later I would learn that Andrew has learning disabilities and with different teaching methods he's been able to minimize their impact. "Phew", that bullet dodged.

So fast forward a few years and he's still struggling so I went in search of some answers. This was not to be a quick, painless, or inexpensive process. I've had to be both the negotiator and the protective Mama bear. Eventually I came upon the answer. It was both shocking and expected at the same time. Are you on the edge of your seat? Anytime some uses the word shocking you sit up just a little more don't you? Oh what could it be?

Our family has joined a club. I know that doesn't sound overly exciting does it? There is no secret handshake or membership dues. No annual general meetings or cards with our photos on them. We certainly aren't unique because about 1 out of every 106 families is in the same club as us. That's almost 1 percent of the population and really makes us very unspecial in the scheme of things don't you think? I'm sorry if our mediocrity disappoints you. We are a part of one of the fast growing trends on the planet. I guess that makes us hip, cool, and with it. So what is the name of this popular club you ask?

Well Andrew has Autism. I'll give you a moment to digest that if you need to. I imagine hearing a few muffled gasps in the audience. For about 95 percent of those of you that know us well you probably fall into the "Holy cow you're kidding me?" group. The other 5 percent are saying "I knew he was different but Holy cow you're kidding me". Drew flies way under the radar which is why it took until 11 years old to be diagnosed with something that is usually picked up by professionals between the ages of 2 and 4. Somehow I feel compelled to tell you that Andrew is considered very high functioning. I'm not sure why that matters but I've noticed that almost everyone with a high functioning kid on the spectrum is quick to point that out. So now I have. There are even different diagnoses on the Spectrum that some how seem cooler than others. I suppose when it comes to parenting almost anything can be a competition right? It's as if we are saying my kid is far less disabled than your kid or at least other kids in general. I guess in the end it really doesn't matter. He's Andrew through and through despite letters after his name.

The degree to which Autism impacts a child varies widely. Drew does most of the things other kids do but there are areas he struggles with. Andrew's bluntness and way of perceiving the world has brought me so many laughs and insight. He does not see the world the same way and when those windows open up I love it. A classic example of this occurred a few years ago. We decided to meet up with one of his former teachers. She was really special to Drew and we thought he'd be surprised. We planned to meet her at the Zoo. He did seem surprised and happy to see her. A few days later Andrew was recounting the story to another person at the school who also knew this teacher. He told this person all about seeing Mrs. S at the Zoo but then in an exasperated tone he continues with "after we said hello she just kept following us around all day long". Obviously he missed the point completely. I love these Drew moments. I've learned you really can't assume anything with him.


Another area his challenges have become apparent are with recognizing people. Last year he routinely missed the bus because as he put it "the bus driver keeps changing his clothes everyday Mom". How can you argue with that? I'm sure he does and if all you notice about someone is their clothes it would be pretty hard to recognize them the next day when you were walking down the row of buses. If you are a fan of the show Big Bang Theory then you'll appreciate that I fully expect Andrew to grow up to be somewhat like the character Sheldon.

There is also a lot of debate about when Autism "happens" to a child. I will not wade into that debate today. I do have opinions of course. As both a mother and as someone who works in the field of child development primarily seeing preschoolers with Autism I probably couldn't avoid forming one even if I tried. However I am not here to sway any ones position. Maybe we are all right or maybe none of us are. I think it's more important to stick together on this one than to chop each others legs off just to be right. In the end I can only speak from my own experience and that is that I knew Andrew was different from the moment he was born. In my heart I don't believe Autism "happened" to Andrew, I think Andrew happened to be Autistic.

I know my life is not exactly on the "So you're having a baby" brochure of things to do and see. You expect the Gerber baby, maybe some Gymboree classes, tears on the first day of school, and eventually Law school (of course) but nobody lines up over night to buy tickets on the Autism express. No need to line up those babies are already in your pocket. What you do with them and how much you enjoy the ride is really up to you. We chose to enjoy it as much as we can.

I won't lie to you it's not all sunshine and roses. We've had tears when I suddenly said "lets go swimming kids" because it wasn't what Andrew expected to happen in his day. For the record he loves swimming but only if he knows we might go in advance. It has changed our lives but our lives didn't change the day the psychologist told me he has Autism. Rather it changed the day he was born. Autism isn't everything Andrew is. He is a person first with hopes and dreams just like any of us. But to wish that he didn't have Autism would be like wishing for another child completely unlike the one you already have. What I wish for is that his Autism won't hold him back in life. I wish that he meets with understanding and acceptance especially when I'm not there to protect him. I wish him a long and happy life filled with a high paying job to support his wonderful mother who so selflessly cared for him all these years. I wish that he always has amazingly quirky friends. There are so many things I want for Drew but I'd never wish for him to be different than he is.

I've thrown my penny into the fountain of life and I got my wish. He may be impossibly skinny with crooked toes but I couldn't love him anymore than I do. Autism, schm-autism!!

On expressing yourself

Let me start this blog posting by saying I am extremely grumpy today. I don't know why I just am. I had trouble sleeping which probably has everything to do with it. It might also explain my crazy line of thinking...."follow me kids. I know the way." On the surface today would sound like most peoples idea of a great day off. One of those days where you can stay in your PJ's as long as you want. You could eat chocolate for breakfast because after all it's Christmas time and isn't that what you do? I took a hot shower until all the warm water ran out just because I could. It had all the makings of a fantastic day.


Yah but is it ever that simple? Of course not. If it was I wouldn't be writing about it. Wouldn't that be an interesting installment. "Hi everyone I did nothing today and it was great and we had fun and it was so super we are doing it again tomorrow". Yawn. Well break out the glass shards for me to eat if I have to "enjoy" this day again. I woke up grumpy and stayed grumpy. Nothing went right but then nothing really went really wrong either. I won't bore you with the details. For the sake of getting to a more interesting topic let's just agree that today sucked. Good. It's nice to be right. At least that went the way it was supposed to. Yeesh!!

So here I am at 11:00 pm pondering about waking up on the wrong side of the bed. Then it occurred to me. What the hell does that expression even mean? Most expressions make sense if you think about them. A bird in the hand is definitely worth two in the bush. Hell it's probably worth 20 in the bush....unless you are scared of birds then it would be more like that old Alfred Hitchcock movie where people are getting their eyes pecked out. Thanks for the nightmares Mr. Hitchcock. Let's see you put your finger out for a sweet little chickadee now.

What about "the writing is on the wall". Which loosely translates to you are being stupid for not knowing this so I took the liberty of putting Jiffy marker to the wall board. Read it dummy!! Or having to "pay through the nose" which means you might as well pass a watermelon dude because this is going to really hurt. And I think we'd all agree that it's obvious what would happen if we put a bull in a china shop. Hope you brought your platinum Visa card with you.

Then there are a few expressions that seem somewhat intuitive but maybe require a little bit more thought such as "painting the town red". I'm going to sound smart now but I will confess that I had to look it up. Here it comes, get ready for it......While most of us may not know that there was a drunk guy and his friends who back in 1837 actually went around and painted parts of their town.....did you catch it? I sounded like I actually knew something cool. Trust me that doesn't happen often. I like to revel in those moments where I can. Anyway even without me telling you what it was based on you could probably imagine that to paint a town could be an exuberant and gutsy thing to do. It could be for example a great way to get back at your neighbors who say actually painted their fence bright orange. Yes, orange. I probably don't need to give you the address. Just drive to my house and you'll know the place. Don't get it confused with the orange house down the street. Apparently orange is the new white in my neighborhood. To get back to the point you could probably figure out that painting the town any color is kind of a rowdy thing to do even without knowing that it actually happened many years ago.

Another good example would be to hear something "on the grapevine". I don't think I need to explain that this is a bit of a stretch in thinking. Grapes really have nothing to do with information sharing....well unless it's in the form of too much wine but that's another blog entirely. The term is believed to have come from comments made by soldiers back in the mid 1800's to describe the twisted path ....not unlike a grapevine....that information was passed from one person to another often ending up incorrect at it's final destination. Wow, twice in one blog. She's on a roll people. Yah....I looked that up too. Sorry to disappoint you.

So all this thinking...which at best is a dangerous thing to do when you are this grouchy anyway....led me back to the expression "waking up on the wrong side of the bed". How did this expression come about? My brain started getting squirrely as it often does when these ridiculous topics jump into my head. I imagined a well groomed, snooty looking man standing around drinking brandy with some buddies regaling tales of his horrible day and pinning all the blame on rolling left instead of right to get out of his over sided bed with 800 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and saying "har har har" as they all sympathized with his poor fortune. Hence the term was born.

Okay, I'll be honest. I did the research on this too. You'd think I was back in university for goodness sake. For those of you with enquiring minds several hundred years ago it was deemed unlucky to do anything on the left side first. That included getting out of the left side of your bed, putting on your left shoe first, or otherwise anything on that side.

So for those of you who eat left-overs, are left-handed, or who have left-wing political views watch out. The world is crumbling around you. You are best to just stay in bed and for goodness sake don't get out on the left side already. And for those of you whose partners sleep on the right hand side of the bed you now know just how selfish and spiteful they are for dooming you to a life of unrest, hardship, and misfortune. I suggest that tomorrow morning you crawl right over their pitiful sleeping selves as you ensure that your day starts the right way. Make sure to knee them in the ribs as you go. After all, isn't that what they deserve for stealing the lucky side of the bed anyway and not even telling you about it? I'm just saying it's a good that you have a true friend like me to tell you these things. After you finish climbing over them, watch as they roll out the left side. Look how grouchy they are. I told you. It's that damn left side of the bed that puts people in that mood. Now you know.

Tis the season

So last weekend I took the kids to the mall to see Santa. It was a bit of a crazy day so I should have known that things would not run as smoothly as I had expected. I'm not sure why I haven't figured out this eternal truth but things rarely go as expected....hence this blog was born.

We arrived at the mall and walked up to the reasonable looking line to see Santa. Two young ladies dressed as elves approach me and politely informed me that getting in line now was fine but that we might be waiting only to be turned away before Santa gets to us. Ask me how impressed I was at that moment. A sudden flash back to the hour we spent madly running around the house. Finding clothes that the children hadn't suddenly outgrown in the week since I bought them, wiping who knows what from their faces, curling hair, wetting down cowlicks, one last trip to the washroom, where did their mitts go, "Seriously you lost them again?", and then out the door. With my flashback done I realize the two ladies are still waiting for me to respond. In my head I hear "Oh we will be seeing Santa today my little elfy friends. We will see him even if I have to tackle a security guard to do it." I smile pleasantly and join the line.

We shuffle along with all the other overheated cranky families that decide to partake in the joyfulness of this activity. All of us with big smiles for our kids because after all this is what childhood wonder is about. Seeing this magical person who brings you your hearts desire. At any other time of year we would warn our children to stay away from this guy but now like teenagers waiting for Justin Bieber autographs we stand there in anticipation of our 2 minutes and a box of stale cookies with creepy woodland creatures painted on it. Okay, I can't honestly say if Justin Bieber also gives out such cookies with his autographs but you know what I mean.

After an hour we are at the front of the line. The lady with the clipboard smiles at me and asks that I commit to the photos I want even before they are taken. What kind of backwards set-up is this? Would you agree to buying glasses before your eyes were checked? But this is the way it's done apparently so I commit to 3 sheets. I am told this will equal almost $60.....Twenty per sheet and 2 hours of my life that I'll never get back. But we get cookies. Super.

So the kids climb up on Santa's lap and we get our 1 minute and 32 seconds.....give or take a few for the kids to share all their dreams, take the shot, pick a pose, take previously mentioned creepy cookies, get all of our stuff, and "NEXT!!". "Oh, and don't let the door hit you on the way out". They print the pictures only for me to discover in my 6 seconds to approve the shot that I failed to notice Santa’s eyes are closed, he has what looks like blood in his beard, and the color is all wonky. Awesome.

We leave but return a week later to get free re-takes that were pre-arranged when I advised the mall of our situation. Seems like the thing to do right? Oh....so wrong. Sometimes you are just better off not testing fate my friends. Another hour of running around the house but at least this time we will get to walk right up to the front of the line. We get to the mall for Santa the sequel. Dirty looks from moms with preschoolers who have been waiting for an hour. A few of them assuming I'm an idiot for going to the wrong end of the line-up. I see them give that nasty little smirk we all know so well. The one that says "You're so dumb and the line is filling up fast but I'm not going to help you because I'm too busy gloating". I'd like to take a moment to welcome Karma into my little story. Buckle up smirky moms.

We are first to see Santa and he looks well rested and chipper. They call us up. Now this is the way every year should go. But wait. Andrew grabs my hand and says "I don't feel well". "Slow deep breaths Hun, you'll be okay". He sits on Santa’s lap and they get the first picture. He wasn't smiling at all so they do a second shot. As I glance at the computer screen to see how this image turned out he jumps up, runs about 8 steps from Santa, and covers his mouth. I swear I heard Chariots of Fire playing in the background as I dashed around the counter. Just as I arrive with bag in hand he pukes. I believe it to be a Christmas miracle that he neither lost it on Santa's lap and that I also got the bag there just in time. However it maybe not so fortunate that the only bags available happened to be clear plastic sheaths for placing the photos in.

Everyone waits and watches as Andrew continues to be sick because I haven't approved this photo yet. Glorious moments to remember. Because we complained the first time they are scared to bump us and move to the next kid and so they stand there watching. Everyone is waiting for us and I feel the piercing hatred from all the line-up moms. I hope their kids pick their noses for their photos....that's all I'm saying.

I should apologize to all children in line who will never think of seeing Santa in quite the same way again. And then all the people in the Bay who climbed off the escalator and had no choice but to have a front row seat for round two. Holiday memories are so special. It's about spending time with your family....even if that family is making you hold a clear plastic bag of their vomit with dozens of witnesses.

Everybody sing "Fa la la la la".



On being judged

My name is Colleen and I admit that I have a problem. An addiction of sorts.....to diet Pepsi. I'm not sneaking into dark alleys in seedy neighborhoods to buy my stuff. I can get it just about anywhere at any time of day and that's alright with me. Probably half the reason that I drink so much of it. There really is nothing better on a hot day. Okay, a few of you will argue beer and I won't take that away from you.....but think about how much you love cold beer.....that's how much I love an icy Pepsi. It's true. Okay, I know it's not that exciting. I didn't promise you fireworks. You'll be alright though. So imagine my surprise today when I was judged by a complete stranger because of my love of the second most popular cola drink on the market today.

I went to the bottle depot which I admit is not my favourite activity. Actually I've been putting it off for sometime so today I finally broke down and went. Of course I'm happy to get my deposit back and to help save the planet in a small way but the sticky floors and pungent odor are not so rewarding for do-gooders. Why is it that we accept that the bottle depot will be a train wreck when we freak out if there is a water spot on our glass at a restaurant?....it's proof they washed the damn glass yet we send it back and talk amongst ourselves about the crappy job they are doing. It would seem that bottle depots are one of the few exceptions to our standards. We don't expect clean floors and we don't expect customer service either. It's nice if the person sorting your stuff says hi but if they don't it's not like we'll storm out and vow to never return. Right? We all accept that the bottle depot is in it's own category.

So I take my number and push my cart with my 3 bags of empties up to the next open spot. Inside my bag are a few milk jugs and the odd diet Coke bottle when I couldn't get my first choice but 99 % of my contribution is diet Pepsi cans. So there I am struggling with the knot on the garbage bag as I get used to the smell of the place. Okay, that was a lie....can we ever really get used to it? I knew I wasn't the only one. Finally win the battle with the bag....smell...still there. I open the bag and pour it onto the table. The guy in the next spot looks over and says "Wow, somebody really likes diet Pepsi." Are we supposed to talk? I never know. The bottle depot is one of those places where the regular social rules are somehow altered just a little. What do I say back? "Wow, somebody really likes rum....a lot" or "Holy crap dude you must have had a huge party and I bet you got completely smashed". So I nervously smiled and said "Yes, someone does like Pepsi". Did I just say "someone does"? That someone is me!! I think, Colleen, own that and be proud....loud and proud. Woo!! But somehow I think I'll be viewed as the bottle depot freak for admitting that it was indeed me who drank all that pop. I suddenly feel ashamed. First because maybe I have a problem that is so noticeable that even the guy slurring his words next to me who I might add had to actually make a second trip out to his car to get the rest of his empties is so gob smacked that he breaks the cardinal rule of the bottle depot and comments on someone elses returns. Secondly because I somehow implied that maybe I'm just the poor fool who has to bring these empties back. Like I'm some sort of Pepsi enabler. That if I didn't support someone habit maybe they could live a better life free of their demons. I realized today that I'm more willing to let a stranger think I'm ruining another persons life rather than admit that it was indeed me who drank the Pepsi. Every single one of them. Yes, $66.95 worth of empties.....at 5cents a can I'll let you do the math if you wish....just don't tell me how many that is. I'm capable of figuring it out myself but I'm unwilling to face the gravity of my problem. I can quit you know. I just don't want to......."My precious."

The girls guide to avoiding an axe murderer

This blog entry could have just as easily been called "I should have known". I just got back from another interesting first date. I would like to say that I think I have more than my fair share of these. Apparently my perfect match is a man who should be in an orange jump suit with numbers on it....you can decide if it's from a jail or an locked hospital ward. Oh what fun we will have....

As always I am sharing my experience with you so that you will know the telltale signs of Mr. Crazypants early in the evening and can start planning your escape route and a back-up plan if he figures out what you are doing. Colleens special hint: A pen and paper to write a note to the waitress to call for help is always a good idea too.

The signs as I have seen them:

1. He calls to postpone your date by over 3 hours because he had something "really important that suddenly popped up"......this might be something like a World Cup soccer game for instance that has been scheduled for......oh I don't know......like the last 4 years. Those can really creep up on yah when you least expect it. Of course I didn't know that was the reason for delay until I had already arrived....apparently he failed to pick up on the exasperated look on my face as he was informing me of this......yah. Of course your date may have another emergency like having to buy groceries, balance a cheque book, or clean the fish tank....my example is just to give you a very general idea of what sorts of things fall into the category of true emergencies.

Where all great relationships start....apparently

2. He asks you to meet him at a Canadian Tire for your first date. When you insist on meeting him at the restaurant he may seem a little annoyed because he's not done his shopping. This is another great clue that he might not be the One. However you may have driven for an hour to meet him and be hungry. Trust me ladies....don't be fooled. It's not going to get any better once you get there.

3. He's never even heard of Lactose Intolerance and may look overly puzzled by the term. He's even more fascinated by the fact that the restaurant offers selections that are lactose free. "Why on earth would they do that?" he might say to the waitress. This is the Universe tapping you on the shoulder now. Pay attention....the 2x4 is coming if you miss it....followed by the Mac truck.

Danger, Danger

4. He may say that his only allergy is to the sun....because.....wait for it.....wait for it.....he sometimes gets a sun burn if he forgets sunscreen. Believe it!! You read that right my friends. Proud to say that I was able to refrain from suggesting he gets an Epi-pen for his severe allergy. I know....you thought it too didn't you?

5. When asked if he was a good student when he was a kid he replied "What consistutes a "good" student?" using his hands to do quotations in the air? It's small talk buddy......just answer the damn question.

6. He tells you he used to wear a mini-dress before every one of his hockey games because it was good luck. I know I should have left it alone.....but seriously how could I not ask? I just had to know how he discovered it was lucky. He went on to explain that he saw it.....and bought it.....yes....bought it for this purpose. It wasn't just laying around he actually shopped for it. Then after he wore it the first time his team won so he just knew that now he had "a good excuse to wear a mini-dress that nobody could argue with". I kid you not!! Keep in mind this is a first date and I hardly know him. The fun is just beginning.....read on. Beep beep. Mac truck approaching.

7. Moving onto other topics he mentions that he once had a guy break into his house and steal $11, 548 worth of stuff.......I almost asked...."$11, 548 and how much change?" Turns out it was probably good I didn't ask that because he went on to say that he "could have just murdered the guy who did it". While this sounds like a common statement try to imagine it said with a 3 second pause just before the word "murdered" and a sudden change to what could best be described as his crazy-eyed look. But wait.....don't run.....he'll chase you. You need to find a way to back away slowly and seem as unthreatening as possible. This is where the pen and paper comes in handy. Don't get caught writing the note though. It might make him mad enough to..........murder you.

My favourite little monkey and his visit to a hospital. Hopefully one very far away.

8. He works at a hospital even though he "just hates sick people". Again add the 3 second pause before "hates". He goes on to explain that he really likes helping people. Hmmmm.....by putting a pillow over their faces so they stop being sick? Oh, and by the way he knows how many people died at his hospital this month. Okay....running is now warranted. At least there is a chance you might get away.

9. He offers to pay the bill for dinner but says to you "if you want that waitress to get a tip you should probably leave some money for her". Classy!!

Amazingly it wasn't as scary at the time as it sounds....but I think I was in shock. I've dated enough crazy people to confidently say that this one is just reclusive crazy. Besides, if all else fails I can always run outside into the sunshine being that I'm only a little bit allergic to it.

To the park and back baby

Now I've gone and started something. My sweet 8 year old daughter Camryn came to me tonight and said "Mommy, could I please go to the park by myself?" Trying hard not to have that "are you drunk?" expression on my face I heard the words coming out from my mouth "Sure". Argh!! Did I seriously just say yes? Now on the surface you are probably asking "Colleen is the park on the other side of a freeway? Is it in the forest next to a bears cave? What's the big deal?" For those of you who haven't yet met Camryn she is a wide eyed, energetic, wild critter of a kid. Stopping to check for cars is not in her vocabulary. The park is actually just across the street and technically because we live on a road that is a cul-de-sac she could stay on the side walk the entire way. In my defense there are two driveways into parking lots on that sidewalk and although the odds of a car actually coming down this lonely little side street is minimal I still cringe at the thought. It takes longer to put on my shoes than to actually make it to the playground but I can only imagine a surprise parade of Semi trailers coming down the street as my daughter plays Frogger on the roadway.

I go over the rules once again with her knowing full well she's only thinking about getting to the park and not hearing a word of what I'm telling her. I pretend that I didn't notice and turn my sweet car-darting child out into this 150 feet of chaos. Okay it's a pretty safe neighborhood but that's not the point!! I resisted following her which I think deserves a super sized hero cookie. One with chunks of chocolate in it. Gooey melty chunks.....Mmmm chocolate. Then before I finish my wonderful chocolate cookie fantasy she's back. Expecting for her to say that a creepy man with a big dog chased her in his truck for 4 blocks while a thunderstorm roared in and she was almost zapped by downed electrical wires she says "No kids there, I'm bored". How can she be bored after such an adventure? She crossed the street and went to the park all alone!! How is that boring? My mind raced and my heart almost stopped and she's "bored". Sigh. Children these days. What does it take to entertain them? I blame TV.