Bread Crumbs In The Butter

Things you should know about me ...

• 9 times out of 10, my socks don't match. Yes, this is another trend I started. Ask my friend Moyra, who has known me for almost eight years. She has hated my mismatched feet since 2005!
• Now that you know that, you have to know that there is an exception. If I am wearing pajamas or sweat pants I am always wearing pristine, matching white socks. It is a strict rule of mine that you can never, ever, wear anything buy white socks with loungewear.
• People who are not in a hurry confound me. My daughter Kristyn saunters everywhere she goes like she doesn't have a care in the world or a specific time to be anywhere. I need to know that I am making progress toward where I am going and if I am moving anything but at breackneck speed, I am wasting time.
• Besides Friends, I don't think I've ever watched a TV show all the way through. I just don't have eight years to find out how someone finally found a wife or whether or not some crazy med student marries the doctor who is supposed to be mentoring her on her first day.
• I would rather fill a sink with hot, soapy water and have the satisfaction of washing and drying dishes immediately than load the dishwasher, turn it on and wait hours only to unload the freaking thing again.
• I don't like Michael Douglas as a person, but love his movies. Same as Tom Cruise. I don't know what that says about me, but thought you should know.
• I hate feet. Feet are gross. Trust me, mine are really gross.
• I cry when I'm angry, but rarely when I'm sad. If happen to be fighting and I cry, run. Especially if I am holding an object that I can throw.
• I can't stand the band Rush.  You know how some people fall asleep counting sheep? Put Rush on for me and I'm out like a light.
• I have a soft spot for Britney Spears. I don't know why I am rooting for her like I am. I gave up on Lindsay Lohan though - but The Parent Trap will always be one of my favourite movies. That could simply be because of Dennis Quaid though.
• Lists. I love lists.

A conversation with my son

A month or so ago, as I was making dinner and he was doing his homework, Alex and I had a conversation about the size of our family and his desire for a male sibling.

"I want a brother" he said. "I have three sisters and no brother. That's not fair and those girls are mean!"

He has a point. Those girls are champions at doing all of the things that older sisters are supposed to do to their brother to make him wish he was not only an only child, but that girls from all over the world were banished to an island in the Pacific until they were needed for procreation.

I replied "Alex, I am not having another baby. Sorry, buddy, this is it!"

He thought about it and said "No, I know. But how about we adopt one? A boy. Who is the same age as me?"

Maybe I had some born-in mother sense that told me how the rest of this conversation was going to play out, because while lovely in theory, the idea of having another person to be responsible for in this house just isn't feasable for me. Still, I humoured him.

"Yeah. We should look into it! But he has to be in the same grade, but younger than me, so born after February.  And he can't be better looking than me, cause he will steal all the girls. And you can't tell him he's your most favourite boy in the whole world like you say to me..."

I could see his nine year old brain working and processing through what he was saying. I saw the progression.  I've lived that progression as I start out with what I think is a phenomenal idea and unleash it into the world before I have realized on my own that it's just plain horrible to even consider.

"Wait ..." he said. "This is a bad idea. Forget I said anything!"

And that was the last word in the Alexander Sibling Conversation.

Words

I love words. Shocking, I know. I've written almost eight hundred posts on this blog - and that's just here!  Words are my life. I say millions of them a day.  At varying levels of volume! And I never, ever, ever exagerate them!

I get stuck on catch phrases a lot, as we all do. Right now it's hard for me to get through any conversation without saying "As if!" or "I know, right?"  They seem harmless, but it's hard to increase my credibility with senior government officials when one of those slips out.  Also not condusive to being taken seriously?  Exclaiming "I know, right!?" when someone compliments your briefing note writing skills.

My family gets stuck on them too, but theirs are highly annoying. If I have to hear "ermegherd" or "jam it in ya" one more time I'm going to beat someone with a dictionary telling them if they continue to mess with the English Language the English Language is going to mess them up.

One type of word I love is the onomatopoeia, which means a word that suggests or imitates the sound that it describes.  My carpool friend and I enjoy nothing more than a good early morning comparison of our newest favourites.  Words like "fluffy" or "slippery" or "prickly". 

I also dig making word observations and sending out ramdon BBMs to friends that say things like:

"Know what's akward? The word "awkward". True story. I had to retype that four times just to get it right and it always looks wrong."

or

"Someone just said "Excuse me, ma'am. Did you axe for the extra large two cream half sugar? Axe? Really? When did this become okay?"

That is, when I'm not sending random BBMs about outfits I see in my building at work ... I'll save those for another time!

Superpower

An episode of How I Met Your Mother reminded me that superpowers was one of the blog posts I had composed in my head during my three week of rocking chair captivation!

We all have a superpower.

Let me explain to those scratching their heads and searching the depths of their closets for their long one piece underwear...

Erin, my fourteen year old daughter can find anything.  If you've been looking that one pearl drop earring for an hour, Erin can walk into the room, close one eye and crawl under your bed, throw out seventeen socks, forty bobby pins and six novels until voila! There's your earring!

Kristyn, my sixteen year old daughter, can take any photo or painting and draw it exactly as shown. It's an amazing talent and one that I can't even imagine having. Of course, the most adorable part is that with her amazing talent and sheer concentration comes the fact that she sticks out her tongque as she works. Just as she did when she was a toddler making sandcastles.

My sister is freakishly strong. I don't know what it is or what she eats, but she has always been able to not only kick my ass, but open jars and beat truckers at arm wrestles. (Dad, don't ask about that last one, just trust us.)

My oldeset and dearest friend Lianne has a wicked memory for details.  Trust me, girl knows more about my teen years than I do! She has birthdays, shoes sizes, natural hair colours and all sorts of minute details at the tip of her tongue. There is nothing like standing in a crowd, telling friends a tale, only to have her say "Actually it wasn't 1990, it was 1991 and you weren't wearing jeans you were wearing track pants. I know this because we were driving so we couldn't have been fifteen years old and you had your track pants on because when we agreed to do that scavenger hunt you wanted to win so badly you refused to put jeans on in case they impeded your ability to steal street signs and Quebec political signs. Remember, we went to the Depanneur to get beer? It was raining that night and then we went for Big Macs?"

My superpower? I start trends. I don't mean that in a douchebaggey, hipster kind of way, but I can be surfing the internet late one night, follow link after link and find the most obscure song. I will play it for weeks, only to hear Ryan Seacrest announce it as the biggest mover on the countdown that week. I mean, the first time you heard "Ho Hey" by The Lumineers were you not wondering where in the world that folksy magic had come from? I think Ryan is monitoring my downloads. Should I be worried?

On a whim one day in December (okay, it was more like three years of begging, suggesting, and to be honest, bullying my stylist), I got bangs.  What do you know!? Michelle freaking Obama rocks the Innaugural Ball with a lovely fringe. Let's not even go near the Golden Globes red carpet.  Yes, I know Zooey Deschanel has been sporting bangs for years, but her superpower is that she can see th future and how hot I was going to look.

Oh? Anothere superpower of mine? Humility. I'm Captain Humility!

I'll let you tell me what your superpower is now and shut up.  But before I do, I will hereby take absolute full credit for unleashing "Shut the front door!" on the world.

Consider your superpower and please share it with me. I might let you in on the latest trend!

A letter to myself

Dear Chantal,

I hope this letter finds you well. If memory serves, I think it does even if I tend to sugar coat some of the period of time that represents who I am sending this to.

You're a new mom! Which means you made it through eight months pregnancy. We told everyone who would listen that the baby was coming early and they looked at us like we had two heads. Take that, suckers!

I know you spent a good part of your morning somewhere between tears, fear and a genuine fixation with what is happening to your body.  I'm hoping this letter will shed some light and give you hope? I can tell you, the scars on your stomach are not going to go away, but they will fade. You will still look at them quite often and wish them away, but you won't sob. In fact, you'll earn quite a few more. I won't freak you out with how many pregnancies just yet, because I know what Kristyn was like as a baby and chances are you started your day with puke in your hair and that's enough for now.

Would you believe me if I told you that sixteen years from now you will be starting your day with a hot cup of coffee before your children even open their eyes?  You'll shower alone and style your professionally coloured and stylishly cut hair and put on clothes you probably would now call too dressy for church. You will go to work and be in your office putting out fires before your kids even pack the lunches that they themselves made. Your house will be messy and you will be behind on the laundry because time improves us steadily, but it doesn't work miracles. Besides, that's why you will have four kids.

I'll let you chew on that for a bit.

Four kids.

As I write this, all four are not only still alive, but healthy and amazing.  I can't wait for you to see what we created.  They are the four most foul smelling, ridiculously smart, hilariously exhausting, fascinating people on the planet. They yell at each other constantly and trust me, they get really mean. Even the mean part will impress you because they can be really witty and cutting to each other. I can't even begin to hurl some of the insults they've thrown out.  They are energetic and expresessive and engaging.  A couple of them are more reserved than the other two but even they are outgoing and confident to a degree twelve year old us would be jealous of.

We have done an amazing job.

When I sat down to write this, my intention was to advise you to slow down some and to work on your neurosys and worry less, but I know you will calm down some.  The more kids we had, the more me that we became.  As the years go, you will go from the worry wart who calls your obstetrician's office with every twinge to the woman who gives birth in her master bedroom one freezing cold night in 2003.  Those solid food charts on the fridge? They won't last. In fact, I'm not completely unsure that your son's first solid food wasn't something he found in the yard as we raked leaves. I would have written it was strained peas in his baby book, but truth be told, I never bought one.  We only have three on the shelf and only one is written in.

I'm not saying you or I become lazy, but what you're about to embark on requires not only guts and a firm stomach, but all of your focus and attention too. You're going to feel completely insane for a few years and I'm sorry.  You're even going to break a few of your precious cardinal parenting rules. Meaning yes, you will yell and cry and swear and your kids might even see you drink a bit too much and yell "In your face!" as she beats someone at cards. 

You are going to face some heavy stuff. Conversations you tell yourself you are prepared for now, but nothing, and I mean nothing, makes you ready for some of the things you are going to say, hear and do. I'll tell you this now, don't worry. You'll do it and do it well. I know I still have a ways to go, but I'm pretty sure the us from sixteen years in the future is writing a similar letter with the same words of encouragement.

Love,

Chantal

ps - Waking up in the morning and your first thought being "God, how long until bedtime?". Yeah, I'm sorry to say that hasn't gone away yet.

 

Birdwatching

I had a bit of an accident during the wee hours of December 31, 2012.

Before you get ahead of me and assume, wrongly, that by the "wee hours of December 31" you think I was prancing around a fabulous New Year's Eve party in an adorable coral dress and Kate Spade heels, let me clarify. The wee hours I am referring to here are the hours between midnight and 5am the day of New Year's Eve.  I spent the actual dawning of 2013 fast asleep, concussed and unable to digest any food worth talking about.

We're still not sure what it was. Food poisoning? The flu? God's way of telling me that no one was ready to see me in an outfit that required those paste on bra things? In any case, I found myself tossing way more than my cookies for a good portion of three hours in the middle of the night. I tossed so much that I became faint, as people generally do when they've been party to what can only be deemed a Costco hotdog exorcism.

If I was the sort of person who didn't enjoy people laughing at my expense, I would sugar coat this next bit and lie about how I hurt myself badly enough to warrant nearly one month off work. Good thing for you I am not that sort of person...

The last thing I remember was sitting on the toilet. But fear not, when I came to my pants were up, so I definitely did not take an Elvis-style header off the throne. What I did do, or so we have pieced together through our CSI-like investigative skills, was stand up and faint.  I took with me the towel roack, laundry hamper and one vanity drawer. Oh, and I knocked my head on the very hard, very porcelain toilet.

I have no memory of anything except waking up. I remember feeling as though I was being pulled back into consciousness against my will. Wherever I was, I liked it just fine.  That is, until I realized by looking around me and feeling the searing pain in the back of my head that something very bad had happened.

And I was right. A severe concussion, my third and by far the worst so far (the other two caused by sports with more street cred but far less comedy) left me with a doctor's note for three weeks off work and instructions to do absolutely nothing while I recovered.  Trust me, the people who love me took this very seriously. They checked up on me. Ignored my texts! Took the TV remote with them when they left!

Every day at 9am, my house cleared out and I was left with a rocking chair, a quilt and the view out of my bedroom window. The only entertainment I was provided with was a birdfeeder and CBC Radio 2.

What did I do? I watched birds. I cried. I whined. I wrote blog posts in my head and then promptly forgot them all. I cut my toenails. I wore the same jogging pants for 23 straight days. I ate pie for breakfast. I called everyone I know just to chat. I counted all of the teeth in my mouth using just my tongue, timed myself, and then tried to break that record. I cleaned my closet. I found out that blue jays are very mean birds and vowed to learn how to use a slingshot. I planned the weddings of all three of my daughters (I hope they like lace!).  I named my future grandchildren (I hope they like Cecilia!). I learned that even if I am not tired, I can fall asleep if I just keep staring ahead and replay old episodes of The Facts Of Life in my head.

This post was originally aimed to give advice should you find yourself in the position of not being able to use your brain for anything of interest, but clearly I have not achieved that. The only thing I can offer you is my phone number and an enchanting retelling of the episode where Jo decides she wants to become a nun.

**By the way, I am mostly fine now. The recovery process is slow, but I feel better than I have in nearly a month and I continue to listen to my doctor - I'm stubborn but the stupid hasn't been knocked out of me yet.

The Answer Is Swords

Every day on the drive in, as we pass through Little Italy, we encounter a small group of ladies practicing Tai-Chi. They're presence there is so Zen, so calming. The way they slowly move about the park makes me not want to throw my coffee as we hit that particular red light. I count on those tiny ladies for my daily dose of peace.

And then one day, they had swords.

Yes! You read that right. Swords.

I am not sure of the significance of the swords and while I am fully aware that I could research more and find out why they were wielding swords, I don't want to. I would prefer to think of the significance as being that swords kick some serious ass. Really. Ask yourself how many times a sword could have brought peace to your day.

Tim Horton's messes up your coffee again. Not only did they give you two milk and four sugar when you asked for two cream and a half sugar, there is an empty Splenda packet in the bottom of your cup. The answer? Show up the next day with a sword. They'll get it right.

Bell Canada has once again messed up your bill, charging you for a phone line you don't have, removing the phone line you do have and invoicing you for midget porn. Give that automated chick Emily a call and tell her you've got a sword being held to the telephone poll on your street. If she says "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that, please repeat" one more time, you're cutting the phone lines to all of Almonte!

You've sent a report for the same revision twice only to have it come back with anything but that revision and it now includes a paragraph in pig latin and a doodle of a ladybug wearing a top hat? Smack that sword down on your colleagues' desk. That report will come back in English and addressed to the Queen of the Effing World!

You asked the kids to do their laundry. And they did. Or rather, they threw a load in the washer and left it there for three days. What you are left with is a load of wet clothes that smells so bad your eyes water and you have to dry it and wash it again, twice, just to salvage the sweater you paid $120.00 for. The answer? Take a picture of you positioning the sword right over their favourite teddy bear or the game console of your choice. Those kids won't ever forget the rinse cycle again!

You're at the grocery store. You've been in line for twenty minutes and suddenly another cashier descends from the heavens and opens up. To which the chick three people behind you runs in to get served by. The answer? Actually, I have no witty banter for that one. Bitch deserves whatever she has coming to her with that sword!

The sword. I don't know how I've ever lived without the idea in my head!

 

 

We're Going On The Road

It was about this time last week that Kim, an amazing friend and carpool buddy of mine sent me the most inspring text ever.  

"Dude! JR's has KARAOKE - THIS THURSDAY!"  

That Thursday just happened to be my birthday.  

I'm kind of a shy girl. I don't really like being in front of a crowd and drawing attention to myself kind of freaks me out.  

Believe me? Didn't think so. You bet I rounded up some of my girls and demanded they indulge my birthday wish!  

Honestly, the idea of getting up on a stage in front of a room full of strangers and singing makes my heart happy. It's not even that I'm good at laughing at myself, it's mostly that I know two things have happened if I am singing karaoke:  

1- I have had a lot to drink.

2- I am surrounded by friends who love attention and adoration as much as I do.  

Both of those were the case on Thursday night.  

The night started on Jaime's porch with Kim, Christina, the lovely Emily and her friend Rhonda. Emily and Rhonda went home to tend to babies and potential fire hazzards, so Christina, Jaime, Kim and I hit the rode like Abba. (Does that really apply? Abba?
Did they hit the road? Does it even make sense considering we were four girls and not two girls and two boys and we didn't wear white velour pant suits? Doesn't matter I guess, Abba is what struck me first, and let's face it, Abba is the epitome of rock and
roll!).  

Anyway …  

JR's was mostly dead that night as most of Almonte was in Pakenham watching my birthday fireworks, er I mean the early Canada Day Celebration! That didn’t stop us from snagging a song list, which we later just started calling our "set list" and a huge
stack of song request sheets. The song suggestions were flying! All you could hear was:  

"Oh, Wind Beneath My Wings! We gotta sing it! I love you guys so much!"  

"Gypies, Tramps and Thieves! Shut the front door! Get your ass up and your Cher on! Let's lay our money downnnn!" 

"Is it wrong to want to sing about afternoon delight at midnight!?"  

"They have Defying Gravity! I call Glinda!"  

And then we saw it.
 



The resounding "OH HELL YES!" sealed it.  

Goodbye Earl it was.  

And it was pur bliss.  

Not only did we sing like goddess-like songbirds, we were talented and sexy and eloquent. We totally made love to those microphones. As soon as we were done we were met with demands of knowing where we had come from and suggestions that we hit the road
in a big pink bus.  

Okay, so that last part isn't true. I've seen the video. We sounded like drunken miners and probably slurred and drooled more than we sang coherently. But who cares? We kicked that songs ass, made those mircophones our bitches and got told "You didn't
look like you were having fun AT ALL!"  

Knowing that, admit it, you'd pay to see these chicks sing, right?
 



 

 

I can top your worst day ...

We've all had bad days. I'm reasonably sure you're nodding your head right now.  

You might even be saying out loud "I once had this day where I walked out the front door and got shit on by a huge crow and it only got worse from there!"  

Heck, you might even be saying "I once had a day where I got stabbed by a two year old!"  

I can still beat you.  

Friday had potential. Because I work in Gatineau, Quebec, I had the day off to celebrate St Jean Baptiste Day. I didn't celebrate. What I did was shit all over it like the crow did to me a few years ago - which is how I admit to you that I have also been stabbed by a two year old.  

Let's back up to Thursday night to get the full picture. I play ball hockey on Thursday nights. Have done so for years. Every year John points and laughs at the bruises on my legs and reminds me that women who play ball hockey without protective gear are stupid. Personally, I think we are tough as nails. At least I used to. In the spirit of going for it and giving it all you got, I got a stick blade right in my shin. Not only did it hurt like the ring of fire only women will know, it left me with a sizeable
gash. Being a smart and responsible woman, I completely ignored my fourteen year old daughter and did not go to the ER Thursday night, I went Friday morning. The ER doctor simply shook his head, put some glue on it, gave me a tetanus shot and gave me crap for not going in when it was fresh. No chance of stitches or it healing nicely, but a huge change of a really badass scar!  

From there I went about my day thinking it couldn't get worse, and for a while it didn't. I had lunch with my kid and my mother, did a little shopping and stopped at the liquor store on my way home. Keep that last stop in your mind. I will need my purchases there later in the story.  

Why?  

Because on my way home I got into a pretty decent car accident. The details aren't of major importance (mostly because they make me look like a complete doof), but everyone is healthy and my truck is currently in the shop being appraised for damage. At first it drove fine, even though my front bumper was in the back trunk and my license plate nowhere to be found, but now we seem to be dealing with some mechanical issues that make it feel more and more like I may have really, really screwed us over.  

If that wasn't enough, don't forget I live in a small town. This happened on a reasonably busy street in that small town so not only did people who know me see me, a lot of people who know me saw me. I could see the fingers as they drove by. The questions of "Hey, isn't that the girl who read our magazines at the post office?" or "Isn't that your soccer coach from last year?" or "Isn't that the treasurer of the Catholic School Council!? What did she do!?"  

Like I said. Bad day, right? I didn't dare go out that night. Or attempt to operate machinery. Or start a grill. I didn't even try to brush my teeth! Who knows what I'd stab out with that kind of plastic!
 

 

 

 

40 minus 4

Did you know that's what they are calling 36 years old now? 36 is how old I will be this Thursday.

Honesly, turning 40 doesn't scare me. Neither does inching toward it ever so quickly. I have four children and I haven't broken one yet! Nothing scares me.

Besides, at 36 years old, I still:

• Have all my teeth and I've never had a cavity.
• I've never broken a bone.
• The boobs? Still firm and, most days, still pointing where they should be.
• I can laugh, cry and be frightened while maintaing decent bladder control.
• I can still go drink for drink with John. He'll even pass out way before I do!
• On occasion, I still get carded at the LCBO and Beer Store.
• I have been places with my fourteen year old daughter and been asked if we are sisters.  

Having said all that, and in the defence of time and age, I have found myself saying the following in recent months:

•   "What are those kids doing out at midnight?What are they doing on the street at 12:00am that they could be doing at 8:00pm?"
• "Those hoodlums!"
• "It's 9:30, I'm turning in. Goodnight."
• "Pass me the Tiger Balm?"
• "It's going to storm today, I can feel it in my knee."
• "God, the music in here is loud! I mean, we can dance, but what if we just want to talk?"
• "Oh here, I have gum and kleenex in my purse."

If anything, I take all of the above statements and consider them like this: I will always be well rested, I will never get mugged on the street at 12:00am and if you have to sneeze, I'm your clean-up girl. All that aside, I promise to never, ever,
use my spit and thumb to clean off any of your faces.