tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17739292011194293592024-03-12T23:06:45.019-07:00DrivenI refuse to be told what I can and can't write about so here it goes...not all of it will be angry; most of it is supposed to be funny; there will be a smattering of light-heartedness. Most important of all, it's mine.Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.comBlogger132125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-546570995447208832012-03-02T07:23:00.000-08:002012-03-02T07:23:10.344-08:00We're Not Rich<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tomorrow was one of those mornings where I revelled in having four children and a menagerie of pets.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had a pounding headache thanks to the head cold that has overstayed it's welcome and I was yet to have my coffee. I slept in. Really, all in all it was just a great start to my day.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then I came downstairs. One child was on his hands and knees wiping something up with paper towel. I chose not to ask what or why. The oldest child needed help with something on the computer. The four year old was doing gymnastics on the couch. I so get why some mothers with a lot of kids get up at 5 a.m. just to get a moment to themselves. But some of them use that time to read the Bible (saw it on TLC, if you can imagine) and pretty sure I'm not giving up two hours of sleep for Bible study. I think Jebus prefers me well rested because I'm slightly less mean...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I got people fed, provided some IT support and sat here at the computer desk taking it all in. By this time my 15 year old daughter had joined the fun. I was and still am in my pajamas. I was sitting with my legs crossed causing one pajama pant leg to ride up. Daughter noticed this instantly and asked if it didn't "drive (me) crazy"?! Um, no. They are pajamas. I don't care. She did not appreciate this response and so I adjusted said rebel pant leg and carried on.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By carrying on I mean I yelled at my two youngest boys to eat their breakfast and stop wrestling. Suddenly all four kids stopped and were laughing and calling out our older dog's name. It took me a minute to catch on. I could see the rapidly growing mess on the kids' table where they eat their breakfast. What I couldn't see was the 75 lb. Golden Retriever under the table attempting to help 'clean up' the mess being made by the hooligans. Yes, every time the dog moved ahead in an attempt to score another Froot Loop or some milk, the entire table moved causing more spillage.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was left with no other choice but to laugh. There was a huge mess being made and I knew it would mean floor washing after everyone was gone to school but it was funny and all four of them were in the same room and were laughing and not hitting or yelling at each other.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bliss.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then the older children left for school and I resumed hurrying along the other ones to finish their breakfast. My 8 year old came up to me with his hand held up and milk running down his arm in sheer panic. Whatever should or could he hope to do about this situation?!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My reply: "We're not rich but we have the basics; running water, soap and towels. Head to the bathroom (a mere 15 feet away) and wash up."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He did so.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some of you probably think this is too sarcastic and there is no place for that in parenting. Some of you should probably leave. This is a child who reads above grade level, has a real aptitude for math, can beat his father at XBox and runs his favourite hockey line like a pro. Washing his hands when they are dirty? Should not be a stumbling block in his day to day life.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Further to that, and this is where the positivity and sunlight come pouring in, it dawned on me, we are absolutely not rich. But we do have the basics. And I know there are many that don't. And I know that even though we do not go on vacations, we do not shop at will, there are things we want and can't afford, we have what we need.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And this morning, I needed to see those four maniacs sharing a laugh and one of those asinine animals was the cause of said laugh and it just made me feel good.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-60797378426205146062012-02-29T07:29:00.001-08:002012-02-29T07:29:21.802-08:00Hot & Bothered<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm hot, flushed and short of breath.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some of you are thinking, "Oh, you naughty girl! A little morning delight?"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yep, that's exactly what it was that has gotten me in such a state. If by morning delight you mean cleaning up the offal of the menagerie of animals I've chosen to accumulate. Yes, chose. So I am entirely to blame but that doesn't mean I don't question my choices.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have two cats and two dogs. Melody was the very first pet my two oldest children and I acquired almost 11 years ago. She was the cutest kitten ever. Justine, who was not quite five at the time, christened her 'Princess Melody'. Right off the bat, the Princess was quite vocal. I thought maybe this was because she was home alone all day while I was at work and the kids were at school. So, late November of the very same year, I brought home Callie. Callie is a bitchy Calico cat who is the only one who does no harm around here.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is further proof that being a bitch is where it's at.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then I married Ryan. Ryan is more of a dog person. So when his uncle offered to help us get a puppy to repay our son for a very good deed, I was swayed. Besides, who can resist a Golden Retriever puppy?! Not I. Welcome Toby. Welcome Toby and the roughly 17 pounds of hair he sheds each and every day whether I brush him religiously or not. Welcome Toby of the sensitive stomach who's vomit, when sick, is the only kind that has ever made me vomit while cleaning it up.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, cut to July 2010. Probably losing my job. Seems like the best time ever to purchase yet another dog. Really didn't have any intention but went into a pet store, on a whim one day, and fell in love with the asshole we now call Chuy (pronounced 'Chewy' but if you spell it like get a clue and watch a little Chelsea Lately).</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Chuy is a Shitzu-Yorkie mix. His dad was 5 lbs and his mom was 10 lbs (so clearly his dad was also a chubby chaser). I assumed this would yield roughly a 7-8 pound dog that I would tote along with me wherever I went, just like the celebs do.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Chuy weighs 15+ pounds and is a sloth who likes to eat bathroom garbage, shit in the basement and piss in my 8 year old's room when he can't get into ours. He is nearly two.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I told my Dad about this problem he offered a suggestion I figured was worthwhile. He suggested I put puppy pads in the rooms where he still chooses to relieve himself in and at the very least it'd be easier to clean up and might the final step towards training him on all three levels of the house.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Great idea! Sure, why not. I have puppy pads already because Melody, the eldest, likes to stand in the litter box (which was upgraded to a Rubbermaid container a few years ago at the suggestion of a good friend who has a lot of cats and seems to know what she's doing) and piss up against the wall. So one corner of our laundry room is cordoned off with plastic walls, floor, puppy pads and a giant fucking container for a litter box and there is still piss everywhere.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I set out the puppy pads. The ones I put in the basement seemed to create a nice soft place for Chuy to stand on while he shit on the carpet. His feet remained pristine, I imagine, while the carpet did not. The one I put in my son's room? Got kicked around the room and mangled untiI I threw it out. Besides, Chuy hadn't peed in there in ages. Seems like the problem was solved!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or he was simply waiting for me to remove the offending pad so he could get right back in there and find new places to pee.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I'm so uptight, why don't I get rid of them?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ugh, because they are part of the freaking family. They all have middle names: Melody Ann, Callie Beatrice, Tobias Henry and Chuy Alejandro (our little Latino friend). I do specific 'voices' for each one. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I may be slightly crazy but mostly attached and can't imagine what would run through each of their individual minds if we were to find them new homes.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So instead, every day or every other day I am hunched in the corner of the laundry room, scooping litter, changing pads, wiping the entire area down with paper towel, Lysol wipes and then spraying it with a heavy-duty pet odour remover. Then if the door to the family room in the basement has accidentally been left open, I go in to take care of turd removal.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So here I sit, hot, sweaty and slightly grateful for the head cold ruining my very existence right now because it meant today I was unable to smell anything. I am grateful for this. See? See how I put a positive spin on everything?! Man, I'm getting so good at this positivity stuff.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-34303488237655507342012-02-27T09:33:00.000-08:002012-02-27T09:33:18.491-08:00The Seventh Deadly Sin<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have had a few different posts rattle through my brains in the past couple of days but this is the first I've thought to sit down and try to get them out. Problem is I was quite angry when these posts hit me (as is usually the case) and I am not angry now. I am sort of defeated and fighting the beginnings of a head cold but not really angry.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why was I so enraged? When aren't I enraged (with the exception of this morning)?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hockey. Small towns. People's inability to respect other people's (specifically my own, time). </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Morning. Eating chocolate. Drinking vodka. Sleeping.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you aren't following, the first list contains the answers to self-imposed question one and the second list, answers to self-imposed question 2.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am kind of a morning person. I like mornings and am generally more productive in the morning. Chocolate always makes me happy until I realize its consumption leads to tight pants. Drinking vodka used to be tons of fun but is now something I rarely do and even more so, something I seem to enjoy less. The hangover isn't worth it and/or I'm with people I am uncomfortable actually getting drunk with. Boo. Sleeping is pretty self-explanatory although I do sometimes, shockingly, have angry dreams.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hockey in general does not make me angry. I quite like it. I really like watching my 8 year old son play. He is good at it. This may sound like bragging and potentially it is, but honestly being someone who can still not stop on skates without the aid of the boards or another body? His 'prowess' delights and intrigues me! My son, a skater! And he loves hockey and he studies it and he knows it. This leads to my having turned into one of the crazies who thinks maybe, just maybe, he'll go somewhere with it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">However, given where we live, I am going to potentially have to make some drastic changes to my way of life, or really, just my personality. I despise hypocrites. I go out of my way to not be one and unfortunately in my slightly underdeveloped brain this equates with my thinking if I do not like someone, they should know this in no uncertain terms. However, based on this small town I live in, hockey politics (sadly they do exist outside of the NHL, in full force; even in Novice B hockey), and the actions of a friend yesterday, I think I need to grow the fuck up and learn how to tolerate, politely, those whom I cannot stand.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am capable of this. I managed it quite well in my previous professional career, to an extent. When it served my well being I suppose, and I guess it's time to go back there. Smile and nod. If I haven't got anything nice to say, make some shit up. Deal. Grow the fuck up.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am almost 35 and have a failed career, to an extent, to show for it. I am capable of a stubbornness like no other and this has brought me to this very financially unstable place I am today. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Being a Type A control freak who borders on perfectionism (I am scarily in danger of becoming a real loser as I shy away from doing things I don't think I am instantly and perfectly able to), this is hard to swallow. I am smarter than this. I am capable. I was mature before my time in many ways but in the last two years I have regressed to an unacceptable place. It's paralyzing. I crave control and right now it eludes me. I have control over very little-or at least not the level of control I want or the right kind. So it's time to change this up. I don't even know how or why. I only know that whether or not my son is destined for the NHL or otherwise, I will not get in his way because of pride.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pride has gotten me to where I am today and there are much less accolades and rewards than I imagined. There is only loneliness, a sense of failure, loss and frustration. Time to turn around.</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-60730534338038724042012-02-21T16:47:00.000-08:002012-02-21T16:47:35.405-08:00Drama School's Out<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Couple of days ago I went on ad nauseum about how much I like my kids.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We are now two days into a week long break from school.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I still like them but I think we need a break. Nothing permanent, maybe just to see other people for awhile. You know, to remind us of how good we have it at home.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I banished the two youngest ones outside for roughly an hour this afternoon. It was a gorgeous day and they had a good time when they got out there. Of course they are my children so part of the play included "pretend hockey fighting". They had each other by their jacket collars and were throwing "pretend" punches at each other's heads. And they laughed while they did so.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was so grateful for the quiet inside the house that when I witnessed this 'fun' game, the best I could muster up was a "be careful". Not, hey, don't engage in physical violence with one another. Or even a "hands off". Just "be careful".</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The four year old came in with a bit of a nosebleed. He was unconcerned. I dealt with it quickly, provided him with a Kleenex to take outside with him and sent him back for Round 2.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Desperation for quiet makes even the most conscientious parent (not that I ever claimed to be such a thing) loosen the reins a little.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then I allowed them in to watch TV and have popcorn. This guaranteed me another half hour of quiet. Then, all hell broke loose and at one point then both ended up in their respective rooms trying to outcry one another. And because we didn't leave the house today and because they are both ridiculous drama queens? I laughed. The keened like Irish women of old who'd lost their husband at sea...and they took turns trying to outdo one another. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This dramatic flair comes from their father. As much as I am quick tempered, impatient, critical and sometimes a downright Ice Queen, I am not dramatic. If I'm mad, I'm mad. The end. There is no great flair or flourish aside from my idiot savant use of foul language. Ryan, my husband, is fairly even tempered, patient, tolerant and friendly. And dramatic. We are definitely the epitome of opposites who attract and this in turn, has created quite the combination of traits in our offspring. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so here we are; impatient, hot tempered, dramatic and stuck together for five more days before they return to school. And this doesn't even include the teenagers. One is away and the other is here. The other spent time designing a tattoo he hopes to get next month upon his 18th birthday. One is shopping and planning a ski trip later this week.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And me? I am eating too much chocolate (stupid discount Valentine chocolate). I am attempting to get some work done in the midst of requests for 75 snacks a day. I am attempting to talk to my grandma on the phone while tracking the sound of a pop bottle opening in the kitchen (Diet Root Beer is not allowed at 10:30 a.m.). I am trying to enjoy my children and I am trying not to run away from home and/or get day drunk. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All that being said, I do still like them.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most of the time...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-67568336450448836212012-02-20T19:14:00.000-08:002012-02-20T19:14:54.109-08:00Winning & Welfare<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today was not the day I had planned. I am well known for being fairly rigid and not adapting well to not getting my way; whatever way that happens to be. And today was no exception.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is Family Day here in Saskatchewan. People had their Family Day plans plastered all over Facebook and so Ryan and I decided we would jump on the bandwagon and take the boys skating this afternoon. Family fun! Skating, then maybe hot chocolate, maybe cookies, maybe a movie-hell for all I knew we were going to break out into a choreographed song and dance routine on the ice. (Highly unlikely as I can barely skate. Or sing. Or dance without the aid of alcohol).</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Instead our day was very unlike this. There was singing. In the car. We let our 8 year old run the iPod. So we listened to a lot of popular music and ended with a little Justin Bieber. Then we settled on the radio for a bit. My husband turned up the volume on a song that made me question if maybe he was about to get his period for the first time...but I digress.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Before we even left town we stopped for a heart and family friendly lunch at McDonald's. This was due to the fact we needed groceries and nobody was much interested in another lunch of Kraft Dinner or peanut butter toast. So McDonald's is the obvious alternative (at least in the minds of our 8 and 4 year old).</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We sat eating our cholesterol raising, Type 2 Diabetes promoting, heart attack waiting to happen lunch when I began eavesdropping on the folks behind me. And then the heart attack began stemming from my angry place more so than my lunch.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">According to these, I'm sure highly educated folk, people on "welfare" would likely be better off living with one of them "shovelling their walks, cutting and watering their grass, and washing floors" then on actual assistance. That was the highlight of, again, what was a very intellectual conversation involving immigration. I angrily sucked back my child size chocolate shake (my attempt to pretend I am making healthy choices). And when I could stand it no more, I turned The Prophet himself was a nearly 400 lb. man. So apparently he can make choices that will continue to cost me as a tax payer but we shan't have immigrants coming in or anybody else for that matter living off of assistance. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This man could sit and spout bullshit all day long while his heart screamed in protest as he swallowed yet another Big Mac whole and then when his heart finally figures what's the point and stops screaming and attacks him instead? He will end up in hospital. We are lucky enough to not have to pay for a hospital stay here in Canada but that does not mean it's free. It's called taxes. Taxes I willingly and gladly pay for this privilege, just so we're clear. He will be told to make lifestyle changes. He will not listen. But I think I have the answer-you see if he really doesn't want to make any big changes, he could come to my house a few times a week and wash floors, clean bathrooms, clean the litter box, pick up dog shit...you know, things that would get him moving. An active lifestyle goes a long way toward health and longevity. And furthermore he'd be practising what he preaches. It's really win-win all the way around.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So my day didn't go as planned but I was lucky enough to end up with fodder for this post without revealing the real upset of my day and I made homemade Snickers bars. Again, I'm winning in a fashion that would make Charlie Sheen blush.</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-54587382699259911042012-02-19T21:09:00.000-08:002012-02-19T21:19:01.400-08:00I Like My Children<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some of you will read that title and think: "Duh. Of course you do. Their <i>your children.</i>" I, however, am of the belief that children are not instantaneously likeable by the mere fact that they are shorter and have charming speech impediments. Children are people, believe it or not. They have very distinct personalities. There are some people who proclaim "I LOVE KIDS!!". They also probably love anything animated, pastel and musicals*.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In short, they are annoying.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I barely like people so I apply the same rules to children as I do to adults. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate kids, I just don't believe in giving them a free pass because they have yet to see an R rated movie (depending on who their parents are, I suppose. I 'carefully' monitor what my children watch, to an extent, but have no problem whatsoever dropping the f word like it's hot and perhaps akin to oxygen in relation to my very existence). </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is why when I recently decided to begin volunteering in my 8 year old's classroom I had my doubts. I have a history of not really gelling with other people's children and figured this would really put things to the test. Great news though-apparently my son does not have to spend much time with assholes (aside from Yours Truly). The kids were all pretty decent and the ones that weren't, were just assholish enough that I appreciated it. The child who sat down to read for me and refused to make eye contact with me or the book and commanded that I read it to him? I admired his style. Especially when the bell rang and he looked at me over his glasses (which, for the record, is bad enough when adults do it but he's 7...and perhaps headed for his own episode on TLC's The Virgin Diaries) and announced "It's recess." Yep. Look at that, it is. And you will enjoy recess as soon as you read this book because I know that you can. To his credit, he read it. With zero expression but he read it. In a hurry. And then proceeded on to recess. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There were other highlights as well. Like when the entire class sang O Canada. Some of these kids are clearly waiting, with baited breath, for Canadian Idol to make a comeback. I snuck a glance or two at the teacher and noticed she was enjoying this as much as I. Some of the children were attempting to harmonize...enough said.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So what makes my children so great? Well, obviously yes they do have an advantage because they are mine and have inherited the gift of sarcasm. Sarcasm is really the way to my heart. And vodka. And chocolate. So basically if you are sarcastic (and not stupid-the two don't always go hand in hand), have chocolate and/or vodka, I will probably get along with you. They all love music. And decent music. Again, I will try pretty hard, until they are about 12 to make sure they don't catch a glimpse of an errant breast or 'worse' on TV but I will let them listen to Eminem's "Shake That Ass" or Sublime's "Wrong Way"... My children do not have college funds, per se (read: they don't have college funds. As of yet. Parenting fail.) but they do know who Ray Charles is and when the right time is (Night Time, keep up).</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They don't take shit from anyone. Including me. My two older children impress me with their levels of assertiveness and confidence. The two little boys are only 8 and 4 but hold their own. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I just like them. Plain and simple. And I honestly believe this is key. I do happen to believe you love your child no matter what. There is no other love like it. But you can love somebody and not like them and I happen to be lucky enough to like my children. All four of them. That's not to say they are perfect and that at times I would prefer to be drunk on a beach far far away from each and everyone of them. But often, in those situations, they are acting an awful like their mother. I do possess a great deal of insight. This doesn't make it any easier but I do recognize when my own 'charm' is coming back to bite me in my fantastic ass.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And folks, this is yet another step towards the ray of sunshine that is part of my new positive perspective on life. Step One, in case it isn't clear, is liking your own offspring. Stay tuned for more inspiring tidbits of sunshiny optimism!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>*For the record, I like musicals...it just fit well there (this is purely so my daughter, who I like very much, keeps liking me (the little bit that she does) ;)</i></span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-42973680828027356382012-01-24T07:12:00.000-08:002012-01-24T07:12:04.958-08:00No Control<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I literally had no idea what I was going to write about when I opened this up but just said to my husband, "When I'm stressed, I have no control." And there you have it; a spur of the moment topic sentence.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is great truth behind this statement. I was referring to food. We have been watching what we eat as well as using a new product to lose weight. It's going fairly well. My husband is down 23 pounds and I was down 11. Again, with his penis, he can think really hard about losing weight and it melts away. My vagina prefers that my body hold on to every last roll until the last possible minute. Although I can't blame it all on her. My mouth is somewhat to blame as well.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was doing so well. The new product we are taking had almost shut down my sugar cravings. No snacking in the evenings because I simply didn't want to. Then Christmas hit. Christmas is stressful at the best of times but this past one I did not have enough money, I did not have enough available family, my husband had to work and there is food everywhere. Why? Because I bought it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Enough is a relative term. Christmas was fine. The kids were happy, I spent Christmas Day with my husband and kids and then with great friends, my husband did work but this allowed him to be home for Boxing Day which we spent with his family. The food though? The food was still here.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I often jokingly refer to myself as a 'food addict'. And in some ways I am. I fell off the wagon and dammit if I can't get back on! Sugar is my lover. Junk food in general is my mistress...is there a male equivalent to that word? Anyway, I like it. I am also lazy. I do not really enjoy cooking all that much. I enjoy vegetables less. I don't like anything that requires more than me opening a package, can, my mouth.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sigh. That last part sounded dirty. It wasn't supposed to but because I'm juvenile and it makes me snicker a little, I'm leaving it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So anyway, I am back on the program. Sort of. With the exception of Saturday night where I force fed myself roughly 12 mini peanut butter cups chased with mini pretzels. This was while I was watching Betty White's 90th Birthday Celebration. Yes, my weekends are wild.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then Sunday, I thought that's enough. Time to get my shit together. Except there are still peanut butter cups in the house. And pretzels. And popcorn twists. And salt 'n vinegar chips at Stacey's house.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I weighed myself Monday morning. Just to see what the damage was. And yup, sure as shit, back up a pound and a half. No, not horrible but entirely preventable.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The point of this entire post is, I have zero coping skills. Wait, that's a LIE. My coping skills are food, bitching and alcohol and not necessarily in that order. Although my friend Vodka has not been nearly has prominent of a figure as she once was. Fickle girl.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So instead I make trips to Wal-Mart for toilet paper and come home with $10 worth of back fat. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No. Control.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A friend of mine's mother once said to her life is all about choices. I couldn't agree more. Why I continually make the same choices is beyond me. I do believe that's the definition of insanity...Great. I'm a crazy bitch with back fat. Granted, less than before but if I don't get it together, it's going to come creeping back and pretty soon I'll be able to keep my keys, lip balm and such in the handy folds on my back instead of in my purse.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today is a new day. I'm starting it off right. Did just receive some unsettling news about my cell phone bill but I will not cope with food! I will bitch instead. Bitchy girls are not fun but are generally thin, so there. Problem solved!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Glad we got that worked out, now carry on.</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-68138944238854953722012-01-05T19:27:00.000-08:002012-01-05T20:10:42.438-08:00Shit that which Disturbs Me<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have spent the better part of the holiday season compiling a list of things that piss me off. These little epiphanies would strike as I shopped, ran errands and took in the general merriment of the season. And although Christmas has passed, the irritation has not.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took a few moments today to begin an actual physical list.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is what it is entitled:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Stuff that pisses me off'</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-chewing with your mouth open. So gross. So wrong. So unacceptable unless you are under 2 years old or over 90.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Safeways, Costcos, etc. If this one confuses you, it is you who pisses me off.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-tight clothes. On other people and on myself. Tight clothes are a nemesis to us all. If you are the one wearing tight clothes you are uncomfortable. However, some folks are repeat offenders and maybe they do not feel this discomfort I do when a waistband is digging into my sides creating the fluffiest of muffin tops...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-"I'm drunk". Pronouncing this loud and often is usually a sure indicator that said "intoxicated" person? Is not.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Lack of respect of time. Here we take a serious turn but I loathe waiting. The end.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Lying. This is pretty universal but I am currently caught in a conundrum wherein I am not sure if a person is lying to me or if they are too stupid to even understand that is what they are doing. It's tricky and requires further research but given my sheer abhorrence at the thought of spending even five minutes with this person EVER AGAIN, it may remain an Unsolved Mystery. Does anyone else remember that show? Man, our whole family used to cozy up to the TV for that little gem. Two channels. No remote. We even watched the commercials. Crazy times I tell you, crazy.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Stupidity. See above. There are a few breeds of stupid. There are those who are so stunned they believe they are smarter than everyone in the room and will make that known, without question. Stupidity often goes hand in hand with lying. These are the bad liars who lie so blatantly and obviously there is no doubt whatsoever that they are lying, yet they carry on. These people, I've heard, are also fantastic fundraisers.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Spending money on vehicles. I hate when a vehicle breaks down. I can barely stand to part with money for gas, never mind hundreds or thousands on something that should just work and keep working until I don't need it anymore.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-quarter-ton trucks. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is, obviously, a working list. Stay tuned for further additions and possible deletions (although I highly doubt it). Feel free to respond with suggestions of your own for said list.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So what else happened today?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I watched a middle-aged woman park a half ton truck in an expansive parking lot with ridiculous amounts of room like she was parking a semi. This did not impede my parking at all or trip into the store I was visiting, but for the love of Pete, dress in drag if you are going to go out and do stupid shit like that. Otherwise it is nothing but further fodder for the penis-bearers to lament the skills and abilities of women drivers. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The day did end on a happy, or at the very least, amusing, note. My husband, two youngest children and I ventured to Wal-Mart tonight to look for birthday party invitations. This was a failed mission-the birthday boy, oddly enough, did not want Barbie themed invites.. That aside though, while Rhett, who is 4, and I waited for our shopping companions to return from a trip to the cold medication aisle, he shared some important information. He turned to me and said: "Mom, during the day when sometimes my penis gets stuck to my leg, I just do this." And with that he proceeded to spread his legs and squat a little. This was said matter-of-factly and without pomp or circumstance. I was left to reply with a smile and a "ok". </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shit that which disturbs me....</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-73919289744469831182011-10-27T18:24:00.000-07:002011-10-27T18:24:30.448-07:00Chapped Lips & a Perm<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am now officially a hockey mom. This is my 7 year old son's third year in hockey but this is his first year where he actually gets to play games, for points, where someone notices who's won and who's lost. It is a big deal.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is a big deal for most of these little boys who have been practising and learning to skate for at least two to three years prior to their first real game. Further to that, it's a big deal for their mothers. A bigger deal than I might have imagined. A bigger deal than I might think is normal or within the realm of common sense and decency.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't think I'm cut out to be a hockey mom. I like hockey. I like my children. You would think, therefore, there wouldn't be a problem. Wrong. See I generally am not a fan of small talk. I also am not a fan of those who 'put on airs'. I am not a fan of women. Don't get your panties in a bunch. I have some really good female friends. Oddly enough though, the three women I have at sometime or now still do consider my best friends, are women who generally get along better with men than women. My best friend ladies swear. They are direct. They are intelligent. They, I am quite certain, know the measure of importance that should be allotted to a Novice 'B' hockey game. For those of you unfamiliar with hockey, the Novice division is for 7 year old children.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">7 Years Old.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is important to remember for a number of reasons. Some of these children, it could be argued, are playing hockey because their parents want them too. Some of these children are playing hockey because they love it and have dreams of the NHL. Some of these children are playing because it's fun.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I do believe their mothers fall in the same category. I am not intentionally picking on moms. They are just who I'm spending time in the stands with at the rink. I have heard horror stories about the dads too and I'm sure in the years to come I will have those observations to share as well.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some of the moms have encouraged their sons to play hockey because they love hockey or their husband loves hockey or because it's just what boys (in Canada, at least) are supposed to do. Some of the moms are supporting their sons playing hockey because their child loves it and is having fun. Some of the moms are supporting their children playing hockey because it apparently, in some way or another, defines who they are as a woman, a mother and human being.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These are the women I take issue with. The woman who sat in the stands at the very first game last weekend and literally screamed at her seven year old child and his team. She didn't scream anything that warranted intervention but one could surmise it was fairly intense and unnecessary at this level (or any for that matter) of hockey. And one other woman did surmise this. How she found the time to come to this realization is beyond me as she spends the better part of her time at the rink applying lip balm. It comes in handy when you kiss as much coordinator ass as she does. That being said, she did notice and instead of moving or choosing to ignore immature behaviour, she told this woman to "Shut up!" Apparently this was not well received.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">SAH-PRIZE, SAH-PRIZE.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have a long road ahead of me folks. Which is good for you because I don't foresee running out of material anytime soon. Reese is only 7. There is a lot of hockey ahead and he loves it. Rhett is 4 and wants nothing more than to be like his brother, so yes, more hockey. More lunatics. More perms.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I fear I will not make a lot of new friends. I fear I will end up a permed screaming lunatic with chapped lips if I am not careful and do not plan accordingly.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So here it is, I will maintain friendships outside of the rink, I will have hobbies, read the paper and watch TV. I will ask my hairdresser to sign a contract with me vowing never to perm my hair never mind how much I beg (wash and wear would be such a breeze with early ice times though...). I will save my screaming for adult sports events. I have yet to kiss ass and really don't think the rink is the place to start. What if my lips get frozen to coordinator ass?! It's a risk I just can't take.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All I ask from you is if you see my slipping, if you notice a change in behaviour wherein I simper in front of hockey 'royalty' (read: coaches, coordinators and whoever else could be deemed as all powerful by the Hockey Gods) or I suddenly don mom jeans and blue shadow, step in, please.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I mean, I need to stay in top form for at least the next ten years and then I will be all set for our first NHL draft.</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-24312632564306467972011-10-17T18:04:00.000-07:002011-10-17T18:04:30.832-07:00Better<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">I need to be in a good mood. I have phone calls to make and aside from that, if I injure one of our dogs, on purpose, people will frown upon that.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">What did the dogs do?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Nothing.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Neither did the kids but they are in harms way too. As in anyone who takes offence to "colourful" language because if it gets anymore colourful around here I'm going to start puking rainbows.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">You guessed it, I have been possessed by hormonal fluctuations turning me from my usual feisty self to a something a little more akin to murderous/dangerous rather than "spirited".</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">The day started out okay. I went to Costco and walked away from some snowman solar lights. I carried them around for awhile but then used self-control and walked away.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">This has nothing to do with the fact that I can go there again tomorrow, if I want, and buy them. Nor does it have anything to do with the fact that I didn't get a cart and had to set the lights down so I could carry a flat of water.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Nothing at all.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Then I had Wendy's for lunch because there is not enough salt in the free world right now and Wendy's fries are de-lic-ious.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Then I was on time for a workshop I attended this afternoon. It was held in a very nice boardroom with an educated intelligent woman at the helm. It was useful information and fed into the small longing I have, at times, to still be a part of the "professional" world. Not that I am not part of it now but given I work from my home and clean up cat vomit and occasionally have to wipe an ass other than my own, this was a real treat.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">The commute home began the downhill trend. I had to pee. A lot but was much later than usual picking up my boys and my husband was working and so I was trying to hurry home...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">oh wait, my 7 year old just spotted the "B"s my four year old decorated our off white couch with this weekend. The four year old immediately owned up to in the sense that apparently it was an "accident". There are roughly four "B"s, an "R" and some other random scribbles. Big accident.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Anyway, my bladder was ready to burst and my left eye was under assault from my contact lens and the sun was in my eyes and it all. sucked. a. lot.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Then we came home to feed the four ravenous animals awaiting us and then the kids. Then listen to arguing over who got more or better treats after supper. I luckily was awarded a free box of Halloween candy for spending an exorbitant amount of money on groceries on the weekend so after supper each boy got three treats. Except Reese got a peanut butter cup and Rhett didn't. Rhett chose different treats but lost his freaking mind when he realized he hadn't gotten a peanut butter cup. I did not give him one but chose to deal with this by having my own three (seven) treats.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">My lamp died on my desk, I forgot to send back a skating permission form and the teacher put a note in my son's agenda and I NEVER forget stuff like that and my work area is cluttered and crowded and so after searching the house for a working lamp and bulb, I decided I best cope with the clutter and disorganization by writing this post.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">And you know what? I feel better.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Not as good as I will feel after having few (the rest of the box) more treats, but better all the same.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-21610639396343954002011-10-04T11:45:00.000-07:002011-10-04T11:45:31.973-07:00Assholes & Cowards<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I guess somewhere along the way I missed a memo. You know, the one that says adults should bully one another in the wake of someone else's passing. The one that said e-mail is an effective form of said bullying with Facebook being a close second. You see I thought this sort of behaviour only existed among the pre-teen and teenager crowd. Little did I know it's a new phenomenon among the Baby Boomer set.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My uncle passed away last month. For those of you who follow along, you know this. I spoke at his funeral. I wrote a eulogy and shared it. In said eulogy I spoke of his generosity, kindness, coolness, sense of humour, and maybe most importantly at present, his non-judgemental demeanour.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">See some of these people he treated with such kindness and tolerance and not to mention generosity of the grandest kind, have chosen to act like complete assholes since his passing and in direct relation to his passing. They have chosen to bully.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They are not bullying me. Nope. And I'm not sure if it's because I'm still viewed as a child by these people who've known me since I was a child or if it's because I'm not an easy target. Or at least not viewed as such. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I would actually prefer if these cowards directed their dick-less sentiments towards myself as I am more equipped and prepared to deal with them than others. I don't like it. I don't like shaking and then weeping from anger. I don't like feeling like my life was sort of settling down and back under control only to have to manage another shit storm, but I will do it. I will do it because nobody deserves to be bullied. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will do it because I can.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will do it because I want to. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will do it because there are far too many people on this Godforsaken planet that think it's okay to victimize, bully and disrespect rather than engage in open discussion, respect and tolerance. They would rather judge without knowing. Blame without thinking. Hurt without caring.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even though it is no longer my profession to protect vulnerable individuals, I will continue to do so as long as I'm able. Should those individuals be related to me, expect me to come at you with force.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My son recently wrote an assignment for English where he likened me to a mother lion. It made me laugh at the time but there is truth in that. I will go to great lengths to protect and defend my own and anyone who chooses to willfully and knowingly hurt them, physically or emotionally, will not go uncorrected.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My uncle, as I said, was kind, generous, patient and without judgement. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am kind, generous and without judgement in the grand scheme of things. I am not patient. I am not tolerant of assholes but more importantly, I am not tolerant of cowardice and lately, I am faced with both of these attributes much more than I might have ever imagined. At least among the supposedly educated, spiritual and mature individuals presenting in this manner.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is exhausting, disappointing and frustrating but then again, so are assholes and cowards.</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-90131781312614080102011-09-13T21:00:00.000-07:002011-09-13T21:01:03.603-07:00Remembering<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">This will not be funny. Sorry. Earlier today I was starting to put together a funny post but in light of this evening's events, I've opted for something of a more serious nature.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">My uncle died on September 1st. He was only 49 when he died. His death was not entirely unexpected but that doesn't make it any easier and I'm sure anyone who's lost anyone can attest to this.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">My uncle was a quadriplegic and had been for nearly 30 years at the time of his death.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">For those of you who don't know what that means, it means he was paralyzed from the neck down. Actually, he did have some range of motion in his shoulders so he could operate his power chair, feed himself, type, etc. However, for many people this would not have been enough. This would have given them every excuse to be a bitter hateful and angry person.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">Steve was the opposite of all of these things. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">There is nobody I tried harder to be funnier around and secretly swelled with pride when something I said did make him laugh. He was so fucking funny. He was smart. We took one University class together and it was another of the proudest moments of my life. I kept up with him in class and took great delight in this. Not out of competitive spirit, well maybe a little, but mostly out of pride and the sheer desire to make him proud of me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">And I know that he was because he told me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">This was a man who rarely had a negative word for anyone unless they truly deserved it and in the end he usually could find something good about absolutely anyone. When I think of how negative and critical I often am, it makes me feel badly that I'm not as generous in spirit as he was.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">Music makes our world go round in this house and that is due to two people, my mother and Steve. Steve bought me my first record-Michael Jackson's Thriller. He bought me cassette tapes for my birthday and gritted his teeth when I chose Milli Vanilli and agreed only to buy it if I got Belinda Carlisle as well.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">He was a better writer than I can ever hope to be, which is clearly evidenced by this post. Thanks for bearing with me through my memories.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">Our family is not functional and we don't even come close to putting the "fun in dysfunctional". There is nothing fun about it. Especially this evening.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">There is only hate and pettiness and hurt.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">These are words I would never associate with Steve but tonight, someone else chose to invoke those exact sentiments with their words.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">I miss my uncle terribly. Heartbreakingly so. Today though, I had a better day. I started to feel like life was resuming some normalcy. And not thirty minutes ago I sat in front of this very computer vibrating with anger.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">It was one of those moments where I was tempted to use my phrase: "I hate people". Something, again, Steve wouldn't say but tonight, it's how I felt. Only people work as hard to hurt one another as badly as possible and in this case, as publicly as possible.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">To do that right now though, when maybe our best has been lost? Is beyond my comprehension.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">All I can do is my best not to do that. At anytime. Unless called for...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">We all remember my penchant for mafia and retaliation, right?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">If not, I once was delighted to receive my very own limited edition of Scarface for Christmas from my husband, then another Christmas it was The Godfather Trilogy. I loved the Sopranos and now I have a club of motorcycle enthusiasts after my own heart in Charming (Sons of Anarchy, keep up, won't you?) Bottom line is, while I do not endorse the murder or any other illegal activities, I do endorse protecting your own and making those who hurt yours, pay. I'm not going to shank anyone or anything like that. I've always been much better with words. And words, I will use and with more effect, style and strength than <i>he </i>could ever hope to.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">In closing, I choose to believe in Heaven. A Heaven where Steve walks and runs and dances to all the greatest music this world has to offer. He is up there having a great time with my uncles Ken and Doug. And I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm even a little jealous because he gets to be with his dad, my Grandpa, again. Losing Steve has only been second to losing my Grandpa for me and now they are together. Trying to outdo one another with their humour, wit and maybe even playing some dirty pool. I would say may the best man win, but in this case it can only ever be a tie.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span><br />
<br />Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-19367178341995877172011-08-30T20:00:00.000-07:002011-08-30T20:00:08.871-07:00One Bike & a Ball Short<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Do optimists ever have days when they just say fuck it? Or do they truly look at every situation, no matter how shit filled and say, "On the bright side, it's solid shit and therefore easier to clean up than diarrhea."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I can't help but ponder these sorts of things. I've been feeling quite upbeat and positive lately but I keep hitting roadblocks and feel myself slip into the comfortable role of angry victim. Thing is I'm tired of being an angry victim and the people or situations creating that opportunity for the angry victim to emerge? Are not angry. Or victimized. Or even aware they are being assholes.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">So why would I waste my energy on being angry and indignant when they're fucking sitting in la-la land thinking about what a great awesome better than whoever person they are. The same goes for situations beyond ones control.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Some things though, are in my control and I do believe it's time to start acting on them.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">For instance, 40 year old men ogling my 14 YEAR OLD daughter, are going to fucking start feeling victimized. And angry. They will be angry I wrecked their bike when I hit them with my fucking Crossover SUV/minivan type of vehicle. They will feel victimized when I've lopped off one of their balls and placed it every so gently in their mouths while repeatedly kicking them in what's left of their diseased pervert penis.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Seriously. I've started noticing this more and more lately. My daughter is a pretty girl. When boys her age look, I notice, am not thrilled, but I am not stupid enough to think they aren't going to notice and that it's not normal behaviour. But, if you are a 40 year old man, all "tatted up", tanned in a fashion to make Snooki jealous and have your greasy sick pedophile hair in a pony tail on the top of your head and you check her out once? You are sick and fucked and I really wish I would've just given you a gentle nudge with my minivan on steroids. But when you turn around to get a second look? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">If only I didn't have the bare minimum of normals and impulse control I could handle this in a fashion to make Tony Soprano or Jax Teller proud and carry on with my day. And because I wish I was either affiliated with the mob (only in a fictional TV, Good Fellas sense) or some body's "old lady" (again, only in a SOA, again fictional sense), this is the way I will choose to handle any further over-aged leering at my daughter.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">So anyway, while trying to find my positive inner self, I'm faced with obstacles such as the one mentioned above.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">There are others as well. Too numerous and ultimately personal to mention. I am not one of those lucky bloggers who can write freely. I need watch my P's and Q's for the greater good. Apparently my old job was not for the greater good. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">And I'm okay with that.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">So I guess today's moral is, positivity is a state of mind. Assholes are generally not aware they are assholes nor do they care. And middle aged leering creeps? Shall soon be one bike and a ball short.</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-33686016909615504032011-08-17T19:02:00.000-07:002011-08-17T19:02:41.036-07:00Darn.<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back to square one. It's been another 11 days since I last posted. It's not that I don't think about posting or write little random bloggish snippets in my head whenever something amuses, angers, frightens, or excites me, but getting the words out of my head on a consistent basis continues to be a struggle.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">As does eating healthy. And exercising. Forever and ever I've only been able to manage, at most, three things effectively at any given time. At present this is my two jobs and my household. Blogging and self care are steadily losing ground.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I'm nearly at the point where I need to give my belly a name, a constant faithful companion is she. She has a newly discovered love of pop. For those of you not from Saskatchewan or North Dakota, that's 'soda'. I never used to like pop. I could take it or leave it UNLESS it was mixed with my other best gal pal, Vodka. Or, when I was dieting, I consumed copious amounts of diet pop in an effort to stop consuming copious amounts of cookies. It worked, sometimes.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Now though, I prefer to have regular, fully sugared pop in addition to any number of other poor choices. I get winded from going up the stairs. My knee hurts.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I'm not Biggest Loser material yet but at 34, I feel like I really shouldn't have any physical ailments. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">So do something about it, right?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Right.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Some of the problem lies in the fact I am never truly motivated to lose weight unless I am 100% belittling and demeaning myself and my gluttonous ways and have a full hate on for my body. That's not really fun but usually keeps me going.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Another problem is I am considerably more laid back than I was back when I was an employee of Hell. When I was there, I was miserable all of the time and so it was pretty easy to also hate my body and enjoy the punishment of a spin class. For those 55 minutes or so I didn't have to think about how much I hated my job, how underappreciated I and my co-workers were, how messed up the whole system is. I just had to focus on the burning pain in my legs, trying not to fall off of my bike and breathing.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">At present, when I think about a spin class and think about how uncomfortable it was and how my legs burned? I think that I truly must belong on my couch watching Big Brother. Then when I can't read a bedtime story to my children without the aid of an oxygen tank, because I had to go upstairs first, I think it may just be worth it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Stay tuned. Find out whether I succumb to the evils of exercise or the more comfortable, but equally evil life of a sedentary woman who eventually will be unable to shave her own legs without assistance thanks to growing girth and complete loss of core strength thereby necessitating bathing in my own filth while my husband shaves them for me. Sexy, no?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">No.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Darn.</span><br />
<br />
Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-31441704534368121422011-08-06T09:39:00.000-07:002011-08-06T09:43:04.793-07:00The Church of Penny Lane<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This morning I had two visitors at my door. I wondered who the heck would be coming to our house this morning and using the front door, no less. I peered out the window and immediately figured out who and also immediately wondered why.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Nonetheless, I opened the door. I did not open the screen door but this did not stop the young man for launching into conversation. Turns out, as luck would have it, he was here, with his friend Ken, to tell me about God.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">yay.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">So Buddy (I can't remember his name) proceeded to let me know there are 36 churches in Moose Jaw and asked what I think God thinks about this.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">My reply: "I don't think He minds."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">This did not sit well with Buddy and he started to read to me from his pamphlet some shit about one true God and how this one 'true' God probably isn't thrilled with Moose Jaw and their penchant for choosing their own ways to worship. Those weren't exactly his words.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">At this point, I politely, if somewhat coldly, shared I didn't want to waste anymore of his time and wished him a good day.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I don't even know if I believe in God but if there is a God, the one that I believe in doesn't care if you're Catholic, Lutheran, Buddhist or Mennonite. The God I would choose to believe in only wants people to live a life where they try their best not to hurt others, not to cheat, lie or steal and to be nice.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">The God I would choose to believe in does not want Buddy & Ken coming to my house on an otherwise pleasant Saturday morning telling me that He doesn't like people going to different churches to worship. I'm not sure what denomination Buddy & Ken are. Jehovah Witness maybe? I'm not sure. I don't know enough about them to tell. It's a guess pure & simple. I only know they aren't Mormon because they didn't say they were Elders or refer to themselves as 'Brother'. I know a little more about our Mormon friends because my ex-husband took a super fun for all journey there for awhile.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">To me, this sort of "God only wants one church" belief is akin to racism. I'm pretty sure God doesn't promote that either. Come to think of it, I should've told Buddy & Ken that I needed to go because my (fill in the race blank) Lesbian lover was waiting for me upstairs for a session of Saturday morning lovemaking followed by a Ouija Board session. I have a feeling Ken & Buddy do not support same sex marriage. No confirmation, just an inkling.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">So to end today's lesson in Penny Lane Religion: I don't know if I believe in God. I do know I believe in treating people equally and fairly. I do know that I believe people deserve this equal and fair treatment no matter their age, sex, gender, race or sexual preference. I think, if there is a God, he feels the same way and if he doesn't?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I'll carry on just the same. I will speak openly against racism, sexism, and homophobes. I will teach my children to do the same. I will continue to respect those who choose to worship the God they believe in. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">And, I will not hope Ken and Buddy get stung by wasps today, eat a bad 7-11 burrito and get the runs without a bathroom in sight. </span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-26695272353286802612011-07-01T19:52:00.000-07:002011-07-01T19:52:22.735-07:00National Holidays & Altercations at Super Wal-Mart<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I should begin by wishing all my fellow Canadians the Happiest of Canada Days! Mine was quite unpatriotic. We spent a good part of the day getting ready to go camping tomorrow and then saw Transformers 3. In 3-D. I add that only because it was the first time I'd done so and I liked it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Part of our camping preparation included a trip to Super Wal-Mart in Regina after dropping off our daughter. She has chosen to instead camp with her best friend and said best friend's family rather than her own. She's 14. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Anyway, off we went. Shopped and shopped and by the time we were done, both my caffeine and patience had worn off. I was unloading the cart and my boys asked me if they could go look at the games. You know, those godforsaken sort of mini-arcade games that you could likely feed $100 to in 10 minutes and still not get a crappy stuffed animal? Those ones. They just wanted to look and since it was right within my line of vision, I let them. My husband and I continued unloading. They continued playing and at one point asked me for money with which to play the game. I said no.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Next time I looked up, the fucking Crypt Keeper (elderly female Greeter) was speaking sternly to my boys. At this point I feel I may have resembled a predator who catches the scent of it's prey. Dramatic? Yes, but I generally come off as very unapproachable unless I make a conscious effort not to (read: I look bitchy ALL of the time; mostly because I am). Then the boys returned to our check out and Reese, my 7 year old, was flushed and trying very hard not to cry.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">What. The. Fuck.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">For the record (what record, I'm not sure), they were simply pretending to play the game. They were not 'reefing' on the stupid joystick and the goddamn game was out of order anyway. Reese kept telling us that he didn't see the 'Out of Order' sign. We told him that he had done nothing wrong.This is important for later.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Ryan and I begin to discuss this old bitch's fate while we finished checking out. Find a manager? At this point I'd had my fill of people. Oh wait, new detail: Reese tells Ryan that the old bitch grabbed him by the wrist when she approached them. Really?! REALLY?! What is it about MY children that makes people think it is okay to physically discipline them in any way whatsoever? Yes, this was only one woman. I am not at liberty to discuss any and all previous incident(s).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">This explains the near tears. He's a sensitive boy but had she just said: "Please don't touch", and left it at that, I doubt he would've looked quite as stricken.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">So, we took our boys and made our way to the doors. Myself, 5'7", of formidable size and looking motherfucking pissed off, followed by my 6'4" 250 lb+ husband, appearing equally pissed off. I walk faster than my spouse on any given day, and I was mad, and his ankle was sore, and he was pushing the cart, so he was more than a few steps behind. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I beelined for her. Ryan said he watched her see me and attempt to avoid. Um, guess what Grandma, you have nowhere to go. Stay at the fucking door and greet me. Once confronted, one of us on each side, she kept repeating: "The machine is broken". My husband replied: "How are they going to make it any more broken?" He was like a machine. This makes him infuriating to argue with but is super when watching him apply his tactics to others. I shared it was 'unnecessary' to touch my child EVER. She denied it. Um, no. He has no fucking reason to lie and is about as good as hiding his emotions as I am and is a bad liar to boot. HE WAS NOT LYING AND NOW YOU SHALL BURN IN YOU KNOW WHERE AND BY THE THE LOOKS OF YOU, IT WON'T BE LONG.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I walked away, Ryan shared a few more words with her and we left.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">We don't spank our children. I did spank my two oldest ones and I regret it. I am older now and more empathetic and do not see how hitting them is going to get any sort of message across about behaviour. Now this old 'see you next Tuesday' does not know this but given she doesn't know my children and is an employee? Hands-the-fuck-off. I am contemplating writing a strongly worded letter.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">The rational side of me has only this to say in her defense: She should be retired. She was for real old and her out-of-the-box red hair is not hiding that in any way, shape or form. Must suck, at her age, to have to be a Wal-Mart greeter. That being said, if dealing with the public isn't your "thing", go the fuck home or get a different job. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Then the real me takes over and wishes I would've went off on her a little harder.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I recognize this does not paint me in a favourable light but if you haven't figured out by now that I'm mean, I can't help you. Mean and protective of things that are mine. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">In hindsight, she's lucky I didn't drop her.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Happy Canada Day!</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-86557611481648324672011-06-27T08:37:00.000-07:002011-06-27T13:05:04.590-07:00Cookie Monster is Not to Blame<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My child is currently watching 'Super Why'. This is a relatively new children's show as far as I'm aware and he likes it. I am bitchy already and when I overheard some character on the show had lots their red basket with "lots of healthy snacks in it" I became irritated.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">When I was a child, Cookie Monster ate cookies and I turned out fine. I was not an obese child. I'm a little bit of a chubby bunny now but this has nothing to do with Cookie Monster binging on cookies as it has to do with my sugar/carb/vodka/TV addictions. None of which were fostered by Cookie Monster. I was a skinny child. My parents did not allow us Oreos, Kraft Dinner, any cereal except for Cornflakes, Rice Krispies, Cheerios, Puffed Wheat and once in awhile we had Alpha-Bits.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">They were not mean. We didn't have Oreos because my mom baked her ass off all of the time. If I was eating cookies they were homemade. And believe me, I ate cookies. I snuck cookies like a motherf*cker. I became the queen of stealth. Macaroni & Cheese was also a homemade affair. As was bread. Pancakes and french toast made from scratch.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Chips and pop were a treat once in awhile. Not an everyday staple.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">My point is, my parents made these decisions for us. So even though Cookie Monster was on his way to Type 2 Diabetes my parents had the forethought not to let us eat only cookies. I know, I'm as blown away as you are.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">The kids watching Super Why or watching the new and improved Cookie Monster enjoy cookies as a "sometimes snack" have little choice as to what they are being fed. What four year old is going to say: "No Thanks Mom, I'll pass on the cookies and enjoy some baby carrots instead. The weird big headed kids on Super Why only eat healthy snacks and I want to be just like them." ? This does not happen.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">The kids who this kind of propaganda is geared towards have no choice in the matter. They don't go grocery shopping. It's not their choice to have juice in their bottle but they'll drink it. And if you gave your child juice in a bottle, yes I'm judging you. Just as your small child will be judged by every adult that gets a look at their rotted out front teeth. Pop is even better.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Where has all the common sense gone? I admit I lost a little of it myself. My children seem to require more entertaining then I'm prepared to engage in. Then I flashed back to my own childhood and being told, under no uncertain terms, to play outside. And so I did, probably after whining, but I usually enjoyed myself. It dawned on me, then, that I can make my kids go outside and play and not feel guilty about it. Seems pretty simple but apparently I get caught up in more parental guilt than I'm aware. Which is scary because I don't want to raise any assholes and that what happens when the Juniors of the world are entirely catered to and never made to do anything they don't want to do.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Yes, my children are allowed Oreos, on occasion (to be honest this is largely due to the fact that if we kept them in the house all of the time I would easily weigh 200 pounds). Kraft Dinner on many occasions. Chips and pop remain a sometimes treat. I try to ensure vegetables are a part of their day, even if it's just some cut up cucumbers at supper. I make some stuff from scratch but am nowhere the baker or cook my mother is. We could do better, as a family, with our eating and continually try to do just that. And not because Cookie Monster no longer eats cookies all of the time or because the weird big-headed kids on Super Why eat healthy snacks and the Wonder Pets prefer celery after saving the day. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">All of this wisdom shared it should be noted that the fair was in town this weekend and by the time we got home, I was the one with a stomachache after molesting a bag of cotton candy, enjoying a soft pretzel, a large lemonade, a medium Iced Tea, one dry rib (they were burnt) and a couple of mini donuts.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Those Super Why kids would be really disappointed but given my head is pretty much in proportion to my body (I have a big head, literally, hats are an issue) and theirs are not, I still win.</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-78606912512694529142011-06-23T08:58:00.000-07:002011-06-23T08:58:31.940-07:00Shave My Back, Ferris<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I must first apologize at my lack of posting this week. I have been in a foul mood since Monday. Today I am better. Why? Maybe it's the second day of sunshine in a row. Maybe it's having the time to drink two cups of coffee this morning and reading the papers. Maybe it's because last night was a good night work-wise. I'm not sure but I am sure I like not being miserable.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">One of the highlights of my week: My four year old came downstairs, butt naked and paraded a little in front of my husband and I. He loves his naked body and his penis. So I said something to the effect of: "That's right Baby, love that body." That's not as creepy as it sounds. I was making a joke. His response? "Show me your body and I'll shave your back!" This was said with perfect timing and directly to me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Hm.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I, for the record, do not need my back shaved. I'm a hairy gal, for sure, but the hair is where it's supposed to be. Legs, underarms, etc. I look after all of that on my own. Why he chose that particular response, I'll never know. My husband doesn't even have a hairy back. He doesn't even have a hairy front. He has about 23 chest hairs in total.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Anyway, I enjoyed it but worried and wondered at the same time. Why would I worry? I can handle this kid at four. I love him immensely and he provides me with constant entertainment. At 14, I think it will have turned to worry. 17? I don't even want to think about it. I don't think he's going to be bad in a criminal sense but I do believe he's going to give me a run for my money. His personality combined with his looks (he's cute, I'm not biased, other people say it too-ask 'Stacey' and <a href="http://notveryprofessional.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-am-celiac.html">Sinatra</a>), combined with the fact that he's my 'baby' and may or may not (yes he does) have me wrapped around his little finger?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I think I'm raising Ferris Bueller.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Who doesn't love Ferris Bueller? Except for his sister, Jeannie but that bitch was seriously uptight and it wasn't until she went on vacation with her other family and gave it up to Patrick Swayze (RIP) that she loosened up a little. Rhett, my Ferris, has a sister too. She's 14 so will be on her own by the time things are really getting out of control here. Not that she won't be angry about it and chide me about it. That being said, I know she'll have the presence of mind not to make out with Charlie Sheen. If he's still alive in ten years...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Winning!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sorry. Anyway, school is very nearly out, summer is trying to be here and I got a little of my tan on yesterday so as soon as I hit the gym and do some laundry I'll be ready. Not necessarily DTF but I'm not a grenade, even for a 34 year old baseball, soccer, football, hockey mom.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">CABS ARE HERE!!</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-550520711233935052011-06-17T09:36:00.000-07:002011-06-17T09:36:18.473-07:00Cherry Pie Worship<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't really know where to start. It's raining, so that might be as good as place as any. Not really newsworthy but for the love of God, when will this sucktastic weather end? Right now, in the glorious city of Moose Jaw, Sidewalk Days are taking place. Basically they block off downtown and all the businesses set up outside and there is entertainment, stuff for the kids to do, etc. And given that most of the time the highlight of any given week is the outdoor Polka concert put on in the park for seniors? I kind of look forward to Sidewalk Days. There is shopping. There are mini donuts. Cherry flavoured lemonade. Mini Donuts. Face painting for the kids; those death trap bouncy castle things and MINI DONUTS. Today the rain is keeping us from all of these things.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Now yes I could go anyway and we could don festive ponchos and take umbrellas if for nothing else than a shot at the donuts but it's just not the same. If this rain doesn't let up I'll have to wait another WHOLE WEEK before I can get mini donuts. That's then the fair comes to town.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Moose Jaw really likes to do it up at the end of June/early July and then call 'er a year.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Speaking of the fair, in the next closest city, beautiful Regina (some people say it's the "City that Rhymes with Fun"), their annual fair will be happening in early August. I was reading the paper this morning and noticed that one of the performers will be none other than WARRANT! When I was 13/14, I worshipped Warrant. I was in love with Jani Lane and longed to swept into his 'Heaven' singing arms while his long blond hair flowed in the wind. Have I mentioned my predilection for boys with long hair? It started a young age.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Here they are in all their 90s 'Metal' glory:</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.savioursofrock.com/interviews/images/ErikTurner-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="http://www.savioursofrock.com/interviews/images/ErikTurner-9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes people, take it all in. The love of my life is the one almost dead center. And frighteningly enough if he had short hair and a perm(I'm not kidding, but in his defense, he stopped perming his hair about 17 years ago), this almost resembles my ex-husband...so yeah, that's super. Anyway, my friend Brigette loved the dark haired one in the lower right hand corner. She & I devoted a great deal of time to the worship of Warrant and practised our head banging to such hits as 'Cherry Pie' and whatever other songs we liked of theirs. To be honest, right now I can only think of Cherry Pie, Heaven, Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich (I think) and I Saw Red. Jani (pronounced Johnny but spelled cool like that because that's how he rolls) nearly broke my adolescent heart when he sang I Saw Red about whatever groupie slut it was that cheated on him and broke his sensitive rocker heart.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I saw Warrant ten years ago at Minnedosa. An outdoor rock concert event. Jani had gained a few pounds and had a thinning bob. I'm concerned what ten more years may have done to my young love crush. Will that stop me from going? I don't think so. Why not cling to my youth? It just dawned on me that it was 20 years ago when posters of these guys adorned my bedroom wall. And yes, I had an entire wall devoted to Warrant.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">One for Warrant, one for Poison, one for Bon Jovi and one for Skid Row. I think a few Motley Crue posters may have made their way into the mix as well. No New Kids on the Block for this girl! I was far too cool, edgy and 'raw' for that boy (man?) band. Mariah Carey? No thank you. Milli Vanilli? Yes, they snuck in their too. For shame, I know.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">So today on this rainy day ruining yet another day of supposed summer? Maybe I will Google Warrant. Try to find some videos on You Tube and maybe talk my husband into donning a long blond wig and lip syncing to Cherry Pie and see where the day takes us...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Or not because the children do not have school today. So they are here. In the house. Because it's raining. Maybe I'll just start drinking instead....</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-18098051773783933772011-06-14T20:52:00.000-07:002011-06-14T20:52:58.723-07:00Wet Dreams & Dead Cats, Oh My<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I've always been a vivid dreamer. I dream in color and remember the majority of what I dream about and it's like watching a movie most of the time. My children appeared to have inherited this trait and I'm becoming concerned.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I am concerned based on the following: My testosterone-ly advanced four year old. He shyly shared with me yesterday morning the dream he had about "girls!" He whispered most of this: He dreamt about girls and about their boobs. One of the boobs apparently had a face on it. Then to top it all off, another girl in the dream kissed him. He was unusually shy in relaying this information and his voice became high pitched a time or two. Does anyone know what it means if your four year old may be on the verge of wet dreams? At four? He's four. What the fuck?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Then my seven year old, the same day, told me he'd had a dream too. A dream that we went to the movies but that when the movie was over, it was time to "kill the cats". We have two cats. He dreamt about killing them.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">What.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">The. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Fuck.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Could it be that I have potentially raised a both a budding sex addict and socio/psychopath? Which one is it that hurts animals as a child? To be clear he doesn't hurt animals. He merely dreamt about hurting animals.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Maybe it's time I return to the workforce because being a stay at home mom appears to be having a negative effect on my children. My oldest child began daycare at the tender age of two weeks because high school stops for nothing. Not even birth. My daughter began daycare at six months of age because after taking two semesters of university off to have her, it was time to get back to school, again. Reese & Rhett, my special little "dreamers" have had the most time at home with me and look where it's gotten them! </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">The two who began daycare at arguably the most formative of ages? Well one is currently on an Outdoor Education trip where he was chosen as one of the navigators because his teacher has great faith in him. He's also going to be one of the Captains of his school's football team this coming season. The other one is on the Principal's List and a member of the Junior SGA (Junior Student Government Assembly or something like that). She's also on her school's soccer team and acted in every play/musical the school put on this year.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Dreamers? One sleeps with his eyes open and has a serious obsession with Justin Bieber. The other? Gets a little better every day at not having his hands in his pants and talks incessantly and if the opportunity arises, he cops a feel of my boobs and then announces "I touched your boob."</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I guess two out of four isn't bad...</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Right?</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-41632858921485671982011-06-13T09:29:00.000-07:002011-06-13T09:29:46.109-07:00Bouncy Balls are the Devil's Work<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today it is nice out. I've Facebooked this, I've Twittered this and now I'm posting about it. I used to mock those affected by the weather. I thought they were weak and just looking for another excuse to be miserable. But after the Spring we've had? I'm right there with them. I should be outside right now. It's sunshine-y and warm. People have already cut their grass so there is that good freshly cut grass smell happening. Yet instead, I'm sitting in front of my computer trapped in the Internet.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">My four year old is re-energized and recharged by the sun as well, apparently. There is a lot of talking this morning. Chants of "Come & Find Me!" while his little pajama clad butt is in plain site under a chair. The bouncy ball is bouncing. Literally. My 7 year old went to a birthday party yesterday and in the treat bag was one of those godforsaken little rubber bouncy balls. My stomach is clenching at the thought of it. Who the fuck invented those things? And am I the only mother who wishes they would cease all production? I must be because those stupid little things are a regular treat bag item. I've been guilty of it myself in the past but after four kids, I've finally caught on. It's not nice to give those to other people's children. I hate them so there has to be another parent or two who wishes for a sweet shot of heroin or momentarily turns into Mommy Dearest when one of those little demons starts bouncing.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">He is distracted by the Wii now. I need to get him outside as well. I still need to shower. Do the dishes. Do some yard work. Do some actual work. We are currently looking for a new trailer so am supposed to making a trip into Regina this afternoon to look at a couple with my husband. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">The rest of the week is going to be partly cloudy and raining off and on. So why aren't I outside yet? Meh. I'm enjoying the semi-quiet. There is only one child here right now. The dogs are partaking of their morning nap. Even the cat is quiet. I'm mostly undisturbed now that the bouncy ball has been laid to rest.</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">How did I manage that?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Went on a small tirade about how said 4 year old was driving me nuts with the bouncy ball. I used a funny voice to not frighten him or make him feel bad. He giggled. Then my husband called and when he asked me what I was doing I made some comments about trying not to jump off the deep end and explained this was partly due to the bouncing ball.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">After I hung up the phone? Rhett said: "I'm sorry I was driving you nuts with the bouncy ball." And I? Felt like an asshole. I told him it was okay and we both carried on.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I wrote a post about PMS at least a week ago but I don't know how long I can blame my current mostly agitated state on it. I became incredibly annoyed at a couple in Wal-Mart yesterday. At the McDonald's located in the Wal-Mart. So why I was expecting anything less than inane behaviour or below average intelligence is beyond me. And yes, I realize I was right there with them so that doesn't say a lot about me either. Whatever. We had half an hour to kill until the 'salon' (First Choice Haircutters likely does not qualify as a salon but it's not a barber shop either...) opened so my 7 year old could get a hair cut. He was beginning to look suspiciously like an orphan out of a Dickens' novel but I fear he felt it was something more akin to Justin Bieber. How do I know this? He tossed his hair the other day and wanted me to see how his bangs 'moved'.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">The child has the straightest hair in the free world. No body, no movement but he clearly longs for Bieber-like locks. So sad.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Anyway, the big dumb ass in front of me, at McDonald's, accompanied by his wife with her hair in a beige 'scrunchie' were ordering drinks. They had quite the discussion about how many drinks they would get, if the youngest child (I presume) should get a drink and so on. This was done loudly and the man laughed after everything he said. He also knew one of the employees there so I think was feeling pretty good about this as well. Lots of "witty" banter was exchanged between he and the fry cook. She left to tend to the young'uns, where ever they were, and he ordered "One large Coke, two regular Cokes & a small Coke." Okay, easy enough. Then as the girl began filling the drinks, he said the following: "The large Coke is a Sprite". Alright-y then. She didn't bat an eye and proceeded to get the man his large Coke/Sprite.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I wanted to push his face in.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Perhaps a strong reaction? In my defence, it was about a half an hour after this that my day fell apart and I struggled with light-headed-ness and nausea for the rest of the day so maybe the misdirected rage was an early symptom? Is intolerance of stupidity a symptom of anything but PMS? In my world it is. Actually, I think it may be</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;"> a character trait. Until I do or say something stupid and then it's very funny.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I'm nothing if not balanced.</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-67287568364858332442011-06-08T19:36:00.000-07:002011-06-08T19:36:35.541-07:00I'm Not Your Bitch<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I overreact. I'm much like Chevy Chase's character from all of those Vacation movies. My favourite is Christmas Vacation and I'm him. I build things up in my mind and get all excited at how truly AWESOME and AMAZING whatever event, Christmas included, and then become increasingly distraught (read: bitchy) when it doesn't go as planned or anticipated.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I overreact on a daily basis. If I were to frame this positively, I would say I am a passionate person. This is true, I suppose but passion has it's time and place. Like say when enjoying chocolate covered pretzels and milk, grape vodka and Sprite, and Jax from <a href="http://www.fxnetworks.com/shows/originals/soa/">Sons of Anarchy</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Tonight, passion arrived when I was asking my son, who is 17, why he felt it was okay to leave the remnants of every snack he's eaten tonight on the counter. His response, whilst lying in a prone position on the couch: "Oh, what, do you want me to run out to the recycling bin right away?" This was said with more than a touch of sarcasm. Sarcasm has it's time and place. Like when I speak. I prefer not to be spoken to in that manner though and least of all by my children. Double standard or not, that's how I roll. I advised him that at the very least he could throw out the plastic bag inside the box and then flatten it and leave it on the counter. Here is how the rest of the conversation played out:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Him: "I'm not the only one who does it!!"</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Me: "Did I say you were the only one? I know you're not the only one! Did you want me to wait until I could get you all together and we'll have a family meeting about it?!"</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Him: "Well you make it sound like it's only me."</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Me: "No, it's all of you because I'm all of yours [sic] bitch. I'm work's bitch, I'm your bitch!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">This was said as I stormed up the stairs. I stormed and fumed a little about poor sentence structure and my fast loss of control of the situation. I came downstairs a few minutes later and he and I resumed a normal conversation about football. He and I are one and the same in that manner. Basically we can become instantly angered but get over it almost as quickly. It works for us so don't judge. And besides, if you start judging us we'll become angry again and then we're both huge assholes so it's really up to you... </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">To be clear, I do not feel like I am "work's bitch". Last week was a little rough but I do believe hormones played an unfortunate role in my perception of the circumstances. I also don't really feel like I am my family's bitch. Most of the time anyway. I just became instantly annoyed at his annoyance with me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">And again, for clarification, being someones bitch and being a bitch are two very different things. I am most definitely a bitch. A smart bitch, a funny bitch, a mean bitch; take your pick, I graciously accept any one of these roles but that's where it ends.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Bitchy lunatic? Yes. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">'Your' bitch? No. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">'His' bitch? Nope. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Anybody's bitch? Absolutely not.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I'm just me. An exceptionally passionate woman who angers easily and relies heavily on sarcasm to communicate any thought, feeling and emotion she possesses. I've said it before, I'll say it again, my husband is a lucky man.</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-36792475168668361982011-06-07T17:22:00.000-07:002011-06-07T17:22:28.544-07:00Mood Swing Martha is Going to Toronto!<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am in what could very nearly be considered a good - I seriously was about to type about my good mood when my 17 year old male child phoned me from my vehicle. He's out there looking for his new retainer. The new retainer he needs because the dog got the other one when he left it on the arm of the couch. We're all kinds of hygienic around here. Anyway, my vehicle is pretty easy....Oh wait, it's in my purse.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Okay, Mood Swing Martha is back on an upswing. Laughing at my own pseudo-psychotic episodes. I spoke to my son like he was a blind idiot for not being able to see the RED case in the car. Except it was in my purse. Gosh, I'm a treat!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Anyway, I had a decent day. This doesn't seem to happen all that often but today some good things happened. One of them being I am off to Toronto in just a little over a month for a jewellery hawking conference!! The farthest I ever go are the reaches of small town Saskatchewan and once in awhile I get to Regina and Saskatoon and I have been to Calgary and Edmonton but not even either of those places for about six years now. So Toronto? Is going to be quite a thrill!</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I will, however, be spending a lot of time with women. Women I don't necessarily know that well and who will likely cringe if I speak in the manner I am accustomed too. Like, for instance, I will try to stay away from the 'c' word and my other favourite, Motherf*cker. See, I'm practising already by not using those actual words in this very post! I will also try to curb my meanness and not mock every person I see who does not meet my standard of humanity.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Being that I will be in Toronto and have a new and vast population to choose from, this may prove more difficult than not swearing. But I can do it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I can do it because I will be by myself!! I will not have any children with me or my husband. Don't get me wrong, I'd love for us to be able to take a family vacation but I'm pretty excited about my own little getaway but know I will long for my family and my sweatpants by the end of my little journey.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I even wore jeans today. Just to spice it up a little. For about 4 hours and then it was back into the sweatpants I went. Jeans are stupid. At least when you have to sit down. If you are standing and wearing heels, they are more fun. But there is nary an occasion in my life at present that calls for heels. Except Toronto!</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">And I will be dressing like a grown up every day. Which may prove a bit of a challenge as these days I dress like a grown up about one day out of every four or five. And for a few hours at most. These will be full days of dressing in a semi-professional manner followed by even more dressing up for the evening. I'm going to have to get some fucking Spanx. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Look at me, I'm all giddy with my good mood over here. And I haven't had a drop of alcohol. Alcohol will hopefully be a part of next month's trip although again, I will need to be careful because my best gal pal Vodka and I become a little mouthy and mock-y. So maybe I'll be a lady and drink a nice glass of white wine and mind my manners.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Anyone interested on making a wager as to my ability to be lady like for four days, in a row?</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-3261573267536375162011-06-06T12:57:00.000-07:002011-06-06T12:57:42.466-07:00Detour, Again<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>It's that time. Time to head over to PMS Chronicles and find out what wonderful adventure I am on this month. Or to put it plainly, find out why I'd rather not speak to anyone and am bloated like Elvis circa 1977.</strong></span><br />
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<a href="http://77cher2.blogspot.com/">PMS Chronicles</a>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773929201119429359.post-2573094544551451772011-06-01T18:28:00.000-07:002011-06-01T18:28:15.871-07:00Penis Benefits & Dinner Ideas<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I learned tonight that my culinary prowess does not measure up. At least not in the eyes of my teenagers. They are sick of my fare. They would like to me to jazz it up a little and make a stir-fry. Some of you are laughing as stir-fry is pretty standard fare for most people. I've never made it. I don't like it so why would I make it?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">So I asked them to give me ideas as to what they would like to eat. So far I am making salmon, a pasta-vegetable salad (complete with green beans, vomit) and several desserts-they are my children after all. Oh and ribs. I agree with them, it's time to mix it up a little but frankly, I like cooking as much as I like being outside. In fact, I'd rather be outside if it were left to that and having to cook supper every freaking night of the week.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I'm 34. I moved out on my own when I was 17. So for 17 years now I have had to come up with meals, sometimes three times a day, seven days a week. I'm out of ideas! 'Stacey''s husband cooks. She cleans. I am green with envy. I can't even fathom what it would be like to be able to carry on with one's day without really having to give a second thought to supper until it's time to eat it and then clean it up. Bliss, as far as I'm concerned! Except, he's uber-health conscious and they eat a lot of vegetables. Which would probably be good for me but would take some getting used to. I think I could do it though.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I was also told today, by teenage daughter, that we (my husband, I and our oldest son), go on a diet once and year and don't we know that is what is referred to as "yo-yo dieting". Duh. Yes I'm aware but reminded her it only really counts as yo yo dieting if you lose and gain back weight repeatedly. We tend to fall off the wagon before anyone has actually lost any weight. Except for once, three years ago.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Three years ago I lost 13 pounds and my husband lost 30 pounds. In the exact same period of time. Even though we worked out together and I dragged his ass to the gym where he did a leisurely work out while he watched TSN. I worked myself into a red-faced sweating panting frenzy and carefully and painfully watched everything I ate. I watched what he ate too. I watched when he ate twice what I ate. He was allowed to. He's a great deal taller and bigger than me and basic Math meant he was "allowed" to eat more than I was. And apparently, lose more than twice the weight.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I blame his penis.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I blame penises in general.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Having a penis means if you stop drinking pop (soda), you can drop 50 pounds. Having a penis means if you think really hard about losing weight and perhaps fart as a result of having thought so hard, you will lose at least five pounds. In that instant. Having a penis, while we're at it, also thinks people will assume you know what you're talking about even if you don't. Having a vagina means the exact opposite. Having a vagina means knowing what you're talking about but being ignored because in addition to the vagina, you have breasts and everyone knows breasts = a lack of common sense, basic knowledge and literacy skills.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I know. I'm taking my own food issues out on penises everywhere and they didn't do anything to me. They can't help the fact that their mere presence also means testosterone is present and testosterone is the weight loss king. Estrogen is the Hormone, Storing Inappropriate amounts of Fat on the Ass and Tricep Area, Queen.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Unless you're me. Then the fat is stored on your belly. Still the arms though...Tight waves everyone, keep it tight. Nothing worse than seeing that flap of skin/flab waggling and a wiggling in the wind.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Now I'm not all Negative Nelly around here nor do I hate myself. I'm pretty fucking awesome. I just have a sugar addiction and require a touch of lipo and a tummy tuck. And a penis. Just for weight loss purposes; aging well and respect in the workplace, bank and auto body/mechanic shop. The rest of the time I'll keep my vagina. It is much neater. Nothing to adjust. And the ability to find things. I am convinced, through careful study of my husband and three sons, that having a penis somehow affects vision and/or fine motor skills to the point you are incapable of a) seeing something directly in front of your face and b) moving an object or objects to locate the thing you are trying to find.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">So there you have it, vaginas are more compact and improve your vision. A penis will help you lose weight and make people listen to you. What do you want? The ability to see or to be heard? I for one, don't want to have to choose, so as soon as someone figures out how I can benefit from the effects of having a penis, without really having one, call me!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">Oooh, and while we're at it, I need ideas for dinner. I considered phrasing that as "send me any good recipes you may have" and then I had an overwhelming urge to put on a skirt, heels and some lipstick and fetch my husband his slippers.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">I just threw up a little in my mouth.</span>Penny Lanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784585441126391781noreply@blogger.com4