A Day Late & at Least a Dollar Short

So yes, Mother's Day was yesterday. I am a mother and I even have a mother.  Did I celebrate?  Kind of. 

My day began before 6:30 a.m.  My 7 year old came in our room and just stood there.  I knew he was there but hoped that if I didn't acknowledge I could sleep until 6:30 when my alarm was set to go off.  Then I felt guilty (because I am a mother) and opened my eyes.  He quickly replied: "Mom, you can stay sleeping, I need Dad."  So I shut my eyes again and shortly after Ryan (husband) followed Reese downstairs.

I pretended to sleep until they (Ryan, Reese, and our youngest, Rhett-don't judge all the R names-at least they're all real names) came back and presented me with a lovely breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast with homemade jam (courtesy of Reese, the aforementioned 7 year old)!  It was very sweet (the gesture and the jam!).  I was quite pleased and then set about my day.

My day of luxury and pampering involved being at Motorcross-just for point of reference is it "Motocross" or "Motorcross"?  Anyway, I needed to be at the track, with my 14 year old daughter, by 7:30 a.m.  We were 'flaggers' for a day of racing.  This, for those of you unfamiliar, meant we were stationed at different points on the track with two flags.  One yellow, cautionary one, and one red and white "Hey, someone might be dead over here" flag. 

It was a miserable day weather-wise.  I started shaking uncontrollably sometime around 11 a.m.  I was wearing, for the record, jeans, a t-shirt, a heavy sweater and a denim jacket, socks and shows.  And a hat.  I kept my hat up with the hood over stop.  I was fucking freezing.  My daughter, who does not have any of her mother's age defying weight (don't get this? go back a few posts and frankly, I'm insulted that you aren't familiar with my extensive library of works), nearly froze to death.  She was not wearing a jacket.  I offered mine but she didn't want it.

To really set the stage, imagine the prairie.  Wet, cold, flat prairie. Except this Prairie has been altered to resemble a race track complete with jumps.  With boys and grown men on dirt bikes-racing one another and going as fast as they can.  Then imagine you are perched atop a little hump of dirt beside a jump.  A jump that the riders like to take on the outside.  This brings them within mere feet (sometimes inches, I swear) of me.  Now who's feeling like an extra special mommy?

By the end of the day, which for the record, occurred at 6 p.m., we were both wind burnt and frozen and I could no longer see.  And we were frozen despite the fact my husband brought us extra layers and a sleeping bag for my daughter and her friend.

I also couldn't see. Something to do with gale force winds, dust and cold having a nasty effect on my contacts.

Probably not one of my favourite Mother's Days ever.  On the bright side, this fundraiser was for a trip to Europe next April and this time I get to go along!  When my son went, I didn't.  This time, Mama is going along.

I came home to clutter, cat vomit and spaghetti for supper.  I enjoyed the spaghetti.  The clutter and vomit, not so much.  My oldest son treated me to a Blizzard Cake from Dairy Queen, also enjoyable.

The day had it's ups and downs which I guess is fitting.  I am sensitive but not sentimental.  I will spend upwards of 45 minutes looking for a greeting card that expresses itself without oozing sap.  So this is what I have to say about Mother's Day and Motherhood in general:

1.  It is Hard. 

2.  Most of the time, it is worth it.

3.  Nothing will make you feel guiltier and/or prouder, sometimes all at the same time.

4.  I don't know what my life would be without children.  I can't imagine it and I think its because it never would've been or was really an option for me.  Forget that I started at not quite 17; even if I had not chosen to explore the wonders and challenges of teen pregnancy and  motherhood (without a fucking reality show-don't even get me started on that! I refuse to watch it nor would I let my children, not that they've asked; that show is poison)...wow,

okay I got off track.  My point is, I knew motherhood was going to be a part of my life.

5.  I like my kids.  Even the one that doesn't like me much right now.   Some of you might  assume or feel it's obvious-as in, of course I like them, they're mine.  No, all that means is I love them and would literally kill for them.  Liking them is a whole other ball game, and I do like mine.

6.  Now that I am parent to a teenage girl I feel I may have been a tad harsh toward my own mother at that age, but that's purely speculation...

Happy Mother's Day friends!  Hope you were warmed than I and that you too, like your kids, if you have them.  If you don't have any, I'm a tad jealous that you likely slept in and then spent the day doing whatever you wanted.  On the flip side of that, I bet no one made you strawberry jam or bought you a Blizzard Cake...I'm just sayin'.

*Disclaimer-in no way do I mean to suggest I am superior to anyone who chooses not have to have children for whatever reason.  I despise those who think a woman is less than should she choose not to have another being inhabit her body for nine months, then present itself via her vagina and from there, inhabit the rest of her life. It's a personal choice and I applaud those who chose what's best for them, whatever that may be.

Word. 

Hideous Holes

As women we are conditioned from a very young age to be wary of all things aged.  We need to moisturize, exfoliate, buff, polish and wax our way into the land of perpetual youth.  Do our Kegels and strap ourselves into garments structured with under wire and of course, the dreaded Spanx.  Things sag, wrinkle and 'loosen' up despite our best efforts.

However, with the right clothes, cosmetics, and just generally taking the time to take care of oneself, aging can be done gracefully.  I thought I was doing okay.  Then the other day I looked in the mirror and realized there was something I had neglected.  A hole, neglected, that has begun to stretch and sag.  It. was. hideous.

It's not what you think and if you are thinking what I assume you are thinking, you're gross.  It is my earlobes.  I'm 34 but my earlobes are clearly approaching middle age at a faster rate than I.  I was wearing a pair of hoop earrings slightly heavier than my usual pair and this lent itself to stretched out sagging ear lobes.  I was embarrassed for myself.  Yet what I am to do?   I mean I guess I can choose to not wear those earrings anymore but it's not fair.  Jewellery is supposed to be wearable and flattering no matter how old I am or how much I weigh. 

My earlobes are telling me otherwise.  My earlobes say not only am I resigned to suitable knee, or just above the knee-length skirts, shirts with a cap sleeve, at the very least, and sensible slacks, but I must also stick to studs or the lightest smallest most delicate of hoops.  It's that or have my earlobes defy each and every one of my efforts to appear my age if not even a month or two younger.

It's not fair.

Yet another issue men do not have to face.  Grey hair makes them look more distinguished.  Well, except for when it's sprouting out of their ears and noses.  So we do have that on them.  Although I don't think ear hair removal remotely completes with leg hair, bikini line, eyebrow, and underarm maintenance. 

I have been told that men have some sagging issues as well.  However, if anything does start to sag, it's tucked away in their pants and only visible to those they are most familiar with, or an entire locker room, should they belong to a gym or sports team.  Our saggy ear lobes can, at best, hope to be hidden your hair.

So where does that leave me?  Well I'll continue to struggle with the decision to cut my hair short because then there's no out...I'll buy any product marketed by anybody that promises to give me the earlobes of an eighteen year old.

Until then though, it'll be hair down and the daintiest of earrings.  I'm pretty dainty myself so I guess maybe that's only fitting.

And if you believe that then drop me a line and I will declare you my new bestest friend!

Fuck

Some of you will notice I deleted the first of last night's posts.  I posted, yet again, without really thinking of the repercussions or consequences for others.  If you want to read it and know me and I know you, contact me and I will email it to you.  If I don't know who you are, chances are I won't send it because I can't trust that it's not going to get someone, who doesn't deserve it, in trouble.

Thanks all and I apologize to those I caused undue stress and worry too; they don't deserve it.

Never Say Never

Today I found myself cruising the streets of Moose Jaw with Justin Bieber music blaring from the windows of my silver cross-over vehicle which is basically a minivan trying not be a minivan.

Yeah.  I'm cool like that.

Why Bieber?  Because I have a 7 year old boy who has discovered Bieber and thinks he is God's answer to music.  His favourite song is 'Never Say Never'.  If you don't have either  a small child or a teenage daughter and/or you live under a rock, this is a song Bieber did with Jaden Smith and it's from the movie 'Karate Kid'.

So yes. Three times we listened to it today.  All the while I reminded myself that there was a time I possessed a Milli Vanilli tape and thought it was AWESOME...  We all have our moments.  So I support his Justin Bieber fanaticism at present.  At the very least he loves music and that's all I ask of any of my children.

What else should I write about?

Acting like an elderly woman on the brink of Alzheimer's?  I was looking for my black work binder today. This led me to even checking my vehicle.  Which led to me cleaning and organizing my pretend crossover vehicle.  Which led me back in the house, hot and sweaty and I slumped down in my chair and wondered what the fuck I did with it and was slightly panicked.  Then I looked to my right.  And there it was.  On top of my black printer.  Which may or may not be located a mere foot away from my laptop.   The whole time.

And it was Easter this weekend.  Easter.  How do we as society, who largely revolts against any sort of organized religion come together in such a wild frenzy of sugar and a, so I've been told, pretend Rabbit?  We are not a religious family.  My two youngest children know very little about Jesus.  I think they know his 'last name' is Christ and that when I use His full name, I'm not impressed and I will be equally unimpressed if they choose to use His name in a moment of displeasure.  And I have told them, I think, that Christmas is His birthday.  But to connect Jesus with the Easter Bunny would never happen for them.  I'm not even sure how Christians make the connection.  What does a giant chocolate egg shitting rabbit have to do with the resurrection of Our Lord and Saviour?  Why does he hide the eggs/candy?  What's his deal?  Santa Claus has the decency to celebrate the Lord's birth by bringing gifts and placing them in plain sight.  In socks.  Who decided that?  None of this makes sense to me.

Instead I find myself exhausted at the end.  Christmas is especially difficult.  There are weeks of preparation involved and the day itself is a never ending stream of celebrating and cleaning and eating and then more cleaning.  And not enough sleep.  And oh, it's a time to spend with family and friends.  As Easter is.

Super.  Friends are super.  Families have dynamics.  They can be super.   Super dynamics or super good times but why do we all decide that on this particular date we need to get together.  What's wrong with July 17th?  Nope. No way.  There are no fictional characters bringing shit for anybody and so we will not eat together.  It's not acceptable to celebrate as a family unless we are in the midst of commercializing a previously largely Christian/religious celebration.

Sigh, I sound bitter.  Ha! I almost typed I "shound" bitter.  Which may be more appropriate as I've nearly finished my second glass of wine.

Happy Easter Mothertruckers.

Does Don Cherry Suck it In?

I like Don Cherry's jackets.  Don't know who Don Cherry is?  Well come on over to my house.  All we are watching right now are NHL play offs.  My husband excitedly shares scores with me and all kinds of interesting hockey-based facts on an almost hourly basis.

It's great.  My very own Cliff Claven.

Which is probably why I felt compelled to eat a Reese Peanut Butter Bar and 20 five-cent candies while I read an In Touch magazine tonight.  Not just any In Touch but an In Touch featuring a very pregnant Mariah Carey on the cover. 

I hate Mariah Carey.

However, given she's 9 months pregnant with twins and I'm bloated (maybe due to the excessive candy and dairy intake; dairy because I am clearly unable to consume candy without milk, a giant glass of milk), the resemblance between her abdomen and mine is sadly very striking.  She's got two babies in there.  I don't.

My 17 year old is currently on the floor in front of me showing me some ab exercises he's learned in his Outdoor Ed. class.  Core builders.  My core is soft.  The most exercise my abs have had as of late was this weekend.  Saturday night I was at a party and Sunday I did a jewellery show.  Both of these things required dressing like an adult.  An adult who doesn't live in hooded sweatshirts and elastic waisted pants.  So when this gal gets all gussied up like a woman, in public, she must suck in.  At. All. Times.  I swear to God I've been sucking in since I hit puberty.  I was sucking in before I needed to suck in. 

And for this I'm grateful.  Because despite having had four children and eating copious amounts of carbohydrates, sugar and drinking equally copious amounts of vodka, I do not have a visible gut.  Sometimes I catch myself sucking in without even realizing I'm doing it.  It's second nature.

Fuck you Spanx. Spanks?  I don't know how to spell that and am not feeling inclined to Google it.

That's right, I have chicken legs, so don't require any spandex type of control garment there and 20 years or so of unconscious sucking in has allowed me to maintain some control of my abdomen.

Except for right now, of course.  I am not sucking in right now.  So right now I very much look like someone who has a long standing love affair with anything sold at 7-11 and who has birthed four children.

Come to think of it, so does Don Cherry.  And they pile so much make up on that poor man thanks to HD, that he's a rather unsettling shade.

See how that came full circle?  You're welcome.

TLC vs. The Leader's Debate...Winner?

I apologize for the lack of posting as of late.  I'm busy.  And short on ideas.   Which means things are kind of good and kind of bad.  Good in that there is nothing happening to fuel any anger-filled ranting posts and bad in nothing funny is happening either and some days seem hard but I don't want to write depressing posts and therefore, I write nothing.

Then I feel guilty.  Or I read someone else's great post and I want to write.  I still don't know about what.  I watched maybe half of the Leaders Debate tonight.  Canadians will be heading back to the polls May 2.  Our last election wasn't very long ago.  Our choices are the droid who is currently in office, a highly unlikeable and stiff man who proclaimed to like the States better and I fear only returned to Canada because he thought he'd have a better chance of getting in office here (which turns out to not be the case) and a likable enough guy who doesn't hold a lot of political clout.  Likely because he presents as someone who wants everyone to like him.  There is also the leader of the Bloc Quebecois.  He made some good points and looked mean and was enjoyable to listen to because of his strong French accent which is unlike any I've heard before.

I have no desire to vote for the droid currently in office.  Wait! I forgot to mention that the one female candidate was not allowed to vote.  I'm a poor PoliSci study though and can't really remember why she's not allowed in, but I think it likely has to do with her having a vagina and a b-r-a-i-n.

After the debate I did homework with my 7 year old.  Those of you with young children or who've ever had young children will no doubt remember the joys of reading out loud with them.  It's even better when said child is in French Immersion, which was your choice, but leaves you both sometimes and somewhat confused as to what the story might be about and the actual correct pronunciation.  And it leaves you even more than a little weary of listening to your child read out loud.  Yes, I love him and yes I'm very proud of him and to brag a little, he even reads above grade level.  In French! So yay him!  However, I will French kiss someone the day we are done with reading out loud.  To clarify, I like reading to them.  I'm not against reading.  I clearly like words.  Which is evidenced by my current inability to stop defending myself at present.

Then children in bed and I'm downstairs.  TV on to TLC.  A person doesn't even have to watch.  Just listening to the programming and commercials is entertainment enough.  TLC does not give anyone in North America a great vote of confidence when it comes to intelligence.  Could it be more repetitive?  Simplified?  Addicting?

I'm sorry. I appear to be done.  I'm being sucked into the Extreme Couponing vortex.  What is wrong with these people?  Where do they find the time?  I'm tempted to make that weird sound people make while motioning as if stabbing someone.  This little blond just pointed to her fliers and said, with more than a touch of crazy in her voice, "This is my money".

Um, okay.  She clearly gets her make-up for free too.

Hello, Lover

Today was a big girl day for me.  I had a small meeting of sorts in Regina so dressed up in real pants, wore make-up and jewellery and heels.  It also meant a small road trip.  On the way into Regina, a forty minute drive, the roads were not great and so it was more than 40 minutes.  I attempted to enjoy some Fleetwood Mac but was instead annoyed with the chickenshit in front of me driving what amounted to a child's red wagon and worried as I looked at the semi and four vehicles in the ditch.  Did I really need to be on the road?

Maybe, maybe not, but I did get a free golf tee out of the trip and made it there and back safely.

I also was able to shop at Chapter's thanks to my mother and her one day early birthday gift of a gift card to said store.  It was like being provided with a my very own hit of heroin!  To be clear, I've never done heroin nor do I want to but those folks on Intervention seem to experience quite an intense high and this is how I feel when at Chapter's. 

I am nothing if not hardcore.

I bought some books and a another notebook-y, to-do list agenda type of thing and still have a whole $5 left on the gift card.  I then went to Starbucks and got a Caramel Macchiato and a brownie type of bar.  And then I carried on home fueled by my two best friends, caffeine and sugar.

I literally have said: "Hello, Lover" to both coffee/chocolate items a few times in as many days.  It's a line from Sex and the City uttered by Sarah Jessica Parker to shoes?  a man?  I don't remember and now my friends who are more devoted fans than I are rolling their eyes and silently shaming me.

The caffeine and sugar quickly kicked in and before I knew it I was performing a high-spirited rockin' rendition of 'Kiss with a Fist'.  I do not know who sings it.  I'm not even sure if that's the title.  What I am sure of is how much I rocked at it and that someone should get it on film.  I later switched gears and harmonized (snort) with Willie Nelson on his version of 'Always on My Mind'.  There I sat crooning and swaying about how maybe "I didn't treat you as good as I should have" when I was prompted to shout "Cocksucker!" in a bout of Tourette's spurred by an asshole driver.

Seriously, when is someone going to outfit my vehicle with a camera? This is Jersey Shore material here.  Except I will never ever be DTF on camera.  Nor will I tan.  I am vain and although I want to tan (not to Jersey Shore levels, mind you) I do not want to spark any further premature aging.  My hair is already likely at least 40% grey; I do not need to add leathery skin to the mix.  This is also why I carry around these extra five (twenty) pounds.  To fill out the wrinkles and keep my skin looking soft and supple.

If you believe that?  We should be friends.

For now it's off to scarf on some of the chocolate that accompanied my gift card today.  Life is good.