No, it's not a metaphor

*Ring Ring!*

Me: Hello?
Friend: Hey. Whatcha doin'?
Me: Washing my basil.
Friend: "..."
Me: No, really.
Friend: Oh. Well... Ok. Bye...
Me: "..."

*click*

(Fruitflies had laid eggs on my basil, and I don't want to use bug killer on food - so I washed them off with water. What? I thought that was genius! Little buggy bastards.)

Cinnimony Fresh

Last night, after the children were nestled all snug in their beds, I finally got around to mopping the floors and getting the stains out of the sofa. I was so looking forward to coming downstairs this morning to clistening floors beneath my feet, and curling up with my coffee on a sofa that was beige once again.

It is apparent that my children had other ideas.

I do appreciate that they can get out of bed and put their own toast in the toaster, but really - do they have to decide on cinnamon toast without telling me? Do they have to hold their toast out in front of them while they sprinkle cinnamon for said cinnamon toast? Do they absolutely have to somehow get cinnamon not only over every. single. square inch. of the kitchen, but leave a trail of it through the living room and up the stairs? I didn't even know we had that much cinnamon. Furthermore, HOW do you manage to smear butter between the inside of the trashcan and the bag??

On the upside, my house smells like I've been baking all day - and I won't gain a pound!

Creative Punishment

The girls woke Finn and I up this morning by SCREAMING to high heaven and beating the everloving snot out of eachother.

As punishment, they are now on hands and knees, scrubbing the hardwood floors.

I think that's fair.

They never. stop. talking.

Srsly. It's like Offspring Chatter Torture. OCT. It drills into your brain and all your sanity leaks out. The military could use tactics like these. I keep answering, but I must not be giving them the information they're looking for because they JUST. KEEP. TALKING.

For the record, today alone we've covered the following topics:

• Why words are spelled the way they are.
• The difference between a waffle and a pancake (the amount of dishes, as far as I'm concerned).
• Why some little brothers are circumcized and some are not.
• Why certain six-year-old neighbourhood children ought to be rounded up and sent to the zoo.
• Why some TV shows are not for children.
• Where fruit flies come from.
• Why we don't leave Barbie shoes on the floor (ouch).
• How many times one child can say "she poked me!" before the big vein in mommy's head explodes.
• What deodorant is for.
• Why changing into new clothes because you got a little handwashing backsplash on you is not acceptable.
• How many utensils one child needs for spagetti.
• Yes, Finnigan, gravity affects pizza.
• Yes, Finnigan, your sippy cup too.
• That you can no longer leave lids off of highlighters markers, because they will dry out and mommy no longer has access to any more free highlighters markers.
• That lippin' off to your mama is a good way to get a whuppin'. Rachel, this means you.

Finnigan spent about a half hour today in his playpen, banging on the window and yelling "DA-DA! DA-DA! DA-DAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!" and telling me "ta, mama" whenever I had a bottle in my hand. Demanding little booger.

It's 9:33pm, and my brain is long-since fried. And they are STILL. TALKING.

ShutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupSHUTUUUUUPPPPP!!!

She's not colourblind, but I wish I was

Today, Lillian chose to wear this "ensemble" out in PUBLIC:

My pink fedora from high school.
My leopard-print chiffon scarf.
A floral-print long-sleeved, billowing cotton shirt, over top of which she wore:
A white cotton undershirt with a rip in it.
On her bottom half, she wore:
Turquoise leggings,
Pink and white plaid boxer shorts,
Knee-high socks with the word "Baby" written on the side in glitter,
Brown leather booties with felt flower applique,
- And -
A purple rhinestone belt that had to be looped around her twice to stay up.

She was feeling FABULOUS.

It hurts me, it physically hurts me.

Friday the 13th - What did I ever do to you?

Well my Friday the 13th sucked the big one, how was yours?

I'd blame this first incident on my own stupidity, but being that it was Friday the 13th, I think I'll blame the day. Makes me feel better that way. I was driving along, rockin' out to the radio, on my lunch break, and was trying to get to this little hole-in-the-wall sushi restaurant to pick up my food. I work in an area that is under some pretty major construction. Anyway, I was TRYING to follow the instructions of the half-witted, disinterested flag girl, honest I was, but somehow, instead of remaining behind the car in front of me, I ended up smack dab in the middle of all the big constuction machine thingies. Driving on the ripped up section of road, with sunburned men in hard hats looking at me like the dumbass I was. Oops. I was embarassed until I remembered the convenient excuse that it was Friday the 13th.

Then I missed my ferry.

THEN when I got to the ferry terminal for a later boat, I remembered they didn't take debit, and I had to drive all the way to the little marketplace which is like an island of it's own in the midst of a sea of cars. After that, I had to go allll the way back to the ticket vestibule driving AGAINST traffic the whole way. Because of this, I almost missed THAT boat too.

I got on the boat, and as any parent travelling with small children, we went to the bathroom. Where I left my purse. My wallet, cash, phone, all our ID, my camera, EVERYTHING. My whole world is in my bag. And I didn't even realize it. Luckily, I got paged to the giftshop (while I was IN the giftshop) because some lovely human being had returned it, completely intact. Whoever you are, you rule.

Then they lost power at the ferry terminal (island side) so we were all stuck on that damn boat, in our car, for an extra hour +.

Next Friday the 13th, I'm staying in bed.

What's your worst story about this day?

Lillian Says:

Lillian: Mom, can you please put my shirt into the wetter then into the dryer so I can wear it to Sunday school tomorrow?

If you pull the wings off a fly, would it be called a "walk"?

Because Lillian just did exactly that. She says it's her pet. Don't we have enough bugs to deal with right now???

Uh, oh yeah.

Tonight, for dinner, we had this:

Completely forgetting about this:

D'oh.

Thith ith thtill THO thweet!

Lily was at a playdate today, bashed her face off of her friends bunkbed, and knocked out her two front teeth. Do we carry collision insurance with the toothfairy?

Lets see where my brain goes...

I have complete writers block. I'm sitting here, staring at my blog, waiting for some pearl of wisdomosity to form that I can bestow on you, my dear readers. And I've got...

Nada.

So, I decided to just start typing, and see where my brain takes me. And, GO.

(Insert theme song from "Jeopardy")

*Waiting*

*Still waiting*

Hmmm, ok. Let's start with work. I'm due to return to work in T-minus three weeks. This was a positive thing up until a week ago, when my former supervisor informed me that he has no positions available within his department. See, this is the beauty of Canadian Maternity Leave. Your employer has to hold a position for you, but it does not necessarily have to be the one you vacated when you left. Ergo, whilst when I left I wrote training and procedural manuals, when I return I could be a file clerk. Or a mail distributer. Or a human resource manager. Or a personal assistant. Or a fabricator. Or an installer. The possibilities are endless, really. My money is on the file clerk, though. I'm CHOKED.

I wrote a very kindly worded email (with gritted teeth) to the general manager reiterating about a thousand times my STRENGTHS and PREFERENCES, even though I know that they won't make one iota of difference. It has come to my attention that companies are run solely by power-hungry egomaniacs, and the peon that dares work in anything short of management should be beaten down and condescended to at every turn. However, my intent was not to give them a piece of my mind, but to get everything down in black-and-white. My company, in particular, has a nasty little habit of saying "that never happened/was said/was sent to me/blah blah blah" and well, I'm wilier than that. Here's a bit of crucial advice to anyone surfing the interwebz who has pull in a company of ANY kind. Never try to fuck with someone who is smarter than you are. They'll realize when you're trying to blow smoke up their ass, and more than likely you'll end up eating it plus interest in the form of bad publicity/legal action. Now, I'm not smarter than all the higher-ups in my company, (I speak better english TO BE SURE) but I discovered a long time ago that it is far harder to argue with written evidence than it is to argue he-said/she-said. Ergo, a completely documented and colour-coded copy of all correspondence betwixt myself and my employers has been maintained, by me, and sent, by me, to any and all people I can think of would possibly need/want/get a kick out of one. Because I'm an ass like that. My boss, his boss, the president and CEO, the human resource guy, the general manager, and a few other buddies I have there just for fun. Argue with THAT, suckas. I can't take all credit for this though, it was all Dear Hubby's idea. Because he's an even bigger ass like that. ;)

So, Monday June 2nd at 7am, I shall either be unemployed (and seeking legal action) or doing something for a company that wouldn't know it's ass from it's elbow if handed a map. I've oh-so-politely requested that somebody, anybody, contact me to tell me which position they've "found" for me before I show back up on my first day. Because being assigned field duty would really be a bitch in my standard uniform of tight pencil skirt and icepick heels. Plus, as any fellow curly-haired gal can attest, hard-hat-hair is sooooo not sexy.

Sigh.

Please tell me your company is full of secret hidden evil agendas and run by a handful of power-tripping assholes who would sooner sell you down the river for their mistakes than aknowledge your own validity.

Or don't, because if the whole world is this pathetic I might just check out now.

Sorry for being the Bitter Betty, y'all. I'll think of something so utterly blogtastic you'll all forgive me tomorrow. That, or I'll just slip you all Xanax. That's good too.

8 o'clock and counting...

Our Movie Night Extravaganza started an hour ago. For the record, I've already gone through half a stick of butter, four cups of popcorn kernels, half a bottle of chocolate sauce, and FOUR LITRES OF MILK. We've had three fairly serious spills, two different children have had to go home and change, and I'm the proud new owner of a brand new, authentic Pop Corn Carpet. And we're only halfway through the movie.

One kid is three and doesn't speak a word of english. Well, no english I can understand anyway. "Dee dan di da door dot dah-dat" apparently means "please can I have more hot chocolate" though. See? We're making progress.

One kid is four and is completely enthralled with my microwave. He doesn't even care that it's not running, he just wants to push the button that opens the door, then close the door and repeat. Click, Slam! Click, Slam! Click, Slam! He's shown all the other children at least three times, too.

One kid reminds me of Moleman on The Simpsons. You know the one, the voice of dissent among the herd.

Me: Who wants a marshmallow in their hot chocolate?
Kids: ME!
Molekid: No thank you.

Me: Did everyone have enough popcorn?
Kids: YES!
Molekid: No.

Me: Which movie should we watch?
Kids: FERNGULLY!
Molekid: Enchanted!

Sigh. Did I mention that Molekid was one of my own? That's right sweetie, dare to be different.

One kid, whenever they come here, goes into the dressup box and finds the panda costume and immediately puts it on. And wears it until they leave. So I have 10 regular children and one panda bear. I'm down with that, so long as it doesn't eat the bamboo in my bathroom.

Currently I have three kids actually watching the movie, one kid playing bubblebath in my bathroom sink, one kid ClickSlamming my microwave, one child trying in vain to extort money from the other children for attending this evenings festivities, two children on my front porch "getting fresh air" one kid gone home to change (again) and one has fallen asleep. And one panda bear wandering aimlessly throughout.

How long is this movie, anyway?

Wish me luck...

The girls have their cousins coming for a sleepover. This makes 5 children overnight. Then we got the brilliant idea to have a neighbourhood pajama party, and invite all the kids that are forever showing up on my doorstep to come over for popcorn, hot chocolate, and a video. We have six confirmed coming. Plus the original five. For at LEAST two whole hours. And I'm giving them all sugar.

Methinks I did not think this all the way through.

Wax on, Wax... Still on.

This shall go down in history as my worst idea for at LEAST the last 24 hours. Two words: Pre-waxed strips. (Or is that two-and-a-half words?) Let me share my newfound wisdomosity with you. Leave the waxing to the professionals. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT attempt to wax any part of yourself that requires ANY of the following:

A: Wax.
B: You.
C: Contortionism.

You've been warned.

Lesson number one: Waxing HURTS.

Lesson number two: Water, soap, shampoo, bubble bath, toothpaste, shave cream, facial scrub, conditioner, moisturizer, bath salts, anusol, and Windex all fall squarely into the "Does Not Remove Wax" category. Milk Bath powder, dissolved in water, DOES. Oddly.

Lesson number three: Being professionally waxed, even if it means letting a stranger get ALLLLL up in your business is worth it. Just for the fact that you will not find yourself glued to your toilet seat with fingers covered in ripped-up shreds of everything you've touched.

Trust me.

Don't ask.

Bonus Lesson number four: No, hair-removal wax DOES NOT double as a nice paraffin wax spa treatment. Not even close.

Beautiful day for a walk(er)

Life, Love, Lipgloss

My daughters are prissy to the nth degree. It's frightening how much they are like me. Today they insisted on wearing their fanciest duds for an outdoor birthday party at the park. The birthday boy was turning two, and he had his shirt on backwards. Lillian wants her own manicure set for her birthday. As far as Rachel is concerned, the best insult in the world is calling someone "Mister". It's like God and my mom are in cahoots. Maybe it's my fault. I painted our kitchen table pink. Bubblegum pink. Poor Finn. He's doing his level best to balance out all the estrogen in this house, but he's only ten months old and his mother insists on buying him dolls. I think I'll enjoy my estrogen-infused universe while I can. Once it's wall-to-wall army gear again, there's no going back!

"Minds of Little Children" is an Oxymoron.

When given the "choice" today, Finnigan crawled OVER his big ol' bucket of toys, and tried to eat the dustpan. He also pulled a stack of plates over instead of eating his dinner, ate the strings on my sweatshirt instead of his puffs, and used his walker as a bumper car instead of walking around in the clear spaces.

When left to their own devices today, instead of playing with the eight jillion dollars worth of toys they own, the girls played "ice hockey" using one swiffer mop, one broom, an empty container from Finn's babyfood, and the china hutch as a goal net. In complete bridal & princess regalia, might I add.

Lesson One: Children don't need toys. They only need things called "Don't Touch That".

Lesson Two: Veils are not terribly conducive to accurate "scoring".

Lesson Three: The stack of plates/puck heading towards your plate glass doored china hutch/baby wanting to eat that dustpan will ALWAYS be faster than you. Always.

BTW, the Bride won - 89 15 a trillion to 4 hundred 11-teen.

Rachel the Cosmetologist/Tattoo Artist

This is Barbie as I found her. Barbie's colouring is due to a blue ballpoint pen. When questioned about it, Rachel said, "Mom, how did you know it was me?"


Rachel, honey, next time you commit a random act of vandalism, don't sign it.

ATTENTION: Whomever stole my barbeque...

... You forgot the LID.

(Yes, seriously. Someone stole my $15 POS Walmart-special BBQ off my balcony, and left behind the lid.)

*Note: The cans and bottles that I had sitting on my deck at the same time are worth more in refund value than half a barbeque. My uber-intelligent theives not only stole the least valuable thing ON my patio, they actually only stole half the least valuable thing on my patio. They receive the gold star for stupidity award.

Update from The Puzzle Family

Update: Andrew's posting to Chilliwack has been revoked. Just when you think all the pieces of your family will finally be put back together, the military comes in and trashes it. New working plan: Andrew will take a posting to the island, and then at least we can spend Friday through Sunday together while I build my career. It's a step in the right direction, at least my husband will live in the same province as his wife and children. Sigh.

On a positive note, the housing market there rocks!