THE DABELS DIVULGE (RESURGENCE)

baby, it's cold outside

2016-12-07T18:13:00.000-08:00

Every winter, at the Dabels, there is a war of wills.

If you will.

Every winter for the last 21 years this willful war gets waged and the wrangling for position between husband and wife begins. Despite my best efforts, and wow, have I put in my fair share of effort, I never walk away the victor of this recurring war. My personal arguments do change from year to year, but the man is nothing if not consistent.

2016:
Me: I have another bladder infection and I am really freaking cranky about it.

Him: You know I work outside, right?

2015:
Me: I just graduated from university and I cannot, for the life of me, find a job.

Him: You know I work outside, right?

2014:
Me: I have so much homework. I am drowning in papers and finals.

Him: You know I work outside, right?

2013:
Me: I have so much homework. I am drowning in papers and finals.

Him: You know I work outside, right?

2012
Me: University is hard, my brain is mush. Also, we have four kids and two foster kids and that's a lot of laundry and university is hard.

Him: You know I work outside, right?
.
.
.
2005
Me: I am 8 months pregnant with a 10 pound baby and I have walking pneumonia.

Him: You know I work outside, right?

2002
Me: I am 8 months pregnant with an almost 10 pound baby and its hard to walk and bend and do things.

Him: You know I work outside, right?

1999
Me: I have a three month old baby and a toddler and the baby does. not. ever. sleep. Ever. I want to die from the tired.

Him: You know I work outside, right?

1997
Me: Look at our cute baby that I take care of 24 hours a day. I am a woman of sacrifice.

Him: You know I work outside, right?

1995
Me: I got the car stuck in 3 feet of snow and had to walk all the way home. It took, like, 13 minutes. It is freezing outside.

Him: You know I work outside, right?
.
.
.
Okay, okay okay. We get it, Man. Your struggle is real. I just want to mention that it's cold outside, baby. Real cold-like. And my hands are chilled as I type. The chill is slowing me down.

Talk about a struggle.

honey ham

2016-12-05T16:45:00.000-08:00

I swear to you people, I could not make this stuff up if I tried. It's like there's a sign on my back that says "Confuse me. I dare you."

Today I ran into the grocery store to grab a couple of things. I do not like the grocery store. I do believe we have talked about this before. My disdain for the store runneth deep, and it affects the quality of my life. Is that dramatic? I don't care.

Every single time I go in there I lament the fact that food is what sustains us. Why can't we be sustained by air? I can get air anywhere and I don't need to put on a bra to do it.

I see the flaws in this line of questioning, no need to mention it.

Anyway, I literally run through the grocery store because I hate it so much. I once had a cashier comment on how fast I was.

"I saw you come in like ten minutes ago. And now you are here with a full cart. I can't believe it."

"It was 6 minutes ago and I am dead serious about the grocery store. No time to waste in this here house of discontent. In and out, I say. In and out."

Today I approached the deli counter and managed to somehow get the attention of the red lipped, big haired deli gal.

"Can I have 300 grams of the honey ham, please?" Sweet as honey.....ham. That's me.

"Sure," she replied as she reached in and grabbed the giant piece of fake meat. Is ham real meat? I am never quite sure. She held it up to her face, perhaps closer that I would have preferred, but since I don't eat the ham I don't care about whatever it is she might be throwing on it via her nose and mouth. And then she said, "how much is 300 grams?"

Yes she did.

I froze. Never have I ever been asked that before at the deli, where I am not the one standing next to the weigh scale. Because of the freeze of confusion she raised her penciled eyebrows at me and said, "Hello? How much is 300 grams?"

Okay, hold up. So now you've asked me a stupid question and you were rude about it? Game over, sister.

"Well, 300 grams is 300 grams. So you need to slice up the ham and then weigh it. When it gets to 300 grams wrap it up and hand it to me." All said with a passive aggressive smile. Because like I said, I despise the grocery story, and now the cartoon woman has made me stand and ask for unreliable meat more than once.

With a sassy tip of the head she said, "I realize I need to weigh the meat. I'm just asking you to show me with your hands how much 300 grams is because I don't know."

Is this really happening to me right now? I started glancing over my shoulders because surely my husband is standing in the corner giggling at me and this epic joke he has somehow masterminded.

I tilted my head to match hers and reveled in the fact that she was still holding this giant ham up at head level. That cannot be light. The karma was too good.

"I'm sorry. I am not understanding," be nice be nice be nice be nice, I mentally challenged myself. "Do you have a new system in the deli that I am unaware of? Usually I ask for a certain amount and you guys just keep slicing until that amount is reached. Is that not how you do it anymore? Are the customers supposed to ask for their deli meats in inches or centimetres? Like, can I have an inch off your ham, please? I don't really get it, but if that is what you are asking me then I would like you to slice off approximately three centimetres of ham."

"Ugh." She ughed me. She really did. And then she turned around and began slicing the honey ham. Every slice going up on the scale. When she got to 301 grams she stopped, wrapped the erroneous meat and handed it to me.

Just like the good ol' days.

summer reading

2016-09-06T19:50:00.000-07:00

I often get emails or facebook messages asking me what I am reading, or what I might recommend. In that instant I cannot recall a single book I have read and I always, always have to pull out my Goodreads list and check.

I have a poor memory and as soon as I have closed the last page I forget most of what I have read and move straight on to the next one. Sometimes I can't even remember the title one week later.

It's a good thing I am not a surgeon.

I remember once I loaned a book to my mum. She read about 100 pages before she realized she had already read it. I thought she was old when that happened. But I see it coming to fruition in my own world now.

I would blame sleep deprivation before age, though, so maybe I am further ahead?

I doubt it.

This summer I read a lot, but it has gotten to the point where I will be eating dinner and remembering a scene in a book. I will have no idea the title, or if that scene is from the same book I was remembering 5 minutes prior. It has all become one big jumbled book in my brain with a thousand characters doing a million different things.

I can't say I mind all that much. But again, I don't get enough sleep to mind much of anything these days.

In an effort to aid in my recall, or to eliminate it entirely with an actual list, here is what I read this summer. I will graciously include one of my short, yet truly brilliant, reviews. I am listing in them in the order I liked them, not necessarily read them. I will also include my Goodreads star rating, out of five, just for giggles.

I really am very tired today. But here we go...

What Alice Forgot by Liane Moriarty ***5 stars***

I have yet to meet a Liane Moriarty book I did not like. She seriously kills me. She is my fluff author, and we all need one of those. Especially during the summer. I loved the characters in this book and some of them were flat out hilarious. I was loving where this book was going and then it totally switched directions and I was so mad I put it in the corner, like a naughty child. Then, out of respect, I finished it and I was very glad I did.

We Were Liars by E. Lockhart ***5 stars***

I am not a huge fan of young adult fiction. If I even try to read a YA novel I often can't bring myself to finish it. The drama. I just cannot... But every now and then I find one that tickles my fancy. And this was one. I positively L O V E D this book. And the further I get from it the more I love it. It was funny and sad and the twist knocked my socks off. I try really hard (or not hard at all) to not see twists coming at me. I do a decent job of not thinking too hard as I get through a book. And so when a twist grabs me, it literally knocks me down and steals my socks!

The Red Garden by Alice Hoffman *** 5 stars***

Alice Hoffman is my author. Everyone should have one of those. An author who writes just for them. She writes for me and I love love love her books. They are all amazing. I don't know how she does it, but if you can get through one of her books without living it then we cannot be literary friends. This book is about the beginning of a small town and takes place over time as the town grows and changes. It is vivid and fascinating. Funny and tragic. Please read Alice Hoffman. Her books will make you feel alive.

The Nest by Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney ***5 stars***

The ensemble cast. I adore a good ensemble cast. People everywhere. Doing everything. I plowed through this book. I love to read about how families deal with each other. This book is about siblings trying to regain their share of the family money, the nest, after their delinquent oldest brother loses it because he makes dumb choices. When grown ups make dumb choices, I feel better about myself. This book was simple, yet far fetched, but maybe not? It was just one helluva great read.

We Should All Be Feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie ***5 stars***

This book takes 20 minutes to read and is a must read for every human. The title says it all. Give it to your daughters when you are done, and then give it to your husband and sons. Women are amazing.

A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness ***5 stars***

This is a children's book. It teaches us about life and death and sometimes the demons we fight live inside our very selves. It is heartbreaking and lovely and will make you want to be a better, more patient, parent and friend. Read it to your kids, and then when the movie comes out we can all go see it together!

The Little Paris Book Shop by Nina George ***4 stars***

This book was adorable. Some of the characters were laugh out loud funny. It featured the frustrating notion that life can't go on after a tragic loss, which bugs me. But, in the end these guys found their way despite wasting so much time feeling sorry for themselves. And it managed to make me cry. Which actually is not that hard to do. And it involved a book shop. On a boat. In Paris. SOLD!

I Let You Go by Clare Mackintosh ***3 stars***

This book had a good story and a killer twist but it was lacking. I don't know where or how, but it was. Which is totally okay. It was gripping and every chapter ending included the hint of a cliffhanger, which is enough to keep me on board. For the most part I enjoyed it. Even though it was about a dead child, which can be tough to read. I may have cried a little.

The Cuckoo's Calling by Robert Galbraith (a.k.a JK Rowling) ***3 stars***

Detective Fiction is not my favourite genre, but ever since I took a detective fiction class at university I have a new respect for it. Every couple of years I like to indulge in a silly, lumbering detective fiction book, even though they don't always hold my attention and eventually I have no clue what is going one because I spaced out for half of the book. But, I really liked the detective in this one, Carmoran Strike (can you get over that name?) can't seem to get his crap together but despite that, he manages to solve one crazy crime and win the lady. Well, he only half won her. Maybe I'll read another one and see what happens...

Second Life by S.J. Watson ***3 stars***

This book was mediocre but I will admit the story line kept me intrigued. Even though I didn't like how relaxed some of the characters were about their life altering choices, I was gripped from beginning to end. And there was a twist or two that I may have have been able to predict had I cared more.

A Good House by Bonnie Burnard ***2 stars***

I feel bad for not liking this book since my good friend chose it for book club. It is her favourite book of all time. I thought it was a total slog. It took me forever to read and I finally sat myself down and made myself finish it. I did not enjoy most of the characters. The writing was wonky. It was slow and boring and mostly the people were kind of mean and nasty to each other. The only one I really liked died pretty much as soon as the book started. I wanted to smack a couple of the characters because who lives like that? I did not enjoy this book. Sorry, Kathleen.

The Girls by Emma Cline ***2 stars***

You know that fun feeling you get when you go on social media and in one day 6 people say they are in the throes of an amazing book and so you go out and buy it and finish up all your chores so you can sit and read something you truly believe is going to be awesome? That's a fun day. Until you open the book and five pages in you are convinced the book was written by a grade nine student who just learned what an adjective is. The writing in this book is horrendous. Positively ghastly. The only reason I gave it two stars is because the story had moments of intrigue. None of the characters were likable. N O N E of them. I only finished it because I bought it. I do not recommend.

Phew! If you made it to the end of this post then you deserve a medal.

What are you reading?

Bronwyn on a Blanket

2016-08-28T13:37:00.000-07:00

Remember how I learned to crochet 8 months ago? And remember how I told you I was entirely obsessed with it? And then remember how I made everyone in my house a blanket? Well, except for Cicely because the one she chose is hard and uses up all my brain and so I procrastinate on it because I need my brain for other things.

You may not remember any of this, and that's okay, because I barely remember what day of the week it is.

But anyway, I want to show you my most favourite thing I've made to date. It's a blanket for my great niece, Bronwyn.

It was ambitious, I do admit. But I conquered, because that's what I do.

And look! A Bronwyn on a Blanket!

A beautiful blanket for a beautiful baby.

I have become that "auntie" who crochets for all the kids. I don't know what all those kids (or their parents) think about that, but I think it makes me the best auntie ever.

F is for F A I L

2016-08-23T17:26:00.001-07:00

Well, we've reached that part of the summer where I throw up a white flag and admit defeat. We are at that point where all good intentions declare that they were just that, good intentions. The whole time dangling in front of me like there was actually a chance I was going to do any of them with the kids.

Another summer not done well under our belts. We are the champions. The champions of making lists and pretending like any of us wanted to do any of it. Is it possible to be proud and ashamed at the same time?

I cannot be the only mother out there who feels this, and yet Facebook and Instagram tell me I most probably am. If all those happy summer pictures are telling the truths 1000 words could say, but don't need to, then we had a seriously unusual summer that involved an out of town husband, a teenager who stays out until the wee hours of EVERY SINGLE DAY, video games for Holden, YouTube for Amelia, business website building for me, and me sleeping in until 10am in an attempt to recover from late night teenager abuse.

If I was smart, I would have declared early on that this type of summer is the summer to beat. But I forgot to declare such a thing, and now I am forced to live in missed summertime fun regret.

Or guilt? I don't actually regret any of it.

It used to be that the man worked and I played with the kids all summer. Back in the days where I controlled their every move. I shuffled them around here and there. Calaway Park, the zoo, every splash park that existed back in the day. I even took them camping for days upon days. We had all the fun.

And now half of them work and stay up too late and look at me like my sole intention in life is to torture them. And the other half despise each other.

Three teenagers and a prepubescent 10 year old. This is my life now. It is very different than what it used to be.

Speaking of that, I have a 10 going on 17 year old up for grabs. She used to be the cute one. But this summer she has found her inner antagonist. Sassing the others seems to be what fuels her. She is on fire with it. She is driving me, and all the others batty. Anyway, I thought I'd offer her up here before I list her on Kijiji.

Side note: She made more money than I did this summer and that is no word of a lie. She was employed as a mother's helper. She got paid to play with children. All that money went straight to her head, she got cocky.

A cocky 10 year old is...well...obnoxious.

Anyhoo, there is only a couple weeks left of summer and I think we did 2 of our fun list items. It doesn't help that the 13 year old broke his arm which instantly rendered 77% of our fun list useless. Between the crappy weather, the bickering teen and preteen, my weird sleeping schedule, which I will defend as awesome until my dying day, I lost my zeal for outsidedness. Which apparently, everyone else's zeal is contingent upon.

We failed summer. A giant F. F is for F A I L.

On a happy note, my husband has moved back home, for the most part. He has been working out of town since March. He shows up on occasion for a shower and a cuddle and then poof, he is gone again.

On a sad note (depending on who you ask) despite the happiness we feel at being able to see his handsome mug on a daily basis, I have suffered a tragic realization, and one that will never be fully realized. I have become irrationally accustomed to having the huge bed all to myself. I really really really enjoy sleeping alone.

Like, profoundly enjoy it.

Insert gasping face emoji here.

But, alas, it is not to be because I am a married woman. And also, I am not 73 and bedtime estranged from my husband. Being the optimist I am, however, I try to find the fun in the situation. Boring holes into him with my wide awake eyes in the middle of the night is what I have come up with, so far. And the real kicker? For whatever reason, call it maturity or common sense or whatever, he does not want to join me in my dysfunctional sleep routine where going to bed by 3am is an "early night".

He is the pooper in this party for two.

Although, I have decided that in the long run, it might be nice to have another adult here modelling good behaviour. Heaven knows, this house full of teens could use that.

Side eye emoji.

But being the gracious and loving man he is, and knowing that sleep is a delicate notion for me, I often wake in the night to find him teetering on the edge of our giant bed, making every possible attempt to give me my space. Add this to the reasons we love him and allow him into our bed. And by our bed, I mean my bed.

Obviously.

I would try to feel bad about his lack of sleeping comfort, but let us remember that 1) he was literally sleeping in a van down by the river and anything has to be more comfortable than that. And 2), I am using all my guilty conscience feelings lamenting about another summer possibly lost to good intentions, even if they were never true ones.

There is only so much human deficiency I can shoulder at any given time.

Now if you'll excuse me, I promised the people I would actually make dinner tonight and they are all staring at me as though I have lied to them. Again. I know what they are all thinking. Will she yell "fend for yourself", as I have been known to yell, in those last make or break minutes before it becomes too late to begin.

I do believe they are silently challenging me to resurrect this antiquated practice, even if it is only for one day.

Challenge accepted.

resurgence

2016-08-17T15:17:00.003-07:00

It is August 17, and I have thought about resurrecting my blog (like, for real) about 3267 times this summer. I love it, it's fun. So......

Don't ask me why I haven't kept it up. My answer would sound something like, "because books and crochet and kids and dishes and confusion and un-organization and crochet and outings and novels and teenagers and business books and novels and crochet and dishes and research about business, oh and laundry and crochet and movies and husband and kids and books and football and thinking and confusion and reunions and crochet and novels and friends and kids and teenagers and novels and insomnia and crochet."

It has been a very busy summer, can't you see? And did I tell you I am starting a business? Well, I am. I am starting a business because looking for work I don't even want to do is stupid and dumb and stupid. But making work for myself I want to do is awesome and exciting and awesome.

It was my counselor's idea. She's a genius.

Did I tell you I am in counselling? No, obviously, we haven't spoken in forever. You know what? Everyone should go into counselling at some point in their life. It's exhilarating to organize the mental chaos that can weigh you down. I've had a lot of changes this past year....

A LOT!

...and it was becoming a beast I did not know how to control. It was like KABLAMMIE, all of a sudden I didn't know who I was anymore, yet it was totally expected that I be someone. My soul was bursting with a hankering to be reborn. But into who? I had no clue, and still barely do. I know who I am not and never want to be. But I needed someone to help harness my energy and diffuse the bomb that was about to blow.

The man looks at me like I have two heads, so it was certainly not going to be him.

Also, I need to talk about being in therapy because one thing I have learned in therapy it's that when I talk the inner recesses of me sing with delight.

It's like the hills are alive with the sound of my ~~psychoses~~ music.

Seriously though, I need to write. It is a whole level of therapy unto itself. But my nails are wet and so this taking forever.

I told the kids we would do two fun things a week this summer. And when I say 'kids' I mean the youngest two because that's really all I have left. The older two are either working and being all independent-like, or not speaking to me and acting like a really annoying teenager. I'll let you guess which of the older two fill each of those positions. So it's just the younger two and me left, and they can't stand each other. Trying to do fun things with them is really just a test of my patience. Which, as I paid money to find out, I have none of. So really it becomes an exercise in how many people I can offend and roll my eyes at when I take them out in public because they have bickered me into a shell of a human being.

But, it's been a great summer because I am reinventing myself and therefore my future and that is fun, right? But is it fun for everyone? And at least twice a week? I dare say, YES! And tough beans for you if you aren't having fun with my reinvention.

Today I dragged the youngers to the grocery store and then made them go in without me while I played on my phone because I really despise the store. I bought them lunch. I asked them if they were having fun. They dared look at me like I was kidding. Which was fun-ny so I yelled, "excellent! We have met 50% of the fun quota this week! Congratulations on having fun."

And the we went home because we are exhausted from all the fun.

So cheers to rebirth, resurgence, and reinvention.

Welcome to my new blog.

impatience and indecision

2016-04-05T12:33:00.005-07:00

In January I learned how to crochet and it has pretty much ruined my life and the lives of my family.

"What's for dinner, mom?"

"Hmmm, I'm not really sure. Unless you want to eat one of these four blankets I have crocheted then I'm not really sure..."

"Do I have any clean laundry, mom?"

"Hmmmm, I do not believe so. But hold up, if you give me a couple days I will crochet you something to wear. It'll be super cool. I promise."

"Mom, can we go do something fun. Maybe outside? Or maybe you could drive us somewhere fun?"

"Hmmmm, no."

"Why?"

"Because crochet."

I just want to crochet all the time. Everything. And anything. And all the bloody things. Everything wants, no needs, to be crocheted. By me.

I am having a love affair with Crochet.

I have come to discover in the last four months, since Crochet moved in, that this particular art comes with a few sets of problems. And these problems don't suit my nature. And by nature, I mean the demons that live inside me which determine whether or not I can accomplish something.

Turns out I have a demon that has been hibernating inside the deep recesses of my crafting soul. And that is the Never-Satisfied-With-My-Yarn-Choices demon. That demon, we will name Indecision, because that's what it is. Plus, it is different than Impatience, which is the demon that has plagued me most of my life.

It is probably quite conceivable that I have been to the yarn store no less than 11 times in the last 9 days due to Indecision. Blast that Indecision. He is a thorn unto me!

But, over the last 21 years, Impatience and I have come to an understanding of sorts. And that understanding is the man. This is how it goes:

I try something for 1 second.
It frustrates me.
I throw an epic temper tantrum.
The man steps in and fixes it.

We really appreciate the man around here.

Impatience has reared its ugly head in exponential proportions as of late, since Crochet has moved in and turned everything all topsy turvy around here.

Yarn is a necessity of crochet. But, yarn is also a product of the devil. Because it tangles. And tangles upset Impatience immensely. I will now use pictures to show you what has become of my home. Because words alone will not suffice.

Excuse the crappy, night time iPhone shots. We work with what we have around here.

Many hours of The Office was watched while the detangling happened.

Red yarn, grey yarn, variegated yarn. We don't discriminate.

He is a good man. A patient man. And clearly one with a disorder.

His face may indicate that he isn't loving every minute of this but, trust me, that's his happy face.

what do i know?

2016-03-30T12:22:00.000-07:00

You know what I think? I think that if I am going to work for free that I may as well clean the house, bake, crochet, read, and blog. And blog often. At least that job is fun.

So why don't I blog more? Don't ask me stuff. I don't know anything about anything.

Apparently.

I recently became an employed person. And then promptly became an unemployed person. I thought I wanted to be employed. I mean, I do. It is what I want. But I don't know that I am quite ready to sell my soul for it. And this is what is happening around here. Of course, I went to university and got a degree. Why would anyone do that unless it is to be employed? I would like to be employed. Eventually. But I would also like to like my job, or at least get paid for a job, because there is a sacrifice that comes with it and so the balance is delicate. Delicate balances need much consideration. Am I right?

What I was not anticipating was that the moment I graduated from University our economy was going to tank.

And tank hard.

I should have anticipated it, because it only makes sense that this would happen to me. These kinds of things happen to me all the time.

The economy tanked so hard that people like me: the smart and (life) experienced (I was naive enough to think that meant something), eager, mature, ambitious and all good things kind of people could not find work. I can't even tell you why I couldn't find work, because out of hundreds of applications in a five month period I got one interview. And then I got that job.

ONE.

One interview. That's it. One. Measly. Interview.

I wasn't thrilled about it either after I met with the Bossman. It was for a small start up that needed a writer.

I write. Right?

So the guy told me what he paid and I think I made a yikes face because he sat straight up and said he could get people to do it for less than that. That was the first moment I caught a whiff of his salesman odour. I replied with a hey, hey. Hold up, big guy. Can I do two projects a month? To which he responded you can do ten a month, I don't care. You go for it.

His first big lie.

But, despite my skepticism, I thought what the heck do I have to lose at this point? I have no other prospects. I'm bored as all get out. Let's give it a go.

I gave it a big, huge go. And very shortly after I began that go all the red flags raised. I put them off to the side so I couldn't see so them so clearly because I suspected that although this job smelled funny, I was also being a bit of a snob. Plus, what do I know about being a working woman? Not much.

Not much, I say. So I carried on.

A month passed and the scope of work became clear. There was no way on this planet two projects were going to get done a month. Not at the rate Bossman was holding me up and putting me off with his grand vision and potential opportunity speeches.

So, in a fit of frustration, I went to work one day to confront him. I had demands and visions of my own to explain. He beat me to the punch and offered me a raise and a promotion.

Ooooooooh, okay. I wasn't expecting that. I accepted, because like I said before, what do I have to lose at this point? Still nothing to lose since I had nothing anyway. And then Bossman smiled at me and suggested I come "work", for free, until my start date, which was unclear.

Hmmmmmmm................... Let me think about that for a second.

No. Nope. No thank you. No. No siree, Bob. Not gonna happen, Bossman. But....but....but....all the vision......and all the potential.....

I went home to contemplate just how I was going to handle this. I figured if I was going to become venomous I would much prefer doing that via the written word, as my written word is much more beautiful than my raving, lunatic personal performance could ever be.

So I did the classy thing. And by classy I totally mean cowardly. I wrote him an email. It was the most satisfying experience of my life. Well, the second most. Second only to the day Brooklyn came out on DVD and I bought it.

I informed him his charlatan ways don't fly with me. I told him I was onto him and that I'd given him far too much of my free awesome already.

I told him his grand vision and potential opportunity don't pay my bills. I suspect they aren't even paying his bills, but that isn't my problem anymore. I suggested where he might like to stick said vision and opportunity.

So here I sit. In my slippers and pajamas at 1pm on a Wednesday afternoon, unemployed and loving it. Don't tell the man I said that last part. The poor dude had to leave us to go work in Vancouver where the building industry apparently adores the bad economy because there is work there. Lots of it.

So he works there. I don't work here.

See how that works?

I don't know much, but I do know that this chasing a career thing is for the birds. I did not care for my first pilgrimage into careerland. It sucked the rotten egg.

ladies of the mountains

2016-02-01T18:04:00.000-08:00

This blogging business is tough. First of all, I forget all about it for days and days and 101 days.

It literally has been 101 days. But, who's counting? Surely, not you.

Anyway, I have lists and lists of things I want to say. My life is actually pretty interesting right now. Teenagers, job hunts, religion.... The fun never stops, no wonder I can't find time to blog.

So, here's the thing, some great things do happen on occasion and I get to share that greatness with you because of this here blog and so here I am sharing it because it was great and all great things should be shared, youknowwhatImean?

I went on a little holiday with some pretty great gals. I really love these ladies. They serve all sorts of purposes in my life. One of those purposes is planning getaways in the mountains and then telling me where and when to go and then I go. Because, well, mountains and friends.

Me and the mountains. There never was so great a match made in heaven. Even though, as of late, all my mountaining equals me indoors. It's funny, I'm not a real outdoorsy kind of gal, and yet, I'm all about being in the mountains. Some of these ladies went snowshoeing and cross country skiing and things such as that; whereas, I sat on my butt and read books and crocheted and even took weird mountain air induced naps and things such as that.

That's how I do mountains. I need to learn to stay on point.

Here's what we did.

The first night we stayed at the beautiful and swanky Copper Point Resort, in Invermere. It was lovely, and I got a king sized bed all to myself, which is what happens when you leave the men at home.

I highly recommend that, by the way. I mean, I like my man, but I also love to sleep alone in giant beds with all the pillows every now and then. Don't tell him that, I hate to watch him cry.

The next day we journeyed all the way to Radium, it took minutes. About 12, or something. We got settled into the amazing BigHorn Meadows Resort.

This was my bed, thank you very much.

And this was my VERY OWN bathroom, thank you very much.

And these were my neighbours. They were so polite, their mama's raised them well.

Thank you very much!

We walked about the town and bought stuff and ate all the food at the Blue Dog Cafe. This is where I fail at blogging. I neglected to photograph all that food that I ate so you'll have to take my word for it. We ate it all. We just kept going back and getting more. Worth it, I swear. Eat the grilled cheese and guacamole sandwich and then send me the thank you card you will most definitely want to send me.

Ice fishing, anyone?

My favourite little consignment store I have ever graced was across the street from the Blue Dog Cafe. I'd show you a picture, but I didn't take one...

But I did buy this because obviously I needed it.

We found a thrift shop where they were selling books for practically free and I forgot for a moment that my 2016 New Year's Resolution (which was a stupid resolution to make and has since been forsaken, thank you Kate Atkinson) was to not buy books so my friend, Merry promptly reminded me ,and when I shed a tear she took the books from my hand and stood in line to buy them for me.

We call this level of friendship and sacrifice - love.

That reminds me, I owe her $2.50.

And then one of the best things that has ever happened to me happened. I learned how to crochet.

Again.

I am pretty sure I learned as a child, because my mother is a very gifted crocheter, but nothing ever came of it so it was like nothing ever happened. The tree, the forest...that sort of thing.

I took this...

...and made this hat.

Which fits no one.

This is neither here nor there. The point is, I made that hat and that is extraordinary. My friend Erin, is very talented, and very patient, and she has created a crochet machine named Catherine that stayed up until 2:30 this morning making this epic blanket that I love so much and isn't even half way done but is giving me a reason to watch Bloodline on the Flix. Again.

As if I need a reason.

I am off topic again.

We ate here for dinner one night. And wow, so excellent. I was really impressed, especially since it was in the Super 8 and we all know about the Super 8...

I recommend the Key Lime Chicken Stack, of which I do not have a picture.

And then, we hit the hot springs in Radium and I didn't want to go because I am so very lazy, but I got guilted into it by Tiffany from My Dirt because I made her drive to my house and get the swimsuit I forgot and bring it to me and she did because that's what I told her to do and so then she said "you better get in that hot tub" and I did get in.

We won't talk about the time I fell on my butt inside Kicking Horse Coffee. No one got a picture so did it even really happen? It's my word against theirs and I don't even drink coffee, so is it even really fair that I hypothetically fell on my butt inside a coffee shop?

No. No, it isn't.

And then the next morning we left, because as they say, "all good things must come to an end."

You know, I think it's dangerous letting a bunch of women go away together. There is always the risk they won't come back.

If you would like to take that risk, and I do believe you should. I feel strongly, in fact, that you need to, you can stay at the BigHorn Meadows Resort for 20% off any 2 or more night stay (not valid on long weekends - so don't even try that crap) until June 23, 2016.

Go! Book it! Do it now, but make sure you mention the Blogger Special when you do so they don't look at you funny.

Happy vacationing!

beyond ordinary understanding: a novel

2015-10-23T20:35:00.000-07:00

In the summer of 2009 I had a dream. Actually, it was a nightmare. And it left me rattled. I dreamt my husband and I were shopping on the streets of Italy. We went into a shop that interested me, and at some point he decided to go outside and wait for me. When I left the shop I couldn't find him.

I never saw him again.

The feelings this dream invoked in my soul woke me and kept me awake the entire night. Which, if you know me, is no surprise since sleep is not something I excel at. I was entirely distraught, but that is not all. I felt something I have never felt before, a sorrow so deep inside me it affected me physically. I wretched over the toilet that night as I tried to pull from my sleepy stupor what was happening. Was I sick? No, I wasn't. I was sad. Profoundly sad. And all from a dream. I wept for my own imaginary loss. The entire night I wept, and into the next day. I couldn't even describe in words my melancholy.

I still can't. It was a wordless feeling.

I tried to process it, tried to convince myself it was just a dream. There was no way anyone could feel that much despair in real life. But, I knew that wasn't true, people feel that all the time. I had never felt it in real life myself, and I hope I never do. It was a gut wrenching sensation.

I tried to write about it. I sat on occasion and tried journaling this one feeling I couldn't seem to describe. I began entertaining thoughts of writing a story about it. Eventually that story turned into a novel. Something fictitious. Yet real.

Does that make sense? I didn't think so...

Over the course of the next two years I created in my head characters that were not only capable of feeling this type of pain, but also inflicting it. Thoughts on the subject came at random times and in random places. I took notes on paper, napkins, receipts, and in my phone.

One hot day, as I was driving the kids to the Okanagan to see my parents, I was deeply entrenched with the creation of this novel. As I drove I tried to fix into my memory all the thoughts I had when all of sudden we came to a dead halt due to construction. We did not move for over an hour and as we waited I typed madly into my phone. Notes upon notes. The plot thickened and grew and before I knew it I was giddy at the thought of writing this book. I was a woman obsessed with recreating that one emotion I felt inside a dream two years earlier.

For months I added to those notes. In church I would find myself distracted by the characters and their choices. I would take notes on the sides of church bulletins, on my hand, wherever I could find space. I collected these bulletins in my bedside table, next to my notebook and my scraps of paper and all those receipts. It was a hodge podge of crazy. I knew it was going to be a chore to organize, but I didn't care. It was growing into something of its own. Like I had no say in the matter.

Yet somehow I was going to be responsible if it didn't happen.

And then my husband and I went to Mexico. The hot Mexican sun, coupled with the spotty wifi, and its evil Mexican sorcery took my phone and deleted every single thing on it. All my pictures (even the awesome puffer fish I found), all my contacts, and...

...all my notes.

Everything was gone. Pages upon pages, and hours upon hours of thoughts, ideas and character quirks...gone.

I was ill about it.

It was so upsetting to me I had no choice but to put it straight out of my head. I went into total denial. I tried to let it go, like it never happened. But every now and then it crept back in. Little snippets here and there tortured me. Why didn't I email the notes to myself? Back the information up? Why didn't I protect my baby? I have no answers. I just didn't. I could barely look myself in the mirror. What a giant waste of time. I had given so much thought to this project, and through my own negligence it was just gone.

Over the years it has slowly been reborn. If my memory serves me, it is almost identical, minus a few strokes of brilliance here and there. I will make attempts to recreate those as I go.

I find myself at a crossroads in my life. I am done school. And as I look for a job that suits my family I find myself totally consumed by thoughts of this novel.

So it's time.

I mentioned to my friends that I wanted to get it out. I was looking into a weekend away to start writing it in the mountains, for the mountains are where ideas come to life, don't you know? My friends, who are nothing short of amazing, pooled their loose change and their collective genius, and said go go go. Go now! And before I knew it I had three nights booked at the Banff Centre in a self-directed writing residency paid for entirely by them.

And this is where I sit, telling you this story. On the side of a mountain.

These friends of mine are making dreams come true. Do they even know what they are capable of? These ladies are my army, my village. I hope they'll be gentle with me when they read the book. Because this is happening, people.

As we speak, this is happening.

no matter how you slice it

2015-10-18T19:21:00.000-07:00

The man is no dummy, he knows the way to my heart is through the grocery store. He wins husband of the year, every single time, when he responds with a "send me your list" to my subtle wails of "I DON'T WANNA GO TO THE GROCERY STORE!! Wahhhhhhh!!"

That's a lot of husband of the year awards. We might need a bigger house to store them in.

If I don't have to do the grocery shopping then he doesn't have to endure me and my post grocery shopping lunacy. That sounds like a win-win to me.

I really really really hate that chore. Like, really. So yesterday when I said "we need groceries" he said, in his wise wisdom-y way, "send me a list." Upon that list were the words lunch and meat.

Lunch meat.

And . . . this is what he came home with.

Dude, c'mon now, that is not lunch meat. That's a ham. And some crappy, processed, semi-meat product. No matter which way you slice it, that's not lunch meat.

Okay, I will compromise on this and admit that the ham, if sliced appropriately, becomes lunch meat. But who wants to cut up a ham?

Also, there is such a thing as a stupid question. Who wants to cut up a ham? The man does.

And with a big grin upon his furry face, he asked, "Where's the meat slicer?"

and then she went to university. part 2

2015-10-07T17:22:00.001-07:00

I was going to regale you with tails of the inner turmoil caused at having to leave my baby in downtown Toronto.

On a sidewalk, no less.

I was going to reflect upon the emotional temper tantrum I threw within the innermost recesses of my soul, the part where my trying toddler resides. I was going to try and emulate, with words, my refusal to accept the inevitable. I was going to proclaim my outright dismay at the injustice of it all.

But I'm tired. And today has been delegated migraine day. And really, there is only so much whining about my baby leaving me that even I am willing to put up with.

So, instead, let's review what I did in the moments directly after the abandonment of my child on the rowdy downtown streets of Toronto.

I went to a movie. And then I went to another movie.

Of course I did.

On my way back to the hotel I was overcome with dread at being alone for that long before sleep became a viable option. So I pulled over at the nearest movie theatre (and we all know that at any given moment I can direct you to no less than five movie theatres) and checked what was playing. There was something starting within 5 minutes and so I yelled "SOLD" and bought some sorrow drowning popcorn and a vat of diet coke and cried through a horror movie.

The tears poured freely, movies theatres are the perfect place for free flowing tears.

When the movie had ended, but my tears had not, I felt mild panic at what may lie ahead on that muggy, hot, and dreary day.

But it was like heaven was looking down upon me because wouldn't luck have it? Another movie was just starting, and so I cried through a comedy.

That was a long day.

But the next day I put on my big girl pants and went to Niagara Falls and got on a boat and rebelled against the flimsy red rain poncho. I decided to let the elements eat me alive. I got soaked, which was fine because it was one million degrees out and I was hot hot hot.

There is something about being left to the devices of nature this grand. The red rain poncho seemed wrong, somehow.

It was tortuously hot out, I could now check witnessing this marvellous wonder off my list and so I headed back to the hotel.

I was deeply lost in thought and missed a highway somewhere and got lost in this little place of perfection I can't even remember the name of. It was riddled with perfectly historical houses and I contemplated instant relocation because my inner self believes it was meant to live in history. Also it was a lot closer to my child than home was.

When the lady at the door said I couldn't live with her I had no choice but to drive back to the hotel in order to fly home and wait for the rest of my offspring to leave me.

Have I mentioned I hate flying and make a very poor seatmate?

And that is the story of how my heart took a beating but kept on ticking and contrary to the wants of my helicopter parenting heart, life goes on.

and then she went to university, part 1

2015-10-05T13:54:00.000-07:00

I'm finally ready to talk about it. Took awhile, but I got there eventually. Cicely went away to university a month ago and my heart took a blow I was not expecting. I mean, I knew it would be hard and that I was going to miss her, but I was not expecting that!

Nothing makes you scramble at reconciling your failures with your successes as a mother faster than those last moments before you leave your child on a sidewalk in downtown Toronto.

Did I teach her everything she'll need to know to survive this?

There's no way I taught her everything she needs to know to survive this. I need more time. Loads and loads of time. But, KABAM, out of nowhere we ran out of time. This is it. This is happening. So, what can be said in those last seconds that will armour her?

Drink water. Get enough sleep. Stay on top of your assignments. Do not wander down Yonge street alone, and definitely not at night. Be kind. Ask for help when you need it. Choose good people to surround yourself with. Stay close to the Lord. Say your prayers. Read your scriptures, they will bring you peace.

Text me.

Call me.

I can help you. Please let me help you.

Was she listening? Does she know these things? Does she believe them? She would say yes, she knows - there was a lot of nodding and 'yes, mom-ing'.

But I don't know for sure.

What I do know is that leaving her there was the hardest thing I've done thus far in my life. I wept buckets of tears every time I thought of her for days on end. Watching her skip off away from me, me getting into the car as fast as possible as to not melt into the saddest puddle you've ever seen right there on Jarvis Street. Driving away from her.

All of it was hard.

It's like someone took a chunk of my heart and said, "this isn't yours anymore." She makes her own decisions now. Now, I just get to watch.

Turns out I wasn't ready. It feels like I spent the last three years semi preparing myself for her to leave, but I wasn't nearly thorough enough. I missed the important parts like: the broken heart, the random moments when all of a sudden you remember you're here and she's there and tears soak your face before you even know what hit you. It's sort of hard to prepare for those parts because, well, they aren't fun.

She was ready, I was not. That is just how it rolls. Doesn't change the fact that it totally happened. And I was there to witness it.

And it was hard.

collateral damage

2015-10-02T11:56:00.001-07:00

So I guess I was sort of lying when I said I was back. I think it was more intention than anything. I intended to come back, but then I didn't. You know?

But I have been thinking about it a lot. I'm sure that counts.

So anyway, while I sit here and eat my bon bons I thought I'd drop you a line. And here it is: I may be enjoying, a lot, this past month where my kids are in school all day and I AM NOT.

Three years.

It's been three years since I have been a true stay at home mom (whatever that means) and apparently it took working real hard-like and being real stressed-like and busy ALL THE TIME to appreciate the simplicity of running a home and making dinner.

Not that it's simple to be a 24-hour on-call master of the universe. That's not what I'm saying.

The simplicity comes from witnessing, first hand, this machine you created 20 years ago, and then tended to for 17 years. Oiling and altering and maturing and developing. A system that was able to pretty much run itself for three years while you stepped away and delved into all selfishness. Doing something for yourself, something you hadn't done for almost two decades, and truly thought you would never do again. Never mind do well.

My family became collateral damage.

You see, I am bad at balance. This is the most valuable lesson I have learned from going to university while being a wife and mother. I am bad at balance. I am an all or nothing sort of person. Except, when you're a mom, you are always a mom. So sometimes your attention is forced into places that pull it away from other places and nothing is getting all the attention it deserves. Everything is getting what's left, and what's left is usually scraps. It takes its toll. You crave and wish for balance. Sometimes you are even able to fake it for short spurts of time, but it isn't who you really are so you can't fake it forever. Not without your soul taking a beating. And maybe the souls of your people, as well.

I am bad at balance. I am bad at going to school, being a mom, being a spiritual person, and fulfilling all my responsibilities with any semblance of success. So I will be grateful for all the oiling and altering and maturing and developing I was able to squeeze into 17 years so that when I made getting a degree the priority my family was able to fend for itself, under the guidance of a very good and very capable man, and stay afloat while they watched their mom and wife sink into academia and only surface long enough to say hi and how's it going and does anyone need anything and if you do go ask the man because I am too busy for you.

So when all is said and done, and you have taken three years to run yourself ragged fulfilling bucket list number one, and then all of a sudden the running ragged comes to a full stop and you get to see clearly, again, this creation called your home and your family with eyes devoid of stress, anxiety, deadlines, and exhaustion? It feels like simplicity.

And simplicity is a beautiful thing. Trust me.

I am looking for a dream job. It's what I want. It will take lots of time and lots of paying my dues and various positions on various totem poles and all that jazz. It's a painfully slow process, which I have decided I am not going to complain about. It involves many job applications and cover letters every few days and then the hearing nothing from anyone except that it's a tough job market and there is tons of competition and since I have nothing to offer that seems remotely impressive on paper and yada yada yada...

I know where I stand.

Until that possibly imaginary day when a job comes my way that scratches my corporate itch and I get to go buy some new shoes, I will sit and stare happily at the brilliant simplicity that is my home and my family.

Now, pass the bon bons.

Oh...and, what's for dinner?

and so she blogged...

2015-08-17T11:48:00.000-07:00

I am here to blog. This has become a foreign land to me. It sort of feels like coming home, you know?

In an effort not to bore you with the details, I have decided to keep it short and sweet as an attempt to come back and feed the beast, so to speak, in a more current fashion. I think that only made sense to me.

Here's what you missed, or what I missed telling you over the last year:

We moved to an entirely different neighbourhood into a dream house for reasons that are not important and my oldest graduated from high school which made me cry and then she got accepted to her favourite university on the planet and despite my best efforts to thwart her plans in order that she stay close to home she has decided to go to this faraway university thereby abandoning any hopes and dreams I may have had to spy on her on campus and sit through her classes because I love university so very much and then Jack reinvented himself in a way that is not my favourite but he still continues to crack me up every single day and so we will keep him and teenage boys are hard but I guess we signed up for that although I have no recollection of doing such a thing and then the unthinkable happened and it came right out of the blue and smacked me in my face which was rude rude rude but it did and I had no choice but to accept it.

I graduated from university.

With an actual degree.

The end.

post essay blog post

2014-10-05T15:26:00.000-07:00

Can you figure out that title? What I mean to say is that this post is written after I just wrote an essay. You know? Post essay as opposed to pre essay? Whatever, it's a stupid title, I get it.

So, I have been thinking about this here blog a lot lately and how much I used to love writing it and keeping it updated and how it was the most fun hobby ever. Now it's this thing in the background that I miss.

You know what else I miss? Novels and netflix.

I should have titled this post novels and netflix. Where was that brilliance 47 seconds ago?

I have not opened a novel since August. In fact, I am half way through a pretty decent read that I had to forsake in the name of further education. It's been so long since I touched the novel I can't even remember what it is called or who wrote it and I might not even, at this moment, be able to recall where it is.

Ohhhh. my heart weeps for fiction.

I spent August in bed, reading novels and coddling my love for binge watching tv shows on the flix. I did, I'm really sorry, but I did. It was a slow, lazy month and I am not proud. But I knew September would be banana-town and dude, banana-town is an understatement.

So here is the Coles notes version of my life over the last two months:

-the teenagers both had birthdays in September. And both were...uneventful. All because I am not awesome with the full time student/mom/party planner job description. Am I fired yet? Why am I not fired yet?

- I read a ton. Hours a day. And nary a novel at that. It's all textbooks and the such and wow, just wow.

-I am taking four classes at the university in an effort to be done my degree sooner rather than later. Call me crazy.

-I have two boys in football and that is a part time job and let me tell you something, the pay sucks! But I will say that we do get a crap load of pleasure from watching our boys play football. It is pretty dang fun. But what I have learned about myself during this football season is that my heart is not cut out to watch young men play sports. I weep, literally, when any of them get hurt, and last week alone two ambulances were called at two different games and neither of those games did I have a child even playing in and I shed tears. I am a wimp. There, I said it.

- I have teenager issues. I am not allowed to say more but what I will say is that I have teenager issues.

- I also have laundry issues. And clean house issues. And cooking dinner issues.

- I have eaten everything.

- I am overwhelmed in a coping pretty good sort of way. As long as you don't check my coping on Tuesdays because Tuesdays be crazy.

But here is the gist...every time I set foot on campus and curse the day ahead I try to remember that I actually love the university and these are my last few months there and enjoying the journey is important.

So I make an attempt to enjoy the journey.

Even though the journey involves Biology 205.

summer realizations

2014-08-13T14:49:00.002-07:00

This really has been the summer of Catie. I mean, in terms of doing as little as possible that makes my unhappy, that is. I haven't had near enough beach time for my liking but there isn't too much I can do about that.

Or is there? I'm not sure. I am too busy sitting around watching Netflix and reading novels and wondering how my children got old enough to not need me so much anymore. I have one kid who works all day (and it isn't Cicely), I have one kid who sits around most of the day on the computer, waiting for all those people who want her to work for them to call (and that is Cicely). I have one kid who plays with his friends all day and I have Amelia who has decided she's a big girl and can entertain herself.

Every now and then I inject myself into their view and ask "how's it going? Does anyone need anything?" to which they respond with one word answers like "good" and "nope". And I continue wandering around aimlessly pondering this stage of our lives and what it means.

And this is my determination. They are growing up. So amazingly fast are they growing up. I feel like they are leaving me behind.

I have spent the last week or two wishing September would come faster and then smacking myself on the hand for wishing away the summer like that. But I am wishing for it because then school will start again. For me. When I am in school I am so busy and have so much to do and I don't feel so left behind anymore.

When I go out I force as many children as are home to go with me. I feel like I need to spend every minute with them. I feel almost desperate to be with them, as if our time together is limited. I don't know if that is true but that's what it feels like. When we are all home, they don't want me. They have their own interests and rarely does that include me. It's how I trained them, I wanted them to be independent and self-reliant and damn, if they aren't the pictures of self-reliance! So I take them places because they need me to get them back home again. They are trapped by my methods of madness and they don't even know it.

This summer has felt different than every other summer I have ever had as a mother. And I think I know why.

Here is the truth. I have one year of school left. And my heart is being pulled towards a career. I want something for me. As the children grow and leave I have to make sure I have something for me or I will be sucked into a chasm of sadness and displacement. I won't be able to get out, it will eat my sanity and leave me empty. I know it will. I know this because I feel it when they are busy and I am not. It surges through my veins when they are gone and I am home without them.

It comes on so fast. I barely have time to blink and it's there. There's a heaviness, a loneliness, a sinking. I don't like to be alone. I mean, what mother and housewife says that? Don't get me wrong, I like me some alone time. But a day, one day, with nothing to do and I am literally in the dumps. That's all it takes. I have the standard list of things I want to do so that I don't get like that. Like reading and housework and errands and movies. But my distractions only carry me so far.

I used to be the queen of projects. I used to do so much when my kids were young. I doted on them and then doted on me in my free time. I was painfully happy and content in my role of mother. Stay at home mother. But none of those things I used to love hold any interest for me anymore. They are all things I used to do alone, because I was hardly ever alone and I cherished the time I spent with just me. But now, I feel an aversion towards my home. Where there used to be a craving to be home there is now a longing, a pull to get out of the house and stay out as long as there is no one in it lest the loneliness eats me whole.

People gently criticize my choices. They ask me why I do so much. They ask me how I do it. The answer is simple. I have to do it, or I sink. And I don't want to sink. I do everything in my power to make sure that when I do start to sink I know that soon I will have to shake it off because there is just so much to do and only me to do it. That chaos, that busy bustling of energy, is where I find my level ground. It's where I feel most sane and put together. It's where I aim to be forevermore.

The moment I stepped onto the university campus two years ago I knew I had chosen the right path for me. It has never felt wrong or unmanageable and I know it is leaving me with options of where I will find joy. It isn't the path for everyone, I get that. I am excited for the future, and what even appears to be the near future, even though it means this time at home with my children might be coming to an end. There are many moments when that is hard to reconcile in my soul but then I remind myself that nothing is set in stone, my options are wide open, I am not trapped in a life that has the tendency to make me unhappy, and my children are still here with me, for the time being.

It's been a good life. And I am determined to make sure it stays that way. For them. And for me.

the job hunt

2014-08-07T16:39:00.000-07:00

I really just want to sit and read this book I delved into last night and can't put down. It is hilariously wicked and the sarcasm in it is to die for. If it is possible to die for such a thing.

Where'd You Go, Bernadette. I hate it when the library covers up the title with their stupid stickers.

Sarcasm. I need sarcasm in my life. In fact, I would die without it. It's part of who I am. My genetic makeup, so to speak. I feed off it. This book is... is...just so....weird. I love it. Having said that, I am only half way through, maybe it'll fall apart and turn into the garbage I expected it to be. But as of now? Nope, not garbage. Great. Laugh out loud funny.

Anyway, I want to be sitting and reading this book but I feel an overwhelming urge to share with you the experience I am having with my oldest child. She's a peach. A real joy these days.

Was that sarcasm?

In truth, she is a really great kid. She's lovely and kind, sweet and polite, smart and beautiful and all good things. But mostly when I interact with her she is not always the sunshine and rainbows she appears to be.

She's looking for a job. And has been for quite sometime. She's a tad picky and maybe a little snobby, if I may be so bold, about where she wants to work. I believe all good people are allowed that sense of entitlement in their lives on occasion.

Bad people too. Not that I believe in bad people.

Yes I do.

I have seen, over the last six weeks, her open her eyes to a degree about how picky she's allowed to be in finding a job. She's tried all her dream jobs. No bites. So now she is extending out to her less than ideal job locations. She even applied at EggsOasis, for crying out loud.

Stupidest name for a restaurant on the planet. I mean, I love eggs, but c'mon.

I am prodding her gently to try places she wouldn't normally try; however, she is about a 1 on the patience scale with me.

1 being the least amount of patience one person can have for another human being. Like so impatient that if she had a gun and two bullets she'd shoot me twice. And then she'd go to jail for murder but it wouldn't matter because she doesn't have a job.

Today I offered to drive her around, again, to hand out resumes. I would drive to a place and say, "What about here?" To which she'd respond with something as helpful as, "I'll try them later."

Ahhhhhh, now I see where the problem in finding a job lies. She suffers from later syndrome. I'll do it later. I'll check online later. I'LL ATTEMPT TO FIND A JOB LATER!

I see how this works. And I also see how it doesn't work.

So, we're at the mall. We are walking around. She has a folder full of resumes. I say things like, "Have you applied here?"

"No." That's all I get. A no. Just no.

"Why not?" I ask as sweetly as is physically possible.

Huff, grunt, eye roll. "Mooooomm. Geeeeeez."

After a half dozen of these responses I pull off my nice girl pants and put on my naggy mom hat. So now I am standing pantless, in the mall, wearing a stupid hat on my head. A look I don't care for, you should know, even if it is metaphorical. "Look kid, do you want a job or not? We are standing here right outside this store in the same mall you have come to 5 times looking for a job and you are telling me you haven't applied here yet? I am asking why. Eye rolling is not an appropriate response to this question."

"FINE!" And off she goes into the store. And the eye rolling becomes all mine.

Here's another fun conversation we had today:

Me, after she returns to the truck from going into a restaurant, "Well? Are they hiring?" A simple and appropriate question, in my opinion.

Her: "I don't know."

Me: "What do you mean, you don't know? Is it open?"

Her: "Yes"

Me: "Did you talk to someone."

Her: Yes"

Oh my gosh, kid! Throw me a bone!! You're killing me.

Me: "What did they say?"

Her: "The manager wasn't there."

Me, exasperated: "You know Cicely, you should still leave a resume when that happens."

Her, also exasperated. Unjustly so, I might add: "I DID MOOOOMMM!!! GEEEEEEEEZZZZZZ. I KNOW WHAT I AM DOING. I HAVE BEEN DOING THIS A LONG TIME. OH MY GOSSHH!"

Me: "Well, c'mon Cicely. Tell me these things so I don't think you're walking away without even trying."

Which isn't what I wanted to say at all. What I really wanted to say was: you know what you're doing, oh wise one? Really?? Because.....oh never mind, the rest is just mean and she's probably going to read this and then never speak to me again. Ohhhh, how I will miss the snarky one word answers. Eye rolling is non-verbal though so I am sure I'll still get plenty of those and her sweet, unabrasive nature won't be lost unto me forever.

So, now we are home, jobless, hot and spent. Taking our distance from one another in an attempt to recover from this torturous, yet ongoing event we lovingly refer to as the job hunt.

the family reunion

2014-07-30T18:53:00.000-07:00

This month we had our very first family reunion, on my side. My mummy wanted it real bad-like so someone made it happen.

Not sure who it was, maybe my sister?

Anyway, four nights in a lodge in Waterton with 31 people. At first I was like, "Yippee!!!!! A family reunion!!!!!!" And then as time went on I found that exclamation marks were falling by the wayside and eventually it got to the point where I was like "A family reunion????? Whose idea was that????"

Mmmmm, skunk spray jelly beans.

And then I got there. And saw all my people in the same place. And I was all "Only four nights with all my people??" It just wasn't enough. The cuteness from the little ones was too much. We played and ate (oh mercy did we eat) and swam and walked and ate ice cream and played funny games that involved jelly beans that tasted like boogers and skunk spray and barf and an assortment of ill-tasting things. The kids had an amazing time together and all the grown ups got along. Not that the grown ups in my family don't get along but four nights in a lodge? C'mon, that's a recipe for disaster.

AmIright?

The man and I even sneaked away for a romantic dinner in Montana that may have included a steak the size of my head.

The time flew by. I loved it. It was a really great and wonderful and lovely experience. Except, my iPhone does not take great pictures at said lodge.

And then this happened...

i may be marathoning the mindy project as we speak

2014-07-28T19:30:00.000-07:00

Forgive me blog, for I have sinned. It has been two months (exactly) since my lost blog post.

Was that sacrilegious? Unoriginal? I do apologize.

Honestly, though. Where does the time go? I don't even know where to start....

Since January school really has sucked the life out of me. And I have another noholdsbarred year left to go. Ugh...sigh...whyisitsohard? I am all tired and worn out and completely dazed. Like a shell of a human being.

That may have been a tad over dramatic.

I feel old. I might be old. I might be too old. Justkeepswimming. Over and over and over again.

So, I have been to my mummy's house, in the Okanagan, or the lake as I like to call it, twice this month already. That was a lot of commas, what am I learning at the Uni, heaven have mercy! The first time was gloriously relaxing. I took Amelia and her little friend Emily. I took Emily to keep Amelia out of my hair. I mean, I took Emily because...who am I kidding...I took her to keep Amelia occupied so as to not interfere with my entirely selfish beach novel reading. I am at eight novels finished since July 1st.

That's awesome, right?

Goof balls

So the second time I went I had planned only to take Holden and Amelia because their little cousins were going to be there to occupy them so as to not interfere with my beach novel reading. But then the teenagers decided they wanted to come, and not work as was originally planned, and I couldn't talk the man into ditching work and coming too, and so therefore I had the teenagers all to myself and there is just something about that that lacks in, hmmmm, what do you call it.....fun?

Just kidding, they're fun. #whatever.

Why are there so many commas in this post? I do not know.

So now I am home for the rest of the summer because football season starts on Monday and boyohboy do I love football season. Plus, also, I am doing a block week course first week in September (block week is when you do an entire semester in 5 days so really it'll be a pieceofcakeIamsure) and I already have homework for that so besides all the non-beach novel reading I plan on doing I also have a text book to read for a 5-day marathon course.

My life is so fun, I know.

Also, I have decided that I am on the hunt for the scariest book ever. And in this hunt I have discovered that I totally dig the King. Stephen King that is. He's loads of fun to read. I even had my first Stephen King induced nightmare last night. It was actually more like a Paranormal Activity dream where I was possessed by a demon and being dragged out of my bed and stuff and it was super scary but I have to admit, I kinda liked it.

I may be....unwell...in some respect or another. The 21 episodes of The Mindy Project I have watched in the last 24 hours may be proof of that. Or maybe a result of it? I don't really know at this point.

So...there you have it. Happy Monday and remember to read read read because it is amazing amazing amazing.

bait and switch

2014-05-28T18:48:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time he brought roses every week, he wrote love letters, only used his best manners and never ever farted.

So I married him.

And then the flowers stopped and the bodily gases started and it came to my attention that boys are very very gross.

We call that the bait and switch. Well played, sir. Well played.

So the other night I climbed into bed after a long day. The man was already there, all cozy-like under his weighted blanket, Iggy. We settled in for an episode of Veronica Mars on the Flix when, all of a sudden, this conversation ensued.

"The cat puked on my blanket," he says.

"Oh..." I said, my eyes naturally scanning the blanket. The puke was still there. Still. Weird, I thought. Why is it still there?

"Are you going to clean it up?" I ask.

"Eventually," he says.

Sooo....I got out of bed and cleaned it up.

Will the romance ever die? Gosh, I sure hope not.

in the news...

2014-05-23T10:09:00.002-07:00

As I sit here at my desk pondering the many ways I can potentially procrastinate on what I am supposed to be doing, which is homework, I start scrolling through the CNN news. Because, although that is part of my homework, it is also extraordinarly interesting. Babies are falling from the sky and coups are being had. It is all very fascinating and anxiety inducing. I am also listening to music, but I shouldn't be because it makes me all ADD-like and jittery and then I dance and stuff and nothing gets done.

Nothing is getting done here people. Nothing, I say.

I have two spring classes and I have never taken two spring classes before therefore I have no idea what taking two spring classes is like. Is it too much? Is it enough? I am overwhelmed? Am I completely ahead of the game? I have no idea what I am. I do homework all the time and yet I have no idea if I am ahead or behind. And, before I even know it it will all be over!

Poof.

I love spring.

One of my classes is about Propaganda and Persuasion and I find it most exhilarating. The prof is this kooky fella who looks just like one of my older brothers. It's disconcerting. He used the word kerflaffle the other day. Which isn't even a word, and we all know it. But I have nothing but the utmost respect for a university educated human being who has the cojones to not only make up words but then use them in a lecture.

He gave us this overwhelming assignment and I am….overwhelmed by it. Or I was until I sat down to figure it out and got it done. Just like that.

We have to watch the news. Watch the news!! I don't watch the news. I don't read the news. I don't even know what news is.

I ran out of Diet Pepsi. Now that is news. Or is it?

See, I have no idea. Anyway, we have to pick four news outlets and compare how they present the same story. One has to be the BBC, one has to be strictly Canadian, one has be American and one has to be non North American. We have to watch the news, we can't just read the website, and then put together a presentation for the class describing the differences/similarities etc….

Now if you're a news watcher this is probably nothing, but for someone like me I was all "What? the What??? WHAAAAAA?!?!"

I didn't know what to do.

But I pulled myself together, and got all serious-like and brave about life and it's international news happenings. It's all good. It was actually really easy. And thank-you Thailand, your recent coup really helped a sister out.

And now, I am an expert news watcher. And I should mention this assignment isn't due until June 2 at the very earliest. So we'll go with "ahead of the game" on this one.

Also, I need this. How bad I need this might be news worthy. I swear it is. Call the press.

Happy Friday!

thoughts on a may long

2014-05-20T07:51:00.003-07:00

Confession time. I am not a lover of the May long weekend and I haven't been for many many a year. Maybe even a decade. Or more. Yes, definitely more than a decade. I go to bed every Victoria day evening feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt that I haven't worked hard enough to provide for my children a fancy trailer that I can spend a day getting ready, so we can pull it to some campground and freeze our butts off for three nights just to come home and get the trailer unready.

Don't get me wrong, I love camping. But warm camping. You know, the fun kind of camping.

If I could actually afford a trailer I'm not entirely sure I would have one. They seem great, I won't lie, but the upkeep? And the storing? And the setting up? I am way too lazy for that.

It has been determined, by me, after some serious observation over the last three weeks, that I am most certainly the laziest person I know. On the planet.

The laziest person on the planet. That title belongs to me and I am not so proud.

It's time for some changes in that department before I stop fitting places. Because I am noticing that I don't fit everywhere so well anymore.

I digress.

May long. The man works every May long. In 19 years I do believe he has worked every single one of them. What if he didn't work? What would change?

BBQ's would be had. An outing of some sort? Perhaps. But maybe an inside outing because, like I said, it's cold out.

Okay, it was actually nice out this weekend. Not camping nice but walkabout nice. And because it was nice out my guilt at writing a paper and allowing iPads and video games indefinitely went from a 6 to an 8.4. Yesterday, to stave the guilt, I took the two littles for lunch and to see Godzilla. Not an outside activity but an activity nonetheless. It knocked my guilt down to a 7.8.

I hate guilt. But it is something I am very good at. An accomplishment, of sorts.

Here's to hoping next May long has bad weather to justify all the in-sided-ness or no homework and a husband who isn't working.

A girl can dream.

oh, the insanity

2014-05-18T19:18:00.000-07:00

So my kid thinks she's leaving me after high school. She thinks she's going to graduate and then move away to get a university education she says you can only get at one university, in one faraway city.

And it isn't this one.

Who is this kid? This kid with the ability to dream and make plans that actually make sense, as much as I don't want them to. I really don't know where she gets this from, all this bravery. I mean, it wasn't until the very last minute of grade 12 that it was brought to my attention that I needed to not only decide what I wanted to do after high school but I needed to do something about it. Like apply to university, or something. But this kid of mine?? She's only in grade 11 and she's got it all planned out, like some freaky planning maniac. She spends hours plotting and planning and making it work in her head and on paper.

What is this messed up plan? Well, I do declare, she wants to go to Ryerson University in Toronto and get a degree in something I've never heard of before. She says it's the only university in the world that has this degree and that she has to have this degree like you need to have air. I need to have carbonation.

That is some serious need, I tell you. And she needs it that bad. Like THAT bad.

And here I sit thinking that really she just wants to get the heck out of dodge and finding this random, unheard of degree on the other side of the country is her only way to do it. And then I think why, oh why does my darling daughter want to run away from home? Why does she want to leave her mama?

Ouch, my heart.

She's making me feel old.

I ask her on occasion how she plans on making this work. How will she just up and move to Toronto? How will she afford it? How will she eat and go to school and make money and not die from missing-her-mother? Again, I ask, who is this kid?

I can remember after three years of post secondary education, while living at home, I contemplated moving away to finish a degree in Criminology at one of a very few universities that offered it. I remember thinking about how exciting it would be to have roommates and a job and debt. Lots and lots of debt. And then I thought, "No thank you. I will not leave my mummy for further education."

She is only 16 and is planning her grand escape and I won't deny it sounds exciting and romantic and brave. But I won't lie, I think she is on crack (metaphorically, of course) in thinking this is doable. She's crazy.

She's crazy, right?

Or maybe she's not. Maybe she's living the dream. Maybe she will do it, because lots of kids do. Or maybe she will decide that leaving her mama is not cool.

Not cool at all.

And then she will stay here and go to school close to home where she gets to live at home for free and eat all her papa's food and not have to worry about all those things that are keeping me up at night worrying about on her behalf.

I mean, she is young. Maybe all this mature, planning for the future garbage is really just a cover up for being out of one's mind.

Could she be serious about this? Or is this plan just all kinds of crazy?

Only time will tell....

belated mother's day miracle

2014-05-16T14:49:00.002-07:00

Well, Mother's Day has come and gone and that is fine by me because I did not care much for it this year. My gift left me wanting.

I mean, my real gift was great because of course I went to the mall and picked it out myself. I kept telling the kids they bought me a wonderful Mother's Day gift and when they asked if they could see it I told them they had to wait, for it must be a surprise to SOMEONE.

AmIright?

It was the surprise, post-dinner gift I didn't like so much but I shan't complain for the man hated it more than I did. But I declare, I believe he asked for it when he tried to garburate many and much potato and turnip peels.

He made a lovely dinner of BBQ steak, roast potatoes, garlic mushrooms and turnip (which I love so don't ewwww me) and then began his Mother's Day cleanup. He's good at Mother's Day, I will give him that. But...he is insistent the garbuator work to a standard most garburators refuse to work at.

I try to ease the garburator in when I'm dealing with it. I go slow, little bits here and little bits there. I talk real sweetly to it. I don't want any garburator rebellion whilst cleaning up. The man, on the other hand, thinks a certain way and it's his way or the highway. The man is passively stubborn. But don't tell him I said that or he may not so passively rebel against me.

Anywho, I am positive I am not spelling garburator right.

So although Mother's Day dinner was a delight, the kitchen at the end of the day was not. It was a hideous mess because as hard as he tried he could not unplug the blasted demon before we were forced to turn in.

Have mercy...

Don't even mention the oven drawer. The thing is a disaster!

Did I mention we had started a load in the dishwasher and were forced to stop it because the sink guts were all taken apart? No? Well I'm telling you know. The sink guts were everywhere and dishwasher was now sitting idle, mid-load. Gross.

Day 2. The man comes home from work with vats of drano and goes to work. Pouring drano in, waiting, snaking, blowing air, garburating, attaching sink guts, removing them, pouring drano, waiting and so on and so forth in that fashion until once again it was time to retire into bed for the night.

Have more mercy......

Day 3. By this time I am anxious about the mess in the kitchen. I am feeling a panic attack coming on and so off I head to hot yoga because if you can't come to terms with life's tragedies while sweating your brains out then you are not qualified to have life tragedies. It came to me whilst lying in a pool of my own sweat that I was going to have to do something about the kitchen.

I started contemplating various caveman techniques. I decided to go home and wash the dishes by hand.

In the bathtub.

And so I did.

Oh, the drama.

But wait. There's more. I accidentally closed the dishwasher door and it started up again unbeknownst to me. I left the kitchen and returned a few minutes later to see water pouring out from under the cupboard doors. It was pouring all over the sink guts that were lying on the kitchen floor. The same sink guts that, used correctly, keep the water contained under the sink. Now, they are nothing more than floor decor.

So I cleaned up that mess. And I was still sweating from all the yoga-ing I had done earlier. And the leaning over the tub for an hour. I was a sweaty annoyed lady. Have you seen those? They aren't pretty.

Then the man came home, with more drano, and a determination that spoke volumes to me in a silent way. It said something like, "I will conquer this plug and don't even mention a plumber to me because I am the victor in this story, not some stinkin' plumber."

We admire the man and his ambition.

I grinned, tucked my aggravation away, and watched him poor more drano down the pipe. And wait. And fiddle and fuss all about the sink. We stood staring at two sinks full of water wondering when this plague would lift.

By golly, oh plague of broken sinks and stinky dishes, be gone from this home.

He plugged up one side and ordered me to hit the garburator switch. Which I did because I am nothing if not a team player.

The sinks drain. It is a belated Mother's Day miracle.We stood in awe and amazement. And then we high fived because again, team players.

I have since cleaned up the kitchen, done multiple loads in the dishwasher and pretty much gone on my merry way.

And that, my friends, is how the Dabels do Mother's Day.