tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-152677472024-03-08T19:11:47.597-05:00Franny's FablesThere is much work to be done before we can consider this a total waste of time...Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.comBlogger150125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-52132156511833884112008-04-18T11:21:00.005-04:002008-04-18T11:55:17.726-04:00Ballad of the Trout<a href="http://www.snowyinn.com/LakeTrout.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.snowyinn.com/LakeTrout.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Lake trout for sale, frozen hard as a club<br />$5.50 a fish, just buy it, you'll love!<br />So the shopper she looked at that fish with a head<br />And a tail and a fin and some scales and real dead<br /><br />And she said "I can do this, I'll clean the whole fish!<br />I'll bake it for supper! We'll try this new dish!<br />My husband will praise all my kitchenly skills<br />And I will have conquered the beast with the gills!"<br /><br />So home came the fish, as long as her arm,<br />She defrosted it, laid it out, kept it from harm<br />She sawed off the head, (with a groan of disgust)<br />And snipped off the tail and the fins as one must.<br /><br />She scaled that damn fish, right over the sink<br />But our hero, she wasn't prepared for the <em>stink</em>!<br />The house, the utensils, her hands smelled like trout<br />And trout is a smell that is hard to get out!<br /><br />But battling on, she seasoned unhalted<br />Crushed lemon, tomatoes, black pepper and salted<br />She put it to bake, while the kids gave her hell<br />Saying "Mommy, please help us escape from that smell!"<br /><br />And when it was done, it didn't look bad<br />Hubby ate it, and liked it, and then more he had<br />But when the chef sat down to sample her dish<br />She declared; "Ew! It tastes too much like fish."<br /><br />So, now the house stinks, trout wafts in the air<br />The fish is long gone, but the smell is still there<br />$5.50 a fish, it seems such a waste<br />To slave for the trout and then not like the taste.<br /><br />(Or the smell! *plugs nose*)Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-88261722658472427012008-04-16T18:28:00.005-04:002008-04-16T19:17:41.693-04:00SwearasaurusI need to watch my language. As much as I try to be a nurturing mom, a stimulating mom, an everything-for-the-children mom, (aka: a "Good Mom"), my unadultered use of impolite expletives are rubbing off on the children, and making it all for naught. For example:<br /><br /><strong>Good Mom:</strong> Look honey! It's a note from our friend Piglet, and he needs our help to find him! He's lost in the park and it's his naptime!<br /><br /><strong>Daughter, age 4:</strong> HOLY SHIT!<br /><br />**<br /><br /><strong>Good Mom:</strong> We can't use your blanket tonight sweetheart, because you puked on it and mommy's washing it. But you can use mommy's blanket instead!<br /><br /><strong>Son, age 4:</strong> Aw mommy, you're the effing best. *hugs*<br /><br />**<br /><br />Good Mom: And God bless grandma, and grandpa, and our teachers and- is there anyone else we'd like to bless?<br /><br />Son, age 6: What about the asshole who cut us off at the light?<br /><br />**<br /><br />To keep my kids from being sent to the principal's office, I've decided to curse at my enemies and frustrating situations in a <em>different</em> language! For example, the next time I am cut off at the light, I can scream:<br /><strong>Da bi ti vse krave crknile!</strong> (Which is Slovenian for "I wish your cows will drop dead!")<br /><br />Or, if I'm double-charged on my credit card statement:<br /><strong>Äitisi nai poroja!</strong> (Finnish, for "your mother copulates with reindeer")<br /><br />And on those days that you need something EXTRA special:<br /><strong>Ssi v kompot, tam povor nogi moet! </strong>(Russian for "go urinate in the punchbowl while the cook is washing his legs in it"!)<br /><br />Yes, I may be a vamadoola*, baa**, or a linguistic kaynay***, but at least I am not, nor ever will be, a complete kokëderr****.<br /><br /><br />*"wierdo" in Punjabi<br />**"crazy" in Thai<br />***"fool" in Tamil<br />**** ha ha, you'll never know!Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-8309732839812111542007-05-03T22:54:00.000-04:002007-05-03T23:19:19.117-04:00Loves Me Like a RockShe has a dozen My Little Ponies, a hundred dolls to choose from and close to $100,000 worth of miscellaneous books and games and dress-up clothes. She has a playset in the yard, a trike, a wagon, two brothers to entertain her and a daddy who will get on all fours and pretend to be a dog all afternoon just to make her laugh.<br /><br />And she plays with rocks.<br /><br />My daughter comes home from school with pockets FULL of rocks. We went for a nature hike, and she collected nothing but rocks. Same thing at the garden centre, except we had to put THOSE rocks back because, "<em>no no honey, you have to PAY for garden centre rocks"</em> (they call it pea gravel, but its still 'rocks' to me.) She cried when her brother touched her "special" rock that, frankly, looked like every other one of her 34 identical grey rocks. She gives me handfuls of rocks as gifts, and leaves rocks all over the house. My washing maching and dryer are currently full of, you guessed it, rocks. <br /><br />I asked her today what it was with her and rocks, and she said "I just yike them."<br /><br />I asked her if maybe she thought they were pretty, and she laughed at me and said "Nooo" like I was a little slow.<br /><br />So I said that maybe they looked a lot like jewels, and she said "Nooo" like I was abundantly stupid.<br /><br />"So, you just yike them because you yike them?" I asked.<br /><br />"Yup." She grinned, and then she left a handful of rocks on my bed and ran away. <br /><br />So I am still puzzled, but as far as preschool obsessions go, rocks are kinda sweet and it's cheap to maintain and at least she's not eating them. By the way, I just looked up what a geologist makes: $70,000 to $109,000 per year. Hmm, Nattie, you keep yiking those rocks honey!Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-68326715345119415372007-04-26T09:27:00.000-04:002007-04-26T10:02:38.379-04:00The THWACK Heard Round the World<img src="http://www.chocolate.ca/assets/images/bars/Mini%20Eggs%2039g.jpg" height="100" width="175"><br /><br /><strong>The Devil:</strong> So, Franny, you are here to atone for what you did on the evening of April 23rd, 2007. Do you have anything to say for yourself.<br /><br /><strong>Me:</strong> The devil made me do it.<br /><br /><strong>The Devil:</strong> Heh, heh, heh, yeah, I DID make you do it actually, and I'm pretty proud of myself. But your MOTHER Franny? Surely you feel some remorse?<br /><br /><strong>Me: </strong>Of COURSE I do! But in my defence, she WAS telling my children that I was a BAD MOTHER for not letting them have sticky sweets before bed, and who would have thought my aim was THAT good, really?<br /><br /><strong>The Devil: </strong>True... *raises eyebrows* That WAS an excellent shot, Franny.<br /><br /><strong>Franny:</strong> *flutters eyelashes, flattered* Aw, thanks! I have great aim, you should SEE me play Whack-A-Mole and I used to ALWAYS win at Duck Hunt on Nintendo! I mean... er... I AM SO ASHAMED OF MYSELF! *hand to forehead, laments* What kind of daughter throws a Cadbury Mini-Egg at her mom from across the room and actually hits her in the centre of the forehead with it?<br /><br /><strong>The Devil:</strong> I liked the sound when it cracked open on her head - THWACK! The look on her face was priceless, and to do it in front of your father and your kids as well? You've got some nerve girl! <br /><br /><strong>Franny:</strong> *muttering* Well, they DO make good projectiles... AND I had a handful of them but I only threw ONE... surely that counts for something?<br /><br /><strong>The Devil: </strong>Sorry honey, nice try but what's done is done. So, before I write this one down in the book for, ahem, <em>later</em>, *rubs hands enthusiastically* I just NEED to know. What on earth were you thinking Franny?<br /><br /><strong>Franny:</strong> Honestly?<br /><br /><strong>The Devil:</strong> Sure. Be honest. I won't tell a soul.<br /><br /><strong>Franny:</strong> Okay. I was thinking...<em>Bet I can SO thwack her RIGHT in the middle of the head with this... </em>*Franny walks away whistling*<br /><br /><strong>The Devil: </strong>*to self* I should consider taking on a partner...Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-13891687545341651272007-04-22T02:50:00.000-04:002007-04-22T03:30:09.524-04:00Room of DoomI will try very hard not to overuse the CAPSLOCK key during this post. *<em>Franny glares at keyboard, knows it's IMPOLITE to CAPLOCKS SHOUT throughout an ENTIRE BLOG POST</em>* <br /><br />HEY, STOP THAT! ... I mean... Hey, stop that! *<em>keep that left-hand pinky raised while you type, Franny</em>* Okay, now where was I?<br /><br />I left my mom here to sit the kids while I scurried out to buy myself an outfit for a big, upcoming family "do". I did not bring the cellphone with me. (Cue 'dum-dum-DUM' organ music) Well my 3-yr old son locked himself in the bathroom, and for over an hour my mom tried to get him to unlock the door, until finally the &$#$#& knob broke off. (THIS IS THE SAME DOOR MY HUSBAND 'FIXED' WHEN I GOT STUCK IN THERE LAST YEAR WHEN THE KNOB CAME OFF.) *<em>pst, Franny, easy on the capslock, baby</em>* My mother then proceeds to dig up every single tool in my entire house and dismantle the OTHER doors looking for spare parts that she could use to rescue Nicky. I understand the poor boy was fairly even-tempered throughout this ordeal, very politely asking panicking grandma "Can I come out now?" every couple of minutes.<br /><br />Meanwhile, at the mall, Franny's Spidey-sense was tingling. She needed to go home. Oh and the mall was closing too.<br /><br />When I got here and rescued the situation, my mother was about to call the fire department. It took us a couple of days to put all the knob hardware back on all of the doors, but god bless her, that woman TRIED. (BTW, I told Nicky to push the button UP. And he did. The door opened. "Unlock the door" is too abstract for him.)<br /><br />~*~<br /><br />Flash forward to tonight. Bathing the twins, STUPID DUMBASS ME (*<em>ahem, capslock</em>*) decides to scurry to the kitchen and grab an empty garbage bag with which to empty the overflowing, non-floral scented bathroom trash. WHAT WAS I THINKING TRYING TO MULTITASK ANYWAYS!? (*<em>angry mom, step AWAY from the capslock...</em>*) In the ten steps to the kitchen, Nicky managed to turn the shower on, full blast with frigid water. There were screeches, and a mad dash to escape the tub, during which my daughter slips and smashes her face on something. <br /><br />I return to the bathroom to see the floor soaking wet, kids shivering, Nicky looking like he ate a canary and MY DAUGHTER'S NOSE BLEEDING ALL OVER THE PLACE! WHAT THE HELL!? I STEPPED OUT FOR NOT EVEN SEVEN SECONDS!? I HAVE A SMALL HOUSE, ITS NOT LIKE THE KITCHEN IS IN A DIFFERENT FRIGGING WING OF THE MANOR! AND IF ANYONE TELLS ME THAT I SHOULD NOT LEAVE SMALL CHILDREN UNATTENDED IN THE BATH, I SWEAR I WILL E-X-P-L-O-D-E BECAUSE I KNOW THIS ALREADY BUT THAT TRASH SMELLED LIKE FERMENTED DIAPERS AND FOR PETE'S SAKE, NOBODY DROWNS ON MY WATCH BUT WHY MUST THERE BE BLOOD AND/OR SCREAMING AND/OR CHAOS WHEN I AM OCCUPIED ELSEWHERE!? AM I THE GLUE THAT HOLDS THE UNIVERSE TOGETHER? <br /><br />Oh my goodness. <br /><br /><em>I AM the glue that holds the universe together</em>.<br /><br />I have such a headache. *<em>Franny clutches head, peels capslock key off of keyboard and pours herself a beer</em>*Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-3477511883550920012007-04-15T15:37:00.000-04:002007-04-15T16:15:12.070-04:00Digital Foot, Cyber MouthI am always saying the wrong thing. You know those people who "overshare"? Yep, that's me. The woman at work who starts an email talking about her ideas for an upcoming project and then ends the email in tears over the budgie that broke its neck when she was a kid? Mm-hmm. Me. The 'would she shut UP already?' lady.<br /><br />It's a problem I've had since I discovered my voice, which luckily for my grade school teachers, was not until high school. I used to be a shy, frightened of my own shadow, wallflower book-addict who listened to her parents italian folk music and kept a low profile. Then one day, in grade nine, they smacked me into a sexy little kilt, put on the C & C Music Factory, shipped me off to a new school and I was the SHIZZLE! You shoulda seen me. I was so frigging full of myself it's amazing I could walk to my classes without needing to be carried upon a litter. And I was smart too, averaging in the high-90s. <br /><br />Where was I going with this?<br /><br />Right. Big mouth. Honesty is not always the best policy Franny! But then again... honesty has its value.<br /><br />I recently made the aquaintance of a young person online, aged 11, who writes as do I. I have given her feedback on her stories on the open forums, etc. Well, she asked me for some extra help with grammar/style because she likes my stuff, and I gave her my email address, asking her to get her parents permission before she contacted me and to CC her parents on our emails. <br /><br />When she did not, I sent her a little reminder, saying that I apologize for being overprotective, but I was a mom and I'd want to know who my kid was emailing online, and that it would be a good idea to CC her mom & dad so that they know someone is reading/editing their daughter's creative writing (which has the <em>potential</em> to be sensitive in its own right), so that they can decide if it's okay or not. <br /><br />To which I got a snarky little reply: <br /><br /><strong>I am ELEVEN YEARS OLD. I think I am old enough to decide who I can email!!</strong><br /><br />As you can imagine, I was most charmed. Not only does this girl not tell her parents what she's up to online, but I could be a 55-yr-old male pervert for pete's sake! I tried to be cool, I honestly did. I tried to be hip with the young people, to be a role model and a mentor, but at some point you just want to send an email that says, in big bold red letters:<br /><br /><strong>RESPECT YOUR ELDERS BITCH! </strong><br /><br />(No, I didn't actually say that.) But I seriously want to, because this is the type of attitude that makes kids targets. Am I just insane here? Should an 11-yr-old girl be emailing a stranger online without her parents knowing about it? And should she be giving lip to someone who is trying to help her (with her writing and with her safety) over the internet?<br /><br />So, before I open my cyber mouth and insert my digital foot, what's the right thing to say now?Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-64785910377037447952007-03-26T19:54:00.000-04:002007-03-26T20:24:27.005-04:00Enemy MineI have seen the face of evil. It haunts my dreams, keeps me up at night, throws wrenches into my carefully laid plans and drags me into pits of broken dreams and teary despair. Everytime I try to get out, it pulls me back in, and the enemy is so smooth, so subtle and ever-changing that I cannot possibly defeat it. <br /><br />My He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has a name. It is... ... ...<br /><br /><strong>"The Guys At Work"</strong><br /><br /><em>*Franny shudders, looks over shoulder*</em><br /><br />Whenever I have a dream, "the guys at work" try to take it away. "The guys at work" are very slowly and deliberately dismantling my carefully constructed life. For example:<br /><br />**<br /><strong>Me:</strong> Honey, would you call the electrician to upgrade the box?<br /><strong>Hubby:</strong> No need darling! <b>The guys at work </b>said I could do it myself for half the cost!<br /><strong>Me:</strong> *facepalm*<br /><br />**<br /><strong>Me:</strong> I really think we should just buy a new car.<br /><strong>Hubby:</strong> Oh you know what <b>the guys at work</b> said? All I need is some duct tape and throat lozenges and the car will run just fine!<br /><strong>Me:</strong> *facepalm*<br /><br />**<br /><strong>Me:</strong> How was your day?<br /><strong>Hubby:</strong> <b>The guys at work</b> say the mole on my arm is suspicious, that I don't drink enough beer and that a woman should be barefoot and obedient. Oh, and that real men don't change diapers or do laundry.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> Are <b>the guys at work </b>married?<br /><strong>Hubby:</strong> No. Divorced and playing video games and living with their mothers.<br /><strong>Me: </strong>*smile*<br /><br />**<br />Okay <em>guys at work</em>. I'm on to you. I know you are trying to destroy my life, my marriage and my happiness. You are trying to convert my husband into being as miserable as the rest of you. You are filling his little head with visions of biopsies and do-it-yourselfing and chauvanistic ideals. But I have something over you. <br /><br />I sleep with the guy. And no matter how much you "care" about my hubby, and give him "helpful" advice and "support" him, you can't give him the good stuff. So I win. <br /><br />Repair your mom's electrical, you bastards.Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-8914169201595158462007-02-28T21:48:00.000-05:002007-02-28T22:29:27.944-05:00Admit OneI took the kids to the doctor yesterday. She is an AWESOME doctor, and I love her to pieces. But let's do some quick math, shall we?<br /><br />3 kids + 6 booster shots + 1 mom = (insert swear word here)<br /><br />Yeah. I'm sure you understand. But that's not the worst part. Aside from the fact that my little darlins were stuck with metal rods in the thigh while I held them down, there's also the fact that I left the doctor's office with the wrong kids. <br /><br />Yup. I'm sure of it.<br /><br />See, I went in there with 3 healthy, perfect kids, (a credit to their mother's excellent parenting skills). I left there with one kid with a lazy eye, one kid overweight and one with flat feet. <br /><br />We're practically a circus-freakshow now. I should charge admission for people to come see my gimped-up, horribly neglected, badly parented kids. (Am I taking this personally? NO!!! *jumps off cliff*) <br /><br />I guess I feel a little stupid for not noticing these things and having the doctor (very gently) point them out to me. I always figured if they're not running a fever/throwing up/bleeding, BONUS! To me, the chunkiness was really "cute baby fat", and the flat feet were really "chubby baby feet" and the lazy eye was...well, honestly...I didn't see it until the doctor pointed it out. She said it was very mild, but STILL, you'd think I'd have noticed, right?<br /><br />There's nothing like a nice cuppa guilt, early in the morning!Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-86343492079780776952007-02-27T13:04:00.000-05:002007-02-27T13:41:38.387-05:00Where The Hell Have I Been?Dear blog buddies,<br /><br />I have been kidnapped. <br /><br />Do not tell anyone. <br /><br />Do not call the police or the Mounties.* <br /><br />Several weeks ago I was accosted by a slim, white, 30MB male who threw me in his harddrive and drove me to the iTunes store. We ate cake there. I am still there and I cannot leave. It is very good cake. <br /><br />Also, I have been chained to the laptop by three different alter-egos. They are insatiable. They torture me with plot-bunnies and make me write stories. They are addicted to the Thesaurus. I fear for my life: if I don't find the right synonym, I know I will die. <br /><br />Please do not send ransom money. They will only buy cake and more thesauruses with it.<br /><br />Once I find a way to overpower these terrible felons, I will escape/flee/run away/break out. <br /><br />I love you all.<br /><br />*Franny<br /><br />------------------------------<br />*Okay, call them. I tip well ;)Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-69743151543612659282007-02-07T11:26:00.000-05:002007-02-07T21:13:17.111-05:00Honor Among Thieves<span style="font-size:98%;">I’ve never robbed a bank, cheated on taxes or even taken a pen that wasn’t mine. I’m of a conscience so strict that if I try a lipstick tester on my hand in the store, I glance about to make sure the clerk isn’t glaring at me in disapproval. But I’ve since discovered the dark side of my moon, and man, am I having a good time.<br /><br />As with all stories about a hero’s downwards spiral into villainy, we must first start at the beginning: I just completed my Webmaster Certification, with Honors (92% average) and I received BOTH specialist designations: Web Graphics and Web Scripting. It’s like saying I can pat my head and rub my tummy while saving the universe from defective code with my eyes closed. I welcome your applause, because this was not easy for me – I had to twist my feeble little brain into new and unusual shapes every step of the way. I am already in a very digitally intense job, run a digitally-based business, and for Christmas I got my first 80 gig video iPod. I think you can see where this is going.<br /><br />Franny has become a hacker.<br /><br />Wait! Don’t call the Mounties! I didn’t start that virus or post your skanky homevideos to CNN.com! But I can wield open source code like a sword! I fear no password, firewall or feeble (mwa ha ha) encryption! I can lift video from YouTube and convert it for my iPod! And the best part is, I’ll show anyone how to do it! But you must first prove yourself pure of heart, and respect the following:</span><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:98%;">Principles of the Hacker Ethic*:</strong><br /><strong> @ Access to computers—and anything which might teach you something about the way the world works—should be unlimited and total. <br />@ All information should be free. <br />@ Mistrust authority—promote decentralization<em> (I like this. So rebellious!)</em><br />@ Hackers should be judged by their skills to find information and to better mankind, not bogus criteria such as profit-generation, virus production or intimidation factor.</strong> <br />(*Hacker Ethic info stolen & modified from Wikipedia.<em> Sorry dudes</em>.) </span><br /><span style="font-size:98%;">Here are some recommendations for you wisdom seekers, that are totally legal and fun. For thousands of free e-books, check out <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/wiki/Main_Page">Project Gutenberg</a>. I can show you how to put these on your iPod or Blackberry if you want. For free music for Podcasts or ringtones or video production, try out <a href="http://www.uhort.no/">Uhort</a>. (It’s not an english site, but you can navigate using their neato system of icons. All they ask is an email informing them of your use of their music, and a link to where it is used if it is an online podcast.) <br /><br />Thanks to the thousands of volunteers who are working to give us digital gold, (that <em>isn't</em> porn) free of charge. They're making the world a richer place, because in my opinion, knowledge is the real treasure.</span><br /><br />*Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-11055908406927737012007-01-26T13:31:00.000-05:002007-01-27T12:46:38.175-05:00Arrrr MateyIt is COLD here. We can't do much when its -18c (0 f.) outside. So you make the best of it.<br /><br />Last night we played pirates with the kids. I downloaded a whole bunch of pirate music and played it loudly while we had an adventure on the high seas on our ship/sectional sofa, <strong>The Bonnie Lass</strong>. We made paper pirate hats (we ruined a whole, unread newspaper trying to remember how to do it) and paper telescopes. Since we were short on cast members, we had to make do with what we had. Note that <em>SOME</em> people played multiple roles:<br /><br /><strong>Daddy:</strong> Pirate Captain Daddy<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>The Kids:</strong> Buccaneers (we made them interview for their jobs, lol. They had no idea why we wanted to call their 'references', and why we were asking them if they could swim, ha ha.)<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Me:</strong> Pirate First Mate Mommy<br />and The Shark<br />and The Dolphin<br />and The Shark pretending to be The Dolphin<br />and The Octopus<br />and The Crocodile<br />and The Giant Squid<br />and The Snoring Sea Creature<br />and a cameo as a Land Lubbin' Bar Maid. (My multiple personalities are very happy.)<br /><br />We all pretended to drink a ton of Pirate's Mead (I have no idea what that is, nor do my kids, but in retrospect it could be alcoholic. Oops!) That would explain the injurious jig we broke into.<br /><br />We faced a storm and an array of creatures (see my roles, above) and walked the plank. Okay, <em>I<strong> </strong></em>walked the plank. The kids refused, no matter how fun I told them it was. They've obviously seen this done before.<br /><br />We all fell overboard during the hurricane. This was problematic when the shark arrived. (You should have heard them <em>scream</em>, LMFAO! Revenge for the plank...)<br /><br />We found the treasure and then had Crocodile Crunch (Rolo ice cream) as our reward.<br /><br />Which reminds me, I have to stop by the store to buy some aluminum foil. Tonight, it's aliens.Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-1169648468888413362007-01-24T08:56:00.000-05:002007-01-24T09:22:24.150-05:00Careers DayLike every mother, I have high hopes for my children. I don't buy into any of that frilly "I'm just a girl so don't expect too much from me" b/s, nor do I think a woman's ONLY aspiration should be to one day *get married*. A woman does not become a person once she is a wife. You're a whole person, with value and hope and a soul from the moment you are born, whether male or female. <br /><br />And if you find someone to share your journey, that should be a bonus. But you must love and rely on yourself FIRST.<br /><br />This is how I am raising my kids. Affectionate but empowered. In charge of their own destinies. Aware of their potential and their choices. So just for fun, I asked my kids what they wanted to be when they grew up. Here are their answers:<br /><br /><strong>Nicky, age 2:</strong> A diesel engineer. <em>(*very nice, i approve*)</em><br /><br /><strong>Joey, age 5:</strong> A photographer. <em>(*ooh, creative, i'm so proud*)<br /></em><br /><strong>Natalie, age 2:</strong> A princess. <em>(*whatthef**k!?*)</em><br /><br />Ok, where did I go wrong here!? Haven't I repeatedly told my daughter that she is intelligent and brave and more than just a pretty face!? That there is no "prince charming" to give you money and to make decisions for you!? That life is not just about pretty shoes dammit?! <br /><br />But that's ok...you know Franny, she doesn't give up. In my happy voice, I explained to Natalie that maybe, since she was such a good healer and full of caring, that she might like to one day be a doctor, and help people's boo-boos feel better? I could see her considering this, and to sweeten the deal, I threw in the only weapon in my arsenal:<br /><br />"Hey, how would you like to be a Dr. Princess?"<br /><br />"Oooh yes! I wanna be a Dr. Princess when I grow up!" She squealed. <em>(*ha ha, i win*)</em><br /><br />Hey, its a start.Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-1168835461997947342007-01-14T22:59:00.000-05:002007-01-14T23:33:33.956-05:00Pillow TalkAnother real-time discussion starring Franny and Hubby:<br /><br /><strong>Me:</strong> Honey, can I ask you an important question?<br /><br /><strong>Hubby:</strong> Sure. Anything darling.<br /><br /><strong>Me:</strong> Okay, here it is. Would you sign your soul over to me?<br /><br /><strong>Hubby: </strong>*romantically* Of course I would.<br /><br /><strong>Me: </strong>*smacks hubby* What are you, stupid?!!?<br /><br /><strong>Hubby:</strong> But I trust you!!<br /><br /><strong>Me: </strong>That's not trust, that's idiotic! I wouldn't sign my soul over to YOU! What if you were pissed at me one day, and you tore it up and chucked it in the sewer, just to be mean?<br /><br /><strong>Hubby:</strong> *laughing* I wouldn't do that!<br /><br /><strong>Me: </strong>What if you were short a ticket for the GO Train and you saw the ticket taker nearby and you validated my soul for the ride instead!? Then I'd be up shit creek without a soul! For a friggin TRAIN RIDE! Or what if some hoochie gets with you and just for fun she says "ooh baby, lets have sex on your wife's soul!" Like EW! That's my SOUL we're talking about! I don't want you and some floozy doing it on my soul!<br /><strong><br />Hubby:</strong> *dying of laughter*<br /><br /><strong>Me:</strong> Don't take it personal, but you don't trust your soul with ANYONE! Geez, think about it! If I had your soul, you would have to walk around all the time feeling like there was a sniper in a tower aiming at you for the rest of your life! You'd have to watch every step, because I could send you to hell on a whim!<br /><br /><strong>Hubby:</strong> Did you hear that? It's the sound of a knife being shoved in my back!<br /><br /><strong>Me:</strong> *muttering* I still can't believe you said you would sign your soul over to me! You're bloody insane!<br /><strong><br />Hubby:</strong> And what would you have said if I had said that I WOULDN'T sign my soul over to you?<br /><strong><br />Me: </strong>I would have been mad as hell!<br /><br /><strong>Hubby: </strong>So basically, the right answer doesn't exist.<br /><strong><br />Me:</strong> Precisely. If you say yes, you have no balls. If you say no, you're a heartless jerk.<br /><br /><strong>Hubby:</strong> Insightful - nice to know I lose no matter what. But what if we're soulmates and we already own each other's souls, whether we like it or not? And if we put our souls together in a drawer, will they multiply like rabbits, making dozens of little souls?<br /><strong><br />Me:</strong> Hmm...I don't think souls have sex. I assume they relate on a higher level than that. I just can't see souls getting jiggy.<br /><br /><strong>Hubby: </strong>*laughing* You're gonna blog this, aren't you?<br /><strong><br />Me: </strong>What makes you say that???Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-1168635615172806842007-01-12T15:48:00.000-05:002007-01-12T16:02:36.550-05:00How to Kiss Your Wife<strong>1.</strong> Come home from work wearing an adorable, mischievious grin. Don't explain it.<br /><br /><strong>2.</strong> Help make dinner.<br /><br /><strong>3.</strong> Put the kids to bed early. Ignore their protests.<br /><br /><strong>4. </strong>Tell wife she is beautiful.<br /><br /><strong>5.</strong> Lean her back against the wall (because her knees are gonna buckle)<br /><br /><strong>6.</strong> Place a hand behind her head, at the nape of her neck. Gently tangle fingers in her hair.<br /><br /><strong>7.</strong> Look deeply into her eyes.<br /><br /><strong>8.</strong> Slowly tilt head. Move in closer.<br /><br /><strong>9.</strong> Touch lips, starting slow and tenative.<br /><br /><strong>10.</strong> Build momentum, holding her like she is your very breath. <br /><br /><strong>11.</strong> Allow hands to travel. Use your palms.<br /><br /><strong>12.</strong> Reap your reward.Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-1168441550118107352007-01-10T09:37:00.000-05:002007-01-10T10:05:50.293-05:00A Tale of Two FrannysI write a lot of fiction, and publish it online. Not stuff that any of you will ever see (sorry!) because that's a different world from this one. My two (or more) personalities, and their rabid followers, shall never meet. I have a reputation to maintain here. Think of it as having a spouse and a lover. You don't want them hanging out and swapping tales, you know what I mean? Eg:<br /><br /><strong>Blog reader:</strong> You know Franny?<br /><strong>Fiction reader:</strong> Sure I know Franny! YOU know Franny?<br /><strong>Blog reader:</strong> Yeah, we blog...she's very open and funny!<br /><strong>Fiction reader:</strong> No, no, she writes fiction. She's dark and dramatic!<br /><strong>Blog reader:</strong> OPEN AND FUNNY!<br /><strong>Fiction reader:</strong> DARK AND DRAMATIC! <br /><strong>Blog reader:</strong> Fine! I'll read yours and you read mine.<br /><strong>Fiction reader:</strong> Fine!<br /><strong>Both (after reading alternate universe): </strong>WHAT CRAP! <br /><strong>Fiction reader:</strong> (*sobbing*) Can't believe we've been had...<br /><strong>Blog reader:</strong> (*angry*) I know, let's both ditch Franny and shack up together! That'll show her!<br /><br />See what I mean? I lose in the end. So my apologies to my blog friends, but know that you are blessed for not having to read my angsty, melodramatic, NC-17 fiction. You only have to listen to my PG-13 non-fiction tripe. However, I'll say this. There is one person who has visited both worlds and come out alive and sane on the other end. He has sparkling eyes and a smile that lights up a room. <br /><br />And he thinks both Frannys are keepers.Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-1168273655402942242007-01-08T10:57:00.000-05:002007-01-08T11:33:02.036-05:00Other People's Resolutions<em>I've spent the last 8 days determining what other people's resolutions for the new year are, just by "studying" their behaviour in their natural habitat. I am proud to list my findings below:</em><br /><br />My son Joey resolved to give his mom a heart attack by offering to scrub crayon off of all the walls, and then thoroughly enjoying doing it.<br /><br />The evil bitch at work resolved to be eviller and more bitchy, ensuring herself a spot in Satan's All-Damned Lava backstroke competition.<br /><br />My nice coworker resolved to get me to run off with him to Tahiti by the end of the week by doing all my tasks for me while I was off sick. <br /><br />My husband resolved to be cute and scruffy. (He's faithfully kept this resolution for 14 years and counting.)<br /><br />My son Nicky resolved to be more affectionate, while his twin sister resolved to suck the life out of her exasperated parents with her unreasonable emotional demands.<br /><br />The girl at McDonald's resolved to ask every customer four times what they ordered, and then screw the order up anyways. Her boss resolved to encourage this behavior. <br /><br />My son's fish resolved to commit suicide. <br /><br />Oh, and every single Walmart in Southern Ontario resolved NOT TO HAVE ANY FRIGGING REPLACEMENT FISH RELATIVELY THE SAME COLOR AND SIZE AS THE ORIGINAL FISH WHICH I NEED TO REPLACE BEFORE MR. WALL-CLEANER FINDS OUT THAT HIS PET BIT THE BIG ONE!<br /><br />Just call me a student of human nature...Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-1167660683059137072007-01-01T08:38:00.000-05:002007-01-01T09:11:23.686-05:00ResolvedNew Year's Eve this year was the biggest bust ever. Good god, I need a shrink. Just as we were getting ready to go out, Nicky vomited on the couch, and then celebrated the last day of the year by puking no less than six times on a variety of plush surfaces. At around puke 3 or 4, his sister split open her toe tripping over some yet unidentified toy. (We were cleaning up puke at the time, so I'm still not sure how she injured herself, and she was too busy screeching to explain.) <br /><br />So naturally, all our plans went to hell. We just couldn't leave the kids in such a state. We told my MIL she didn't have to babysit anymore, and I spent the final hours of the year rocking my weak and limp son, singing his favorite song, "One, Two, Buckle my Shoe", while my husband mopped and scrubbed and ran load after load of laundry.<br /><br />When the house disinfecting was done, my hubby got some takeout and we flicked channels, watching a little "Robin Hood, Men in Tights", which happened to be on TV. At 11:58 pm, we pulled out the sparkling peach juice. At midnight we mumbled 'Happy New Year'. By 12:06am we were in bed. Pathetic, eh? Though, if I'm honest, I kinda enjoyed rocking my weary, sick little boy while he stared at me, silent gratitude shining in his little eyes. I know he was happy mommy didn't leave him.<br /><br />Anyhow, I HAD a great idea about making a resolution to add more music to my life this year. Either take up piano, or play more guitar, or write a song, or listen to music I'm not sure I like each day, etc etc. But in light of recent events, I have since amended this resolution for something far more practical. <br /><br />2007 is the year I grow another arm. I'm not unrealistic, I know two more arms is maybe asking for too much. One more is really all I need anyways: three kids, three arms, it makes sense. I know it'll be hard, but once I get my mind set on a goal, there's no stopping me. <br /><br />And if that arm knows how to play piano, bonus! Happy New Year everyone!Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-1167445277043274112006-12-29T21:10:00.000-05:002006-12-29T21:33:22.593-05:00(Black and) Blue ChristmasI am so proud! I had a black eye for Christmas! I have never had a black eye before, but this shiner shone brighter than all the lights on our street. Besides having to explain to everyone that I am NOT an abused wife*, we had a lovely holiday. My family came over for breakfast on Christmas morning, and we did all the family stuff, played games (my dad even joined in), told some jokes, sang some songs...in short, I was the life of the party, which is how it should be. <br /><br />I was absolutely spoiled rotten with gifts this year, but I think we overdid it all around. That's okay, the Mastercard fairy will be pleased with us. <br /><br />And just in case you're wondering (I know you are!!!), the black eye was courtesy of my son Nicky. In a moment of overwhelming affection, he ran towards me and drilled me with his head, right in the cheekbone**. Now that really friggin HURT but I had no idea that cheekbone injury = black eye, so when I told my hubby I would likely get a black eye because it hurt so much, I was JOKING. But just like how I was JOKING when I told my sister I was in labour with my first child, it turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Anyhow, the head ramming incident was more than a week ago, and my eye still looks (and feels) awful. It's now purple with a touch of yellow around the edges. I enjoy waking up every morning and hearing my hubby ooh and ahh at the new and exciting colours of my face.<br /><br />I hope you all had a wonderful holiday too!<br /><br />* <strong>Q:</strong> How do you know if Franny's been abused?<strong> <br> A:</strong> Her husband's in intensive care!<br /><br />** Nicky was not injured. He apparently has a head made of cinderblock.Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-1166540454224645732006-12-19T09:40:00.000-05:002006-12-19T10:00:54.423-05:00NativityWe were at my mother-in-law's house, decorating her Christmas tree on the weekend. She's been a widow now for more than 20 years, and I thought it would be a nice gesture to bring over all of my loud, rambunctious children to her quiet house to assist with decking the halls. <br /><br />Anyhow, I was amazed at the ornaments she had, still in the original boxes, from 30+ years ago. Browned, faded cardboard boxes from department stores that had long since closed down. I imagined each year, she would lovingly replace each ornament in the exact right place in the exact right box that it was purchased in. I wondered if she she still remembered buying those ornaments when her children were young.<br /><br />Anyhow, at the bottom of a box, lovingly wrapped, I located her nativity set. I put the stable on a small endtable and proceeded to unwrap all of the figures and animals, my 5-year old son assisting. When we were done, all the figures were posed in a perfect tableau, so that you could see every one of their faces as they all looked out peacefully over the livingroom. <br /><br />"How does it look?" I asked Joey. <br /><br />He stared at the nativity scene pensively. And before I could stop him, he started moving and rearranging all of the figures. <br /><br />"Joey, just leave it alone!" I begged. <br /><br />"No, mommy, wait." He said, putting the finishing touches on his creation. When he stepped away, all the figures were turned, their backs to the livingroom. <br /><br />"What did you do that for?" I exclaimed angrily. "I had them all perfect!" <br /><br />"But Mommy," he said in a small voice, "shouldn't they all be watching baby Jesus?"Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-1166027619311427662006-12-13T11:33:00.000-05:002006-12-13T11:58:31.990-05:00Thickness is Irrelevant, It's the LENGTH That Counts<img src="http://static.flickr.com/136/321235351_90abf16624_m.jpg" alt="Mark Leslie's Silly Christmas Lyric meme"><br /><br />So I have been tagged for this awesome meme by my author buddy <a href="http://markleslie.blogspot.com/2006/12/mark-leslies-silly-christmas-lyric.html">Mark Leslie</a>. <br /><br /><strong>The Rules: Pick a Christmas lyric that you've always had a question about and discuss it. Then either tag one or more people or either tag nobody and invite your readers to tag themselves and enjoy discussing the subject on their own.</strong><br /><br />Now you all know how much I always have to say about this and that, and Christmas lyrics really get my goat. They say that the less someone understands, the more they SEEM to know, and I am no exception to this. The Christmas Song Lyrics I would like to address are from every desperate housewife's favourite carol:<br /><br /><u><strong>I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus</strong></u><br /><br /><em>"And I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus, <br />underneath his beard so snowy white..."</em><br /><br />My question is, how long is this beard exactly? If it's short and trim, we can assume that this is a G-rated song and no harm done. But if you're like me, I always imagined Santa with a Father Christmas-y super-long, knee-length beard. So if mommy is tickling Santa UNDER this beard, what the fuck exactly is she tickling? And why is Santa grinning stupidly? And where's daddy in all of this?<br /><br />Speaking of daddy... <br /><br /><em>"Oh, what a laugh it would have been,<br />If Daddy had only seen,<br />Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night!"</em><br /><br />Frankly, I don't think daddy would be laughing. I think daddy would be friggin' pissed off that he had just been cuckolded by a 500-year old reclusive prowler. And think about that poor child creeping on the stairs! That kid would get an earful of adjectives about his/her whore of a mother, and then the kid would need therapy for the rest of his/her life because he/she witnessed daddy accosting Santa and shoving the damned mistletoe where the sun don't shine. <br /><br />But that's just me. <br /><br />***<br /><br />For this fun little meme, I tag <a href="http://jellyheadrambles.blogspot.com/">Jellyhead</a>, <a href="http://misfit-of-suburbia.blogspot.com/">Velvet Girl</a> and <a href="http://this-is-what-it-is.blogspot.com/">thisisme</a>. Go get 'em ladies!Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-1165346669049828582006-12-05T14:15:00.000-05:002006-12-05T14:32:39.013-05:00Reason to CryI was going to post something about the holidays and decorations today, but I can't do it. There is a pressing weight upon me as I write. I've spent a lot of this afternoon on the verge of tears because of a local incident involving a mother and child murder/suicide. * IF * you can stomach the details, the article is <a href="http://www.thestar.com/NASApp/cs/ContentServer?pagename=thestar/Layout/Article_Type1&c=Article&cid=1165272611184&call_pageid=968332188492&col=968793972154&t=TS_Home">here</a>. Here's a small exerpt:<br /><br /><em>"A woman who experiences such an episode may believe she must take the child's life as well because there is no one else to care for him," said suicide expert Paul Links. "That's a sign of a significant mental health problem."</em><br /><br />I don't know this woman, I don't know her child, but I wish she had called me. I just wish she had...I could have helped...I know I could have done <em>something</em>...<br /><br />For when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-1164983294165452292006-12-01T09:19:00.000-05:002006-12-01T09:32:41.896-05:00Unlikely Pet<img src="http://demo.issuetrackerproduct.com/0091/octopus.jpg" height="220" width="350"><br /><br />I want an octopus for a pet. I would raise it from a baby and it would live in my house (yes I know they are sea creatures, but this is <i>my</i> little fantasy). Then I could say to people, have you met my pet "Otto"? And they'll say "No" and I'll say "C'mere Otto" and then this giant octopus stalks into the room.<br /><br />That would be neat.<br /><br />So...what (unlikely) pet do you want and why?Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-1164637991911701312006-11-27T08:51:00.000-05:002006-11-27T09:34:17.680-05:00Healer of Small ThingsWe had the neighborhood kids in our backyard yesterday, and they tore the place apart, as excited kids often do. I sat on the parkbench watching as they "flew" the kite (tearing tree branches when it got caught), kicked the ball into the soccer net (smashing the surrounding vegetation), sent things down the slide (dismantling the lawn ornaments - wheee!) and used a toy shovel to dig (sending mulch flying everywhere). Did I stop them? Umm, no. I recognize a losing battle when I see one, and it is the fall, so everything must die anyways. At least this way, it was quick and entertaining.<br /><br />After the hoarde of child barbarians moved on to the next destructive task, I noticed my 2 1/2 year old son Nicky, trailing in their wake. The hoarde had just dismantled these decorative garden stakes with blue reflective orbs on them using a loud and annoying electronic grabber-toy. When the kids moved on, Nicky, with tiny, careful hands, fished the orbs out of the bushes, and placed each one carefully back upon it's stake. One after the other he reassembled all six of them, unaware that his mommmy was watching him in stunned silence. <br /><br />"Thank you Nicky." I said, when he was done. <br /><br />He smiled shyly and ran away. <br /><br /><em>I love you Nicky, my precious one. You're mommy's healer of small things. </em>Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-1164495845280562282006-11-25T17:43:00.000-05:002006-11-25T18:04:05.603-05:00Swimming with the FishesSo, big confession time kids. <br /><br />I just got a HUGE new job (promotion) at work. I actually have been going through the process of soul-searching, and then applying, and then waiting, and then interviewing, and then waiting some more and then finding out the results. And this week past was my first week in the new role. It's been a very stressful time, with a lot of soul-searching, and heart-wrenching questions such as: "What do I want to do with my life?" "Is this the right thing for me and my family?" "Is my life over if I make the wrong decision?" "Is this the road to ruin?" And I have been going through OVER a month of this. And was I able to adequately answer any of these questions? <br /><br />No. <br /><br />So if anyone has noticed the morose quality to my musings lately, that would be why.<br /><br />So here I am, little fish in a big pond again, and I'm not sure where my head and my ass are, and the sharks are circling, but as Dory from 'Finding Nemo' says, "just keep swimming...just keep swimming...just keep swimming, swimming, swimming..." <br /><br />I came across this today:<br /><br /><img src="http://www.jwelford.demon.co.uk/brainwaremap/pictures/critic.jpg"><br /><br />It felt totally appropriate to what I have been through, and it gave me a little boost. Along with the picture, I read this:<br /><br /><em>"The natural immediate response to criticism is to feel discouraged and unhappy. However, as with failure, criticism has a very positive side. <strong>If you are being criticised it may well be an indication that you have taken a risk and chosen to tackle something which is a challenge to you</strong>. Receiving such criticism may be infinitely preferable to being praised for something which is simple and predictable."</em><br /><br />*sigh* That's me all right.Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15267747.post-1164310516943561812006-11-23T14:28:00.000-05:002006-11-23T14:37:56.403-05:00Note to Self<br><br><table align="center"> <tr> <td align="center"><img src="http://www.temptatts4u.com/TS%20courage.jpg"><br> <br /><br /><em>Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow".</em></td></tr></table><br /><br /><br><br>Frannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07567714275118746930noreply@blogger.com2