Franny's Fables

Ballad of the Trout

2008-04-18T11:21:00.005-04:00

Lake trout for sale, frozen hard as a club
$5.50 a fish, just buy it, you'll love!
So the shopper she looked at that fish with a head
And a tail and a fin and some scales and real dead

And she said "I can do this, I'll clean the whole fish!
I'll bake it for supper! We'll try this new dish!
My husband will praise all my kitchenly skills
And I will have conquered the beast with the gills!"

So home came the fish, as long as her arm,
She defrosted it, laid it out, kept it from harm
She sawed off the head, (with a groan of disgust)
And snipped off the tail and the fins as one must.

She scaled that damn fish, right over the sink
But our hero, she wasn't prepared for the stink!
The house, the utensils, her hands smelled like trout
And trout is a smell that is hard to get out!

But battling on, she seasoned unhalted
Crushed lemon, tomatoes, black pepper and salted
She put it to bake, while the kids gave her hell
Saying "Mommy, please help us escape from that smell!"

And when it was done, it didn't look bad
Hubby ate it, and liked it, and then more he had
But when the chef sat down to sample her dish
She declared; "Ew! It tastes too much like fish."

So, now the house stinks, trout wafts in the air
The fish is long gone, but the smell is still there
$5.50 a fish, it seems such a waste
To slave for the trout and then not like the taste.

(Or the smell! *plugs nose*)

Swearasaurus

2008-04-16T18:28:00.005-04:00

I 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:

Good Mom: 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!

Daughter, age 4: HOLY SHIT!

**

Good Mom: 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!

Son, age 4: Aw mommy, you're the effing best. *hugs*

**

Good Mom: And God bless grandma, and grandpa, and our teachers and- is there anyone else we'd like to bless?

Son, age 6: What about the asshole who cut us off at the light?

**

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 different language! For example, the next time I am cut off at the light, I can scream:
Da bi ti vse krave crknile! (Which is Slovenian for "I wish your cows will drop dead!")

Or, if I'm double-charged on my credit card statement:
Äitisi nai poroja! (Finnish, for "your mother copulates with reindeer")

And on those days that you need something EXTRA special:
Ssi v kompot, tam povor nogi moet! (Russian for "go urinate in the punchbowl while the cook is washing his legs in it"!)

Yes, I may be a vamadoola*, baa**, or a linguistic kaynay***, but at least I am not, nor ever will be, a complete kokëderr****.

*"wierdo" in Punjabi
**"crazy" in Thai
***"fool" in Tamil
**** ha ha, you'll never know!

Loves Me Like a Rock

2007-05-03T22:54:00.000-04:00

She 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.

And she plays with rocks.

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, "no no honey, you have to PAY for garden centre rocks" (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.

I asked her today what it was with her and rocks, and she said "I just yike them."

I asked her if maybe she thought they were pretty, and she laughed at me and said "Nooo" like I was a little slow.

So I said that maybe they looked a lot like jewels, and she said "Nooo" like I was abundantly stupid.

"So, you just yike them because you yike them?" I asked.

"Yup." She grinned, and then she left a handful of rocks on my bed and ran away.

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!

The THWACK Heard Round the World

2007-04-26T09:27:00.000-04:00

The Devil: 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.

Me: The devil made me do it.

The Devil: 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?

Me: 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?

The Devil: True... *raises eyebrows* That WAS an excellent shot, Franny.

Franny: *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?

The Devil: 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!

Franny: *muttering* Well, they DO make good projectiles... AND I had a handful of them but I only threw ONE... surely that counts for something?

The Devil: Sorry honey, nice try but what's done is done. So, before I write this one down in the book for, ahem, later, *rubs hands enthusiastically* I just NEED to know. What on earth were you thinking Franny?

Franny: Honestly?

The Devil: Sure. Be honest. I won't tell a soul.

Franny: Okay. I was thinking...Bet I can SO thwack her RIGHT in the middle of the head with this... *Franny walks away whistling*

The Devil: *to self* I should consider taking on a partner...

Room of Doom

2007-04-22T02:50:00.000-04:00

I will try very hard not to overuse the CAPSLOCK key during this post. *Franny glares at keyboard, knows it's IMPOLITE to CAPLOCKS SHOUT throughout an ENTIRE BLOG POST*

HEY, STOP THAT! ... I mean... Hey, stop that! *keep that left-hand pinky raised while you type, Franny* Okay, now where was I?

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.) *pst, Franny, easy on the capslock, baby* 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.

Meanwhile, at the mall, Franny's Spidey-sense was tingling. She needed to go home. Oh and the mall was closing too.

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.)

~*~

Flash forward to tonight. Bathing the twins, STUPID DUMBASS ME (*ahem, capslock*) 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!? (*angry mom, step AWAY from the capslock...*) 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.

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?

Oh my goodness.

I AM the glue that holds the universe together.

I have such a headache. *Franny clutches head, peels capslock key off of keyboard and pours herself a beer*

Digital Foot, Cyber Mouth

2007-04-15T15:37:00.000-04:00

I 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.

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.

Where was I going with this?

Right. Big mouth. Honesty is not always the best policy Franny! But then again... honesty has its value.

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.

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 potential to be sensitive in its own right), so that they can decide if it's okay or not.

To which I got a snarky little reply:

I am ELEVEN YEARS OLD. I think I am old enough to decide who I can email!!

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:

RESPECT YOUR ELDERS BITCH!

(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?

So, before I open my cyber mouth and insert my digital foot, what's the right thing to say now?

Enemy Mine

2007-03-26T19:54:00.000-04:00

I 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.

My He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has a name. It is... ... ...

"The Guys At Work"

*Franny shudders, looks over shoulder*

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:

**
Me: Honey, would you call the electrician to upgrade the box?
Hubby: No need darling! The guys at work said I could do it myself for half the cost!
Me: *facepalm*

**
Me: I really think we should just buy a new car.
Hubby: Oh you know what the guys at work said? All I need is some duct tape and throat lozenges and the car will run just fine!
Me: *facepalm*

**
Me: How was your day?
Hubby: The guys at work 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.
Me: Are the guys at work married?
Hubby: No. Divorced and playing video games and living with their mothers.
Me: *smile*

**
Okay guys at work. 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.

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.

Repair your mom's electrical, you bastards.

Admit One

2007-02-28T21:48:00.000-05:00

I 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?

3 kids + 6 booster shots + 1 mom = (insert swear word here)

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.

Yup. I'm sure of it.

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.

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*)

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?

There's nothing like a nice cuppa guilt, early in the morning!

Where The Hell Have I Been?

2007-02-27T13:04:00.000-05:00

Dear blog buddies,

I have been kidnapped.

Do not tell anyone.

Do not call the police or the Mounties.*

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.

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.

Please do not send ransom money. They will only buy cake and more thesauruses with it.

Once I find a way to overpower these terrible felons, I will escape/flee/run away/break out.

I love you all.

*Franny

------------------------------
*Okay, call them. I tip well ;)

Honor Among Thieves

2007-02-07T11:26:00.000-05:00

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.

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.

Franny has become a hacker.

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:

Principles of the Hacker Ethic*:
@ Access to computers—and anything which might teach you something about the way the world works—should be unlimited and total.
@ All information should be free.
@ Mistrust authority—promote decentralization (I like this. So rebellious!)
@ 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.
(*Hacker Ethic info stolen & modified from Wikipedia. Sorry dudes.)
Here are some recommendations for you wisdom seekers, that are totally legal and fun. For thousands of free e-books, check out Project Gutenberg. 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 Uhort. (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.)

Thanks to the thousands of volunteers who are working to give us digital gold, (that isn't porn) free of charge. They're making the world a richer place, because in my opinion, knowledge is the real treasure.

*

Arrrr Matey

2007-01-26T13:31:00.000-05:00

It is COLD here. We can't do much when its -18c (0 f.) outside. So you make the best of it.

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, The Bonnie Lass. 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 SOME people played multiple roles:

Daddy: Pirate Captain Daddy

The Kids: 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.)

Me: Pirate First Mate Mommy
and The Shark
and The Dolphin
and The Shark pretending to be The Dolphin
and The Octopus
and The Crocodile
and The Giant Squid
and The Snoring Sea Creature
and a cameo as a Land Lubbin' Bar Maid. (My multiple personalities are very happy.)

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.

We faced a storm and an array of creatures (see my roles, above) and walked the plank. Okay, I walked the plank. The kids refused, no matter how fun I told them it was. They've obviously seen this done before.

We all fell overboard during the hurricane. This was problematic when the shark arrived. (You should have heard them scream, LMFAO! Revenge for the plank...)

We found the treasure and then had Crocodile Crunch (Rolo ice cream) as our reward.

Which reminds me, I have to stop by the store to buy some aluminum foil. Tonight, it's aliens.

Careers Day

2007-01-24T08:56:00.000-05:00

Like 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.

And if you find someone to share your journey, that should be a bonus. But you must love and rely on yourself FIRST.

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:

Nicky, age 2: A diesel engineer. (*very nice, i approve*)

Joey, age 5: A photographer. (*ooh, creative, i'm so proud*)

Natalie, age 2: A princess. (*whatthef**k!?*)

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?!

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:

"Hey, how would you like to be a Dr. Princess?"

"Oooh yes! I wanna be a Dr. Princess when I grow up!" She squealed. (*ha ha, i win*)

Hey, its a start.

Pillow Talk

2007-01-14T22:59:00.000-05:00

Another real-time discussion starring Franny and Hubby:

Me: Honey, can I ask you an important question?

Hubby: Sure. Anything darling.

Me: Okay, here it is. Would you sign your soul over to me?

Hubby: *romantically* Of course I would.

Me: *smacks hubby* What are you, stupid?!!?

Hubby: But I trust you!!

Me: 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?

Hubby: *laughing* I wouldn't do that!

Me: 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!

Hubby: *dying of laughter*

Me: 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!

Hubby: Did you hear that? It's the sound of a knife being shoved in my back!

Me: *muttering* I still can't believe you said you would sign your soul over to me! You're bloody insane!

Hubby: And what would you have said if I had said that I WOULDN'T sign my soul over to you?

Me: I would have been mad as hell!

Hubby: So basically, the right answer doesn't exist.

Me: Precisely. If you say yes, you have no balls. If you say no, you're a heartless jerk.

Hubby: 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?

Me: 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.

Hubby: *laughing* You're gonna blog this, aren't you?

Me: What makes you say that???

How to Kiss Your Wife

2007-01-12T15:48:00.000-05:00

1. Come home from work wearing an adorable, mischievious grin. Don't explain it.

2. Help make dinner.

3. Put the kids to bed early. Ignore their protests.

4. Tell wife she is beautiful.

5. Lean her back against the wall (because her knees are gonna buckle)

6. Place a hand behind her head, at the nape of her neck. Gently tangle fingers in her hair.

7. Look deeply into her eyes.

8. Slowly tilt head. Move in closer.

9. Touch lips, starting slow and tenative.

10. Build momentum, holding her like she is your very breath.

11. Allow hands to travel. Use your palms.

12. Reap your reward.

A Tale of Two Frannys

2007-01-10T09:37:00.000-05:00

I 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:

Blog reader: You know Franny?
Fiction reader: Sure I know Franny! YOU know Franny?
Blog reader: Yeah, we blog...she's very open and funny!
Fiction reader: No, no, she writes fiction. She's dark and dramatic!
Blog reader: OPEN AND FUNNY!
Fiction reader: DARK AND DRAMATIC!
Blog reader: Fine! I'll read yours and you read mine.
Fiction reader: Fine!
Both (after reading alternate universe): WHAT CRAP!
Fiction reader: (*sobbing*) Can't believe we've been had...
Blog reader: (*angry*) I know, let's both ditch Franny and shack up together! That'll show her!

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.

And he thinks both Frannys are keepers.

Other People's Resolutions

2007-01-08T10:57:00.000-05:00

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:

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.

The evil bitch at work resolved to be eviller and more bitchy, ensuring herself a spot in Satan's All-Damned Lava backstroke competition.

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.

My husband resolved to be cute and scruffy. (He's faithfully kept this resolution for 14 years and counting.)

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.

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.

My son's fish resolved to commit suicide.

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!

Just call me a student of human nature...

Resolved

2007-01-01T08:38:00.000-05:00

New 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.)

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.

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.

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.

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.

And if that arm knows how to play piano, bonus! Happy New Year everyone!

(Black and) Blue Christmas

2006-12-29T21:10:00.000-05:00

I 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.

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.

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.

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday too!

* Q: How do you know if Franny's been abused?
A: Her husband's in intensive care!

** Nicky was not injured. He apparently has a head made of cinderblock.

Nativity

2006-12-19T09:40:00.000-05:00

We 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.

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.

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.

"How does it look?" I asked Joey.

He stared at the nativity scene pensively. And before I could stop him, he started moving and rearranging all of the figures.

"Joey, just leave it alone!" I begged.

"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.

"What did you do that for?" I exclaimed angrily. "I had them all perfect!"

"But Mommy," he said in a small voice, "shouldn't they all be watching baby Jesus?"

Thickness is Irrelevant, It's the LENGTH That Counts

2006-12-13T11:33:00.000-05:00

So I have been tagged for this awesome meme by my author buddy Mark Leslie.

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.

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:

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

"And I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus,
underneath his beard so snowy white..."

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?

Speaking of daddy...

"Oh, what a laugh it would have been,
If Daddy had only seen,
Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night!"

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.

But that's just me.

***

For this fun little meme, I tag Jellyhead, Velvet Girl and thisisme. Go get 'em ladies!

Reason to Cry

2006-12-05T14:15:00.000-05:00

I 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 here. Here's a small exerpt:

"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."

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 something...

For when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

Unlikely Pet

2006-12-01T09:19:00.000-05:00

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 my 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.

That would be neat.

So...what (unlikely) pet do you want and why?

Healer of Small Things

2006-11-27T08:51:00.000-05:00

We 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.

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.

"Thank you Nicky." I said, when he was done.

He smiled shyly and ran away.

I love you Nicky, my precious one. You're mommy's healer of small things.

Swimming with the Fishes

2006-11-25T17:43:00.000-05:00

So, big confession time kids.

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?

No.

So if anyone has noticed the morose quality to my musings lately, that would be why.

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..."

I came across this today:

It felt totally appropriate to what I have been through, and it gave me a little boost. Along with the picture, I read this:

"The natural immediate response to criticism is to feel discouraged and unhappy. However, as with failure, criticism has a very positive side. 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. Receiving such criticism may be infinitely preferable to being praised for something which is simple and predictable."

*sigh* That's me all right.

Note to Self

2006-11-23T14:28:00.000-05:00

Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow".

Mr. Happy Pants

2006-11-20T10:17:00.000-05:00

There is a person at my work who I always say 'hello' to and he never responds politely. No smile. No head nod. No little wave. He just STARES at me like I am not there, or sometimes, like I am the world's biggest piece of crap. And it's not like I don't know him. I introduced myself on my first day, asked him what he did and told him about my role - the usual when you have new coworkers. He seemed quiet and tiredly arrogant.

We passed each other in the hall today, and I did my usual cheery "good morning" and yet again, I was kinda glared at. Oh, I know this person is capable of normal speech. We talked once or twice early on when I had questions, though never for more than 2 seconds, and I have even seen him talk to other people on occasion. I also think he smiles - I recall at some point seeing him in animated discussion with someone and nearly falling over from the shock of it.

The worst part is, I never learn! I'm still saying my polite 'hellos' after all these months, and I'm still getting the same 'go to hell and die' glare. I mean, I can't just IGNORE a person, not when we work in close quarters! It's just not like me to turn my head and deliberately snub someone! And I'm not hurt or upset by it...just...puzzled...

Any thoughts?

Darkness and Light

2006-11-13T10:00:00.000-05:00

On a dark and cool Friday night, a depressed and stressed-out woman went for a walk, alone. As she walked the foggy, abandoned streets, she pondered how everything was wrong. How she couldn't take it anymore. How she was nothing and nobody and too tired and too alone to carry on. She pulled her scarf tighter against the chill, and crossed the dimly lit side-streets like a ghost.

She made no sound.

Led by some invisible force, she found her way to the big park, and wandered across the damp black field until she came to the baseball diamond. Then she sat on the dugout bench, in pitch blackness, and waited...to cry. It was not long. The heavy fog and intimate darkness muffled the sound of her sobs.

She sat there for hours, until her fingers and toes were icy, until the moon was high. Until the young lovers on the bench under the streetlamp were done. The whole time, they did not know she was there.

And then she walked home, only mildly soothed by her emotional release, but still hating herself for being weak.

The next day she spent some time with friends and lamented her pain with her husband, but nothing really eased the fear and the panic. Later that night, she craved music. She darkened the house, lit the candles and put on her favourite CD. Her children came quickly, and she instinctually taught them to recognize the different instruments, the parts of music, the beat - they were entranced. She showed them how one was "supposed" to move to the different kinds of music.

And then, her 5-yr-old son said something so profound, it shook her to her core.

"Can I just dance what's in my heart?"

His innocent wisdom lit her insides like a burning flame. She accepted her sadness and fear. And as the feelings flowed over her, she was no longer afraid, and she did not drown.

That night they all danced what was in their hearts.

Come Over to the Dark Side...

2006-11-08T11:16:00.000-05:00

Weary of pedantic, saccharine personality quizzes, Franny takes a trip to the dark side...let's take a walk in the moonlit fog, shall we?

Which Slytherin Are YOU?

You are Lucius Malfoy. What a guy - aristocratic, clever and mean because it's purely entertaining. So, what are you going to do tonight, Lucius? The same thing you do every night? ... Yes? Pity. Those pathetic Muggles will never see you coming...

Take this quiz!

Who's Your Hidden Villain?

Jason Voorhees from Friday the 13th
Oh dear, you have some worrying psychopathic tendencies. Did someone do you wrong when you were young? Perhaps you had a nasty incident in a paddling pool or other aquatic environment? Whatever, why are you still looking for revenge? It's probably time to let it go. Go on, put down the machete and call a councillor. You have some serious issues that need addressing and it's never too late to sort them out. Okay so you get a kick out of frightening people, but take off the hockey mask and try looking them in eye, face to face. You might be surprised that a "non-murderous" approach to problem solving actually works!
Take this test.

Which Batman Baddie are YOU?

You're TWOFACE. Sometimes you're an angel, sometimes you're a DEVIL. Either way, you're mentally warped, greedy, and often argue with yourself. Perhaps you should step in front of a mirror and ask yourself who's really there...
Which Batman Villain Are You Most Like?

Fear me, mere mortals!!! Mwa ha ha! What do you think of my results?

Also, a challenge: "I tell you things, you tell me things. Not about this case, though. About yourself. Quid pro quo. Yes or no?" Tell me about your inner villain(s), my blogging friends...

Unreasonable Fantasies...

2006-11-06T09:50:00.000-05:00

Ok, so a lot of women fantasize about running away with their favourite hot celebrity. I am unusual in the fact that my fantasies involve TURNING DOWN my sexy, rich dream celebrity-man (the celebrities are interchangeable). For example:

Alan Rickman/Josh Groban/Ewan MacGregor: Oh, Franny, I cannot LIVE without you any more! Let me take you to my villa in southern Italy where we can live out our days in each other's passionate embrace!

Me: No...please...I can't do this...

AR/JG/EM: Do not fear my fame and riches! I would gladly give it all up just to be with you - you are the most precious woman in the world! You alone are my destiny! You alone understand me and can make me whole again!

Me: *melodramatic pose* Oh Alan/Josh/Ewan! I cannot! I have committed myself to my children and to my husband forever! I am so sorry, but I...I simply...cannot!

AR/JG/EM: No! I will be forever lost without you! *sobbing on knees* How can you condemn me to a lifetime of emptiness without you?! You, the guardian of my SOUL!?

Me: I am so sorry A/J/E! I didn't mean for you to fall desperately in love with me! Please, you must understand...my destiny lies elsewhere. You must find a way to carry on without me!

AR/JG/EM: I will try to find a way, but know that every day my heart will cry out for you! Though we may be apart, I swear I will honour you in my deeds and actions for eternity!

Me: Yah, okay...look, I gotta go...the kids need dinner...

AR/JG/EM: Goodbye my beloved...goodbye!

*I speed off in my minivan and he chases it for a couple blocks screaming my name until he collapses, sobbing in the road*

Then, every time I see my hottie on TV or making records or movies, I will always know that secretly, his heart cries out for the one woman he could never have...ME.
Every interview where they ask him about his love life, I will see the unfulfilled sadness in his eyes as he talks about the only woman he ever loved... and I'll always know that all the supermodels/actresses he married since then were just fill-ins for me.

*Sigh*

Okay, hi everyone...sorry, I kinda left the premises for a minute there...

Anyhow, there's something about knowing that my hotties CANNOT have me that is even more fulfilling than fantasizing about them actually having me! Am I making any sense? I guess this way I don't feel guilty, because technically I have done the "right thing", even though I have torn apart the heart of the millionaire celebrity hottie.

I guess I just don't want a sticky torrid fantasy affair. Being the object of chivalrous agony from afar will do me just fine while I have so much love in my actual life.

I wonder how my hubby would feel if he knew I choose him (and the kids) over these rich, suave, sexy & usually british-accented hotties, even in my daydreams?

A Movie Moment Fable

2006-11-04T16:13:00.000-05:00

The following is from the movie Cinema Paradiso, likely my favorite movie of all time. It is translated from the original Italian, and features an old man, using a fable to explain "love" to an infatuated young boy:

MAN: "Once...a king gave a feast for the loveliest princesses in the realm. Now, a soldier who was standing guard saw the king's daughter go by. She was the most beautiful of all and he fell instantly in love. But what is a simple soldier next to the daughter of a king? At last he succeeded in meeting her, and he told her he could no longer live without her. The princess was so taken by the depth of his feeling that she said to the soldier, "If you can wait for 100 days and 100 nights under my balcony, at the end of it I shall be yours."

With that the soldier went and waited one day...
two days...
then ten...
then twenty.

Each evening the princess looked out, and he never moved! In rain, in wind, in snow, he was always there! Birds shat on his head, bees stung him- but he didn't budge. At the end of ninety nights he had become all dry, all white. Tears streamed from his eyes. He couldn't hold them back. He didn't even have the strength to sleep. And all that time, the princess watched him.

At long last, it was the 99th night...and the soldier stood up, took his chair and left."

BOY: "What happened at the end?"

MAN: "That *is* the end. And don't ask what it means. I don't know."

***

I think the old man knew exactly what it meant, though he wanted the boy to figure it out for himself.

I have told this story to countless friends, because there are so many poignant morals in it, and I hope it has helped them, even in a *small* way.

So tell me, what is the moral of the story, to YOU?

The Blog We Have All Been Waiting For

2006-11-02T18:54:00.000-05:00

Here's the update to Teaser Trailer (below). It's been a depressing, though highly entertaining, week:

Will our favourite blogger survive the most gruelling and vitally important interview of her life?
Who knows? It got postponed...grrr...

Will the Sweeties' bid for the house of their dreams be successful, and if so, will they have taken the first step on the the path towards financial ruin?
No and no. We got outbid by another buyer. I don't know them, but I assume they are mean and unattractive people that smell. Yes, I am immature.

Will Joey find out that his frazzled parents have no idea when the Beaver Scouts Jamboree really is?
No. We faked it, made the necessary panicked phonecalls, and got him there just in time.

Will Franny require medication and years of therapy when her friends point and laugh at her dorky Little Red Riding Hood costume?
No. But I will require medication and years of therapy for getting hit on by an old man and by a couple looking for a "third". (I am NOT kidding, LMFAO!)

Will the haggard parents be able to remove Natalie's Halloween costume in time for her high-school graduation? If they do, will she EVER stop shreiking and crying bloody murder because "I WANT TO BE STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE, ARGHHHHHHH WAHHHHHHHHH GRRRRR!!!!!"?
No. She will wear that costume until it disintegrates. And considering the alternative, I am okay with that.

Teaser Trailer...

2006-10-27T09:35:00.000-04:00

(*cue booming voice-over*)

ON NEXT WEEK'S EPISODE OF FRANNY'S FABLES...

Will our favourite blogger survive the most gruelling and vitally important interview of her life?

Will the Sweeties' bid for the house of their dreams be successful, and if so, will they have taken the first step on the the path towards financial ruin?

Will Joey find out that his frazzled parents have no idea when the Beaver Scouts Jamboree really is?

Will Franny require medication and years of therapy when her friends point and laugh at her dorky Little Red Riding Hood costume?

Will the haggard parents be able to remove Natalie's Halloween costume in time for her high-school graduation? If they do, will she EVER stop shreiking and crying bloody murder because "I WANT TO BE STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE, ARGHHHHHHH WAHHHHHHHHH GRRRRR!!!!!"?

STAY TUNED FOR ALL THIS AND MORE ON FRANNY'S FABLES!

Ooh, It's Magic

2006-10-23T10:48:00.000-04:00

With great power comes great responsibility...and parenting is no different. Mothers (and fathers) hold in their hands the welfare, the beliefs, the very souls of the future generation.

Which is why I like to MESS with my kids' minds every so often.

By total serendipity, I recently came into the possesion of a "magic wand". As they say, the wand chooses the wizard, and the one that chose me is Walnut wood, the wand of intuition and divination. (Yes, I know this is not real, but *sigh*, too many Harry Potter books.) And when I say the wand found me, I mean it. After a long talk about our favourite books, this person I had just met placed it in my hands saying "I have an extra wand, do you want it?" Ooooh, coooool....

Anyhow, I was showing it off to my hubby, and the kids were teeming with questions, so, I gave them a demonstration. I hid the remote under my lap, and then proceeded to change channels on the TV with my wand by uttering the incantation "Change Channel!" They were jumping around screaming with glee, and then I uttered the incantation "Shut Off" and the TV shut 'itself' off. We did on/off several times, and my oldest asked me to do more 'magic'. So I said, "Watch this." I pointed the wand at the kids and uttered "Jump up and down!"

AND THEY DID!

It was totally awesome! I made my daughter's hair 'grow' (she was beaming and twirling), made my son meow (he really did it), and then came the REAL challenge:

Joey: Mommy, make the TV disappear!!!

Me: Umm....umm...daddy? *desperate glance* Joey wants me to make the TV disappear...

Daddy: Ummm...no, sorry kids, very expensive piece of electronics, wouldn't want to misplace that!

Joey: Ok...*mischevious glance* Make the twins disappear! Here, I'll do it! *lunges for wand*

Me: Oh no you don't! That's not nice to do to your brother and sister! But I can make YOU disappear! *points wand at kid threateningly*

Joey: Eeek! *takes off at a run*

Daddy: Ha ha ha, it worked!

After that, I had to hide the wand because it was like having a weapon in the house, with each kid trying to get a hold of it to vanish each other or to command their sibling to hand over their cookies. Also, there was the more likely possibility of the "poke out an eye with a pointy object" hex taking place.

Later that night, when the excitement had died down, Joey came up to me and asked, in all seriousness. "Mommy, is there really such thing as magic?"

I smiled and said "Well, do you think there is?"

He didn't answer for a few moments as he considered my question. "I don't know." He replied. "But I hope there is."

Me too, Joey. Me too.

Goddess of Music

2006-10-18T11:34:00.000-04:00

I just had my guitar re-strung. I really missed "Sammie-Jo" while she was at the music shop, especially since there was this AWESOME song I was desperate to try out. When I got her back, they had lost all my guitar picks, so I improvised and actually made my own pick using a margerine container lid cut to the right shape. And then I grabbed Sammie-Jo, and played "Goodbye My Lover" by James Blunt totally by ear.

It was pure magic.

I got it right, right off the bat. The sound was heavenly, by far the best sound I had ever achieved, (with a margerine-lid pick no less!!) I have been sneaking guitar time all day today. My hubby caught me fresh out of the shower strumming. He smiled and let me be, even though I should have been helping him with the kids.

It's been a musical day in general. In the car this morning, I heard the song "I Wanna Be Sedated" by the Ramones. It was a big song (think hyper punk sound) in my bar days, and I was bopping and blasting the music on the drive in.

Then, when I reached work, I stumbled across "Canon in D" by Pachebel on the radio. It was my wedding march and still mesmerizes me whenever I hear it. Funny how I went from punk-rock to soothing classical in less than 5 minutes. I enjoyed both immensely!

Today I will have 30 mins between ending work and picking up the kids. I think Sammie-Jo and I are going to share some quality time.

Music is a language which the soul alone understands, but which the soul can never translate. ~Arnold Bennett

Real Time. Wasted.

2006-10-12T20:36:00.000-04:00

Me: What do I smell like?

Hubby: Wh-what?

Me: I read this article saying that people in love are more likely to enjoy the smell of their partner's skin. So what do I smell like to you?

Hubby: Umm...you don't smell...

Me: Not like when I'm gross and sweaty! Like now, like right now? Just smell me! *offers arm*

Hubby: *sniffs arm*

Me: Well?

Hubby: Hmmm...you smell like a Laura Secord's store.

Me: *beaming* Really?

Hubby: Yeah, like *sniff* mint and oranges *sniff*...and chocolate...

Me: Wow. That's awesome...good job! Ok, let me smell you!

Hubby: *offers arm*

Me: *sniff*...you smell like...a forest...

Hubby: More like a bog, maybe?

Me: No! Like a shady forest, in the mountains...

Hubby: Like something that died under a decaying log you mean?

Me: Oh for pete's sake! *sniff* Ok, maybe a little mossy, but a GOOD mossy...

Hubby: Like fungus maybe?

Me: Ok FINE, you smell like a carrion-eating vulture's asshole, ok!?

Hubby: *chuckling* Yeah, that would really stink!

Me: Argh! You're a wooded mountain! It's a GOOD smell! A GOOD SMELL! Moss, wood, fresh air, mountains...IT'S A GOOD SMELL!!!

Hubby: A good smell...gotcha.

Me: Sheesh! I'm SO gonna blog about this you know.

Hubby: Yeah, I know...

I'm Not an Alcoholic but I Can Learn

2006-10-08T19:55:00.000-04:00

Everytime I try to do something proactive and interesting with the kids, it always ends one of two ways: either someone throws a fit, or someone gets injured. The end product is the same, though - one (or more) child/ren is on the floor, screaming bloody murder. My life is sure to make the newspapers one day...

Music Time Violence
Violence erupted yesterday at the home of a local mom after supply and demand issues pertaining to musical instruments got out out of hand. "Family Music Time was supposed to be FUN", quoted Franny while standing outside of her home, chainsmoking. Details are yet to be confirmed by authorities, but witnesses say that Franny provided a box of small, musical instruments to her children with the intention of having them accompany her while she played the guitar. Evidence assembled at the scene included a tambourine, a harmonica, two maracas, miniature cymbals and a broken plastic recorder. "They all wanted the stupid recorder at the same time..." muttered the shell-shocked father, "they were screaming...they were fighting...no one wanted the other instruments...oh God, I tried to make them take the other instruments...". Franny denies having said where exactly everyone could stick the goddamn recorder, but has mentioned that plans for future "Family Music Times" are on hold indefinately. The children were not available for comment.

Turkey Tragedy
An innocent morning of make-believe turned bloody today when two preschoolers unexpectedly collided in their family home. "We were just doing a little play about turkeys! Ha ha ha, TURKEYS!!!" screamed their mother Franny, who is currently in a soft room awaiting psychiatric assessment. Investigators have pieced together the events that led to the incident. Franny had been reciting a poem about turkeys for her children, who were acting it out ("I have a turkey, big and fat, he spreads his tail and walks like that...") At approx. 10:15 am, she spoke the line "his daily corn he would not miss", during which point Nicky, aged 32 mos, lay on the floor to 'eat' his corn while his twin sister, bent over, 'pecking' her corn. The sister couldn't see where she was going and turkey-strutted right over her brother's face, giving him a cut tongue and a nosebleed. According to stunned neighbors, the resulting screaming 'woke the dead' and continued well past lunch time. A fund has been started to help the family purchase bubble wrap and helmets for their children, as well as a new carpet for the living room.

*sigh*

I'll bet now the title of this post makes sense!

Un-Rescued

2006-10-05T19:28:00.000-04:00

This is the time of year that my hubby and I started dating, so naturally I am whimsical about our early days together when it's autumn...

And then there are the memories you'd rather forget.

Like the time we went to a dance club with all of our friends and the guys chose to sit around eating pub fare rather than dance, so I went out on the dancefloor (really annoyed at my bf/future hubby by the way), where, during a really hot song, somebody reached out and grabbed my ass!

I spun around, eyes ablaze with rage, and said "WHO THE HELL DID THAT?" The guy closest to me shrunk with fear and pointed to his friend, who looked horrified that he had been betrayed.

I walked up to the 'gooser' and asked, very calmly, with the *tiniest* hint of seduction in my voice, "So...was that YOU that grabbed my butt?" He started to smile confidently, and he nodded, moving closer...

And that's when I punched him.

Turning on my heel, I had to step over the bodies of his laughing friends who had fallen to the floor in hysterics. The 'gooser' is probably still sitting flat on his ass on that dancefloor, 14 years later, eyes and mouth agape.

I stormed angrily (though *slightly* pleased with myself) back to where my future husband was sitting with his friends. Me and my army of girlfriends told him what had happened, CERTAIN that he would jump up and go looking for blood. CERTAIN that there would be some vengeful, 'jealous-boyfriend-and-his-posse' ass-whooping that night. CERTAIN that I would be swept from this place of imminent, lascivious peril and rescued by the arms of my hero-protector as he shouted furiously against the wind...

"So you took care of it. Excellent."

And then he continued eating his chicken wing.

Hold on...deep breath...

Moving on, only one man was assaulted that night, though the other man lives to hear this tale of unchivalrous behaviour OVER and OVER and OVER again, likely for the rest of his natural life. Makes you wonder who got the better deal?

Also, it's important to point out that my husband has NO RECOLLECTION of this night ever happening, and reminds me of such every time I tell the story. But I remember it like yesterday, every moment, every detail, down to the sauce on the wings (mmm, honey-garlic). You ladies out there would understand.

But I'm older and wiser now. While that night I felt "un-rescued", my husband's reaction revealed that he was gentle, level-headed and believed in me. Besides, a boyfriend who starts bar-fights wouldn't make a good parent to my children, or a good best friend for the rest of my life.

As Zsa Zsa says, "macho doesn't prove mucho."

Mighty Mennonite-y

2006-10-03T20:33:00.000-04:00

There's this beautiful covered bridge in West Montrose, Ontario that my hubby and I stumbled upon during our courtship sometime in the mid-90s. It was the fall, and we had just been shopping in the local tourist village of St. Jacobs (which is mainly a Mennonite community), and as we were wandering the area, we saw signs that led us to the breathtaking bridge, also appropriately known as the "Kissing Bridge".

Well the wind was icy-cold, and the ground was thick with fallen leaves at this little park on the other side of the bridge...and, I've always been good at improvising...so I ended up making a huge leaf pile and burrowing inside, and then my hubby burrowed in too and we were warm and snug and happy and it was SO romantic and picture-perfect until something was crawling up my pant leg and I jumped up screaming "GET IT OFF ME! GET IT OFF ME!" and that was the end of that passionate encounter.

Well this weekend we went back to the "Kissing Bridge" and we took the kids. As we walked the excited kids across, we heard the 'clip-clop, clip-clop' of hooves on wood. We stood aside as a Mennonite farmer and his buggy came though. The magnificent horses slowed at they passed us, and the farmer tipped his hat to us. My kids stared in wonder, while, two children wearing black old-order hats and clothing, stared out the buggy window back at us.

It was a moment when the world stood still. When we were transported back in time for a minute, given the gift of seeing life during a simpler time. Then we were redeposited safely back to where we belonged.

At the farmer's market I bought some dried, mixed beans and some smoked pork, and the lady gave me her recipe for Traditional Bean Soup! I was so thrilled to take home a taste of Mennonite Country, and couldn't WAIT to make this stuff. Well let me tell you...I spent all the damn day making this soup! I used to wonder what these people did without cars and electricity all day, but now I know!

THEY ARE MAKING SOUP!

Chopping endless piles of carrots, celery, onions, peppers, garlic, meat and tomatoes into tiny little pieces and letting various combinations of these things simmer for 4 friggin hours EACH (not to mention the stuff that needs to cool overnight that you have to cook the day BEFORE so you can skim off the fat and the beans that need to soak for 2 days!) I still stink like Traditional Bean Soup and that recipe made enough to feed an army and I had to do SOMETHING with this stuff so I filled up large containers of this steaming hot soup and delivered some to my parents, and some to my grandmother, and some to my mother-in-law, stopping for chats and company along the way.

It was only when I got home that I realized the point of the soup.

And it was good.

The RASH Method

2006-09-29T14:42:00.000-04:00

Today I was driving to work and pondering heroes. (Book, TV & movie heroes, like Harry Potter and Superman) I started thinking: what if I was approached in downtown Metropolis by three evil flying anti-heros wearing black pleather outfits, would I battle them like Superman did? When cornered in the Department of Mysteries by a crowd of ravenous murdering Voldemort-worshippers, would I take them on single-handedly?

No way.

Franny would RUN AWAY and SCREAM for HELP. (RASH for short.) You do this loudly and with your arms and legs flailing for optimum effect.

I would make a rotten 'fictional hero' because heroes don't use the RASH method. No one wants Batman to say to the Joker, "EEEK, just hold off on the battery acid for a sec, I'm notifying the cops!"

If Harry Potter used the RASH method, the books would be pretty short.

Spiderman would be a bit of a pussy.

Even Hamlet would read differently. Eg:

Hamlet: *running away* Arghh....my mom is a slut and that guy killed my dad and my girlfriend is a depressing psycho! Somebody help me!

Spiderman: You can come hang out with me, heh heh heh...

(Ok, yes I am aware that Spiderman does not appear in Shakespeare. Though I now have an excellent idea for a future blog...)

Ok so my point is, the RASH Method ain't for the 'hero' types, but it can work for us normal folk, in everyday life. Eg:

Get a bad job evaluation? Run away and scream for help!

Car stuck in traffic? Run away and scream for help!

Having trouble 'in the bedroom'? Run away and scream for help! (well, quietly)

Good luck everyone out there, and remember: choosing your battles means RUN AWAY if you're outnumbered.

She Drives Me Crazy

2006-09-27T10:33:00.000-04:00

Let's say there was this teacher. Let's say that this teacher had a child in her Kindergarten class that was reading at a Grade 4 level. Let's say that there was a parent, who realized that her son was reading at a Grade 4 level and went to talk to the teacher (who had never mentioned it before and kept sending home really EASY reading) about nurturing this talent. And let's say, that the teacher pretty much said to this parent "so what?" and then proceeded to criticize this boys abilities in other areas (eg: penmanship and gym), instead of offering advice on how to increase his potential and confidence.

Lastly, let's say this teacher made sure that the parent realized that her son was in no way unique...that over the years she had had many children who could read at an advanced level for their age and it pretty much took them nowhere.

Now, lets say this all actually happened.

Besides egg her car (which is WRONG, kids) what should this parent do?

About Nonno

2006-09-22T20:36:00.000-04:00

Much of what I know about my grandfather is the stuff of legends, such that you start to wonder what parts are myth and what parts are actually true.

Adriano was born to a very old and wealthy family in Rome, Italy. In his teens, he served his obligatory service in WWII for Mussolini (aka: the wrong side), and was stationed in Southern Italy. Anyhow, when his unit heard that the Allied forces were on their way, they immediately took off their uniforms, borrowed clothes from the locals, and sat themselves down in the local bar as if they had been there all day. When the liberators arrived and asked which way Axis forces had gone, “the soldiers” winked and said “what soldiers?” The Allies understood that they were all on the same side. They sat down for wine and celebration with my grandfather’s platoon and with the locals, like old friends.

When my grandfather married my grandmother, it was a HUGE scandal. In those days, people of my grandfather’s status did NOT mingle with working class families. He lost his inheritance, his status, and was disowned by his parents, all for marrying this woman from the wrong side of the tracks. They had a daughter (my mother), and worked hard for everything that they owned. When the job situation became difficult, they decided it was time to emigrate. My grandfather sent applications for work to two countries where his skills were in high demand: Australia and Canada. He told the family that the first country to reply would be where they would go.

I can’t imagine how it felt, holding that envelope…wondering where the new life would begin. Of course, Canada replied first, which is why I am here and not down under! They sold everything and flew across the pond to icy Quebec City. They had never seen snow before, and it was 4 ft. deep when they arrived. My grandparents thought they had entered arctic hell. But my mother, who was 6, loved it!

My grandparent’s journey took them to Ontario, where they lived to celebrate 57 years of marriage. And yesterday, my grandfather died of complications from emphysema.

My grandfather was a master garage-saler, buying old, worn-out & broken furniture, restoring it in his workshop, and selling it again as the heirloom it once was.

My grandfather loved to collect, and had an odd assortment of collectibles from antique dulcimers to novelty singing fish, ancient roman coins to plush skunks.

My grandfather told me there were trout in the hot water tank. (I believed him until very recently.)

My grandfather loved sweets, played Claudio Villa (*above) records at Christmas and was the crankiest old bugger with a smile in his eyes that you could ever hope to meet.

I think the best thing about my grandfather is how he always called Nicky “Il Professore” (the professor). My grandfather adored that little boy because he recognized that my son had a special kind of intelligence. I like to think Nicky reminded him of himself when he was a kid, with those ears that stick out and that unusual way about him. Nicky raises his eyebrows as he watches the world, waiting for something funny or unexpected to happen. He laughs out loud when it does.

So, I will think of Nonno when I look at my little boy.

Hero Complex

2006-09-20T22:53:00.000-04:00

Me & the kids played superheroes at the park tonight. It's this really creative & educationally stimulating (aka: just made it up) game in which we are all superheroes and we "fly" around the park until, we hear "HELP!" from some tiny creature in the distance. Usually its a baby duck (aka: a fluffy dandelion head) at the top of the hill, or a baby squirrel (aka: a pile of grass clippings) that needs immediate assistance. So we all "fly" to the rescue! Eg:

Me: Quick Superheroes, each of you take a baby duck and use your "Super-Eyesight" to put it on the bench so that its mommy can find it!

Kids: *run amok in 3 different directions, none of them towards the park bench*

At one point our fluffy baby bunny developed hyperactivity disorder. Just as they would come to pet it, it would get away, and they would all scream and chase it. I would catch it and then the scenario would repeat itself. Its amazing how many times we did this, considering the fact that the rabbit was, by all apparent indications, invisible.

We had to rescue a baby bird but first we had to use our "Super-Thinking" find the biggest tree. This was fun because it was Nicky who correctly identified the "biggest tree". The other two were fooled by the closer trees, thinking they were bigger, but Nicky saw the tree on the South end of the park and he knew right away that it was the biggest, in spite of the perspective. He is really good with details like that! We then all "climbed" the tree (oh my back!) and rescued the 'baby bird', though I am sure Joey put his in his pocket for a pet...

I finally got the kids to leave by telling them we could use our "Super-Hearing" to listen to a 'secret underground river' on the way home. We stopped by the storm drain, were very quiet, and sure enough, we heard the rush of water from the recent rains. You should have seen their faces when they realized I wasn't *bullshitting them!(*well, technically I wasn't...)

So when my hubby came home from work tonight, they bombarded him at the door with stories of "Super-Powers" and "Underground Rivers", etc etc. He was reeling with confusion and surprise as they swarmed him. It was totally cute. Nicky proudly thumped his chest and said "I'm a Superhero Mommy!"

It was so nice.

It soothes the soul.

And yes, I'm tired and sore.

But so very happy.

*Sigh*.

An Interview

2006-09-18T10:11:00.000-04:00

Alan: Good morning everyone, I'm Alan Rickman and I'm the guest-star interviewer for a very special segment of "Good Morning America!" Today we're talking about the blogging phenomenon, and with me here is Franny of Franny's Fables. She's a mom, a wife, a graduate of professional writing and web technology AND a devoted blogger. Franny is going to help shed some light on this world-changing new method of communication.

Alan: Welcome, Franny!

Franny: Um...*giggle*, hi...*hiding face*, Alan *giggle, flush*.

Alan: Thanks for coming out this morning. I hope the British accent doesn't bother you.

Franny: Um...*giggle*...sorry...

Alan: Ok, then, let's get right to it. Blogging - is it the news medium of the future?

Franny: Actually...um...I like the accent...a lot...I mean, could you repeat the question....slooowly?

Alan: Certainly. Do you feel that blogging is the news-medium of the future?

Franny: Mmmm...now say it again, and raise your eyebrow the way you did in "Love Actually" when the secretary was dancing with you.

Alan: *Looking uncertainly at the camera*

Franny: Sorry, sorry... Yes, blogging good. *wiping drool*

Alan: Very well. And with all of the controversial and politcal subjects discussed in blogs, do you think that legislation should be passed-

Franny: Alan?

Alan: Yes Franny? Is everything alright?

Franny: *Sigh* Could you hold my hand and ask me that again? Like you're Colonel Branden and I'm Marianne Dashwood from Sense and Sensibility?

Alan: *squirming uncomfortably* Moving on to our next question...Some critics have indicated that partisan groups are using blogs in order to spread propaganda that appears to be unbiased and releasing it on an unsuspecting public. What are your feelings on this?

Franny: Well...yes...I have very strong feelings about that, but I won't share them with you.

Alan: Oh, *raising eyebrows* and why is that?

Franny: Because...I'm being a very bad girl, Professor Snape...

Alan: *standing up* Oh for Christ's sake!

Franny: Oooh...I see you're angry...*drooooool*

Alan: Ok, um, that's all the time we have for today. Join us again tomorrow when a new guest-star will be interviewing on behalf of "Good Morning America"! Thank you to our guest Franny for this 'enlightening' discussion. *shakes Franny's hand*

Franny: *passes out*

Alan: Franny? Franny??? Can somebody get some smelling salts?

The Inevitable Element

2006-09-16T15:35:00.000-04:00

Why does the bread always get squished, no matter where you put it in the grocery cart? And if you happen to make it out of the store with unsquished bread, it'll get squished in the car, or on the kitchen table, or seconds before you serve it so that the whole family whines "SQUISHED BREAD AGAIN!?"? Wanna know why?

It's because the bread HAS to be squished. It is the bread's destiny.

Now I am an intelligent woman with powers and knowledge that are uniquely superior to that of most guys. (Sorry men!) But why can't I outwit the universe? Why does the inevitable always find me and drag me to the town square buck nekked so that the populace can point and laugh and say "HA HA, SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT SHE'S DOING!"?

Consider the following:

If I tidy up a room, it is INEVITABLE that there is a child, seconds behind me, wearing muddy shoes, carrying an overfull glass of grape juice and balancing a bucket of Honey-nut Cheerios on their head. This is true everywhere I go. Look for this child in the grocery store, the library, and at church.

If I am in a grand hurry, it is INEVITABLE that the car will be on empty, so I will stop at the gas station where it is INEVITABLE that I will run into an old high school flame while I am wearing my grubbies and have on no makeup and crusts of food on my shirt, and highschool-hottie will pretend not to notice how badly I've let myself go, but it is INEVITABLE it will come up later back at his swinging bachelor pad as he mentions it to all the stupid-but-pretty girls I used to know in highschool and they all squeal with glee and say "I KNEW IT!"

If I promise the kids peanut-butter and Nutella sandwiches for lunch, it is INEVITABLE that my husband already ate all of the pb, and the Nutella that I bought yesterday has slipped into the seventh dimension and is awaiting execution by some rogue alien task force/the time police. Also, the bread will be squished. (*see above)

If I have a headache, someone will INEVITABLY locate a high-pitched toy trumpet...

(Oh, and if I am writing my latest musings before the inspiration runs out, it is INEVIATABLE that the kkids will sho7w up and be riGht over mye shouldeR and bumping my eelbows so that me typing and concen1tration get screwwded up.)

I suppose its the universe's way of keeping us humble, so that we don't turn into evil dictators, false Gods or Republicans. The inevitable element keeps us human.

Yes, like the bread, we are meant to be squished. It is our destiny.

A Recipe for Homemade Won Ton Soup

2006-09-12T20:31:00.000-04:00

Ingredients:
1/2 lb ground turkey
2 tbsp soy sauce
1/2 onion, very finely chopped
1/3 cup breadcrumbs
1 pkg Won Ton wrappers
1/2 cup hot water
1 pot beef broth

Optional garnishes:
1 cup crispy oriental noodles
1 chopped green onion

Instructions:
1. Mix first four ingredients together well. Tell kids for the 10th time that dinner isn't ready yet. Assure 4-yr old son that you're not making beans or stew or vegetables any other kind of food that makes him PUKE.

2. Turn on stove and put broth to boil, and then run away with the stove still on because someone has just turned the shower on in the bathroom. Re-dress wet kid, and return to kitchen to find daughter squishing her fingers in the raw meat.

3. Wash daughter's hands and escort her out of the kitchen. Assure 4-yr-old son that you're not making beans or stew or vegetables any other kind of food that makes him PUKE.

4. Put on a video so the kids stop bugging you while you cook.

5. Turn off video and beg the kids to stop fighting while you cook.

6. Offer to let kids help cook.

7. Place small ball of meat in centre of each wrapper. Stop 4-yr-old from sampling the raw meat. Fold Won Ton, diagnal corners together, and seal by wetting fingertip with hot water. Repeat until your daughter decides the Won Ton wrappers look like delicious process cheese slices and runs off with them.

8. Locate and soothe crying daughter who didn't like the way the "cheese" tasted.

9. Return to kitchen to find boys throwing the balls of raw meat at each other. Attempt to eject all the children.

10. Give up trying to eject the crying children, and offer to let them GENTLY drop the completed Won Tons into the boiling water.

11. Scream in pain as they gleefully SLAM DUNK the Won Tons, splashing boiling water all over your hands. Nod in dismay when you see that they are all coming unwrapped due to the force of the throws.

12. Kick all the kids out. Remind 4-yr old that you're NOT making beans or stew or vegetables any other kind of food that makes him PUKE, goddammit!

13. Let soup boil for approx five minutes, or as long as it takes for one of them to find you hiding in the breakfast nook reading a magazine.

14. When done, ladle soup into bowls and garnish with a handful of crispy noodles (that your kids will eye suspiciously) and a sprinkle of green onion (but not on the 4-yr-old's soup because green onion is a VEGETABLE and that makes him PUKE, remember?!).

15. Cut up your beautiful Won Tons into unrecognizable tiny little bits so that the kids can eat them easily with a spoon. Mutter to yourself that a can of Lipton's Chicken Noodle Soup is 69 friggin' cents...

16. Light a candle, sit down and enjoy watching the kids eat something new. Realize that, all things considered, your Homemade Won Ton soup is really good! Make mental note to buy wine for dinner tomorrow. You're gonna need it!

Culturalizing the Kids, Again

2006-09-08T09:31:00.000-04:00

I was feeling restless and irritated and the kids were a little hyperactive, so I decided what we needed was some music to soothe the beasts. I swept all the clutter into the corners and let the moonlight shine in the big window and the livingroom instantly became the family ballroom. I put on my favourite, mellow CD and taught my kids how to slow dance with the largest stuffed animals I could find. You should have seen them out on the livingroom floor, dancing like at a 1950's prom! Each 'couple' had their own uniques style:

THE OLD FRIENDS
Joey and Mommy Duck had a casual chat while on the dancefloor, like two old good friends might do, or a couple that has been married for 40 years. Joey asked the questions of his 'date' and then offered the answers on her behalf in a nasal 'duck-like' voice. He held Mommy Ducks wings around his waist for her, and let her head stare at the ceiling. "Their song" is 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' by Kylie Minogue.

THE PARTY ANIMALS
Natalie and Snuffy the dog had the most fun. At the slightest rise in tempo or percussion, they were jumping and doing an acro-dance, and Snuffy got his poor stuffed ass thrown in the air repeatedly. He was only caught about 20% of the time, and was stepped on frequently by his partner. But he didn't seem to mind. Their song is 'The One I Love' by David Gray.

THE DON JUAN
Nicky and Precious the giant panda shocked me the most. They were by far the best dancers, and I was alarmed by what a ladies' man Nicky is gonna be. He held the panda in traditional 'waltz' posture, and he had this dreamy, 'you're the only Panda in the world for me' look in his eyes. He took the whole thing very seriously, and if Panda were a real, living breathing girl, she would definately be head-over-heels in love by now. Their song is 'Pull Me Through' by Jim Cuddy. (Click the disc or the player icon to hear it.)

Anyhow, after Natalie and Joey ran away to vandalize the bathroom, I had the dance with Nicky that I had been longing for. I took him in my arms as we danced to 'The Riddle' by Five for Fighting. He rested his head on my shoulder, and was absolutely still except for the wild giggles when we would do an unexpected spin or a dip. And then...oh God...I am not lying here...he put his hands on my cheeks...smiling...he tilted his head...and...oh God...

...he tried to TONGUE me!

Imagine me, half laughing and half screaming in horror and gasping for air and pushing him away and trying to tell him that we don't stick out our tongue out at mommy while thinking what the fuck was that???! Where the heck does a 30-month old learn these things??!!! (Hey, my hubby and I DO NOT to make out around the house - ok, maybe once...but I swear Nicky wasn't paying attention!)

Anyhow, I am gonna take it as a silly funny thing that a loveable preschooler might do as a sign of affection, and not a precursor to a strange and creepy relationship my son will one day have with his mother ala 'Norman Bates'. It wouldn't work out anyways. Our house is only one story, and we don't own a motel.

But I do have a rocking chair...

Scapegoat

2006-09-05T09:44:00.000-04:00

Ever have those days when you don't know what to blog about, and then something happens and BLAM! you're blogging furiously until your fingers smoke? Well that's me right now.

I just read an article in which the pope's chief exoricist, Rev. Gabriele Amorth, compared the Harry Potter characters to dictators Stalin and Hitler, saying they were possessed by the devil. He has called fictional wizard-in-training Harry Potter the "king of darkness, the devil" and stated that JK Rowling's works of magic promote the satanic acts. He said that the books are misleading when they differentiate between "white" magic and "black" magic---because ALL magic is a turn towards the devil.

*Sigh*.

Okay, screw that.

ARGHHHHHHHH! Fucking ignorant blind sex-deprived sadistic pompous shit-headed morons!!!!!!!!

Ok, that's better.

I know, this is not a well-thought out argument. I am not adding to the debate by getting all bitchy and spiteful and swearing up a storm. Sure, I could go on about what f-i-c-t-i-o-n is and all the real, NON-fiction atrocities committed by the Catholic church, all the real, NON-fiction evidence of evil in the world, not to mention all the real NON-fiction good these books and their author has brought to the world and to our culture at large (Eg: literacy, positive female role models, JKR's charity works, etc).

Think of all the depravity and violence that has NOT occurred while people were reading Harry Potter! In fact, I was GOING to maim, pillage and steal the weekend Half-Blood Prince came out, but I was too busy reading!

For me, this is not just a philosophical debate. It's a more of a "boyfriend/girlfriend fighting in a public place" kinda debate. I was born and raised Catholic, but I have refused to be lead blindly and I now have massive issues with the rights/expectations of women in the church, birth control, and stem-cell research, to name a few. It's like finding out that your boyfriend and his sister are sleeping together. Makes you mad, but its also so very creepy...

My point, and I do have one, is that this is personal.

And now they are going after my JKR. And you don't touch JKR.

So, if Harry Potter is a turn towards the devil, well then slap me in a red dress and hand me that pitchfork kids, I've got cities to burn!

Can and Can't

2006-08-31T12:19:00.000-04:00

After two highly-medicated weeks flat on my back, I have had a lot of time to think and do a personal inventory. I proudly present to you (cue booming voice):

FRANNY'S LESSER KNOWN TALENTS AND SHORTCOMINGS!!!!

I can bring home the bacon (usually), fry it up in a pan, and then eat most of it before it hits the table.

I can't watch 2 guys kissing in a movie. I can't. I just CAN'T! I erupt in giggles and hide my face until it goes away. Sorry, I've tried.

I can twist my arms and legs in bizarre and unusual ways because I am "double jointed". I do a mean impression of a person who just fell to their death from a 20 story building.

I can't lose at 'whack-a-mole'. I know, I mentioned this before, but this is a talent that not enough people respect and admire. I am working to change that.

I can watch a movie without ever learning the character's names. It's always "the red haired guy", "the chick with the limp", "the bank-robber guy's kid", etc.

I can't pump my own gas. I used to, but I have since become a cougar and enjoy watching eager 18-yr-olds wait upon my vehicle. I also like my daughter's commentary about the pumper: "that man has pizza on his face", "that man has no hair", "that man's shirt is dirty"!

I can catch a fly with my bare hand. Chalk it up to those lightning-quick, whack-a-mole honed reflexes. (see above)

I can't get a needle without feeling faint. Something about sharp, pointy objects gives me an intense emotional reaction. Strangely, I am compelled to learn archery or fencing. When I was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC, I stood mesmerized by their sword collection for some time...the security guards were getting edgy.

Ok, so there you have it. Oh, and my apologies to pigs, homosexuals, suicide victims, plastic moles, movie producers, pimply-faced gas pumpers, flies and Met guards everywhere.

Come by and I'll fix you breakfast.

Mother Wolf

2006-08-28T10:27:00.000-04:00

My wise, gentle, peace-loving little 2 1/2 year old son is gonna change the world. Well, as soon as we get over his fast-moving problem. See, give him an inch of free rein and he runs. Away. Fast. No sense of danger, no fear of strangers, no idea what fast-moving traffic could do to him. Let go of his hand in the front yard, and he's GONE like a shot, always in a straight line, even if that line crosses a major freeway or a 100-ft deep lake, and no amount of screaming or shouting can stop him. One time, he was knee deep in a creek in Kingston by the time I caught up with him.

As many of you know, Nicky has been diagnosed with PDD-NOS, a condition that falls under the umbrella of the autism spectrum. We are very lucky that he is quite verbal and social, though he often prefers to pull his blankie over his head to shut the world off when it gets to be too much. (I believe having a fiery twin sister and older brother has really helped Nicky to feel safe and confident in his world.) Like many children with PDD, he is obsessed with trains and things in straight lines... he adores numbers and counting and elevators. Socially, he doesn't stand up for himself, making him an easy target for bullies. He takes a bit of coaxing to join in with a group, and comes across as extrememly shy, but once he joins, he has more fun than anyone else. He has a toothy smile that runs from ear to ear, and his eyes light up this with wild joy that fills everyone around him with the same happiness. He is my peaceful child, untroubled, of gentle-spirit, undemanding, and when things get really tough for him, his solution is to put mommy under the blanket too. He often abruptly stops playing, comes to rest his head on my chest for a few minutes, and then goes back to his playing when he is "recharged".

Anyhow, my hubby was on the night shift and he dropped us all off at my mom's for the day so he could sleep and we could be taken care of (I'm in a lot of pain with a pinched nerve in my back--see prev. post.) After a couple hours sleep, hubby came to pick us up. In the confusion of getting ready to head home, Nicky got out the side door and took off down the BUSY street. I was the only one who saw this, and I screamed for help and took off after him, chasing him for about a block before my hubby saw what had happened and caught him. So today, my son is safe, and I write this post barely able to lift an arm and with at least 2 more weeks of recovery ahead of me due to the damage I did to myself yesterday.

We've all heard the story of the mom who singlehandedly lifted a car to save her child trapped underneath. I used to think it was an urban legend. But up until that moment when I saw my son running away, I could barely stand. And suddenly, I was running, chasing him, and the pain was just...well, exquisite, but it didn't matter. When faced with the option of waiting for help, or taking off after him in spite of the pain, there was no choice.

I have met the mother wolf, and she is me.

10 Mins to Write

2006-08-24T23:31:00.000-04:00

Last week, it started with an ache, which became a prick, which became a pinch which became a horrible paralyzing pain from my lower back down to my left ankle. Yes, Franny is bedridden this week with a pinched nerve/sciatica, apparently for 7-10 days. This is bad for many reasons:

#1: Mommy is more fun to jump on when she is lying down.

#2: The severe, debilitating pain.

#3: My husband has taken on full care of a gimpy wife and 3 kids.

#4: Did I mention the pain?

#5: Missing the fresh air, walking, sitting, and life in general.

Ok, that's thoroughly depressing, isn't it? Okay, here are good things about having a torturously acute back ailment:

#1: The medication. Okay, it works for about 10 mins before the pain returns, but when I am doped, life is "irie, mon". This means I have about 4 mins left to write this blog...

#2: Being dressed, dragged around and fed by my hubby. (Yeah, we lost that sexy mystique a long time ago, but it reminds me what a good man I gots.)

#3: Bedridden parenting. I can't get up, so my son and I spent quality time playing around with my bedside clock radio, and much time has been spent looking at pictures and discussing Halloween costume ideas with the 2-yr-olds.

#4: Catching up on my reading. Now is not the time to experiment. I am re-reading old, comforting favourites, such as the Harry Potter series.

#5: OWWWWWWWWWW....Okay, forget this shit...my 10 mins is up!

PS: Pity me not, my dear friends. Just send better drugs.

The smile when you tore me apart...

2006-08-22T09:08:00.000-04:00

A talented writer friend of mine, Mark Leslie, is auctioning off a chance to be a character on his blog serial thriller, "I, Death". You can even be murdered, if that's your bag! I see this as a once in a lifetime opportunity to witness one's own senseless demise, without the whole actual 'gripping panic as you fight desperately for your life against a hell-bent maniac'. (I, frankly, have never been one to enjoy a good sweat.)

Okay, so you can die, and support literacy at the same time, without worrying if your will is up-to-date or if your ungrateful kids will hock the jewelery off your corpse while you are still warm. What a wicked deal! Check out the auction here, and begin your journey into infamy...

By the way, the title of this blog is from a song by Within Temptation, called "Angels". Within Temptation are an angsty mix of goth, incredible vocals and power rock, reminiscent of Evanescence. See their awesome, vigilante justice video here: "Angels" And for something completely different, see this fanvideo, based on Aragorn & Arwen from LOTR. (*sigh* why can't you love ME, aragorn? is it the ears?) The song is "Memories", also by Within Temptation.

Perverts and Whacking

2006-08-18T09:55:00.000-04:00

Multiple choice, test your knowledge:

If Franny wakes up late for work and breaks her toe on the corner unit and slips in the shower and has the kids all pooing themselves with the runs and spends the morning scrubbing shitty carpets and then dings the car in the parking lot and then gets flashed by a smelly pervert in a trenchcoat on the stairwell to her office, what do you think her reply is when the coworkers brightly say "lovely morning, isn't it"?

a) "The world is a pit of despair and we are food for worms. How are you?"
b) No reply. Just blood.
c) "I'm sorry, could you repeat that so I can laugh my ass off maniacally on cue?"
d) "Never a finer day!"

Answer at bottom of post.

Usually, I am the Queen of the Pokerface. Well, at work anyways. At home, the rewards for whining and complaining and mewling in despair are far too great. I mean, who wouldn't exaggerate when there is a warm, cuddly man willing to listen and assuage you with fast food? Eg:

Me: Everybody hates me. I'm a failure. At everything. And I'm fat too. And not just fat. Gross, disgusting, shut-in fat.

Hubby: Aww sweetie, *hug*, sounds like you need some Taco Bell.

At work, the reward for mewling wouldn't be quite the same:

Me: Everybody hates me. I'm a failure. At everything. And I'm fat too. And not just fat. Gross, disgusting, shut-in fat.

VP of Tech: Well, I suppose we could get you a bigger chair...

So, in conclusion, don't whine at work. But lately there have been questions. People have noticed that I am a bit cranky. I have been 'accidentally' biting heads off. Even when I try to be charming, it comes out the wrong way. Like when my boss tried to tell me not to worry about the deadlines, and I told her 'omg! deadlines rhymes with HEADLINES!' and then started laughing my ass off, and she backed away from me...verrry slooooowly...

I suppose I am a little tired, probably due to the ragweed season, and the conflict in the middle east and a lack of sleep due to excessive online whack-a-mole, (which I have gotten very good at. In fact, at real, carnival whack-a-mole, I have NEVER been beaten. Like really. I am the Whack-a-mole queen! I have an entire basement full of excessively large stuffed animals that I have won.). But, oh, I digress.

Tonight, sitter permitting, hubby and I are going out. Maybe that's all I need, a little WE time. We can have some Taco Bell, make fun of people that aren't us, and maybe, just maybe, find a carnival where I can Whack the shit out of some helpless little moles with that huge padded Whacker. AND, if I bring the scissors, and if we time it just right, that Whacker is coming home with me for the next person who pisses me off! I bet next week is gonna be smooth sailing!

See I don't need a shrink. No one does. All any of us really need is to get some sleep, and to carry a big Whacker.

Oh, and the answer is (d). Usually.

The Mouse

2006-08-14T21:59:00.000-04:00

Today it was pouring rain, and as I was leaving to pick up the twins from preschool, I saw a little mouse running across the street. After the horror of earlier in the summer, (oh, our A/C broke and the technician took it apart to find a family of fricasseed mice that had been living in the unit box and must have chewed on a wire -yeah, I did say HORROR) I had to DO something. So, I chased that little, soaked mouse to the neighbor's lawn and trapped it in a plastic flower pot. Anyhow, the tip of its tail was sticking out, so I took it by the tail and lifted the little thing up...and there he hung, limp, dripping wet and not even struggling (like you'd expect):

Me: Oh my God, did I accidentally KILL you?
Mouse: No, I'm good dude.
Me: Umm...then why are you just hanging limp like that? Shouldn't you be struggling to escape the maws of impending doom? What if I wanted to eat you?
Mouse: Oh well, you gotta go sometime. Besides, circle of life and all that.
Me: Wow, that's deep.
Mouse: No, not really, no. Say, have you seen my mommy? She lived in the A/C unit...

No, the mouse really didn't talk to me, but I DO think he thought he was dead meat, as mice are pretty much a staple food for most creatures. So I took the pitiful, resigned creature into the van and drove 10 mins out into the country to let him go. At every stoplight I would open the two plastic containers he was trapped between to let some more air in. His little nose would peek out, but he never tried to escape. When I reached the large wooded park, I gently released him into some shrubbery.

By then I was soaked through, wet and pitiful myself, not to mention that I was running late. But it was a great story to tell the kids. My daughter kept saying "look, I see a little mouse!" everywhere we went.

"I could not have slept tonight if I had left that helpless little creature to perish on the ground." (Reply to friends who chided him for delaying them by stopping to return a fledgling to its nest.) - Abraham Lincoln, Sixteenth President of the United States

Danger Mom and the Heart-Attack Five

2006-08-11T08:47:00.000-04:00

I think I swallowed my heart about a dozen times this week. The following stories are taken from the real-life adventures of Danger Mom and the Heart-Attack Five (aka me and my family):

***
The Meatballs of Danger

My oldest son opens the front door to see if daddy is still mowing the lawn, and accidentally lets my youngest son, who is 2, out the door. (Oh, and he neglects to tell me that his little brother has just left the premises because he is afraid I'll get "mad" because I told him not to open the door in the first place, so instead he just quietly shuts the door and hopes this problem will go away on its own.) I am in the kitchen frying up meatballs during all of this. Ten mins later, I decide to truck it to the loo, and I walk by the living room and something is funny.

Can't put my finger on it...something is wierd here...something is missing...no, everything is fine, there's my oldest son and my daughter, playing in the livingroom...ummm, headcount...that's one, two...umm...I don't think two is enough. I think I have three kids...OMG...I DO have three kids! And, there are only TWO kids here...ARGH!

So I run frantically through the house, looking for the missing kid, searching closets and cupboards and under beds, and this is when my oldest son volunteers that he went OUTSIDE. I fly outside screaming my block off, (ready to start a neighborhood search) and to the backyard where my husband is mowing the lawn. And there is my son, playing on the playset. And his father didn't even know he was there b/c we have a huge yard, and what with the lawnmower noise, etc. Thank God the backyard gate had been open, or who knows where my little boy would have ended up, looking for a place to play.

***

The Bus of Doom

Leaving work at 9pm after the evening shift, I am driving home, same route I always take.

Dum de dum...nothing on the radio, stupid radio stations...oh look, there's that house that's for sale that I like...maybe I'll buy it when I win the big one...oh here's the light, turning red, better stop...yep, stopping would be good...ummm...stop car...BRAKE please...BRAKES....NO BRAKES! BRAKE DAMMIT!!!!! ARGH CAN'T STOP, GONNA DIE, SHOULDA-GOT-THAT-DAMN-LIFE-INSURANCE-BECAUSE-THERE'S-A-CITY-BUS-WITH-MY-NAME-ON-IT!

I manage to stop, both feet on the brake, in the MIDDLE of the intersection. The big bus, thankfully, beat me through. I get home, (very slowly), shaking in my sneakers, and tell my husband what happened. He thoughtfully nods and hugs me and says "come to think of it, the brakes were acting a bit funny the last coupla days". Needless to say, our car is currently in the shop.

***

The Parking Lot of Disaster

Loading kids again, long tiring shopping trip, can't wait to get home, OH PLEASE stop wriggling you little monsters so I can buckle you in...good, done, one, two, three in, off we go -SLAM- OH THAT FRIGGIN HURT! ARGH! Smashed my head on the roof of the van...look at all the pretty little birdies flying around my head...ha ha ha...hey what's that screaming...oh, my son's finger is stuck in the clothing hanging thingy...hold on honey...mommy is experiencing slurred speech and blurred vision...just a mild concussion, really...must free child...must stop giggling...hey why is someone rifling through the box of Little Debbie Snack Cakes? Didn't I just buckle you in, you little escape artist? Hey, where am I, what was I doing? Oh yeah, freeing screaming child...no no no, dizzy euphoria is evolving into ringing pain...where's the friggin Advil?

(I did eventually get everyone settled and happy using my daughter's idea of cracking open the Snack Cakes. It was a blissfully quiet and tasty, ride home.)

Changes

2006-08-08T11:20:00.000-04:00

This is going to be my oddest blog post ever. Brace yourself.

People change, just like seasons change, but they don't really, really change, do they? Even the seasons aren't permanent...winter becomes spring, which becomes summer, which becomes fall, and then we're back to the bitter cold of winter again. What changed? Sure, there were variations on the landscape, but nothing really changed. The earth is the earth, like the heart is the heart and the mind is the mind. I am thinking about a few people I know that are going through changes, some big, some routine, some tragic:

My friend 'Kate' has set the proverbial bird free, and sheds tears as it flies away. Will she learn to live without its song, and be better for it? Or will she someday feel that it should have taken it with her for the flight?

I think about 'Lacey', standing strong during the illness and suffering of a loved one with a serious illness. How does she keep it together, with a job and a husband and small children, while her mind is hundreds of kilometres away?

Or 'John', shyly closing the door on a very long chapter of his life, earning himself a place of rest and healing. Will he make the most of this time, and spend these precious years well, cherishing each and every day?

I don't know the answers to any of these questions. I don't know how life will turn out for any of these people that I hold so dear to my heart. But if I were psychic, I would tell these people that I have seen the cards, and they say that everything will be okay, that the changes will be gentle and smooth, that the universe is unfolding as it should. I would tell them that after their troubles, there will be good people to dress the wounds, to hold them tight and to lead them towards a place filled with light and joy and happiness again.

But the cards I read are not cards at all, but wishes and hopes and prayers for people at the crossroads.

The New York Exception

2006-08-03T15:38:00.000-04:00

Myself and my girlfriends just got back from an exciting 3 night trip to NYC. While there we saw Harry, Carrie & Garp, a benefit reading by writing behemoths Stephen King, John Irving and JK Rowling.

IT WAS INCREDIBLE!

Six thousand people packed into Radio City Music Hall, all rabid booklovers, and you could hear a pin drop during the readings! We were surprised by many celebrity hosts including Whoopie Goldberg, Cathy Bates & John Stewart (OMG I LOVE HIM SOOOO MUCH--I LIKE FREAKED OUT!)So, yes, the show was great and unforgettable. I just love seeing my idols act so human, with their smiles, and embarassed grins, and stumbling answers, and the true joy they feel at recieving a standing ovation. JKR had tears in her eyes, and I will never forget the way she cheekily showed off her shoes...gold sandals with the straps styled as snakes! Or when Stephen King, in the middle of a particularly gross part of his reading, stopped and announced bewilderedly "who WRITES this stuff??!!" Or when John Irving did voices for his reading, including Owen Meany's high-pitched, broken squealy voice, and started to laugh along with the audience. It was truly, a once in a lifetime experience, and the best show I have seen in my whole life. *Sigh*

I am simply overflowing with stories about our adventures in NYC... the first store we stepped into had 2 people handcuffed near the register with an officer radioing in the arrest (oh, no one even really noticed this! the shopping continued as if nothing were amiss!) We almost got picked up by this wierdo in an 'unlicensed' cab! Our tourguide even started using his microphone to scream at the drivers in a traffic jam! Yes, New Yorkers are insane. (Sorry New Yorkers!)

But it was better than what we encountered in New Jersey, where we stayed. The people there are MEAN...no, I didn't meet everyone in New Jersey, just a dozen or so, but each of them was abrupt and frightening in their own, unique way. Every gas station attendant was rude. Every toll booth operator was angry. The guy at the hotel desk was abrupt. Even the waitress, who was obviously TRYING to be nice, was doing so in a loud and intimidating way. (Am I making any sense?) Anyhow, it was severe culture shock! Yes, working is hard and demanding, but shouldn't a smile beget a smile? Doesn't a 'Thank-you' beget a 'You're welcome'? Shouldn't a humble 'please?' beget an understanding 'smile and nod'? It does where I come from. It's those little exchanges that reaffirm that feeling of "I am human and you are human too, and we are going to cooperate for the brief time that we are in each other's service". For we are forever in each other's service, giving and taking, offering and receiving, with total strangers, and courtesy makes those interactions more gentle, in a small way.

And that's the problem. Common courtesy was sadly, vacant. I guess scraping out a living with millions of other people trying to scam you and take what's yours makes them hard? I got the feeling that "protecting me and mine" was the only motivating factor.

But to every rule, there is the exception. There was one tollbooth operator, the last one before we left NJ, who paused and smiled at me. He asked us where we were off to, and we told him we were heading back to Canada. He laughed, and asked if the heat was driving us off (it was a heat wave there). I laughed and said, yes, and that we were looking forward to some good old Canadian snow. He chuckled at my lame-ass joke. Then, as he gave me my change, his demeanour changed. He looked thoughtfully out at the crowded, fast-moving highway. He turned, looked me in the eye, his brow furrowed, concern and care evident in his voice. "Ya'll have a safe trip home ladies, ya' hear?"

And I heard.

Inspired by Children's Books

2006-07-24T22:32:00.000-04:00

If you're a duck in a truck that's stuck in the muck, can you really say "Oh QUACK!"???

"Duck in a Truck" is a real book that my kids like, and every time I hear my husband reading it, my silliness takes over. When I hear about the Frog on a Log, I giggle. Children's books do that though. They take you back...

I remember vividly in Grade 2, we had this chart on the wall, and every time you remembered your gym shoes, you got a sticker. Well, I forgot my shoes a couple of times and cried because I screwed up. The teacher's assistant saw me, and comforted me, and said not to worry. At the end of the year, they gave out a prize for the person who had the most stickers, and I won - every sticker space had been filled in for me, giving me a perfect score. To this day, I believe it was Ms. Nicosia (sp?), the teacher's assistant, who did that for me.

I wonder if she put those stickers in because I was from a poor family with too many kids? Because she saw a bit of herself in me? Because I was quiet and scared? Because someone had been kind to her when she was afraid as a child?

I unwrapped the precious prize, and it was a copy of Green Eggs and Ham. That book meant more to me than any other prize/award/gift I have ever recieved in my whole life. The book is long gone, but the memory of that random kindness has stuck with me all these years. I have often thought of trying to find her again, to let her know, to say thank you...but I have no idea how to spell her name, and the school closed down that year. But I'll remember her smooth raven hair and large round glasses for as long as I live.

I'll remember her kindness.

And I will pay it forward.

Potty Mouth

2006-07-18T10:48:00.000-04:00

My daughter is potty training this week, and so far, so good. Yes, there have been accidents, but she is taking this very seriously. I compare her to a little army cadet, keen on impressing the brass, following the instructions to the letter. What makes me so proud is how HARD she is trying...she will sit on that potty for 20-30 mins, even though I tell her we can try again later! And if I walk away to tend to her siblings, she will still be there when I get back, calmly looking at a book, waiting for the 'big' event.

This is in stark contrast to her big brother, who you had to watch like a hawk because the second he had a chance, he would get bored and go pee wherever he felt like it!

I give my daughter two little stickers every time she has success. One goes on her hand, and one goes on her potty to "decorate" it. We went from one little sticker to about a dozen stickers all over the arm rests. I look at the mishmash of stickers, from cows and bunnies and stars and hearts, and I am so proud. She picks them herself from a large sheet I bought at the dollar store. She takes the sticker choosing very seriously too!

In those moments when we are waiting for the 'event', the conversation inevitably turns to anatomy:

Girl: Mommy, where's my penis?
Mommy: You don't have a penis, sweetheart.
Girl: Why?
Mommy: Because girls don't have a penis. Only boys have a penis. You and mommy have a vagina.
Girl: Why do I have a 'gina?
Mommy: Because God made us that way. You are a girl, and He made you just perfect.
Girl: Does my brother have a 'gina?
Mommy: No, your brother is a boy, he has a penis.
Girl(panicking, searching): Oh no, I lost MY penis!

And so on and so on and so on... I don't know if I am giving her too much information, or if its not enough information, if I'm causing gender confusion or what! It's hard to put in perspective because I would NEVER ask my mother questions like that! Everything I knew about "biology" and "physical functions" I learned from books when I was old enough to read. My research was done on the fly, eg: when doing an assignment on endangered birds in Grade 4/5, I would make sure no one was looking, and then my hand would 'slip' between the pages on "Peregrine Falcon" and "Penis" in the Encyclopedia Brittanica in the school library. Good thing it was illustrated!

Anyhow, back to my kid's anatomy lessons, there are also the occasional arguments I overhear from the kitchen:

Brother: "I'm the boy."
Girl: "NO, I'M THE BOY!"
Brother: "No, I'm the boy!"
Girl: "NO, I'M THE BOY!"

I think she thinks he is boasting when he says he is a boy, so she thinks she should be the boy too. Kinda like "I'm the best!" "No, I'm the best!" Creeps me out sometimes, that being the "boy" is equated to being the "best" in her mind...but I think we are still a little young to be reading too much into things. I suspect its just a semantics problem that comes with being a 2-year-old.

Besides, I can already see the little woman she's going to become. Strong and caring, willful yet sensitive, bright and hard-working. And if mommy has any influence, she will be fiercely proud to be a woman, with all the hardships and talents and joys and miracles that come with it.

Maritimed

2006-07-09T21:37:00.000-04:00

Hi everyone, we're back from the big vacation! We did some wonderful things, spent a lot of time together, got a ton of fresh air, saw some neat places and ultimately discovered that "there's no place like home". The highlights included celebrating Canada Day in a small fishing village, going to the beach with the kids and "jumping" over the saltwater waves, introducing the kids to the wonder of hermit crabs, walking on the ocean floor during low tide, taking a cruise and meeting porpoises and seals in the wild, and toting home live lobsters to share with our families!

The laughable moments (well, we can laugh NOW):
1) My daughter calmly announcing over and over on the plane "We're going down mommy...we're going down mommy...we're going down..."(She was describing the feeling of descending, but everyone was creeped out, like she was some sort of spooky-premonition-kid from an M. Night Shaymalan movie...)
2) We were deflating the floaties to fit in the suitcase, and the twins started wailing because we "murdered" their dolphin/fish floaties.
3) When my 4-yr-old decided that the ocean was full of dangerous jellyfish and sharks and whales and squid etc, and tried to convince the lifeguards to do their jobs and evacuate everyone.
4) Oh, and when the same 4-yr-old was over-tired and began to loudly lament that he wanted to be kicked out of the family if it meant that he wouldn't have to walk ALL the way back to the car with us.
5) Oh, and when the same 4-yr-old saw an Anne of Green Gables skit at Avonlea during which the teacher made "Anne" stand in the corner (it was supposed to be funny). He was sobbing and wailing "That's a mean teacher! I don't like that teacher!" You couldn't hear the actors over his screaming.

Ha ha! I mean, twitch, twitch, ha ha!

At the end of it all, the good, the bad and the ugly, I am glad we went. Yes, it was an awful lot of work. Yes, it was really tiring to tow the kids halfway across the country. Yes, they shot our nerves at times. But mostly, we spent a lot of time together, got a lot of fresh, sea air, snuggled the kids to sleep at night, and did a lot of things that I never thought possible. You really discover a lot about yourself when you dare to break the routine. You find out what you are capable of, how strong you can be, how deeply free and attached to the earth you are, and how alive you can feel. And that is so worth it.

But the next family vacation is in 2022.

Eulogy for a Good Cake, a Kind Cake

2006-06-24T22:43:00.000-04:00

Today is our 6th wedding anniversary, and it wasn't your typical anniversary. There was no fine dinner, no jewelry or expensive gifts, no long-stemmed roses. Since no one was able to babysit for us, we did yardwork all day and then ordered in pizza. Just when I thought the day was a bit of a loss, my husband surprises me with a replica of the top of our wedding cake - same flavour, icing, decorations, baker, etc. (collective *awwws*) Then, after the kids went to bed, we had our cake and wine in the backyard under the stars/streetlights. There were even fireflies!

Anyhow, back to the cake, it was very difficult for us to cut because it was just so pretty! We kept hesitating with the knife...someone worked so hard on this...wow, its so nice...why are we doing this again? It was the same on our actual wedding day, but at that time we had the photographer impatiently tapping her foot and the peer pressure from all the people standing around us, so we got it done. This time, it was just us. We stared at that cake for 5-6 mins before we ventured a cut. Oh, and it tasted the same too!

In fact, you know how you're supposed to keep some cake for your 1-yr anniversary? Well, we still have ours...the original top of the cake. Yes, its been in our freezer, taking up a lot of space, for 6 years. You see, on our 1-yr anniversary, I was pregnant and throwing up all the time -- you can see how 1-yr old cake did not appeal, no matter how "sentimental". At two years, we wanted to eat it even less. Three years, four, etc...it just ain't getting any better. But again, we can't bring ourselves to throw it out. You see, its no longer just a cake.

Now it's a LEGACY.

To throw it out would be to say that it has no value, that its worthless. So Cat & I were talking about this dilemma while enjoying the new, replica cake, and we came up with a solution.

We are going to bury the cake.

And we are gonna plant 3 little trees on top of it, one for each of the kids.

I am not sure if 6-year old frozen chocolate-amaretto cake with rolled almond fondant icing will make good fertilizer, but we are gonna find out. If the trees thrive, they can carry on the legacy. If not, well, we'll just be glad we didn't eat the darn 6-yr old cake.

Lucky Sevens

2006-06-22T17:42:00.000-04:00

7 things to do before I die:
1) See France
2) Look up my grade school nemesis and say things to him that will make him need counselling for the rest of his life*
3) Get/give my husband a cushy job in town
4) Realize I have learned everything and stop taking classes
5) LAUGH when my kids ask me to babysit
6) Tell someone who is wearing too much perfume that they stink
7) Sleep in a castle

7 things I cannot do:
1) Clean under the fridge (winks at Jellyhead!)
2) Remember names
3) Let the little guy take a hit
4) Not comfort a crying person
5) Not become enraged when someone hurts my friends
6) Stop loving my children
7) Stop believing in karma

7 things that attract me to my husband:
1) his kindness
2) his wierd sense of humour
3) his loyalty
4) his patience
5) his overflowing love for the kids
6) his overflowing love for me
7) his unique intelligence

7 books I love:
1-6) The Harry Potter books!!!!! (#7 is on the way!)
7) The Future Publication(s) by Kimberly Rose Anne Foottit

7 movies I'd watch over & over again:
1-4) All 4 Harry Potter Movies
5) The Shawshank Redemption
6) Star Trek: First Contact
7) Star Wars

7 people to tag for this meme:
1) umm, do i know 7 ppl?
2) if you haven't already done it, then go for it!

(*ooh, there will SO be a blog about this!)

Open Road

2006-06-19T20:59:00.000-04:00

You know how on Friday I did that post (see below) that made a lot of ppl think I was suicidal? Well just want ya'll to know that today I wrote my last two exams, and I mailed off the last business proposal. And after the dozen or so projects/assignments/deadlines crashed upon me over the last two months,

I AM DONE!

No, wait for it...

I AM FREAKIN DONE!

I have NOTHING to do for the rest of the summer. I did it all! There's an open road ahead of me after months of work and anxiety and work and deadlines etc. I have had my face so close to the grindstone that I couldn't breathe and now...

DONE DONE DONE!

And I am so happy I could burst!

And I am gonna get me some!

And my roses are in bloom!

And the kids are a pain in the ass, but I'm okay with that!

And my road is open!

And tomorrow (June 20th) is my 31st birthday! I'm a Gemini, and I agree with a lot of what they say about the Gemini Female. Check it out!

Oh yeah, and cake all around! A piece for you, and two for me...

Collide

2006-06-16T22:34:00.000-04:00

I am so tired. So very, very tired. I am listening to Howie Day's "Collide" right now and wow, it makes me think I really need a rescue about now:

"Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seems to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills my mind
I somehow find
You and I collide"

I think I miss my hubby. Come home soon sweetie.

What is it about music that makes me cry? Even if I've heard it a million times before, I hear something different each time:

"I find I'm scared to know I'm always on your mind"

On and on it goes. What a beautiful song. Click Play (2x?) to hear/see the video:

Just noticed that you can see the CN Tower in the background in the opening sequence. Funny, my hubby works "under" that, and its an hour away from here. Howie Day must be on Via Rail Executive class - you can tell by the leather seats.

"Even the best fall down sometimes"

Anyhow, if you already know the song, then maybe you know what I am trying to say. I really want to pick it out on the guitar right now as a little creative therapy, but my son broke my 6th string (caught him playing with the keys).

Just tired. Too many self-imposed deadlines. Too much 'trying'. Can't say I don't try. I try too much. Should stop trying, at least for a little bit. What do you say honey?

"Don't stop here
I've lost my place
I'm close behind"

So what song makes you cry?

99% Angel

2006-06-12T20:22:00.000-04:00

Today's offering is tales from Franny's youth, featuring how and when I learned the Value of...

...Justice
When I was about 8, I was a straight "A" student, and my 'D-student' cousin coerced me into doing his homework for him, promising that we could play Parker Bros. Game of Life when it was done. So I did his homework, and he promptly laughed at me and went outside to play with other friends. The next day as he was about to hand in his perfect homework, he discovered that some vengeful person had scribbled out all the answers.

...'Relative Truth'
When I was about 10, and my brother did a dangerous BMX-style stunt jump over a construction hill - I was the "GO" signal girl. He wiped out and destroyed his new bike and was bleeding everywhere. We concocted this tear-soaked victim-impact story of an accidental wipeout with the school building worthy of an Academy Award...

...Short-Shorts
When I was about 16 and we told my parents that me & 3 friends were borrowing the K-Car to spend the day at the local pool, and instead we drove to the Toronto Zoo which was about 90 mins away via major highways and on the other side of the 'Big City'. Had a great day, until the car wouldn't start to go home. Then these 2 macho teenage guys saw us with the hood up and TOOK APART the car to try to help and they got the car to start just as the towtruck showed up.

...Hail Marys
When I was about 18 (think strict parents!!) my new boyfriend and I lied to my parents about where we were going...we actually crossed the border into Buffalo, NY to do some discount shopping. While we were at the mall, it began to blizzard, and we raced home through accidents and whiteout conditions and radio reports that they were closing the highways and the BORDER CROSSINGS over the Niagara River due to dangerous weather conditions. We were the LAST CAR to make it though before they closed the gates over the bridge.

...Disconnecting the Phone
There was the time my boyfriend's mother caught us. It looked particularly bad because I was on my lunch break from Catholic high-school and my kilt was on the other side of the room when she walked in. She was screaming and smashing things and threatening to call my mother. (Guess she got over it because she is now my mother-in-law.)

So, who else has been bad?

What Sticks Out

2006-06-09T17:02:00.000-04:00

This week I stuck my neck out, twice.
>>I got my head got chopped off, twice.

This week I stopped taking the abuse and the putdowns.
>>Now my abuser is trying harder.

This week I was laughed at.
>>I vowed to prove myself.

This week I held the hand of someone who was crying and desperately afraid.
>>I think it helped.

This week I was overwhelmed.
>>I worked harder.

This week I saw people from my childhood that I never wanted to see again.
>>My husband stood by me.

This week I identified the toxic pattern.
>>Now, I can avoid it.

This week I ate too much cheesecake.
>>A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

This week I was angry and afraid.
>>Then I was reminded that I had good friends.

This week I saw my son sing.
>>I cried.

That was my week.

Don't Buy This Book (Don't Take it Out of the Library Either or Risk Lifelong Nightmares)

2006-06-06T20:39:00.000-04:00

They say that no press is bad press, and that in criticizing her I might be giving her the controversy and the publicity she wants. But I decided I'll take that chance. I suppose if I can convince one person who trusts me enough to take my word for it and not give this person a dime, then it's worth it.

I had heard of this woman, seen her occasionally, but paid no attention to her because I figured she was a nut. But this morning, I was changing diapers, out of reach of the remote control and was literally trapped into hearing this woman talk on TV. My head is still reeling from the mind pollution and filth and doubletalk coming from her mouth.

I am so ashamed to be the same gender as her. But then again, if it sells books and makes $$, how can it be bad? I am talking, of course, about Anne Coulter.

Sure, you can love God, love George W. and hate democrats all you want, that is your right. But human decency is crossed when you say that you have never seen anyone "enjoy the death of a spouse as much as the 911 widows do" that they shouldn't complain about the government because they "made millions off the deaths of their family members" and that all the democrats have on their side are people like Cindy Shehan whose family has dropped dead in the war and they are 'milking' it.

It gets better.

How about the only thing Democrats celebrate is dead babies from abortions? Or that if you're not a Republican, you're anti-God? That the war in Iraq IS the war on terror and the RIGHT choice and if you question it you should shut up and get the hell out of America?

Oh yes, I kid you not, but that seems to be her style - human decency, tolerance and class won't make you rich. In fact, she had a little bit o' religious zealot, shoot the dissenters attitude going on...kinda like the regimes around the world she says should be toppled one by one. It boggles the mind really. Sorry American buddies, so glad I am Canadian on this one!

Anyhow, to save you from looking it up and putting hits on Amazon or Google for this filth, the book is called "Godless: The Church of Liberalism". Hmm....interesting title...sounds like the real God is gonna be pretty mad someday that she has forsaken her neighbor for the Holy Dollar. A cool, compassionless demeanor. No shame at brandishing the shock sword to maim but sell books. A total absence of love and brotherhood and self-sacrifice.

Okay, and while we're bible slinging (she started it!): I may be able to speak the languages of human beings and even of angels, but if I have no love, my speech is no more than a noisy gong or a clanging bell..

Also, I came across some scathing stuff about our 'classy dame' here. Don't know what is true, but reading it was good emotional revenge for the vile 4 minutes she put me through this morning.

And hey, God Bless you America. I know many of you still believe in Liberty, Fraternity and Equality - not just words, but a belief system that is the foundation of democracy.

Protection

2006-06-04T14:55:00.000-04:00

Dear Regional Protection Services Company,

Please accept this letter as an addendum to forms 8a & 9c that I will be submitting shortly. I would like to apply for a Personal Bodyguard under section 14 of the Charitable Cases Act, Inevitable Endangerment Clause 801e. I believe that without assistance from your organization, I am likely to soon be bumped off by my children, or I will be seriously maimed or need lifelong institutionalization. In order to speed up the application process, I will explain in this letter the evidence that supports my claim.

On the morning of June 3rd, 2006, my husband was at work. I was in the bathroom, completing some necessary business, while my children, aged 2 (twins) were pounding on the door to receive admittance to said bathroom. My son, age 4, yelled at them from the other room to "leave mommy alone while she's on the can" and then proceeded to saunter over and push them out of the way so that HE could demand that I let HIM in. There was much cajoling and whining and banging and knob twisting when I politely told him to go back to the living room and watch the end of Dora (a TV show for young children) so that I could finish my business.

He walked away, leaving the twins to continue pulling on the door until there was a BANG. Suddenly it was silent. I hastily leapt to my feet and ran to see what had happened, and when I grabbed the door knob, it came off in my hand. Turns out, the other end with the "stick part" attached to it had fallen to the floor in the hallway (the bang sound).

Trapped in the bathroom, I called for my 4-yr-old to come to assist. Surely he would be coordinated enough to put the knob back through the hole. His reply?

"Wait mommy, Dora's not over!"

As luck would have it, this was a can't miss DORA SPECIAL. The twins were now on the other side of the door, giggling and obviously playing with my door knob, so I tried to explain to them what to do. They did not understand, and this was about when the fight broke out, both of them wanting possession of the knob. Suddenly, there was shoving and screaming and "THAT'S MINE!" and "NOOOOO!" and then running feet. When the 4-yr-old finally made it over to the bathroom and I told him what needed to be done, he said.

"Ok. I see the hole. But what doorknob?"

Seems that my daughter had won the war for the knob, and had torn off to find a place to hide it from her twin brother. After a futile search for something long and skinny to put through the hole, I told my 4-yr old to pull his brother away from the door so that I could put some weight on it and force it open. This was when my 2-yr-old son threw himself at the foot of the door, shreiking because his mommy STILL wouldn't let him visit her in the bathroom. My elder son couldn't move his dead, angry, sobbing, uncooperative weight.

So, I told my elder son to go find that &%$#*@ doorknob.

He went to do my bidding, and soon I heard screaming, more running & a violent interrogation going on in the other room. By now I had a hernia and a pain in my skull that I am certain was some sort of stress-induced aneurysm. I tried to encourage my crying 2-yr-old to go get a toy, something, anything, to get him away from the door so I could force it open. No luck.

The fight in the living room was rising to a crescendo at this point, so I sat down on the bathroom floor, put one hand under the door to "hold" it while I began to force it open with my foot. My 2-yr-old saw my fingers under the door and started to laugh and play with my fingers. Luckily, the mass of fighting children came down the hall and my youngest son jumped into it, thinking it was "fun", and they all continued down to the nursery. That was my chance to give the door the kick I had been meaning to and I did it. The door flew open and I took off after the kids, broke up the fight, assuaged the offended parties, and noticed that my daughter had a huge bulbous door-knob shaped item in her pants.

I sat the struggling child down and excavated until I found the desired item when suddenly she broke free and sprang up and smashed me in the cheekbone, full force, with her head. I fell to the ground. I saw stars. It felt like I had been punched by Bruce Lee. I think my tooth is loose.

I believe my bodyguard will arrive by Monday. Otherwise, expect my displeasure.

Best Regards,

Franny

Courage

2006-06-01T18:16:00.000-04:00

Things are black and white to children. It simplifies their universe. There is good and there is bad.

In my youth, I used to think that most people could fit into either the "Strong" category or the "Weak" category. The Strong would survive, and to continue to make it in the world, the Weak would have to learn to be Strong or drown in the torrents of pain and manipulation. With Strong came the toughness, the lack of empathy, the "me for myself" mentality. With Weak came the tears, the malaise, the taken advantage of.

But is it possible that there is a third category...one that a lot of the people I know and love fit into. One that I fit into too?

The Weak But Brave.

I guess today I feel a little tired of being called "Strong", as if it is something I was born with, like nice coloured eyes, or having long legs. If I had a dime for every time I've heard "oh, but you've always been the strong one" I would be a rich, rich woman. What if I am not STRONG, but Strength for me is a choice, every day? What if I am scared, worried, overwhelmed and intimidated like everyone else, but go on and go on because I know there has to be a better way? What if I am discouraged and uncertain too, but upon seeing what is right (though it be scary and hard), I do it anyways?

Not because I am strong, but because I am brave?

I want to tell those people who call me "strong" as if it is an insult, that bravery is a badge that you earn, by making the right choices, by using your mind in cooperation with your heart, by learning and by teaching and by listening. I am not just "STRONG". I was not born with it. I have learned to be strong by being brave, no matter how much my tummy flutters and my head aches and my heart skips a beat and I want to cry. I care deeply. Too deeply. That makes me brave. Others depend on me. That too makes me brave. I have become what I am through the fire and through countless mistakes and though struggles to preserve my own dignity.

Lastly, I have stopped buying the whole excuse that one is weak and thats just how they are and why they make the same mistakes over and over again. Weakness is not by birth either. So long as you breathe, you have choices. Bad things just don't happen to you because you are weak, but because you are too much of a coward or too lazy to fight for what is right or to stick up for yourself. Stop lying to yourself that there's nothing you can do, because I can no longer help you if you believe you are, and will always be, weak.

Now that's black and white.

A Likely Story

2006-05-29T17:47:00.000-04:00

These 3 things actually happened to me in the last 24 hours:

1) I rescued a small creature from something brown and heartless
2) A power-driven staple went right through my palm (actually, the "Mount of Venus" part)
3) I realized with certainty that God is a man

You tell me the likely, or unlikely, story. Most creative wins!

Wierd...Weird...ARGH!

2006-05-24T11:41:00.000-04:00

Ok, here's my latest Meme...thanks Abandoned for the tag!

Six WEIRD(sp?) Things About Me

1. I am a university English grad, I have a professional writing certificate at the college level (with honours), I speak 3 languages quasi-fluently and I am still messed up about the "i" before "e" rule, except after the "c" or something like that. Screw it up all the time. Also have trouble spelling "length" (eg: legnth!)

2. There are toothbrushes on the market that have several uses. Nuff said.

3. I am super-sensitive to smell. I can also tell you a person's personality by their cologne/perfume/etc. I am usually right.

4. I want a flying horse, but not your standard white pegasus. It would look like this:

(Yes, I am aware they do not exist.)

5. My husband and I are the only two existing members of the EEIS society. (I could tell you what that means - but you wouldn't like it.)

6. I prefer bodywash that smells like food. I have a collection featuring Chocolate, Creamsicle, Strawberry, and Vanilla Mint. Depends on my mood. When I am angry, it's Cinnamon!

Here are my 6 wierd (weird!?) people tag choices:

Cuddly Cat
Heroic Paul
Soulful Kim
Clever Peter
Creative Mark
Caring Karen

Shock me!

One Second

2006-05-19T12:08:00.000-04:00

I was talking animatedly with a colleague, and we were coming round a corner when I stopped and pointed to the new artsy sculptures recently put on display by the upper management. Grinning broadly, I opened my mouth, I took the breath, and suddenly -

"Hi Mr. Company President!" said my friend as Mr. Company President stumbled upon us. I shut right up.

If he had brushed his teeth for one second more that day...

If his parking space was 2 metres farther from the building...

If he had been wearing his uncomfortable dress shoes...

...just one second later, and the company president would have walked right into me as I announced that the sculptures in his foyer looked like giant dinosaur turds...

One second.

*shudder*

The Smart and the Pretty, Part II

2006-05-17T09:30:00.000-04:00

(Ok, when we last left Smart, she was snivelling in the kitchen because Pretty tore a chunk out of her at the Royal Ball.)

So, Pretty had won again.

Or had she?

Soon, one by one, the guests made their way to where Smart was feeling a *little* sorry for herself, and they began to offer Smart understanding and sympathy, but also, they mentioned that they were apalled at how Pretty was behaving. Princess Pretty was NOT the hit of her Royal Ball, her behaviour was NOT at all pretty, and she was acting decidedly, UNprincess-like.

And then, Smart's beloved, Sir Cuddly, showed up from the end of a long shift at the the town crier's bell-making factory. Suddenly, Princess Smart had friends. She wasn't so tired. Energized by the unexpected support, Smart sucked it up and marched back in there, head held high.

When it came time for Pretty to open the gifts, she reeled in shock at the beautiful hand-made stationary that Smart had created...the songs that Smart had composed to entertain Pretty's guests...the painting that she had walked all the way to a far off land to attain. She realized that she had accused the one person who had tried the hardest to make things wonderful, of trying to "ruin" everything. She had torn up and spit out for all to see, the person who had cared the most.

And Pretty felt pretty ugly.

At the end of the Royal Ball, as the guests were leaving, Pretty pulled Smart aside for a heartfelt thank you, metioning that she had been truly touched by Smart's efforts and thoughtful gifts.

Smart nodded graciously, realizing that this was as close to an apology that she could ever hope to receive. Smart left the Royal Ball tired, but happy.

And began plotting her revenge.

~The End~

The Smart and the Pretty

2006-05-15T19:48:00.000-04:00

Sorry I have been away for a while - life has been crazy hectic! Today, a fable. Thanks to my blog buddy (you know who you are) for the idea.

Once upon a time there were two princesses in two castles on opposite sides of the kingdom of FFY. One was named Smart. The other was named Pretty. And appropriately named they were, for Smart was clever, and ambitious and wise, and Pretty was, well, pretty. (Actually, Smart secretly thought she was pretty too, but kept this to herself. She didn't want to take away Pretty's only glory -- see, Smart was also diplomatic. But I digress.)

Now Pretty won the hearts of all who saw her. They swooned at her prettiness, and in return, she preened for hours and wore the latest robes and crown-styles to keep them happy. And when she fluttered her eyelashes just so, it made the news (The Daily Parchment, actually). Statues were erected in her honour. Best of all, the King and Queen of the land expected nothing of Pretty except for her to be, well, pretty. And this was good, for Pretty was REALLY good at being pretty. And she didn't mind her lot in life because all was handed to her. If Pretty didn't graduate from Princess School, it was ok, so long as she was still pretty. If Pretty couldn't pay her horse & carriage bills, someone else would, because Pretty's job was to be pretty.

I think you get the point.

Meanwhile, in the other castle, Smart was kinda ignored. After all, Smart didn't bat her eyelashes just so, didn't preen enough, and definately had no interest in the latest princess fashions. But Smart was okay with this. She had been told at an early age that she had to fend for herself because she was expected to. She was told that being smart meant that she was independent which meant that she didn't deserve or need help or support. But was Smart sad? No. (Ok, a little angry perhaps, but nothing the right medications couldn't fix.) Smart learned how to charm with her words and her actions, not just her looks. Smart got enough education to assure she could support herself. And Smart was happy, if a little tired.

One day, at Pretty's royal ball, Pretty smiled and danced and glittered from room to room, while Smart (who had been up until 3am the night before preparing a handmade gift for Pretty), struggled to keep her eyes open and mentioned that she was a little too tired to dance.

Pretty's eyes flashed with rage upon hearing this and she loudly exclaimed "Oh there goes Smart, moping about again, like she always does!" for all to hear. Smart said nothing, assuming Pretty's diatribe had ended.

But the public humiliation had only begun.

"Just like Smart" Pretty said in front of all of their friends and family and strangers, "it's ALWAYS about her! Well I'll not be letting her ruin MY royal ball no matter HOW hard she tries!" Smart was even in the same room at the time, while Pretty continued shouting about her like she wasn't even there. "She's ALWAYS like this, every event we have, Smart is always making problems, just ask anyone! Why does she even bother coming!?" Pretty stormed about the room, slamming things as she went, "She is ALWAYS trying to ruin everything!!!!" Everyone was staring.

Smart quietly slunk into the kitchen.

Oh, wait, don't think Smart is weak! Smart saw visions of murder with wooden utensils, and slashed carriage wheels and pleasurably drawing and quartering Pretty! In fact, that's why Smart left, because she didn't want to spend the rest of her natural life in a dungeon for her almost soon-to-be committed crimes.

But the pressure, the exhaustion, the helplessness got to be too much, and Smart cried. (Yes, Smart cries.) Pretty had won again.

Or had she?

TO BE CONTINUED...

Axe Murder

2006-04-26T09:05:00.000-04:00

For my family, a trip to the local Walmart is like a scene out of an Indiana Jones movie - there's running, screaming, heroics, minor injury, cynical humour and the odd romantic moment. Fortunately, no one dies.

Well, not yet anyways.

Last week's adventure was no exception. We stopped at the McD's on our way out as a special treat for the kids (and us). We were a little short of change, so we bought just 3 sundaes, one for each child, even though I had a hot fudge craving like you wouldn't believe. Surely, I thought, I can just take a little scoop of my kids' sundaes, right?

Wrong.

My lovely 2-yr-old daughter was a *little* ticked off that mommy had a spoonful of her hot fudge sundae. I swear she didn't even SEE it happen...we appropriately distracted her and while her head was turned I took a quick spoonful and shoved it in my mouth. But she KNEW. Maybe it was the guilty look on my face. Maybe it was the fact that 1/20th of her sundae was now missing. Maybe it was because the boys were pointing at me accusingly. I will never know. But she knew I did it, and that was a BAD thing.

Oh yes, there was screaming. Oh yes, there was public humiliation. Oh yes, there was food thrown. My genteel little one smashed her fists on the table and then sprung out of our booth and sprawled on the floor yelling like it was the end of the universe - over one frigging spoonful of icecream.(Did I mention the boys started to eat faster at this point?)

So, me and Miss. Hissyfit made a quick escape to the little girls room, where she was able to yell in an enclosed space that echoed. My ears are still ringing.

But shit, that was good icecream!

As an aside, during this same trip, I finally came across those male body sprays that they are furiously advertising on TV these days. You know, the ones that have women literally attacking men because, like a bunch of horny canines in heat, we can't resist the smell of a man wearing the stuff.

(I personally find these commercials terribly offensive - not just for objectifying women, but for reducing them to the level of lust-crazed violent animals. If it was men piling on a woman, it would be an episode of Law & Order: SVU.)

Well, I am pleased to report that the stuff, every flavour of it, smells like crap. Unless you like the smells of "formaldehyde", "instant migraine" and "public urinal". One of them even smells somewhat like homeless unshowered male bodily fluids... (oh so very sexy and IRRESTIBLE)... but I will let YOU figure out which one.

Maybe the girls in the ads are attacking the man to kill him???

Corruption 101

2006-04-20T19:20:00.000-04:00

I am so excited -- my husband started a blog! He's new at this, so let's give him a warm blogland welcome! You'll see his take on life is just as "offbeat" as mine is, which is why we get along so well. He's at Cat's Trains.

I also recently introduced a friend to the addictive world of instant messaging (IM). I guess I'm a techno nerd and I want everyone to come over to my playground to play!

Now, who else can I corrupt???

Karma Queen

2006-04-18T09:14:00.000-04:00

This Meme was sent to me by my creative writer-friend Mark. (Yay! Let's be honest - I LOVE talking about myself!) I will be doing another one from Abandoned in Pasadena next time, because Mark asked me just a couple of minutes before Sandy did. I feel like that awkward girl who has been ignored by all the boys, and suddenly, everyone is asking me to the prom ~~~ and I say YES! and YES! and YES! I can juggle ALL these hot dates!

3 Names U go By: Mommmmmmmmmmmmmmmy, Sweetie, 7-ft Russian Woman from Siberia

3 Screen Names U Have Had: Franny, Director, the Legend

3 Things U Like about Yourself: intelligent, peacemaker, ability to effectively instruct Karma to rain vengeance upon my enemies and the enemies of my friends.

3 Things U Don’t Like about Yourself: Rage issues, moody, zits at my age!

3 Parts of Your Heritage: Canadian, Roman & Sicilian

3 Things that Scare U: someone seeing through my confident facade, child molesters, authority figures

3 of Your Everyday Essentials: my girlfriends, naps, my kids laughing

3 Things U are Wearing Right Now: grey pinstripe suit, pink tank top, pink "everything else"

3 of Your Favorite Bands or Musical Artists: Blue Rodeo, Sarah McLachlan, Jann Arden

3 of Your Favorite Songs: "Try" by Blue Rodeo, "Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman, "Walkin in Memphis" by Mark Cohn.

3 Things U Want to Try in the Next 12 Months: keep a clean house, renovate the clean house, say goodbye to diapers FOR-FREAKIN-EVER

3 Things You Want in a Relationship: Fun, friendship, teamwork

2 Truths and a Lie: I've eaten more than my share of bug spray, i've had mosquito bites where the sun don't shine, these were achieved while doing something totally legal

3 Things about the Opposite Sex that Appeal to U: (abilty to sing me arias, curly untamed hair, youth & inexperience, heh heh heh...

3 Things about the Same Sex that Appeal to U: down-to-earth, funny, honest

3 Things U Just Cannot Do: let it go when i'm right, let it go when i'm wrong, not protect my kids

3 of Your Favorite Hobbies: playing guitar, designing websites, KARAOKE!

3 Things U Want to do Really Bad Right Now: run away screaming and laughing maniacally, bitch-slap my old boss, lead all the students in the library in a chorus of "Tell Me on a Sunday Please"

3 Careers U are Considering: Ship's Counselor, Canadian Idol hopeful, psychic hotline operator

3 Places You Want to Go on Vacation: a b&b in a european castle, alaskan cruise, disneyworld

3 Kid’s Names: Syphillis, Gonnorhea, Clap (that will keep their hands off my daughter!)

3 Things U Want to Do Before U Die: show my hubby how much i love him, see my grandchildren drive my kids crazy, make all my friends rich

3 Ways U are Stereotypically a Boy: I like computers, i love chicken wings, i find women beautiful

3 Ways U are Stereotypically a Chick: i cry, i bitch, i gossip

3 Celeb Crushes: Ewan MacGregor, Joaquin Phonix, Daniel Radcliffe (chastely)

3 People U Would Like to Complete This Quiz: Kim, Magda, Cataldo

It Takes a Village

2006-04-16T21:34:00.000-04:00

Those of you who read "Small Glories" (scroll down) might appreciate this update...I saw my 13-yr old neighbor outside (the one who I suspected of smoking) and called him over. It went something like this:

Me: Hey 'Shawn', that wasn't you I saw the other day smoking was it? Because you wouldn't do something like that, would you?

Shawn: No...I wouldn't do that...

Me: Good. Because it looked a lot like you and I was really worried. Smoking is SO bad for you.

Shawn: Umm...maybe you saw my older sister? We kinda look alike...and she smokes.

Me: Oh she does? Well, I'm so sorry I mistook you two. But man, you should tell her to quit, tell her its not good. I know so many people who got sick...

Shawn: Ok.

At this point his mother pulled up the driveway and I waved nervously and quickly walked away. I guess I thought I was done for! A mother catching another mother scolding HER son!?

Anyhow, the next day I saw his mom outside and I apologetically confessed everything. And do you know what she did.......?
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...
...
She THANKED ME! Profusely! She said it was truly wonderful that we were cultivating a "village" mentality... that in her home country, everyone looked out for the kids whether they were theirs or not... that sometimes the "humilation" works better than all the scolding in the world! I felt so rewarded, so vindicated, so...happy! Though we both agreed that it was a case of mistaken identity, (she is aware that her daughter smokes and wants her to quit) she admitted that she hoped my 2 cents would help in the long run. BTW, her son had not told her the topic of our discussion, possibly because he was embarassed????

Anyhow, I told her I hoped she would do the same for me and my kids if ever she saw them in trouble. She was all teary-eyed. It was such a Hallmark moment!

It's good to know we're looking out for each other, especially with an escape-artist in the house...

Sweet Rabbit

2006-04-13T18:28:00.000-04:00

Easter always reminds me of a time at the old bookstore. Mark and I and our always generous, congenial boss were moving an octogonal display unit that must've weighed 1000 lbs with all the books on it. Naturally, we didn't take the books off, but carried/dragged this sucker all the way down the center aisle. (This was before we had kids and hernias and grey hair.)

Anyhow, it was around Easter, and we were joking about how politically correct/non-religious our Easter decorations were. I vividly remember Mark grabbing a stuffed bunny from the top of this unit and shaking it and shouting at it "Did you die on the cross for us? Did you die for our sins? Huh, did you?"

I don't think I ever laughed so hard in my life!

Now, I may not have all the details correct - but that situation is so alive in my memory, its like it just happened! Even 9 years later my husband and I joke regularly about 'bunnies on the cross' come Easter time.

Now that little drama was funny because it was just damn funny, but it was also funny because it was true. Like Jon Stewart is funny because he ain't lying about the news.

Anyhow, this year I'm giving my kids chocolate eggs and bubbles in a basket. (Ok, I was GOING TO give them chocolate eggs but there was an accident where they unwrapped themselves and 'fell' into my mouth. And I wasted a whole bottle of bubbles blowing them into the bathtub for my own amusement.) Ha ha, wouldn't it be funny if the kids woke up to empty easter baskets on Easter morning?

Yeah, you're right, that's mean.

Anyhow, Happy Easter to you and your families, whatever your religion or beliefs. I think as long as you feel a deeper meaning in your heart, then Easter is alive and well.

Oh, and may the bunny bless you all.

Small Glories

2006-04-10T22:26:00.000-04:00

Today I saw my 13-yr-old neighbor smoking. Just walking down the street, puffing at a cigarette like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. I stared out the window, wanting to scream at him, wanting to pull the blinds so my kids didn't see. Wanting to rat him out to his mom.

Today I saw two teenage girls at the grocery store, an infant on each of their hips. These girls were tiny waifs, and they were dolled up in cakes of makeup and tiny skirts and pounds of jewelry. They looked like whores.

Today I saw people on TV talking about Mexican immigrants like they were chattel. Smiling, with that twang in their voices, opposing crack-downs on illegal immigrants because the Mexicans will work for peanuts. "Real Americans don't want those jobs", the man said. Like Americans were people and Mexicans were not.

But today my 2-yr-old son said "I love you too". He also tried to tell me a knock-knock joke but he doesn't really get the concept yet - but don't worry, I laughed! He chased me down with his slippers in hand so I would put them on him, and then grinned from ear to ear like I had just made his day when I did. He sat on my head when I laid down on the couch. He giggled like crazy when I changed his diaper. He asked me to scratch his back, and then giggled some more when I did. He put my husband's Captain Kirk figurine in a little truck and took him for a spin.

What a wonderful world.

Showdown at the Mystery Hotel

2006-04-06T17:53:00.000-04:00

Me 1: I've been challenged to write no more than 300 words inspired by this photo. What to do?
Me 2: Blood and gore and guts!
Me 1: But I just ate. How about something sweet and coming-of-agey?
Me 2: Meh.
Me 1: What about an animal tale? Everyone loves animal stories!
Me 2: You are full of shit, you know that?
Me 1: What the hell's your problem?
Me 2: SHH! I'm thinking...hey, how about a coming-of-age tale with animals AND they all die a painful gory death in the end?
Me 1: Umm...
Me 2: It's bloody genius! I'll bet no one's done it yet!
Me 1: But what does that have to do with the picture exactly?
Me 2: SHHH! I'm thinking...ok...there's this wolf, see, and it's rabid - no - angry - and it's seeking revenge for the death of – ok, wait a minute - why are you making that face?
Me 1: What face?
Me 2: THAT face!
Me 1: What face? I didn't make a face!
Me 2: You are so fucking annoying, you know that?
Me 1: What the hell? I didn't even make a -
Me 2: SHH! I'm thinking! So...the tiger wants revenge...
Me 1: It's a wolf.
Me 2: Who the hell asked you!? Now its a tiger!
Me 1: Ok, you show me where you see a tiger in that picture!
Me 2: Well I would GET to that if you would stop friggin interrupting me!
Me 1: Ok. Fine. Whatever. If you're so smart, you do all the work!
Me 2: Fine! My idea is better than your stupid-ass idea about the animals anyways!
Me 1: But you have a TIGER! That's an animal!
Me 2: It's a LION-now shut up! We only have 300 words here -

If You Can't Beat 'Em...

2006-04-03T21:53:00.000-04:00

My son just won the Christianity Award at school! Mind you, the first thing he did with his little pewter crucifix was wave it madly in the air and yell at his classmates "IN YOUR FACE!"

*Sigh*.

This little award has been a looong time in coming. You see, my son has a classmate, let's call him 'Lester'...now Lester wins a lot of awards. Lester is a good Christian ALL the time. Lester's mom volunteers at the school every day and makes the awesome cakes for the bake sale. Lester's dad is a cop and comes in to talk to the students on career day. They even take pictures in his squad car.

I am so tired of hearing about Lester, because Lester is obviously a perfect student and a perfect child, and his family is a friggin beacon of friggin perfection. And the teacher is in love with perfect Lester and his family. Every day I hear my son complain about how Lester gets all the rewards, and how the teacher always wants him to act like Lester. You see, Lester is patient and cooperative and obeys all the rules. My son is not. (That is why Lester wins the awards - he EARNS them.)

So I tried to explain to my son that he too should try to be patient and cooperative and obey all the rules. But my son preferred a more Machiavellian approach: he would watch Lester closely, waiting for a slip-up, and then rat out the "perfect" child.

Did I mention that this is Junior Kindergarden?

Anyhow, my son has grown up a lot in the past few weeks. He's given up on the 'trash Lester' mission, and decided 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em'. And he did it! He won the damned - I mean, blessed - award! So I am happy in two ways: proud that my son has done so well, and relieved that he now realizes that he is just as good and just as precious as Lester.

Ok, and the fact that the perfect little family got their asses kicked! Ha! So much for little Mrs. Bake Sale! Well guess what? The kids like my store-bought brownies just as much! And Mr. Police Officer, why don't you spend more time POLICING the streets instead of acting friggin macho for 4-yr-olds, eh? Yeah, that's right, I'd rather sleep than do career day! I am just too friggin tired! So there! This award goes out to the overtired overworked half-asses everywhere!

Wow, that feels better.

Oh, and congratulations sweetie. I am so proud of you.

Life by Airplane

2006-03-20T16:48:00.000-05:00

We are going away. Like, on a vacation. We just booked a flight, for the whole family, to fly out to the Maritimes for 2 weeks this summer.

Have I just condemned my family to trauma by airplane?

Or have I just taken a wild step into the world of travel adventures?

Hmmm...let's go with the latter. As my friend Magda says, the pilot doesn't want to die either!

Actually, I do have all of YOU to thank. Yes, you, my readers. You see, making blog buddies throughout the world has really shown me just how small, and how big, this world is. How much there is to see. How much there is to do. The biggest surprise has been that there are so many normal people out there with the same hopes and fears and insecurities as me!

So off we go!

I am inspired by the fearless travels of "Sandy", who has turned motorcycling into a family passion. She's the kind of gutsy female that would never let two tempermental toddlers and a vocal 4-yr-old stop her!

Or Magda, who has followed her destiny all the way to the heart of southeast Texas, not to mention Russia just a few short years ago.

Not to mention countless others that have left for adventure in a new place, regardless of the challenges they face.

I have always wanted to see the Canadian Maritimes - I think the ocean is drawing me, like the Rockies did for my honeymoon. We're going to walk on the ocean floor on the Bay of Fundy. Visit the home of Anne of Green Gables. Celebrate in Charlottetown, the birthplace of Canada. Party on at the Shediac Lobsterfest! Have a ceilidh at sea.

But at the very least, I want to watch the kids cringe at the taste of seawater. Show them seals for the first time. Let them run around with icecream all over their faces. Cuddle up together in one big bed in one tiny hotel room.

I expect that sometimes during the trip, the kids will be wild and insufferable, and drive us totally nuts. My husband and I will look at each other in exasperation and say: "what did we do this for?"

But I hope the answer will show itself time and again.

Of the Stomach and of the Mind

2006-03-14T12:03:00.000-05:00

Everyone has a special place that they go to for food. You can't really call it a restaurant, because it's a place that you don't go to for the service (because it's awful) or for the ambiance (because it's non-existant). You go for the FOOD. Our place is a vietnamese restaurant downtown. The waiters there pretty much throw your order at you. The decor is rather "prison cafeteria-esque". But the food...oh the wonderful soups and noodles and fresh spring rolls with all the garnishes and sauces you could imagine! And the portions are huge! Sure, the chef in the back room is probably an indentured worker, and the waitresses don't speak a scrap of english and make fun of you in their native tongue...but the FOOD!

Can you tell I'm hungry?

On another, totally different topic, why do some small grocery stores sell roasted poulty with the heads still attached? Was there some concern that you wouldn't be able to identify the roasted bird without it's head? ("Oh, that's a roast goose, not a duck. You can tell by the whites of its eyes...")

Ok, I was hungry.

On a final, totally different topic, I was speaking to my lovely and single friend "Tina" today, and she inspired me so that I came up with a new word. Nay, a new definition for the universe. Firstly, you'll need to understand the following:

geocentric - everything revolves around the earth
heliocentric - everything revolves around the sun
egocentric - everything revolves around the self

Well, my centrism, and I suspect many of my readers' as well, is lococentrism. Everything revolves around my insanity. If everything revolves around my insanity, then that explains how all the Franny filters apply to the universe at large. It's different from egocentrism in that it is not my "self" that rules my worldview, but the little machinations, real or imagined, of my mind. And your mind too...am I right?

I know, this is a little deep for a blog. And all this thinking is making me hungry.

The Poetry Infiltration

2006-03-09T18:51:00.000-05:00

Ok, brace yourselves...I went to a poetry reading last night! Now some of you may be confused/concerned about this, so I've assembled a list of frequently asked questions, for your convenience.

Poetry Reading FAQs:

So Franny, now that you've gone to a poetry reading, does this mean that you are better than me?
No, this does not mean that I am better than you (not ALL of you anyways). If I wasn't already better than you, then chances are I'm still not.

Are you gonna be saying things like "herself" and "thou" from now on?
No, this does not mean I will now be speaking about myself in the 3rd person. And no, this doesn't mean that everything I say will be written in metaphor. Conversational english and "slang" will still apply to my blog. (see next answer)

Can we expect a rhyming blog in the near future?
No. And fuck off.

Are people who read at poetry readings "normal'?
No. All of them are weird and dangerous in one way or another, and when they seem normal, that's when you should really be worried. Except for my awesome poetic writer friend Mark Leslie. He's the most normal of the bunch...

What do poets eat?
Puppies. Though some are vegan.

I once went to a poetry reading in the 60's and they were snapping and wearing funny hats called berets. Is that what it was like?
Sounds like you went to a boring poetry reading. The only hats I saw were the tiny little tin-foil ones on the genitals of the strippers.

Can you hook me up with a hot, young poet?
Sure, I know just the girl for you. She was wearing red and blames the patriarchy for the rape and pillage of the she-goddess, "mother earth".

Do you have any advice for aspiring poets like myself?
Yes. Take off all of your clothes at work, stride into your boss' office, and tell him/her you're a poet and you know it.
And don't forget the hat.

Unhinged

2006-03-06T00:25:00.000-05:00

There's been an interesting development at my house in the last week. My daughter (age 2) can now turn doorknobs to open doors. Her twin brother has not yet mastered this skill.

And his sister knows it.

So naturally, Natalie lures Nicky into various rooms so that she can then run out and shut him in. Apparently, it's a really fun game. Unless you're the crying, trapped sibling. Or the exasperated, annoyed mommy. So I took matters into my own hands, and jammed all the doors open in various creative ways. On the twins' bedroom door I took an old chewed up 2" thick board book and wedged it right above the upper hinges. That baby was staying open.

Or so I thought.

Pissed that I had spoiled her fun, my daughter pulled and pushed and rammed and heaved at that door until (get this) SHE PULLED IT OFF ITS HINGES. No, I am not kidding. That door is solid maple with solid brass hinges. That door is original to this house. That door survived the Cold War, Vietnam, 6 Star Wars movies, the fall of communism and Y2K.

But it did not survive Natalie.

I mean, why couldn't I have normal children? How did I give birth to the 3 foot tall Savage She-Ra Amazon Woman? Did I walk through some radioactive goop while I was pregnant, or is living in a steel town enough to give your daughters superhuman strength that strikes fear in the hearts of men? And I do mean men, because neither of my sons possess the strength or pure determination of that little girl.

She's got pluck.

She's got moxy.

She's got a mean streak.

Lately she's even taking on the big guy himself: daddy. If he says/does/insinuates anything that is not to her plan, she throws a massive fit, complete with wailing, feeble grasps towards the heavens, rolling on the floor, lamented tableaus, wild stomping and full body collapses to the ground. It really is an entertaining production. I should sell tickets.

In spite of all of this, Natalie seems to value the mommy quotient. If my husband tries to get her to wear two socks of the same color, he gets "the drama". Five minutes later, I request the exact same thing, and she cheerfully complies, no fuss. Maybe she knows I don't buy it? Maybe she recognizes a more sophisticated arsenal?

Actually, I think it's more likely she knows we're outnumbered in this house, and we girls gotta stick together.

Radical Action Plan

2006-02-28T23:06:00.000-05:00

Not one to complain too much, I stoically tackle whatever life throws at me. Though today, it was a lot. I had 4 major projects to complete at work (and the programs keep crashing), plus 3 assignments for 3 different distance education courses (due last week) and two sites to design for DreamMedia (my small business).

Oh, and the twins have the stomach flu.

I woke up this morning with a "radical action plan". Actually, several of them. Here they are, in chronological order:

#1. Ok, there's the alarm, but I'm not getting out of bed. Life is stupid. The world is stupid. Everyone wants a piece of me. I'm just going to lay here all day. So bite me.

#2. Ok, I'm up, but I am only pretending to go to work. I'm actually going to drive as far away as I can, in one direction, until I see either flamingos or polar bears. Then I'll stop and call home. So bite me.

#3. Ok, I'm at work, but only until I finish this one thing. Then I'm returning to plan #2. Flamigos, polar bears, kangaroos, whatever. So bite me.

#4. Ok, as soon as I talk to my prof, I'm SO gonna drive away, far far away. Not stopping till I see those flamingos/polar bears/kangaroos/unicorns, etc, whatever, amen and halleuja. So bite me.

I kept delaying my "radical action plan" in little bits. Suddenly I realized that I had plodded through most of my work, grumbling all the way. It sure isn't the motivational story of the year, but it's amazing what one little disgruntled, overworked woman can accomplish with the wrong attitude!

Now, once I clean up this chunky toddler puke, I am SO out of here...

Three Pictures

2006-02-24T19:51:00.000-05:00

I'm sending this ambitious little meme out into the world, in the hopes that we all get a chance to stretch our creative muscles and learn more about each other - in a way that we didn't really expect.

Below are three topics. If you'd like to take part, what you need to do is post a picture for each theme on your blog. One picture per theme, as it pertains to YOU. Also, you can write a couple of sentences if you feel the need to explain how the picture fits with the theme.

You'll find that everyone will have a different interpretation of the themes, and that's what will make this really interesting!

The rules for this are that there are no rules. The photo can be recent or old, taken by you, taken by someone else, or taken from the web. When your photos are posted, please let me know in the comments area of this blog. (This is also how you can check what others have posted.) If all goes well, we'll make this a monthly thing. Best wishes!

Three Pictures for February

1. The Only Dragon I Know

2. A Reason to Return Home

3. The Eighth Wonder of the World

Choose the Chunk

2006-02-20T20:22:00.000-05:00

My hubby and I went grocery shopping today, at the now infamous dollar sale at No Frills. My blog buddy, Peter, who moonlights as a stocker, knows all too well the violence that can occur over the last Minute Maid Orange Juice (only $1!) , or the Michelina's frozen fettucine alfredo (only $1). I am sure you can imagine the need for a 6-item "per family" limit, especially when the pint of French Vanilla Real Dairy Ice cream is only, you guessed, it, one dollar! But where there are rules, there are always rule-breakers. People have no problem asking their 4-yr-old to stand in the next line to buy more ice cream:

Timmy: "Mommy, the cashier-lady wants to know if we're the same family."
Mother: "I don't know this child. Who are you anyways?"
Timmy: (crying) "Mommy!!??"
Mother: "Go pay for your ice cream!"

So we loaded up our bright yellow grocery cart with sale items, and I wandered off to find something to make for dinner. When I relocated my hubby, he was standing in front of the wall 'o' tuna, looking confused. As I approached, I realized he had a recipe in his hand and he was muttering to himself:

It calls for tuna...

There was tuna in oil, in water, with salt, without salt, expensive tuna, cheap tuna, light tuna, dark tuna, albacore tuna, and tuna in a jar. Dressed tuna, with mayo, with mustard, with dill and even with thai chili sauce ('no frills' my ass!). When we sorted out what type of tuna to get, he asked me "chunk tuna or flaked tuna"?

And then it happened. You know those times when the deep meaning of something hits you, and really didn't expect it? This happened to us, when, like a wise man atop a mountain somewhere in Tibet, I heard myself say these words:

"Remember, you can always flake the chunk but you can't chunk the flake."

Okay, it sounds stupid, but suddenly, the universe made a little more sense to both of us. It was about choices. You have to make the choices that give you the most options. Like cutting your hair a little at a time. It's easy to cut more, impossible to cut less.

Like keeping in touch with that friend who always forgets to call you. You can't unburn a bridge.

Like forgiving yourself for buying 6 pints of icecream. Each.

Imagine, the whole universe, summed up in tuna. I think "choose the chunk" will be my zen meditation for the week:

Kids driving me nuts? Choose the chunk.

Boss on my ass? Choose the chunk.

Pants too tight? Choose the chunk.

My wish for you, gentle reader, is that when you are faced with stress and challenges throughout your week, I hope that you too choose the chunk.

I Love You and You and You and You

2006-02-15T09:00:00.000-05:00

File under "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em": last night we had our first annual Valentine's Day Family Picnic. Since this is Canada and there is 20cm (8'") of snow outside, we laid out a blanket out on the livingroom floor, put on a CD of Disney love songs, and threw open all the drapes. I carefully laid out paper plates with red heart doilies, a bottle of sparkling grape/peach juice, and a beautifully arranged tray of food (pizza & grilled cheese sandwiches for the kids, and calamari salad, fresh baguettes and brie for the adults). My husband played with the kids in the other room, and when I was done, they came thundering in and stopped in awe.

It's so innocent, how they are amazed by the littlest things - Joey kept raving "this is the best picnic EVER!" I watched as my usually sloppy, careless son carefully placed food all around his doily, to keep it from getting dirty. And the twins were huge fans of the sparkling juice, laughing their asses off as it tickled their tongues and their noses. I remember thinking "what cute little winos in training!"

My husband was the best, constantly moving plates to keep little feet from trampling the food, offering children tastes of new and strange items (we laughed at the disgusted faces they made), and pouring out 'champagne' on demand. And with each bite I took of my sinfully delicious calamari, Joey was over my shoulder commenting: Bite...EW! Bite...EW! Bite...EW! But then came the fruit and dip, and then dessert, and suddenly everyone was in agreement.

After their fill of cake & brownies, strawberries and pineapple and chocolates, the kids ran off to play, and my husband and I were alone. Amidst the mess of paper plates, mushed doilies, empty bottles, smeared pizza, a stained blanket, a ransacked cake and spilled juice, two people held hands.

And they were in love.

Day Dream Believer

2006-02-12T22:10:00.000-05:00

Today we went to an indoor playcentre, just my 3 kids and myself. I mean 3 kids and my-hopelessly-optimistic-but-never-learns-her-lesson-glutton-for-punishment-self. Yes, it was a 30min drive from home and I was all alone, but I thought it would be worth it, for them and for myself. You see, in my daydreams, I thought I could go to this place, usher my children into a quiet but fun and sparsely populated play area, and curl up in a leather wing chair with a coffee and a skeezy historical romance novel while casually watching them frolic out of the corner of my eye.

Yeah, and buff, tanned, yet sensitive men in togas would play harps while floating on gossamer wings around me...

The reality: My backpack with the romance novel (and all my dreams) is dropped at the front door as my children tear off into the playcentre in 3 different directions with their coats and boots still on, as I give chase and find one and then turn to catch the next one and the first one I caught is gone again, and who the heck knows where the third one is, oh here's a kid, wait, its not mine, oh shit, Nicky's stuck up there in the 2 story climber, better go get him, but the daughter is missing again, and here comes Joey, but he doesn't want to go in the climber, now where is climber kid anyways, don't like the looks of that guy, and phew, there's Natalie playing 'run from mommy' up and around the tricycles, catch her and drag her towards safety and there's Nicky with his hands in the aquarium, race to save the fish and he throws a fit and where's Natalie now, oh god, that guy is a pedophile for SURE and where's Joey, Nicky stop drinking the aquarium water, Natalie get back here, ha ha look at that kid standing on the airhockey table, oh no, Joey, get off the air hockey table this instant, take off one boot before Natalie gets away, chasing her with one boot and where's Nicky and Joey and someone's screeching please don't be my kid, yup it's my kid, soothe child, try to locate others, glare at creepy guy to let him know I'm on to him...

This went on for well over an hour until I packed up the screaming and fit-throwing children and dragged them and my poor abandoned backpack to the minivan. As bad as it was, I think the kids loved it. But today I learned that I try too hard, and that when you can't locate your children, every person is a wierdo. I think I'm gonna be spazzed out with stress for a few days. Pardon my twitching.

I think I need a vacation. If there are any rich millionaire types who don't know what to do with their money and pity an overworked, overachiever mom, I want to go here with my husband for a week. Umm, without the kids, I think.

If no millionaires are currently available to fund this cause, that's ok too. A girl can dream, and sometimes, that's enough.

No Resistance

2006-02-09T17:59:00.000-05:00

"It is possible to commit no errors and still lose. That is not a weakness. That is life."

Many of life's most profound realizations occurred to me while in solitude. Alone and tired, overwhelmed by the world, I would seek enlightenment by curling up with a cup of warm tea, my favourite blanket and then watching Star Trek: The Next Generation. The horror! Stop the presses! Franny's a TREKKIE!!! (we prefer 'Trekker' actually...mwaaaa ha ha!)

I am not the only one. A good few of you out there are loud and proud of your TNG habit, and Kim, you know who I'm talking about! Those of you that don't get it, that's ok too. See, Star Trek has taught us to be accepting of all cultures and backgrounds, and if we can have peaceful relations with snobby 7-foot-tall slimy exoskeleton grasshoppers, then we can surely get along with you too!

It seems that everywhere I've been, I've found Star Trek. I used to work in a bookstore, and when we had "Lead Meetings" I always thought it kinda felt like the "bridge officers" in the "ready room" (ok, it was a disgusting lunch room and salary-wise, we were all far off from being "officers"), but you get my point. I always fancied myself a Deanna Troi type character. I know everyone's woes, counsel them, read their thoughts, have the long dark locks and brown, soulful eyes...but I lack the boobage. I've befriended a "Dr. Crusher" in my life, and had the dubious pleasure of meeting quite a few Worfs.

In terms of species though, I think I'd make a wicked Romulan - passionate, intelligent, strategic. My husband says I would make a good Bejoran because I'm determined resourceful and scrappy. He fancies himself a Cardassian - big, masculine, fallen from grace, solid as a rock...hey...am I the only one getting ideas here????

But I digress. (*frantically calling costume shop*) My kids are Klingons, no doubt about it. They're capable of incredible loyalty and courage, yet willing to fight to the death over the last marshmallow. In fact, I think I've even heard Nicky growl, as he climbed the corner unit to reach the remote control, "perhaps today IS a good day to die!" My husband and I even call WalMart "the Borg". Its a play on the fact that the stores kinda all look the same, and once you go there, you are "assimilated" by the low low prices. Not to mention the over-worked, over-tired, trudging employees you sometimes see there, and the way they "mark" you at the front door with those little stickers...damn creepy smiley face...

Me: "Honey, we need socks and toilet paper!"
Hubby: "Great! Let's go to the Borg."
Me: "The crappy Borg or the Ancaster Borg?"
Hubby: "Well d'uh! Ancaster! Should we take the kids to the Borg?"
Me: "Of course! You know how much they love those stickers!"

When we talk like this in public, which we do, you can imagine the confused looks we get from non-trekkers. But what's more fun are the horrified looks from the people who DO understand. Yes we're nerds. But, ahh, I'm so happy I married Barclay...

I cried during Star Trek: First Contact. No, not when someone died, or lost a love, etc etc. But when the alien pulled down its hood, and you just knew humanity was saved because there were Vulcans on that flying saucer! (*Note to my patient non-trekker readers: Don't worry, my next post will be "normal" again!) And that quote at the top of the page? You got it, that's from Star Trek: TNG too. When Data the android loses a match after he played a perfect game, that's what the captain tells him. Sometimes, I need to hear it too. Because:

"If you can't take a little bloody nose, maybe you oughta go back home and crawl under your bed. It's not safe out here. It's wondrous, with treasures to satiate desires both subtle and gross; but it's not for the timid." -Q

I have been assimilated. Resistance is futile...

View From the Top

2006-02-06T20:43:00.000-05:00

I never thought it was possible, but I just skinned my ass. Badly. I'll never be able to sit on a hard chair again. And, there are these huge oblong bruises on my hips. And let's not even discuss the serious thigh trauma. OW OW OW! I suppose I am not as "nimble" as I used to be. I will never, ever, ever be so anal again. And my husband is gonna PAY.

I'll bet you think this is gonna be a dirty story...

We just got my oldest son a "loft" bed - it's a bunk bed with no bottom bunk, which is perfect for putting dressers and toychests underneath. This is necessary as his room is the size of a broom cupboard. Anyhow, my hubby spent 5 hours assembling it, while I spent the same 5 hours keeping the kids out of his hair. When he finally finished, I was in love with the bed! It was perfect! It was a space-saver! It was funky and tasteful and frugal and fun and clearly showed what a brilliant mother I was!

And then my hubby declared that he hated the bed.

Yes, I was pissed. Anyhow, I got these snazzy red sheets to match the "Clifford" comforter I made for the new bed. As hubby was putting the twins to sleep, (did I mention my hubby hates the new bed?) I tried to put on the sheets. Problem was, I couldn't reach the far corner. So I got a chair. Still couldn't reach to properly tuck in that damn fitted sheet. So, being the tragic optimist, I sent my son up there to tuck in the frigging sheet. He is not dexterous enough to tuck the damn fitted sheet into the corner of the mattress of the bed that my husband hates.

I tried to reach from underneath, over, around, and between, but no luck. This is one of those 'safety' models that has high railings all around and the tiniest 10" space where the ladder emerges. In other words, it was an anti-red-fitted-sheet fortress. Unless I climbed up myself... and that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I got stuck on the top bunk.

I could not get my butt through that 10" space to go back down the ladder. I tried just one leg first, and ended up doing a grotesque impression of the splits. I tried forcing my butt through while facing outward, and severly skinned my buttocks. Then laying inwards, my butt was stuck up in the air as I struggled and pushed and wiggled and scratched up my thighs. Sideways, and my hip got pinned between the mattress and the very hard railing, not to mention that my body just don't twist that way. While I was writhing in pain and humiliation, my son was on the floor encouraging me to "just jump mommy!" Which I probably would have done, if there had been enough head clearance... In desperation, arms unnaturally positioned, legs in the air, butt impossibly wedged, I called my husband to the room.

My beloved came running, thoughtfully paused in the doorway, and proceeded to piss himself laughing.

A few minutes later, I was safely down from the evil-bed-of-death and giving my hubby the evil-glare-of-death. Before he ran away, he winked and said, "now that's an awesome bed!"

The Special Ones, God Made Twice

2006-02-03T23:02:00.000-05:00

Dear Natalie & Nicky,

Happy Birthday babies. Well, not babies anymore, I guess. I can't believe it's been two years already. I know you can't read yet, but I'm sure it won't be long before you'll be reading my blog to all your friends as evidence that your mother is truly insane. But until then, thanks for putting up with me as I fumble through the neverending "twin conundrum". I really think I need just one more arm...

But actually, it hasn't been that bad. Both of you are patient souls. For there has never been a "just me" with you two. It's always been "just us". Though I admit that most of the first 2 years are a blur. I barely remember (or have suppressed) the round-the-clock feedings, the bouncy-bouncy with a newborn in each arm, the tagteam crying and the tandem puking. My right arm has grown muscular from the whole "a spoonful for you and a spoonful for you" routine. Not to mention the millions of dollars we've spent on formula, diapers and laundry detergent. When the two of you grow up to be World Champion Pairs figureskaters, you'll share the wealth I'm sure.

It was a lifetime ago that we feared for our little girl's life before she was even born. How many days we spent panicked that we would lose you. It was a tough Christmas that year, full of uncertainty and danger. And then when you came out bright red and yelling your block off, we knew you would be ok. Funny how you still make sure your presence is heard everywhere you go, up until this day. You are a truly a force to be reckoned with.

And Nicky, ever the quiet, steady one. We jokingly called you "Nicky the Snitch" even before you were born, because we had a feeling you would be pure goodness and a bane to troublemakers everywhere! You've won the hearts of so many with your simple needs and your quiet nature. And that laugh! I can't say enough about your beautiful, hopscotch, effervescent laugh.

It's sad that I didn't get to spend much time with you two at your little party tonight. Everyone wanted to hold the guests of honour, and I was so busy entertaining. So, after you both fell asleep, I crept into your rooms and kissed your foreheads and whispered happy birthday to each of you. You don't know that I did it, but it made me feel so much better.

Anyhow, it's late and mommy's tired. There's something I really need to tell you before I signout though: I'm sorry if I screwed up a bit in the beginning, but I think I was more than a little overwhelmed, having two newborns and a toddler to deal with. If one day you come to realize that your mom is only human, perhaps you'll take comfort in the knowledge that no one on this earth will ever love you as much as I do.

Happy Birthday babies.

Love, Mommy

The Crowded Island

2006-01-31T22:23:00.000-05:00

It's February in Canada. Being stranded on an isolated tropical island, even if it were filled with water-borne diseases and cannibals (mmm, white meat!), doesn't seem so bad to me right now. At least it would be warm & sunny. And there would be no dress code. In fact, I don't even feel bad for the people on "Lost" at all. Sure, they have to scream and run for their lives a lot, but do they have to warm up their cars for 20 minutes so they can chip the ice off the windshield? I don't think so.

So while I'm imagining tropical bliss, I may as well have company while I'm there. No "Wilson" volleyballs for me! Since this is my blog and I can do pretty much whatever I like here, I'm getting stranded on a tropical island with some REALLY neat company. I proudly present to you...

Franny's Top Ten Historical People To Be Stranded On An Island With (and why)

10. Marie Antoinette - hopefully with her head. Seems like she'd know how to mix drinks, & I could try on her clothes.
9. William Wallace (aka Braveheart) - coconuts, meet broadsword. Oh, and Franny, meet broadsword.
8. Leonardo Da Vinci - imagine the sand sculptures!
7. William Shakespeare - to hone my art.
6. Napoleon Bonaparte - because we're gonna take over the world if we ever get off this island...
5. Sigmund Freud - to throw rocks at when we're all bored.
4. Albert Einstein - sure he's smart, but I need to know...can he cook?
3. King Arthur - for those days when I've worn out #9.
2. Cleopatra - for the pyjama party & moonlit pillow fights!
1. Galileo Galilei - to stargaze with, to dream with, and to figure out a way to get me back home. (*sweetie: For no matter where I am and how many miles and dead historical people there are between us, I would trade it all, just to be with you.)

Ahem! Sorry about that - -

Honourable mentions who didn't make the list: Mother Theresa, Gandhi, Anne Frank & Adolph Hitler. Why Hitler, you ask? Well Mother Theresa & Gandhi could make him feel really bad about himself and the horrible things he did. Then, when he's finally crying and really sorry and begging for forgiveness, they can hold him still while Anne Frank kicks the shit out of him.

The Truth About Childbirth

2006-01-29T16:58:00.000-05:00

DISCLAIMER: If you are expecting, or plan to be in the near future, do yourself a favour and DO NOT read this!

You know how your mom, upon finding dirty underwear (or worse) in your dresser drawer, would rant about "18 hours of labour and THIS is how you thank me!?" Well that's what I plan to do here today. I am in a mood so vile that it is time to write about what it is really like to give birth. None of that "miracle" stuff. None of that "you forget all about the pain" bull. I remember dammit!

For all of you men out there, I promise to spare you the gory, anatomical details.

When I was pregnant with Joey (now 4), I remember taking childbirth classes, yoga, aquafit, etc, in preparation for the 'big day'. Everytime I talked about the actual birthing, I would smile and pretend I was concerned, the whole time thinking: "how bad could it be, really?" In retrospect, it was like thinking:

"How much trouble could my husband's '82 Pontiac Phoenix be, really?"

"How much could the repair bill be, really?"

"How scary could this Freddie Krueger guy be, really?"

The answer, of course, is always ONE BAJILLION times worse than you could ever imagine in the confines of your tiny little brain! On the morning of my due date, I joked with my sister that I was in labour. An hour later, I wasn't joking. At the hospital, my mother-in-law, laughing giddlily, ran up to me and grabbed at my stomach with both hands during a contraction. I jumped back three feet, grew horns and waved my pitchfork at her while shreiking in a voice that was not my own: "IT'S NOT FUCKING FUNNY AND DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME AGAIN!" The nuns in the hallway all crossed themselves.

When I am in pain, leave me alone. I am a wounded wolf in a dark cave - very dangerous - do not disturb. That was until the epidural guy came. When he arrived, he was a tiny, crazy-looking little man, about 30 years my senior with a sweaty countenance that rivaled Darth Vader, sans mask. When he left, I was in love. I think I proposed. All I know is that when the pain stopped I was as high as a kite. The world was wonderful again.

Until they shut off my meds to push. I remember telling people that labour was like having your feet hacked off at the ankles slooowly over 16 hours, and then pushing was like them asking you to run a marathon on the stumps. Yes I know, that's gross. And what a mess!

But that moment came when I realized that it was only up to me, no one could do this for me, and that if I summoned all my strength and pushed with all my might, I would (hopefully) die. The nurses tried to encourage me by shouting that in a few moments I was going to have the beautiful sweet baby of my dreams in my arms...my only coherent thought was "Who cares!? I'm gonna die! Sweet blissful death! Yippee!!!"

Four minutes before midnight on his due date, my son was born. They put him on my chest and he was as slippery as Vaseline, so I circled his tiny ankle with my thumb & index finger, just in case. My husband was crying. My mom was sobbing. The nurses were cheering. Sadly, I was a little shell-shocked. Yes, childbirth was like the first 20 mins. of "Saving Private Ryan". I still hear the mortar rounds and the screaming.

But I guess it also commanded my spirit to reach beyond what it ever had before. I see myself as just another soldier in the march of the human race. Another woman, following the path of millions of incredible women before me, against all odds, against all hope, against tides of fear and despair. And I still tell my mother-in-law, when we look back at that crazy day, that it was NOT funny.

But it was okay.

Cyanosis Makes Me Blue

2006-01-25T23:39:00.000-05:00

According to the latest personality test, I apparently have a choleric temperament, which sounds a lot like I can give you cholera, but lets not get confused here. I do NOT cause profuse diarrhea, abdominal cramping, cyanosis, fever, nausea and vomiting.

Well usually I don't. And not on purpose.

It's pretty cool...I mean for a 5-question personality test, this one kinda hit the nail on the head for me. Those that know me well will understand. Those that don't will probably fear me from now on. I'd say 90% of this stuff is true about me, (the personality part, not the cholera) except for the part about me having no use for friends. What the heck was that about? And a narcissist? I want so badly to deny it, but it's hard to be modest when you are as incredibly bright & charismatic as I am.

And the whole using my mind as a "weapon" thing...well, I'll let the leagues of war wounded out there have that one.

You Have a Choleric Temperament

You are a person of great enthusiasm - easily excited by many things.Unsatisfied by the ordinary, you are reaching for an epic, extraordinary life.You want the best. The best life. The best love. The best reputation.
You posses a sharp and keen intellect. Your mind is your primary weapon.Strong willed, nothing can keep you down. Your energy can break down any wall.You're an instantly passionate person - and this passion gives you an intoxicating power over others.
At your worst, you are a narcissist. Full of yourself and even proud of your faults.Stubborn and opinionated, you know what you think is right. End of discussion.A bit of a misanthrope, you often see others as weak, ignorant, and inferior.

In conclusion, I am an intelligent, determined, optimistic, resourceful, passionate & influential little bitch.

What Temperment Are You?

Running Commentary

2006-01-24T13:45:00.000-05:00

Walking down these hallowed halls today, I crossed the path of an old nemesis. What did she do to win this distinction? Well, let's just say that a transgression occurred while I was pregnant with the twins - and it was during one of those 'really bad news' moments when you are most likely to jump off a bridge - and this woman went out of her way to be unkind and cold to me. Not a shred of human pity or decency when it was so obviously, desperately called for.

I will never forget it as long as I live.

So, naturally, when I saw her again, I waved and cheerily said, "Hi, it's been a long time! You're looking great!"

What I was thinking was, "Get thee behind me, Satan!" I am not even kidding. I even laughed out loud after she walked away at how easily the unbidden words sprang forth in my mind.

You see, I am a person who is deeply touched by kindness. I see two strangers helping each other across the icy sidewalk and I feel alive. A small child hugging another crying child brings tears to my eyes. I am always noticing small actions of beauty, and try to use them to define my view of this often jaded world. But at the same time, I abhor indifference. Unkindness, when a kindness would have required just as much, or even less effort, is a truly hateful thing to me.

I will never understand how one can see an injured bird on the sidewalk in the dead of winter and not try to do something. Anything.

I will never understand how one can be asked for help, though the cost be nothing at all to them, and shrug.

I will never understand one who chooses principal over imminent, tangible, human need.

And yet, I have had the dubious honour of seeing all of this. But in a way, perhaps seeing people on their worst, most insensitive, most selfish behaviour has been a blessing to me and to all that I am and have yet to become.

For you must know that there is something to be learned from everyone that you meet, even if it's simply what not to be like.

Flying High

2006-01-21T21:43:00.000-05:00

Someone asked me on Friday what my lifelong dream was. Without hesitation, I said "to own a flying horse". I even got all teary eyed as I talked about it - the childhood dream, the thrill of flying, the pooing on the neighbors' cars. What made it worse, I suppose, was this was my new boss who had asked me, and this was at work. After a few minutes of my blubbering about it, she felt compelled to ask me if I was aware that flying horses didn't exist. I think her next question was going to be "are you on drugs?"

Oh, the humiliation.

In retrospect, I think she was looking for me to tell her that my lifelong dream was to write the next great Canadian novel, to have a cottage up north or to adopt a child from some 3rd world country. But a flying horse? I think I can guess what transpired behind closed doors later that day.

My boss: "We need to talk."

Her boss: "Sure, just sit down in my leather wing chair and let me finish my bourbon."

My boss: "Yes ma'am."

Her boss: "Okay, so what's the problem?"(slurp)

My boss: "You know Franny downstairs? Um...her lifelong dream is to have a flying horse."

Her boss: (choking on bourbon) "WHAT!? What kind of freaky hippie did you hire?!"

My boss: "Well actually, you really liked her at the interview..."

Her boss: "Oh no, you're not pinning this one on me! And how was I supposed to know she was some drugged-out psychadelic wierdo exactly? She seemed so....so...."

My boss: "Normal?"

Her boss: "Shit, it's always the "normal" ones isn't it?" (sip, pause) "Where is Little Miss Acid-Trip now?"

My boss: "She's with - oh my GOD! She's with the students!"

Her boss: "No! Not the children! Someone's gotta stop that schizzed-out mad-woman!"

My boss: "I'll get the machete behind the photocopier..."

The rest of my day was pretty uneventful, thanks in part to the fact that the photocopier weighs 300 lbs. I think I got some wierd looks from my coworkers though. And I'm SURE they were talking to me very slooooooooowly and carefully... maybe they're fearful that references to abstract concepts like 'strategic planning' or 'departmental goals' will send the demented crackhead on her next 'cukoo' trip? Eg:

Them: "What do you see as our fiscal budget goals for 2007?"

Me: "Get these damn spiders off me! Oh my God, they're everywhere! Spiders! No! No! ARGHHHHHHHHHH!" (rolling on floor, scratching/screaming, etc...)

As I write, I am certain there is a committee of concerned individuals preparing an intervention. Just for fun, at the next really long, boring meeting, I'm gonna ask "did anyone else hear that? Sounded like neighing..."

Lucky for me, "wants a flying horse" is not grounds for dismissal according to the Ontario Labour Standards Act. I looked it up.

And for the record, I do not rescind my lifelong dream. I STILL want a flying horse. If they didn't really want to know, they shouldn't have asked. Poop away, Peggie!

A Detour

2006-01-17T09:26:00.000-05:00

We had a big family dinner at my mom's last night, complete with baked tortellini, stuffed zucchini, pork tenderloin, salad and fresh baked semolina bread, bowls of fresh fruit and olives. Anyhow, the usual big Italian family dinner involves many screaming children and controversial, animated discussion (Last night's topic: whose kid will be the most beautiful when they grow up. Yes, it got ugly.)

So anyways, there I was, plotting my revenge against anyone who didn't agree that my daughter was God's gift of ultimate beauty to the world over and above all her mangy cousins. (Is everyone BLIND???!!!) Suddenly, we noticed my 2-yr-old son Nicky had disappeared. For those of you who didn't know, Nicky is autistic. A very wise person once told me to think of it this way: most children are like cars on a road. They swerve, they adapt to the conditions of their enviroment, they change direction when they want to do something else. They can drive alongside other cars/children. They can stop quickly when they must. Nicky is like a train on a track. One direction. One destination. Can't stop for miles. He has repetitive tendencies, is very solitary and doesn't "get" abstract concepts, like "bring me the cup so I can give you water". He'll stand by the sink crying instead, unable to understand what the cup has to do with the water that comes out of the tap.

He has problems with speech, and talks in single word utterances. He can only identify items he sees ("CAR"!) but not items he needs but doesn't see ("water"). This is very unlike his twin sister who is a chatterbox and a master manipulator. On the plus side, she instinctively takes care of him. When someone gives her a sippy cup with water/juice, she won't leave until that person gives her one for her brother too. Same thing with cookies, snacks, etc. When Nicky can't find his blankie, Natalie helps me tear the house apart looking for it. When he cries, she runs around saying "Nicky crying! Don't cry Nicky! Don't cry Nicky!" She even gives him his pacifier to make him stop. She is a patient marvel with her 'little' brother. (Can you see why she is so beautiful to me?)

Anyhow, I was worried about my son, so I called him back to the living room, which never works but I never stop trying. (He doesn't come when called.) Resigned, I got up to search for the little escapee, when suddenly he comes tearing around the corner, his face ablaze with victory.

"Mommy, I got the grapes! I got the grapes!"

Sure enough, raised high in his little fist was a handful of grapes that he had swiped from the dinner table. It was his first sentence. It was the first time he had "helped" himself.

I suddenly realized that in the contest for most beautiful, it was a tie.

One Good Turn...

2006-01-15T17:39:00.000-05:00

My heroic blog friend Paul turned me on to the HeroMachine site, where you can make yourself into pretty much whichever kind of super-hero/freak/Village Person you'd like. It was so cool, so I made myself into the fantasy heroine of my dreams. (Yes, I am aware that I have not looked like this since highschool. Okay, maybe I was never quite so richly endowed. But the other body types were ghastly and the face looks like me and I said FANTASY so shaddup there in the back row!)

The Legend of Franny: Though raised by the church in a strict and cloistered fashion, Franny always knew she was different. Nighttime urges forced her into the streets to explore the darkness while the others slept. Her life is changed forever when she overhears the falsely repentant confession of a heinous criminal. Outraged that the criminal is offered forgiveness by the church that raised her, she leaves forever to avenge his crimes and to protect the innocent. Over time, she becomes a patron of vigilante justice, skimpy costumes and ass-kicking in general.