July 15, 2011
Today I was forced to accept an unfortunate truth.
One I have been avoiding for at least the last ten years.
I am too old for more children.
Wanting more children and having them are, I have realized, two different things.
This afternoon, a former student-cum-mother-of-two-and-her-RCMP-husband stopped in to see me.
They're here on vacation.
Two adorable children in tow, one four years old, the other just about two.
Watching them, especially being around all their energy, made me conclude that I really am too old and settled in my life at this point to contemplate raising another child.
Honestly, I couldn't keep up.
Plus, I have four already, eight if you count the pets and ten in you include my parents.
Blessed, I am.
However, there was always this niggling, persistent thought at the back of my consciousness about having another child.
And it grew exponentially when I met Stephen.
Until I realized he was the "another child."
Seems I am to be content with all I have, and wait for the day I am blessed with grandchildren.
And THAT had better be a long, long, long wait, thank you very much!
Rather than get up and rush into work this morning, I decided to take the morning off to work outside in the gardens.
I couldn't manage another afternoon in the library, being teased and tormented by the glorious weather outside.
Again, knowing that the full blast heat and humidity will return tomorrow, I was compelled to but the desire for vitamin D and fresh air to get outside.
Moving the hosta that had virtually disappeared underneath some other large bush was the first item on the agenda.
The poor thing was practically weeping with appreciation when I finally managed to get it out of the ground.
Where to put it is an entirely different issue.
Stephen can sort that out.
The big ticket item on my morning gardening agenda was to begin the long process of getting rid of the spearmint.
At first, I was enthralled with having spearmint in our back garden.
Spearmint tea at the ready when ever my little heart desired.
But. . .
The last couple of summers have revealed an ugly truth about spearmint.
Its a dominatrix.
And there is simply not enough room on our premises for more than one dominatrix, thank you very much.
Eternal domination is part of the spearmint manifesto.
Everything planted anywhere near it is annihilated.
And what is still clinging to life is on the verge of extinction as the spearmint continues its rampage through our garden.
Not.
Any.
More.
I was in the backyard this morning hauling the almost as tall as I am stalks of spearmint out by its long, tentacled roots.
The wheelbarrow is now well past overflowing with exiled spearmint.
And everything else I hauled out of the ground yesterday.
There's still a lot more to go.
I'll keep some of it.
In a pot.
But never again will I plant spearmint in the ground unless I have enough wide open space to allow its unfettered domination.
So, if you have a wide, open space and you want it covered with the most dominating, invasive plant you can manage, spearmint is your new best friend.
But if you want a garden with variety, color, where everyone gets along well with everyone else and no one feels the need for complete control and domination, you should stay as far away from spearmint as possible.
And whatever we do now will not be enough.
We anticipate that next summer and probably the one after that we'll still be battling with the spearmint.
Because apparently, I don't have enough battles in my life.
Even the gardens want to fight back.
Dominate.
Twice in one week I've been wrong about a movie.
I am beginning to doubt my ability to assess a film at a glance.
First, Horrible Bosses.
And last night, Bridesmaids.
Now, wrong in terms of thinking the movie would be a complete waste of time.
One of those this-is-time-I'll-never-get-back-kinds of movies.
Neither was a waste of time.
But they're not Oscar worthy films either.
I am a film snob.
But I also love a good laugh, and both films certainly meet that criteria.
Seeing the movie wasn't the most interesting part of the evening, however.
The Harry Potter line up to the other end of the mall. . .
THAT was interesting.
All the people who wanted the distinction of being among the first of Fredericton's viewers to see the last installment of what is arguably the most successful book and film series ever.
Whether you like the books and films or not, you have to at least acknowledge their success.
I want to see the last film, too.
As do Stephen, Mer, Keith and Em.
But none of us wanted to sacrifice a good night's sleep seeing it.
I'd prefer to know that I was going to stay awake to see the end of it.
Not like the fanatics at the top of the line.
Who arrived at 6.00 am.
The movie started at midnight.
I couldn't imagine a movie I would want to see SO badly that I would wait 18 hours in line to ensure I got a good seat.
Four theaters were showing the film.
All sold out.
So about 800 tickets.
Of course, the grand diva herself was working last night, positioned at the very top of the line up, with water jugs and plastic cups at the ready.
An attempt, no doubt, to ensure that the line up lunatics didn't dehydrate and rain down a mega million dollar lawsuit upon Empire Theaters.
Later, they had her running around with pretzel bite and New York Fries samples, hoping to tease and tantalize the appetites of the midnight-manic-movie goers.
And at some point she was running around with a trolley full of goodies into the theaters themselves to further entice the patrons to indulge in a fat-sugar-sodium fest.
That's my girl.
Peddling wares to the tired masses until 3.30 this morning.
Mischief managed Mer.
Title Lyric: Domination by Pantera
Friday, July 15, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
It's getting hot in here. . .
July 14, 2011
Free and clear?
Not.
Even.
Close.
Big decisions in the process of being hammered out.
Repercussions?
Only time will tell.
Yesterday and today have been relatively quiet.
Working at the library both days until 4.00.
Upon our arrival at home, last evening, there was a message from Em that all three of my little chicks were at Mer's apartment, swimming as a means of escaping the heat.
And were wondering if there was, perhaps, going to be a meal prepared for their dining pleasure.
All three of them, not working?
Yes.
A meal was imminent.
After dinner, the kids cleaned up while Stephen and I prepared for our own evening festivities.
Get your minds out of the gutter.
Summer Convocation.
It occurred to me while getting ready that all the kids were together.
Perfect time for a photo of my trio of miscreants for my mother's digital picture frame.
Sounds simple, right?
Three adults, between the ages of 17 and 22?
No problem.
Except that they're my children.
One child, not a problem.
Two children, somewhat manageable.
But I persevered.
And was satisfied with what I was able to get.
Convocation. . .
Rather than have it in the courtyard at STU, which is always favourable, it was held at St. Dunstan's Church, downtown.
It was the unpredictable weather venue.
Rain was fore casted, but never showed.
But had we been outside, tempting the always fickle Mother Nature?
It would have been as if someone had turned on a gigantic faucet.
Unfortunately, St. Dunstan's isn't a huge church.
And what space was available was packed to the rafters.
Walking in during the faculty procession, we hit a wall of heat solely created from the jam-packedness of those family and friends who wanted to see their loved one cross the stage, a student at one end, a university graduate at the other.
Armed with only a program between us, Stephen and I took turns during the 90 minute ceremony fanning ourselves in an effort to stave off heat exhaustion.
A member of the platform party wasn't as fortunate, and fainted twice during convocation.
It really was that warm inside.
As we were leaving, again in the procession, we were hit with a blissful wall of cool air as we left the church sanctuary for the outside.
People were pouring out the church like ants from a flooded anthill.
I suggested to Stephen, as his robe zippered, that he could forgo pants.
He didn't seem to think this was a good idea.
But he reconsidered about halfway through the ceremony.
I know.
I can read his mind.
This morning was glorious.
As was the rest of the day.
Last week's oppressive heat and humidity, preparing to revisit us starting this coming Saturday was absent, leaving in its stead clear blue skies and temps hovering around 22 degrees Celsius.
One of those days where it was torture to be inside, no matter how riveting my reading material.
Cinematic Sociology.
Looking at issues like race, gender, classical theory through film.
I'm serious. . .riveting.
But today the fresh air, gentle breeze, cottony white clouds were calling me, calling me to leave my riveting reading and join them outside.
Plus the air conditioning in the library had actually numbed my feet.
That or my Birkenstocks were too tight.
At least this pair of Birks.
I have two pair.
Same color.
Different style.
This style, which I refer to as my "Mary Jane" Birks don't seem to be bother me at all. . .
The Arizona style have caused me blisters all over and I can't seem to get them adjusted to where they don't feel either too tight or too loose.
My feet have changed since I've lost weight.
At least that's my story.
I held on until 4.00 when Stephen descended from his office up the hill to collect me and my bags of stuff.
As soon as I walked through our front door, greeting my elated, jubilant, cavorting canines, I dashed (okay, walked as fast as I could upstairs) changed into outside clothes, grabbed by gardening tools and headed outside to take out my pent up energy on the audacious weeds that think it's appropriate to take up residence in my gardens.
Admittedly, the gardens have been neglected of late.
Too hot temps do not facilitate my going outside to much of anything beyond taking the dogs out.
I've always abhorred heat and humidity.
Granted, 80+ pounds lighter has made this summer far more tolerable than any other summer in my immediate past.
I don't wake up feeling that the only suitable way to pass the day is to surround myself with fans while sitting at my computer not moving except to pass my fingers over the keyboard.
And even that was too much effort.
Meaning this summer's heat has been much easier to bear when not carrying around the weight equivalent of Tikka or Frankie.
Right, suffering gardens, me fueled with the desire to get outside as quickly as possible.
Off I went, gloves on, ready to haul out the offensive weeds with a vehemence usually reserved for people who really, really piss me off.
And the result of my efforts?
Liberated hens and chicks.
Beaming bee balm.
Elated echinaeca.
And an overflowing wheelbarrow of weeds.
Along with a very sore backside and leg muscles.
All for the cause.
The cause?
A happy, content Stephen.
As I write, Em is getting ready for a late movie.
With me.
But not of my choice.
Bridesmaids.
I hold out no hope that I'll be pleasantly surprised twice in one week with a movie I thought would be horrific that turned out to be quite funny.
And the next book on the list of must reads?
An edited collection of essays about Dexter.
Bridesmaids is far more frightening I'm willing to bet.
Title Lyric: Hot in Here by Nelly
Free and clear?
Not.
Even.
Close.
Big decisions in the process of being hammered out.
Repercussions?
Only time will tell.
Yesterday and today have been relatively quiet.
Working at the library both days until 4.00.
Upon our arrival at home, last evening, there was a message from Em that all three of my little chicks were at Mer's apartment, swimming as a means of escaping the heat.
And were wondering if there was, perhaps, going to be a meal prepared for their dining pleasure.
All three of them, not working?
Yes.
A meal was imminent.
After dinner, the kids cleaned up while Stephen and I prepared for our own evening festivities.
Get your minds out of the gutter.
Summer Convocation.
It occurred to me while getting ready that all the kids were together.
Perfect time for a photo of my trio of miscreants for my mother's digital picture frame.
Sounds simple, right?
Three adults, between the ages of 17 and 22?
No problem.
Except that they're my children.
One child, not a problem.
Two children, somewhat manageable.
Three children. . .took a lot of effort.
Especially as Em was not pleased with Mer and Keith at the time.
And was satisfied with what I was able to get.
Convocation. . .
Rather than have it in the courtyard at STU, which is always favourable, it was held at St. Dunstan's Church, downtown.
It was the unpredictable weather venue.
Rain was fore casted, but never showed.
But had we been outside, tempting the always fickle Mother Nature?
It would have been as if someone had turned on a gigantic faucet.
Unfortunately, St. Dunstan's isn't a huge church.
And what space was available was packed to the rafters.
Walking in during the faculty procession, we hit a wall of heat solely created from the jam-packedness of those family and friends who wanted to see their loved one cross the stage, a student at one end, a university graduate at the other.
Armed with only a program between us, Stephen and I took turns during the 90 minute ceremony fanning ourselves in an effort to stave off heat exhaustion.
A member of the platform party wasn't as fortunate, and fainted twice during convocation.
It really was that warm inside.
As we were leaving, again in the procession, we were hit with a blissful wall of cool air as we left the church sanctuary for the outside.
People were pouring out the church like ants from a flooded anthill.
I suggested to Stephen, as his robe zippered, that he could forgo pants.
He didn't seem to think this was a good idea.
But he reconsidered about halfway through the ceremony.
I know.
I can read his mind.
This morning was glorious.
As was the rest of the day.
Last week's oppressive heat and humidity, preparing to revisit us starting this coming Saturday was absent, leaving in its stead clear blue skies and temps hovering around 22 degrees Celsius.
One of those days where it was torture to be inside, no matter how riveting my reading material.
Cinematic Sociology.
Looking at issues like race, gender, classical theory through film.
I'm serious. . .riveting.
But today the fresh air, gentle breeze, cottony white clouds were calling me, calling me to leave my riveting reading and join them outside.
Plus the air conditioning in the library had actually numbed my feet.
That or my Birkenstocks were too tight.
At least this pair of Birks.
I have two pair.
Same color.
Different style.
This style, which I refer to as my "Mary Jane" Birks don't seem to be bother me at all. . .
The Arizona style have caused me blisters all over and I can't seem to get them adjusted to where they don't feel either too tight or too loose.
My feet have changed since I've lost weight.
At least that's my story.
I held on until 4.00 when Stephen descended from his office up the hill to collect me and my bags of stuff.
As soon as I walked through our front door, greeting my elated, jubilant, cavorting canines, I dashed (okay, walked as fast as I could upstairs) changed into outside clothes, grabbed by gardening tools and headed outside to take out my pent up energy on the audacious weeds that think it's appropriate to take up residence in my gardens.
Admittedly, the gardens have been neglected of late.
Too hot temps do not facilitate my going outside to much of anything beyond taking the dogs out.
I've always abhorred heat and humidity.
Granted, 80+ pounds lighter has made this summer far more tolerable than any other summer in my immediate past.
I don't wake up feeling that the only suitable way to pass the day is to surround myself with fans while sitting at my computer not moving except to pass my fingers over the keyboard.
And even that was too much effort.
Meaning this summer's heat has been much easier to bear when not carrying around the weight equivalent of Tikka or Frankie.
Right, suffering gardens, me fueled with the desire to get outside as quickly as possible.
Off I went, gloves on, ready to haul out the offensive weeds with a vehemence usually reserved for people who really, really piss me off.
And the result of my efforts?
Liberated hens and chicks.
Beaming bee balm.
And an overflowing wheelbarrow of weeds.
Along with a very sore backside and leg muscles.
All for the cause.
The cause?
A happy, content Stephen.
As I write, Em is getting ready for a late movie.
With me.
But not of my choice.
Bridesmaids.
I hold out no hope that I'll be pleasantly surprised twice in one week with a movie I thought would be horrific that turned out to be quite funny.
And the next book on the list of must reads?
An edited collection of essays about Dexter.
Bridesmaids is far more frightening I'm willing to bet.
Title Lyric: Hot in Here by Nelly
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Oh girls they wanna have fun. . .oh girls just wanna have fun. . . .
July 12, 2011 (10.20 am. Still in pjs. Coffee half consumed.)
Girl's Day Out!
Emily, Meredyth and I out on the town, going for lunch, a movie (Horrible Bosses. . again the things I do for love) and then to Jinglers.
Meredyth hasn't really spoken to me for a couple of weeks, other than a bit of hello, how are you when I see her at work.
Her choice, not mine.
She interpreted my not wanting to hear about her money issues as me not wanting to have anything to do with her.
How she came to that conclusion, I have no idea.
So I am looking forward to spending some time with her today.
Meaning I'll have to stay away from the touchy subjects.
Or there'll be a whole new kind of fireworks over Fredericton today.
Last night I was awakened from a very fitful sleep to have to go to the bathroom.
Just long enough for my brain to kick into "worry" mode.
Stephen's desire to converse with me at 2.40 am didn't help either.
This happens every so often.
Stephen wanting to talk with me when I'm not awake, and my brain kicking into worry mode.
Where for no apparent reason, anxieties I am suppressing about particular issues, such as this funding application, rear their ugly head in the middle of the night.
When my barriers have weakened and defenses are down.
I spent an hour or so mulling over what needs to be done by when and how before I was able to convince myself I had it all under control enough to warrant going back to sleep.
However, the glaring reality of time running short is too much to ignore, meaning that me and my laptop will be at the library tomorrow, free from the distractions of the internet, telephone, messy offices, to hammer out a draft of this application.
So long as there's Starbucks coffee on tap, I should be okay.
Another cell phone crisis has emerged.
Mine.
I've lost my cell phone.
A normal person would be outraged and upset by such an irresponsible act.
Not me.
I'm enjoying the silence thank you very much.
At the same time, I do realize I'm paying for a service I can't access at the moment, so that is starting to niggle at the back of my brain.
Meaning I'll probably have to purchase a new cell phone.
What baffles me is actually losing it.
I don't use it enough to actually lose it.
And I have no idea where I lost it.
I can't even remember the last time I used it.
There is an upside, however.
While I would never get one of those cell phones that cleans your house and makes bread while writing essays and walking your dog, I may get something with a keyboard.
My texting is atrocious according to my children.
My usually verbose self is reduced to one word texts like "ok." because I can't figure out how to text much more than that.
But it grates that I'll have to actually buy another phone.
Really grates.
I'm not to pleased with my stupidity, either.
And the knowledge that as soon as I bring home another cell phone, the old one is going to show itself.
I just know it.
7.54 pm. Hot, humid and exhausted.
For the most part, Girl's Day Out was fun.
Trying to get the two of them to take a nice picture was a lot more difficult than it was supposed to be.
Probably because they were hungry.
First then, lunch.
Where to have lunch, as always, was the issue.
Mer hadn't been to the new M&T Deli, so we decided it would be a fine spot for lunch on a hot summer's day.
On the way to the deli, however, I noticed that there was a new store downtown.
Or an old store with a new name.
Either way, it caught my eye.
I wonder if Stephen would be interested in checking out the inside?
Lunch was delicious.
I had the Louisiana Chicken Wrap with a green salad.
Always, of course, forgetting to ask for no tomato.
It was spicy, which is just what I wanted.
Mer had the chicken, bacon, Swiss, also with a green salad.
And Em, the chicken club, no tomato, no cheese.
Which is really just a chicken sandwich with lettuce.
But it's what she wants, and she got the homemade potato chips.
The very yummy and so not SFL homemade potato chips.
After lunch, we stopped at Officer's Square, just across the street from the deli.
Mer has a friend who is part of the Calithumpians. . .http://www.calithumpians.com/
a summer theater troupe, and they just happened to be performing in the park.
So of course she wanted to say hello.
But only after we watched the end of the performance.
Once she did her hi's and how are you's we were able to get back into the air conditioned car . . .
. . . and head off to stop number two.
The movies.
Other than the air conditioned car, the only other sane place to be on a day where the temp is 37 degrees Celsuis with the humidex.
This marquee. . .
Em often has to put the letters up there.
It's not her favourite part of her job, but she does it because she has to.
If it's not the frigid winters, it's the mosquitoes.
Now, I had mentioned earlier that I wasn't looking forward to seeing Horrible Bosses.
Based on my experience with Monte Carlo I can't be blamed for being less than excited.
But. . .
I am not above being wrong.
Or admitting when I may have made an error in judgement.
While this film will never win an Oscar, or be the subject of critical acclaim, I have to say that it was plain funny.
Laugh out loud funny.
And I definitely needed a laugh out loud.
Plus, Kevin Spacey?
Who could resist.
I think that even Stephen would get a chuckle from it.
But all good things must come to an end.
And the day ended with words.
At the same time, they were words that needed to be said, on both sides, and it would seem that the air cleared enough to be able to begin negotiations toward something that will hopefully be better for all of us.
Right now, though, I am really tired.
Clearing the air is exhausting.
And, if past experience is any indication, this is just one more bump on the road towards peace and quiet.
A long, long, long road indeed.
Title Lyric: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper
Girl's Day Out!
Emily, Meredyth and I out on the town, going for lunch, a movie (Horrible Bosses. . again the things I do for love) and then to Jinglers.
Meredyth hasn't really spoken to me for a couple of weeks, other than a bit of hello, how are you when I see her at work.
Her choice, not mine.
She interpreted my not wanting to hear about her money issues as me not wanting to have anything to do with her.
How she came to that conclusion, I have no idea.
So I am looking forward to spending some time with her today.
Meaning I'll have to stay away from the touchy subjects.
Or there'll be a whole new kind of fireworks over Fredericton today.
Last night I was awakened from a very fitful sleep to have to go to the bathroom.
Just long enough for my brain to kick into "worry" mode.
Stephen's desire to converse with me at 2.40 am didn't help either.
This happens every so often.
Stephen wanting to talk with me when I'm not awake, and my brain kicking into worry mode.
Where for no apparent reason, anxieties I am suppressing about particular issues, such as this funding application, rear their ugly head in the middle of the night.
When my barriers have weakened and defenses are down.
I spent an hour or so mulling over what needs to be done by when and how before I was able to convince myself I had it all under control enough to warrant going back to sleep.
However, the glaring reality of time running short is too much to ignore, meaning that me and my laptop will be at the library tomorrow, free from the distractions of the internet, telephone, messy offices, to hammer out a draft of this application.
So long as there's Starbucks coffee on tap, I should be okay.
Another cell phone crisis has emerged.
Mine.
I've lost my cell phone.
A normal person would be outraged and upset by such an irresponsible act.
Not me.
I'm enjoying the silence thank you very much.
At the same time, I do realize I'm paying for a service I can't access at the moment, so that is starting to niggle at the back of my brain.
Meaning I'll probably have to purchase a new cell phone.
What baffles me is actually losing it.
I don't use it enough to actually lose it.
And I have no idea where I lost it.
I can't even remember the last time I used it.
There is an upside, however.
While I would never get one of those cell phones that cleans your house and makes bread while writing essays and walking your dog, I may get something with a keyboard.
My texting is atrocious according to my children.
My usually verbose self is reduced to one word texts like "ok." because I can't figure out how to text much more than that.
But it grates that I'll have to actually buy another phone.
Really grates.
I'm not to pleased with my stupidity, either.
And the knowledge that as soon as I bring home another cell phone, the old one is going to show itself.
I just know it.
7.54 pm. Hot, humid and exhausted.
For the most part, Girl's Day Out was fun.
Trying to get the two of them to take a nice picture was a lot more difficult than it was supposed to be.
Probably because they were hungry.
First then, lunch.
Where to have lunch, as always, was the issue.
Mer hadn't been to the new M&T Deli, so we decided it would be a fine spot for lunch on a hot summer's day.
On the way to the deli, however, I noticed that there was a new store downtown.
Or an old store with a new name.
Either way, it caught my eye.
I wonder if Stephen would be interested in checking out the inside?
Lunch was delicious.
I had the Louisiana Chicken Wrap with a green salad.
Always, of course, forgetting to ask for no tomato.
It was spicy, which is just what I wanted.
Mer had the chicken, bacon, Swiss, also with a green salad.
And Em, the chicken club, no tomato, no cheese.
Which is really just a chicken sandwich with lettuce.
But it's what she wants, and she got the homemade potato chips.
The very yummy and so not SFL homemade potato chips.
After lunch, we stopped at Officer's Square, just across the street from the deli.
Mer has a friend who is part of the Calithumpians. . .http://www.calithumpians.com/
a summer theater troupe, and they just happened to be performing in the park.
So of course she wanted to say hello.
But only after we watched the end of the performance.
Once she did her hi's and how are you's we were able to get back into the air conditioned car . . .
. . . and head off to stop number two.
The movies.
Other than the air conditioned car, the only other sane place to be on a day where the temp is 37 degrees Celsuis with the humidex.
This marquee. . .
Em often has to put the letters up there.
It's not her favourite part of her job, but she does it because she has to.
If it's not the frigid winters, it's the mosquitoes.
Now, I had mentioned earlier that I wasn't looking forward to seeing Horrible Bosses.
Based on my experience with Monte Carlo I can't be blamed for being less than excited.
But. . .
I am not above being wrong.
Or admitting when I may have made an error in judgement.
While this film will never win an Oscar, or be the subject of critical acclaim, I have to say that it was plain funny.
Laugh out loud funny.
And I definitely needed a laugh out loud.
Plus, Kevin Spacey?
Who could resist.
I think that even Stephen would get a chuckle from it.
But all good things must come to an end.
And the day ended with words.
At the same time, they were words that needed to be said, on both sides, and it would seem that the air cleared enough to be able to begin negotiations toward something that will hopefully be better for all of us.
Right now, though, I am really tired.
Clearing the air is exhausting.
And, if past experience is any indication, this is just one more bump on the road towards peace and quiet.
A long, long, long road indeed.
Title Lyric: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper
Monday, July 11, 2011
Don't punch your brother for being slow. . .that's what work is for. . .
June 11, 2011
I am the Titanic.
Retaining enough water to sink more than one overpriced ocean liner.
Thankfully, holding on to all this water didn't have an adverse affect on my Monday morning weigh in.
No loss.
No gain.
Thanks Aunt Flo.
Emily paid a price for her resistance yesterday.
She wanted to come grocery shopping with us.
Yes.
Us.
Stephen decided at the last minute that he simply couldn't refrain from accompanying me to the Superstore.
Something akin to not letting small children go to Disney. . .I don't know. . .
But Em was dragging her little self around.
So much so that even though I had planned on leaving at one, we didn't actually get out of the house until ten to three.
While she was in the shower, Keith managed to get home.
One day, I am convinced that boy is going to forget where he lives.
A few minutes after he came through the front door, the phone rang and I heard Stephen say,
No. She's in the shower. But Keith's here. Would you like to speak to him?
Next thing I know Keith is in my room doing the hungover-but-happy dance because he was given the night off work.
Custom was slow at the theaters due to the absolutely stunning weather we had yesterday.
They were overstaffed for the evening.
Someone was getting the night off.
That intended someone was Emily.
However, because she delayed entrance into the shower, she was unavailable to answer her cell phone when it was called first, then the house phone when it was used as backup.
And her brother had no problem whatsoever taking the shift-off-that-was-intended-for-Em.
Under other circumstances, this wouldn't have been something Em would have needed to know about.
But Keith was supposed to be sitting in the car in his Empire uniform, along with Em, when we took her to work.
She would, no doubt, have noticed if he wasn't there.
When she emerged from the shower and was informed by the over-gleeful Keith about his unexpected night off, sparks flew.
To say she was unhappy would be to say that the Titanic suffered from a little drip.
She ran to her cell phone and informed us that she had a missed call.
From work.
Feigning ignorance in hopes of also getting the night off, she called the theater and in her sweetest little-miss-innocent-Emily voice asked how come she'd been called.
Only to hear:
Oh, nothing. You're brother took care of it. See you when you come in later.
Fuel to the fire, baby.
Fuel to the fire.
Not only, then, was our grocery trip delayed, but I had to engage in an activity I despise with a miserable, unhappy, mean-spirited sidekick.
And I'm not talking about Stephen, who wanders through the grocery store looking all dewy eyed.
Em was silent as she drove herself to work.
Me sitting in the passenger seat knowing nothing I could say was going to make her feel any better.
Although I did warn her brother that he must contain his overflowing joy because I wasn't going to be able to protect him from the Wrath of Em if he continued to press her buttons by spreading his goodwill around.
She didn't even say goodbye to him as she left to drive to the grocery store.
In addition to a miserable sidekick was a miserable me.
Grocery shopping is already among the most hated activities of my everyday world.
Only second to trying to get Stephen out of bed in the morning.
Although in fairness to Stephen, who would want to get out of bed with such an adorable companion.
Grocery shopping when you feel as if someone is trying to remove your inside plumbing with a crochet hook through your bellybutton only adds to the pain and agony of grocery shopping.
Don't get me started on the exuberant and elated Stephen and what his happiness and joy added to my volatile temperament.
Slogging through the aisles, grumbling as I had to maneuver around the middle-of-the-aisle conversationists, Emily almost as miserable and grumbling a lot more than even I was.
I really was miserable.
And it was one of those instances where you knew you were being miserable, completely cogent, cognizant, aware, that you're behaviour and attitude toward your loved ones was completely inappopriate.
Stephen, who is normally quiet patient when I get like this, even had enough at one point and in the middle of the grocery store stopped pushing the cart and said, while several people behind were listening,
YOU can push the cart. YOU. Then maybe you'll stop nagging me about going too slow. I don't know what you want me to do.
Even my pain addled mind was aware that maybe, just maybe I should make more of an effort to quell and wrangle the bitch within.
And from that point on, I just kept my mouth shut and counted the seconds until we arrived back home.
Be glad you didn't encounter us.
Be very glad.
The end result of our collective, agonizing efforts:
A club pack of shitty kitty. . .
And groceries to last for a couple of days. . .
A couple of days.
Stephen commented just a few minutes ago that he felt it was going to be a scorcher today.
Indeed it is.
35 degrees Celsius.
The dogs will lay on the cooler, laminate floor.
Reilley and Goblet will find the hottest spot in the house and roll around in it like porn stars.
Goblet was showing off her goodies and her voluptuous figure yesterday.
No shame.
She has no shame.
Look at her face.
Sultry?
Gigantic, perhaps.
Yesterday, then, as you can see, was a bit of a bust.
Other than tackling the grocery store and visiting my mother, which was blissfully uneventful, I spent the day in bed, reading, feeling sorry for myself as I agonized through my miseries.
Today, at some point when Stephen decides he'd like to get himself moving, I may be able to get to work.
I have just a couple of weeks left to get this funding application written.
And Stephen has more proposal writing to do.
Because of the heat, Em is just going to lay on the couch and not move until she has to go work for 5.15 pm.
Keith has the day off, so we're hoping he'll start washing the walls in our bedroom in prepartation for painting later this week.
Heat doesn't seem bother Keith.
Must be a genetic anomaly.
Title Lyric: Don't Punch Your Friend for Being Slow by Bluetip
I am the Titanic.
Retaining enough water to sink more than one overpriced ocean liner.
Thankfully, holding on to all this water didn't have an adverse affect on my Monday morning weigh in.
No loss.
No gain.
Thanks Aunt Flo.
Emily paid a price for her resistance yesterday.
She wanted to come grocery shopping with us.
Yes.
Us.
Stephen decided at the last minute that he simply couldn't refrain from accompanying me to the Superstore.
Something akin to not letting small children go to Disney. . .I don't know. . .
But Em was dragging her little self around.
So much so that even though I had planned on leaving at one, we didn't actually get out of the house until ten to three.
While she was in the shower, Keith managed to get home.
One day, I am convinced that boy is going to forget where he lives.
A few minutes after he came through the front door, the phone rang and I heard Stephen say,
No. She's in the shower. But Keith's here. Would you like to speak to him?
Next thing I know Keith is in my room doing the hungover-but-happy dance because he was given the night off work.
Custom was slow at the theaters due to the absolutely stunning weather we had yesterday.
They were overstaffed for the evening.
Someone was getting the night off.
That intended someone was Emily.
However, because she delayed entrance into the shower, she was unavailable to answer her cell phone when it was called first, then the house phone when it was used as backup.
And her brother had no problem whatsoever taking the shift-off-that-was-intended-for-Em.
Under other circumstances, this wouldn't have been something Em would have needed to know about.
But Keith was supposed to be sitting in the car in his Empire uniform, along with Em, when we took her to work.
She would, no doubt, have noticed if he wasn't there.
When she emerged from the shower and was informed by the over-gleeful Keith about his unexpected night off, sparks flew.
To say she was unhappy would be to say that the Titanic suffered from a little drip.
She ran to her cell phone and informed us that she had a missed call.
From work.
Feigning ignorance in hopes of also getting the night off, she called the theater and in her sweetest little-miss-innocent-Emily voice asked how come she'd been called.
Only to hear:
Oh, nothing. You're brother took care of it. See you when you come in later.
Fuel to the fire, baby.
Fuel to the fire.
Not only, then, was our grocery trip delayed, but I had to engage in an activity I despise with a miserable, unhappy, mean-spirited sidekick.
And I'm not talking about Stephen, who wanders through the grocery store looking all dewy eyed.
Em was silent as she drove herself to work.
Me sitting in the passenger seat knowing nothing I could say was going to make her feel any better.
Although I did warn her brother that he must contain his overflowing joy because I wasn't going to be able to protect him from the Wrath of Em if he continued to press her buttons by spreading his goodwill around.
She didn't even say goodbye to him as she left to drive to the grocery store.
In addition to a miserable sidekick was a miserable me.
Grocery shopping is already among the most hated activities of my everyday world.
Only second to trying to get Stephen out of bed in the morning.
Although in fairness to Stephen, who would want to get out of bed with such an adorable companion.
Grocery shopping when you feel as if someone is trying to remove your inside plumbing with a crochet hook through your bellybutton only adds to the pain and agony of grocery shopping.
Don't get me started on the exuberant and elated Stephen and what his happiness and joy added to my volatile temperament.
Slogging through the aisles, grumbling as I had to maneuver around the middle-of-the-aisle conversationists, Emily almost as miserable and grumbling a lot more than even I was.
I really was miserable.
And it was one of those instances where you knew you were being miserable, completely cogent, cognizant, aware, that you're behaviour and attitude toward your loved ones was completely inappopriate.
Stephen, who is normally quiet patient when I get like this, even had enough at one point and in the middle of the grocery store stopped pushing the cart and said, while several people behind were listening,
YOU can push the cart. YOU. Then maybe you'll stop nagging me about going too slow. I don't know what you want me to do.
Even my pain addled mind was aware that maybe, just maybe I should make more of an effort to quell and wrangle the bitch within.
And from that point on, I just kept my mouth shut and counted the seconds until we arrived back home.
Be glad you didn't encounter us.
Be very glad.
The end result of our collective, agonizing efforts:
A club pack of shitty kitty. . .
And groceries to last for a couple of days. . .
A couple of days.
Stephen commented just a few minutes ago that he felt it was going to be a scorcher today.
Indeed it is.
35 degrees Celsius.
The dogs will lay on the cooler, laminate floor.
Reilley and Goblet will find the hottest spot in the house and roll around in it like porn stars.
Goblet was showing off her goodies and her voluptuous figure yesterday.
No shame.
She has no shame.
Look at her face.
Sultry?
Yesterday, then, as you can see, was a bit of a bust.
Other than tackling the grocery store and visiting my mother, which was blissfully uneventful, I spent the day in bed, reading, feeling sorry for myself as I agonized through my miseries.
Today, at some point when Stephen decides he'd like to get himself moving, I may be able to get to work.
I have just a couple of weeks left to get this funding application written.
And Stephen has more proposal writing to do.
Because of the heat, Em is just going to lay on the couch and not move until she has to go work for 5.15 pm.
Keith has the day off, so we're hoping he'll start washing the walls in our bedroom in prepartation for painting later this week.
Heat doesn't seem bother Keith.
Must be a genetic anomaly.
Title Lyric: Don't Punch Your Friend for Being Slow by Bluetip
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