The Sesame Street Personality Quiz

You Are Bert Extremely serious and a little eccentric, people find you loveable - even if you don't love them!

You are usually feeling: Logical - you rarely let your emotions rule you

You are famous for: Being smart, a total neat freak, and maybe just a little evil

How you live your life: With passion, even if your odd passions (like bottle caps and pigeons) are baffling to others.

http://www.blogthings.com/thesesamestreetpersonalityquiz/
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I just had to fill this one out - being an elementary school teacher and all.

If Mentok is reading this while he's drinking his morning coffee, he just spouted coffee out his nose as he read the total neat freak part. I am so not a total neat freak.

'Though I do have my freaks. I had to go through the text of the quiz results above and fix all the spelling and punctuation errors before I posted.

Is that freaky?

Care for Some Whine?

Why does our society seem to love people who whine and snivel?

I mean, when people you know are down or depressed, do you spend an inordinate amount of time trying to lift them up? Does it make your back ache?

I'm not really very good around fragile people. I suppose that makes me a bad person. However, my rationale is this: if I'm feeling down, I don't burden others with it. Why should I have to spend my "up" time weighed down by the sandbags of other people's problems?

I'm not talking about a friend who occasionally has a bad day and needs to talk it through. I'm talking about people who constantly moan about how pitiable their life is - the people who seem to be addicted to comfort from others... "Oh, but you're so attractive. Oh, but you're so talented. Oh, but you have so much. How could you possibly feel sad?" ad nauseam.....

"Oh, but you're so good at fishing for compliments."

I'm not saying I don't go through blue times. Of course I do. I've simply been taught that you deal with it; you don't expect others to. When I'm down, I spend some time on my own for a while. While I'm doing that, first I plan how to cheer myself up short-term. Maybe I'll listen to some upbeat music. Maybe I'll watch a funny movie or TV show. Maybe I'll read a funny book or a friend's funny blog. Maybe I'll go out with some friends (and I don't talk about being sad!). Next, I plan how to deal with whatever is pressuring me. Then, I come out of my shell and I solve my problem.

I suppose my attitude may stem from my years teaching primary school. It's always better to deal with little "owies" with some ice or a band-aid, wipe the tears, then walk away. Linger too long and the children won't learn to deal with problems themselves.

Then again, maybe my approach comes from even further back - my up-bringing. My parents instilled a strong sense of self-responsibility into each of their children. We were all taught that , although we can't always control what comes our way, we have to take control over how we deal with it. We have to be in charge. As a result, none of us has trouble dealing with what life throws at us - and believe me - it has thrown a few curveballs our way.

Of course, there are people who need real help. These people aren't going to feel better because of friends patting them on the back or holding their hands. They need to see someone who has training in this particular field. But yet again - take control - get that help.

It's probably a good thing I'm raising boys and not girls. "Shake it off!" "Put some butta on it!" Those are sayings you'll hear around our house fairly often. Come to think of it, I can think of quite a few girls who would benefit from this philosophy, as well.

I'm not really a witch, although I know I sound like one. I guess I've just come to my limit with a few situations in my life. Don't get me wrong, though. I'm not whining; I'm ranting. There's a huge difference. (Haha)

What Would Jesus Drive?

After finding a parking space at the church yesterday, the boys and I got out of the van. As we walked past the front of the van, #3 pointed down and asked, "What does that say?"

Someone had grafitti-ed onto the curb outside the church in black spray paint. My first reaction was to try to ignore it and shepherd the boys inside quickly. Any previous grafitti outside the church had been rather profane.

Upon further inspection, however, I found these particular artists were not as offensive in nature and, in fact, had quite a sense of humour.

They had painted labels onto the curb, indicating parking spaces for Jesus and God.

It appeared that we had evidently just stolen Jesus's parking spot.

Soccer Balls

So I'm on recess supervision yesterday, and a little boy comes running to tell me that one of his friends is hurt. I ask him to show me where, and together we run to help.

A first grader is crouching on the ground, tears coursing down his cheeks. I can tell immediately that this is no ordinary injury. I crouch beside him and try to calm him enough to tell me what happened and where it hurts. At the same time, I survey the area in general and his body in particular. I am slightly comforted to see no blood.

He is inconsolable, and there is no way he will be able to explain how he was hurt. I ask the small crowd of children, mostly boys, who have gathered around if any of them can tell me. A tentative voice comes from a freckled face with huge orbs of brown earnestness, "The soccer ball hit him in a private spot."

Okay - suddenly all is abundantly clear...

I am at a loss as to what to do to help. I shouldn't be, though, should I? As the mother of three boys, this should be something I know about. But I don't. Only once do I remember having to deal with this type of thing in my twelve years of being a mother. When #1 was three or four years old, he was climbing a chain ladder on the playground. His foot slipped and he fell full on the chain - right between his legs. I was ready to take him to Emergency, but Main Man managed to calm both of us down with some ice - #1's was applied directly to the injury, mine was placed in a glass of Scotch.

Anyway, back to our current casualty.

I thank the little crowd for the information and for their concern, and I tell them to go play - I'll help their friend. I continue to crouch beside him, rubbing his back for comfort. He's not quite ready to walk inside the school where I'll be able to get him some ice. And I don't think he wants me to carry him.

The flow of tears eventually slows to more of a trickle. He turns to me and says, "I think I'll be okay." I ask if he wants to go inside, and he says he'll just sit and watch his friends play.

As I pull away, I tell him that I'll check on him in a little while, and he nods - a thank you, I think.

Hannah Waters and the daughter of Johann Sebastian Bach

This book by Barbara Nickel has two main characters. Catharina Bach is the only girl and the eldest child in the Bach family. She adores her mother, fears her father, and is quite tired of caring for her three younger brothers. Her self-confidence is very low, especially considering she can sing like a bird.

Hannah Waters is the only child in her family. Her mother has recently passed away and she and her father have moved from Toronto to an inherited farm home halfway across the country. She desperately misses the music that surrounded her life when her mother, a concert violinist, was still alive.

Despite the fact that these girls live hundreds of years apart, Barbara Nickel provides them with the support of each other's spirit as they cope with irritations and tragedies in their lives.

This book was well written and the story was interesting, especially the way it sashayed from one century to another. However, I didn't find that it was a page-turner. I just couldn't quite immerse myself in the tale. Each of the girls was an interesting enough character, I suppose, but I found that I just didn't care as much as I think I was meant to. Often, I will read a book of this length in a jiffy. I found this one took much longer, not because it was difficult to read - not at all - but because it just wasn't compelling enough for me to pick up all those times I usually do pick up my book.

The book is well worth reading though. If you are looking for a gift for a 10 - 13 year old girl who enjoys historical fiction, this would be a good choice. Most girls who enjoy reading would find the mixture of historical and contemporary fiction in this book pleasing.

And We Used to Worry About his Vocabulary.....

During circle time at #3's daycare, the kids were declaring things they liked to do in the summertime. One of the daycare teachers started off to give them an idea of what to say.

"In the summertime, I like to barbecue and have burgers and beverages."

In a stage whisper to the daycare teacher beside him, #3 piped up,"Are beverages the same as beers?"

What Colour Should This Blog Be?

Your Blog Should Be Yellow You're a cheerful, upbeat blogger who tends to make everyone laugh.
You are a great storyteller, and the first to post the latest funny link.
You're also friendly and welcoming to everyone who comments on your blog.

http://www.blogthings.com/whatcolorshouldyourblogorjournalbequiz/

My kitchen is yellow too - on a sunflower theme. Come on in everybody. I'll get a pot of coffee going, and we'll solve all the world's problems. ;)

Has Hollywood Lost All Original Thought?

I went to see The DaVinci Code last night, but that isn't really what I want to write about.

The trailers we watched before the movie were for:

1) Miami Vice

2) Casino Royale

3) The Omen


Do you see a trend here, ladies and gentlemen?


Oh - by the way - I was so proud of yesterday's entry that I posted it twice.
No, not really. I was having trouble with posting (at least I thought I was), and I accidentally posted twice. Now that both posts have comments, I don't feel right deleting either one. Just wanted you to know that I am not completely unaware of what's going on. ;)

Sometimes, I Am Right

So, yesterday afternoon I'm marking papers at the kitchen table and Main Man is doing yardwork in the backyard. Suddenly he stomps in, kicks #1 off the computer, sits down, and proceeds to hammer away at the keyboard.

Knowing him well enough to know when not to engage him in conversation, I continue with my papers, but curiously glance over at the monitor to ascertain what exactly he's doing.

Turns out, he's trying to find out how to replace the chain on the chainsaw.

He works away at the keys for at least 20 minutes, puffs of frustration floating out of his ears. Then, just as suddenly as he came in, he stands up, stomps back out, and slams the door behind him.

I tentatively head out and ask if there's anything I can do to help. His eyes jerk up from the pile of chainsaw pieces on the picnic table to look at me, seemingly unaware that I was there until that moment.

He asks me to hold a certain piece steady while he tightens a bolt. "That can't be how it goes," he mutters under his breath. He decides to loosen the bolt he just tightened. He picks up the chain, and finds that it is full of kinks. He spends five minutes straightening it out.

I hold the greasy, slimy chain steady as he makes another attempt to attach it in the right place. I think I see something helpful and suggest it. He snaps, "I've already tried that." Again, he takes apart what he had put together.

I suggest I check inside for the maintenance manual. He comments, "We'll never be able to find that."

I reply, "Well, it can't hurt to try."

I walk into the house, wash the greasy dirt off my hands, and head to the filing cabinet in the bedroom to check our folder of owner's manuals. I open the file and there, right on top, is the manual for the chainsaw. Victory!

I take it outside and flip to find the page we need. I begin to read the instructions to Main Man, and he snorts, " I just need to know how to get the chain on."

So I stop reading aloud and skim to find exactly the information he needs. I think I find the part we need, but, not being much of a chainsaw expert myself, I hesitantly read the confusing instructions aloud, hoping he understands better than I do.

After I read the same line several times, Main Man proceeds to loop the chain in place, intending to attach the chainguide after. I repeat the same line from the instructions once more, the one that says to attach the chainguide first, then the chain. He is clearly doing the opposite of what the instructions say. I offer no commentary. I simply reread the line from the instructions once more.

He tightens the bolts and finds something has fallen out of place. He peers defeatedly into the mechanism for a moment or two, then proceeds to disassemble the machine yet again.

"What are you doing now?" I inquire, exasperated.

With a sheepish smile, he looks at me and replies. "You were right. I'm doing it your way."

He was cutting wood in eight minutes.

Sometimes, I Am Right

So, yesterday afternoon I'm marking papers at the kitchen table and Main Man is doing yardwork in the backyard. Suddenly he stomps in, kicks #1 off the computer, sits down, and proceeds to hammer away at the keyboard.

Knowing him well enough to know when not to engage him in conversation, I continue with my papers, but curiously glance over at the monitor to ascertain what exactly he's doing.

Turns out, he's trying to find out how to replace the chain on the chainsaw.

He works away at the keys for at least 20 minutes, puffs of frustration floating out of his ears. Then, just as suddenly as he came in, he stands up, stomps back out, and slams the door behind him.

I tentatively head out and ask if there's anything I can do to help. His eyes jerk up from the pile of chainsaw pieces on the picnic table to look at me, seemingly unaware that I was there until that moment.

He asks me to hold a certain piece steady while he tightens a bolt. "That can't be how it goes," he mutters under his breath. He decides to loosen the bolt he just tightened. He picks up the chain, and finds that it is full of kinks. He spends five minutes straightening it out.

I hold the greasy, slimy chain steady as he makes another attempt to attach it in the right place. I think I see something helpful and suggest it. He snaps, "I've already tried that." Again, he takes apart what he had put together.

I suggest I check inside for the maintenance manual. He comments, "We'll never be able to find that."

I reply, "Well, it can't hurt to try."

I walk into the house, wash the greasy dirt off my hands, and head to the filing cabinet in the bedroom to check our folder of owner's manuals. I open the file and there, right on top, is the manual for the chainsaw. Victory!

I take it outside and flip to find the page we need. I begin to read the instructions to Main Man, and he snorts, " I just need to know how to get the chain on."

So I stop reading aloud and skim to find exactly the information he needs. I think I find the part we need, but, not being much of a chainsaw expert myself, I hesitantly read the confusing instructions aloud, hoping he understands better than I do.

After I read the same line several times, Main Man proceeds to loop the chain in place, intending to attach the chainguide after. I repeat the same line from the instructions once more, the one that says to attach the chainguide first, then the chain. He is clearly doing the opposite of what the instructions say. I offer no commentary. I simply reread the line from the instructions once more.

He tightens the bolts and finds something has fallen out of place. He peers defeatedly into the mechanism for a moment or two, then proceeds to disassemble the machine yet again.

"What are you doing now?" I inquire, exasperated.

With a sheepish smile, he looks at me and replies. "You were right. I'm doing it your way."

He was cutting wood in eight minutes.

Carrying It a Bit Too Far

#2 has been getting into trouble lately for spontaneously bursting out,"Omigod!" at times. I've been trying to get through to him that, despite the mass media's recent fondness for that particular expression, I still consider it foul language.

Yesterday in church, I heard him during one of the prayers,"Holy and Living Gosh...."

Swingin' Saturday

It was a funny day weather-wise here yesterday. When you looked outside, the sky was a vibrant blue. We have an apple tree blossoming outside our kitchen window, and the combination of the vivid pink blossoms, the deep green leaves and the stainless sky was breathtaking. Once you stepped outside, though, it was much cooler than you would expect.

Not knowing how cool it was - and not thinking to check before heading out - I decided to take the kids to the park. All of them dressed in shorts, based on the evident temperature, and all of us froze.

Oh - I guess it wasn't that bad. The kids played pretty hard, so they kept warm. And I did something I haven't done in years.

I swang.

I hopped on a swing and I pumped my legs until my white tennis shoes touched the sun. The boys thought I was crazy. I felt crazy - crazy happy. It is impossible to feel blue when you are swinging. I'm not sure if it's the endorphins released by the physical activity, or the touch of the wind on your body as you fly through the air, but the feeling of complete freedom is difficult to duplicate.

And, on top of all that, I had my new MP3 on, so not only was I flying, I was flying in stereo.

You've got to try it!

An Evening Out

It's funny the kind of "dates" old married people go out on. Last night, we took care of practicalities and then we hung out with the cool kids.

First, we went dishwasher shopping. As much as I love the way the boys have been (fairly) cheerfully taking care of the dishes, it's time to act. I need a dishwasher. And we found a pretty good deal, actually. So soon, the boys can be back to fighting over loading and unloading the new machine.

Then, we thought we would check out an Irish pub place in town we've never been before. It turned out to be a much more interesting place than we thought. Although the underlying theme of the place was Irish pub, there was this aura of hepcat cool. It was a great place to people-watch; both the staff and the clientele were interesting. There were even celebrities in our midst, as actors from a well-known TV show they film in our city were hangin' out there.

Funny thing happened while we were leaving. By that time, the place was really crowded, and, as we left, Main Man and I became separated. An Ashton Kutcher-esque young man and I accidentally bumped into each other as I was making my way toward the door. We both said the obligatory, "Excuse me. I'm sorry," and made to continue walking. He stops, though, touches my arm purposefully, and gets this look in his eye as if he thinks I'm someone he knows. "Hey!" he says. "No," I reply with a smile, "I'm pretty sure you don't know me." After describing the situation to Main Man later, he figures the guy was hitting on me. I figure I looked like one of his mom's friends. :)

Remember These in Your Youth?

As we were searching for a parking spot at last night's soccer game, #3 shouted out excitedly, "Look, there's a sparking plot!"

I visited a few of those when I was sixteen or seventeen. ;)

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia

You Are Jan Brady

Brainy and a little introverted, you tend to think life is a lot worse than it actually is. And while you may think you're a little goofy looking, most people consider you to be a major babe.

What Brady Are You?
http://www.blogthings.com/whatbradyareyouquiz/

So I took the above quiz, and I think it hit the nail on the head ('though I beg to differ on the "major babe" part).

Many of you out there have probably never seen The Brady Bunch. Boy, am I showing my age when I tell you that I watched it every day after school while I was growing up. It came on at 4:30, right after I got off my hour-long daily school bus ride.

If I had a lot of homework, or I had to practice piano, I didn't mind missing The Bunch, but 5:00 was sacred. 5:00 brought the mecca of all television programs for a pre-teen without a life who dreamed of something better.

The Partridge Family

I longed to be Laurie Partridge. I was half way there; I was a singer. I sang at church and at school functions. I took voice lessons. I could even play the piano. A little. Now all I needed was a widowed mother, an extra brother ( I already had two brothers and a sister), and a really colourful bus. Oh - and braces! How hard could that be?

I never really had the hots for Keith, but I wanted him for a brother. I felt like I would even be able to tolerate Danny. That would be my sacrifice - if only I could be Laurie.

Alas, the gods did not seem to hear my prayer. Or, more to the point, they probably heard it and had a good laugh. I did not miraculously turn into Laurie Partridge. Looking back, knowing what I know now, it's a very good thing. I don't think I'd look that great now in frilly shirts and mini-skirts. But it might have been fun to try it 25 - 30 years ago.

Mother's Day Recap

Hope everyone had a great Mother's Day. As predicted, I was a little melancholy, but Main Man did a bang-up job of trying to keep me happy.

His mom spent the day with us and stayed overnight. You know, the poor woman's heart is in the right place, but there's just something about her that sucks the life right out of me. I feel like I'm suffocating under a collapsed brick wall when she stays with us. She left early Monday morning to spend a few weeks with Main Man's sister. Whew!

I lucked out with Mother's Day gifts this year. I had hinted strongly (well, finally I just told everybody) that I wanted an MP3, and I got it. But I also got a super beach bag filled with a mountain of goodies: things to eat, things for my bath, things to read. And some HUGE thought had gone into the contents. You see, I've been really watching what I eat for the last few months (I've lost over 20 lbs. since Christmas.), and every edible treat in the bag was a treat that I could enjoy guilt-free. Main Man will be a happy man for quite a while. ;)

I love my MP3 player. I love being immersed in music. I'm swimming in my favourite tunes. I'm feeling pressure, though, wondering if my picks are cool enough. I have visions of #1 laughing at me behind my back. Then I tell myself, " Why should I care what he thinks? My MP3 is nicer than his!" Ha!!

We've discovered an interesting phenomenon regarding the boys and chores. Our dishwasher broke down Friday. Dishes are the boys' domain. It is their job to load and unload the dishwasher. Ergo, now that the dishwasher is kaput, it is their job to wash and dry. They used to fight like cats and dogs loading and unloading, but they converse and laugh while washing and drying. Go figure!

Must sign off for now. Can't concentrate with Blondie singing "One Way or Another" in my ear.

Happy Mother's Day

The home where I grew up sits empty now. The farm where I learned many of life's lessons still has animals, and crops still grow in my father's fields, but the house is now uninhabited. All sorts and conditions of life endure on that land except that of human beings.

Uninhabited but not abandoned.

The contents of the house vary little from my school years. My mother's kitchen table, older than I am, still sits under the lace-covered picture window where I would sit every morning waiting for the school bus. The two recliner chairs where my parents would sit watching TV movies and Hockey Night in Canada still sit in the livingroom covered by afghans my mother crocheted. My old bed is still covered by the comforter I chose out of the Sears catalogue when I was in Grade Seven. Sometimes, the only difference I feel there is that things seem smaller than they were back then. Guess I'm just bigger.

The boys and I still stay in that house when we go home to visit. It's a bit of an adventure, really. The boys love discovering new old bits of my youth every time they look around: yearbooks, letters, photographs, old school assignments. I love the rediscovery.

I find it difficult at night, though, once the three of them are asleep and I'm alone with my memories. My mother's spirit whispers to me then. Even after six years, I still feel her there.

My parents were married for over 50 years when my mother passed away. Their last seven or eight years together were especially trying, as Mom coped with a debilitating stroke, breast cancer, and diabetes. They were amazing together. Through it all, they still managed to savour every drop of enjoyment in life. They had amazing friends, they cherished their grandchildren, and they managed a hot holiday almost every winter.

Every time I go home to the farm, I bring back a piece of my childhood. This last visit, I carefully wrapped every piece of my mother's Christmas china and placed it delicately in a box to make the long trip back here. Right now I have no place special enough to store it, so it will have to remain in that plain cardboard box until the holidays approach. Then I will carefully unwrap each piece, revealing the memories held by each and every poinsettia. Christmas will seem more complete this year. It will feel like there's an extra person at our table.

Mom never got to meet #3. Even sadder to me, she never even knew he was on the way. As the saying goes, he was just a twinkle in my eye when she died. She would have adored him: his spirit, his sense of fun, his ability to work a room.

She would have been so proud of #1 and #2 too: their academic and musical accomplishments, their wit and conversation, and their polite manners (when they remember them:).

Mother's Day has been a mixed blessing for me for six years now. Main Man and the boys do it up right; gifts, a beautiful brunch, a day of surprises, and a delicious supper. How could anyone complain?! But deep inside, through all the joy and celebration, I still feel a piece missing. And I suppose I will forevermore.

Hug your mom today, everyone.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Who's Johnny?

Well, Mentok has asked for it, and we all know that when Mentok asks for it, he gets it...... a blog post, that is, you with the naughty minds!

I just wasn't sure this story about #3 would translate well into print.

When I went to pick him up at daycare a few days ago, one of the daycare ladies had a funny grin on her face. She proceeded to tell me that #3 had been saying to a few of the kids, "Can I call you Johnny?" Now, it's not so much what he was saying as how he was saying it; like a lounge lizard or like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

"Can I call you Johnny?"

When she asked him why he wanted to call his friends Johnny when he knew their real names, he replied (apparently in a bit of a patronizing tone), "Well, you know, like Johnny Tesch, on the radio."

Don't ask me; I'm just the mother.

Is it Hot in Here?

Main Man was teasing the boys at the dinner table a couple of nights ago, trying to find out who their girlfriends were. The conversation sauntered over to which actress they thought was the prettiest. After a little deliberation, #1 and #2 agreed on Jessica Alba.

#3 had been surprisingly quiet during this discussion, but, not to be outdone, he decided to ask a question of clarification before he made his decision.

"Do you mean beautiful, Dad, or hot ?" and it is difficult to depict the gutteral style with which he said "hot" in print.

He may be ready for kindergarten, but is kindergarten ready for him?

The Sax Man

When my brother-in-law was growing up, he had seven brothers and sisters. As they grew, they formed a family band - literally. My brother-in-law, like his father, played the saxophone. I wish I'd known them then. I would have loved to have danced to their jazzy beat.

B-I-L still owns his sax from those days gone by, and he also has his father's. #1 has been fortunate this year to have borrowed one of them in order to try his toot in the school band.

#1 has fallen under the spell of the sax. He's one of the few kids I know who never needs to be reminded to practice. In fact, he'll practice his required time, then he'll often spend 15 - 30 minutes playing for the sake of playing - picking out rock tunes and tv themes to share with his friends.

And he just looks so cool.

Everywhere #1 has taken the sax with him, people in the know exclaim about the quality of his instrument. "What a beautiful old instrument!" "It's practically an antique, but it's in such good condition!"

Well, something (small, luckily) went wrong with his sax last week. He doesn't remember banging it or anything, but one of the valves suddenly wasn't closing properly. His band teacher said he would have to take it for repair.

Main Man and #1 took it to a local repair shop Monday, and we will never take it there again. They did fix it, so I guess that's positive, but everything else about the trip was beyond negative apparently. "Whew, this is such a beat up old instrument! Have you ever thought of renting a new one? The sound is so much better. We can rent you one for a very reasonable price."

Yeah, I'm sure you can.

And then, when they went to pick it up yesterday, "Oh, and this carrying case is so old and musty. It smells so bad. We can sell you a new one for a very reasonable price. "

Yeah, I'm sure you can.

Anyway, we dodged the greasy salestalk bullet, and we now have a saxophone that works as it should, and I have my Sax Man back, and all is well with the world once again.

And all that jazz.

Comics and Candies

Took the boys to "Free Comic Book Day" at the local comic shop. And it is truly local; #1 rides his bike there regularly. I managed to leave the store after spending only $18 and change - not bad with my three. Thank goodness their father wasn't with us!

Because, yes, "Free Comic Book Day" is, of course, not a charity event. It is a way to suck in unsuspecting mothers who want to take their sons on a Saturday outing, and, seeing the word "free", think this is just the place for some bonding to take place. Unfortunately, I missed the meeting where they changed the rules and decided that bonding cannot take place unless cash is spent.

I shouldn't be such a cynic. The boys have already had my money's worth out of their purchases. #3 even slept with the action figure he chose. Guess $18 isn't such a big deal. They've actually been fighting a little less since they've had the distraction of their new items. Yeah, there's the ticket...

Time again for a commercial break...


Gummy Bears You may be smooshie and taste unnatural, but you're so darn cute.

What Kind of Candy Are You?
http://www.blogthings.com/whatkindofcandyareyouquiz/

I don't even like gummy bears! What a ripoff.

The World According to #3

Stop reading this post right now if you hate when people talk about funny things their kids say. I mean it. 'Cause I've saved up many of the hilarious things #3 has said this week, and I plan to share them with you now. Consider yourself warned.

I was reading a Batman picture book to him one night and his comment was, "Alfred really needs to find himself a girlfriend." I have to tell you that I've never really thought about Alfred's love life before, but #3 does have a point.

While watching King Kong last weekend, I commented to Main Man that I thought Naomi Watts was pretty, and he grunted in agreement. #3's comment: "Dad just thinks she's pretty because she's wearing her 'pyjamas'!" (He inserted Dr. Evil-style quotations around pyjamas for emphasis.)

Today when I told #1 that he was being contrary, my supportive little assistant said to his big brother, "Yeah, (#1)! Don't be contrary." Then he turned to me and whispered conspiratorially, "I don't even know what contrary means."

This last one is not so much funny as profound. I'm impressed that he's even thinking on this level. He asked me one day this week, "How does God look after all of the children all over the world all at the same time?" It reminded me of a plaque my grandmother had up on her wall, reading, "God couldn't be everywhere, so he made mothers."

There, I'm done with kid witticisms for a while now, so those of you who heeded my warning at the beginning of the post will be safe to join me again.

Freaky Friday

A Collection of Weird and Wonderful Things I Have Encountered this Week

While driving home from work one day, I followed a Harley-Davidson with a Shriner symbol on the back. The guy was keeping safety in mind, though, and he had his helmet on over his fez. Okay, that last part is poetic license.

There's one of those cheque-cashing places on my way to work, and it's called The Cash Store. The name makes sense, I suppose, but doesn't it beg the question, "What do they sell?" and if the answer is cash, then, "How do you pay for it?"

While planning a lesson about being selective about web resources, I ran into three interesting sites. Check them out.
- the tree octopus
- dehydrated water
- Lake Michigan whale watching

We bought some new patio chairs, and they were very clearly labelled, "Chairs are for sitting purposes only." Ah darn, wish I'd read that before I bought them; I was planning to cut them up and add them to my spaghetti sauce!

A piece of useless trivia for your weekend enjoyment:
A sparrow has more bones in its neck than a giraffe.

And speaking of the weekend, have a great one, everybody!

Snow-ccer

As excited as I was Monday night when the soccer season began, I'm just as excited tonight because we have the night off! That's right - none of the boys have a game scheduled tonight. That will be the exception to the rule on a weeknight for the next two months, so we better celebrate.

Last night, by the way, #3 and #2 both had games and it snowed! We're pretty tough up here in the northland, so, no, the games weren't cancelled. However, #3's game (remember - he's 5) was shortened from 45 minutes to half an hour. Boy, we have some dedicated people in charge. By the way, #3 couldn't really understand why his game was cut short - why wouldn't anyone want to play soccer in the snow??

So, yes, I'm off to enjoy my leisurely night catching up on dishes, laundry, marking papers, and all the other things that have fallen by the wayside while I've been lazily freezing on the sidelines.

World's Smallest Political Quiz

Check out this quiz to see where you sit on the politicial spectrum.

I came out as centrist, which didn't surprise me. What was a little shocking, and I'm a little worried about my Main Man reading this, is that I was a little closer to the liberal side than the conservative side. Oops!

Changes and Choices

My mother-in-law is staying with us for a few days. That isn't always something I look forward to, especially at a busy time, but we're happy to have her with us right now. We're trying to keep her busy, distracted, happy.

Today is the first anniversary of my father-in-law's passing away.

I have difficulty imagining what it must feel like to be with someone every day of your life for over forty years and then suddenly have them gone, kaput, removed from your existence. She's done remarkably well, really, but I expect she's shed her share of lonely tears. Probably more than her share.

She's had a few decisions to make, too, and I'm not sure whether she had a lot of experience in that arena as a married woman. She lives in a small town - alone now - and she has had to ruminate on the idea of moving. Should she move to our city to be closer to us? Should she move to her daughter's city to be closer to her? Or should she stay in her small town?

All three choices have their pros and cons. If she moves to our city, she's still relatively close to her friends in her small town, but she'll have to buy a place and make new friends. If she moves to her daughter's, she could move right into their house - they have a little suite in the basement. But she would end up doing a lot of childcare for her granddaughters, and the house has a lot of stairs which she finds cumbersome. Also, it's a long way from her friends in her small town. She's leaning toward staying where she is, where her friends, her support and her memories are.

I'm glad she didn't decide to make many changes in her life right away. She's taking her time, feeling things out.

It's been quite a year for her. She's done a bit of travelling. She's bought some new things for her house. She's bought a new vehicle. She's lost some weight. Really, she's come a long way, and I'm proud of her.

Because getting through the year could not have been easy.

And the Madness Begins

Soccer season has begun. #3 son had his first game tonight. Herdball. A bunch of 4 and 5 year olds all chasing the ball at the same time, like a swarm of locusts. The only two not chasing the ball are the goalkeepers at either end. They're busy performing gymnastics on the goal frame. #3 actually did quite well. He was super-excited, and he paid pretty close attention to the game. Contributing to his success, I'm sure, was the fact that it was too cold tonight to pick dandelions or catch ladybugs.

Tomorrow the older two boys have their first games. Because of the age differences among the boys, this year we will be juggling three different levels at three different fields. Each of them will have two games a week, making six games in four days. The only thing they will share this year is the colour of their uniforms. All three will have orange soccer Tshirts - a nightmare when I do laundry. Hopefully they'll remember which number they have. Otherwise, they're sure to get mixed up.

I have to admit - for all my complaining, soccer season is one of my guilty pleasures. I love the fact that I absolutely have to take that time off in the evening to be with my kids - no dishes, no laundry, no marking homework. I also love the time spent visiting with other parents from the community.

Also, something I must add - I so appreciate the coaches. I simply don't have the time to help out, but I am really thankful to those people who are willing to give their time to help the children of the community - to help my child. Any coaches out there - I salute you.