Confessions of a BAD mother

It's not that I'm a horrible mother. I mean, you know, I 'm not totally selfish. Sure I push my kids out of the way during a parade to get good candy. And yeah, maybe I post embarassing potty pics of them all over my facebook and then add their friends....and when I finally give in and let Shelby finally have a facebook...oh my. There will be little "I love you sunshine bunny" notes all over her wall. (Heeeheee...I can't wait!!)

But that's totally not the point of this write-up. In my glorious state of bad motherness, I'm looking for some recipes. I'm amidst my back to school baking, and I want to freeze a bunch of cookies. But cookies are my best friend and never seem to get into the kids hands. It's true. I love cookies SOOO much that I make them for me, myself and MOI. I hide them in margarine containers labeled "BORSCHT 2004" and lay them at the bottom of the freezer where a child could never venture. I eat them for breakfast in the bathroom while I'm pretending to shower. Or at 3 a.m. when I get up for my ritual insomnia snack. My poor kids will ask for cookies and I'll direct them to the rock-hard Harmonie brand store bought ones in the pantry.

So I need to find a recipe that is delicious to the kids, but not to me. A challenging task, no? So fellow mothers (or fathers) please inbox me your recipes. Make them easy ones, and perhaps ones with oatmeal (I don't care for it.

Give the poor Graham kids a chance at cookies.

Softball Stinker

You know, you can brag all you like about what a fantastic ball player you were, and that's all fine and dandy. (and entirely untrue)
UNTIL...
you get asked to play AGAIN. Like this Saturday. With new people. In a strange town.
So for the record, here's the truth.
I played with all my heart in my first ever softball tournament on Canada Day.
I did NOT hit any home runs. I did NOT make it to first base. I did NOT run fast, although I thought I did.
I DID catch the ball at home plate, but ran away from the plate when things got intense so the pitcher could cover.
I DID get people out on second base, but only two. I did NOT catch any pop flies.
I may or may not have peed a little in my pants after one really good hit, thus having to leave the game and run the quarter of a mile to the nearest washroom leaving the team wondering where I went.
If y'all were under the impression that I was some natural born athlete, I apologize. I led you on.
I shall report the truth from here on in, as all of southern Manitoba will soon know... I suck at ball.

Gardening 101

My garden is in. ALL IN.

So I have a totally new approach this year. Forget organic. Forget gently plucking the weeds out one by one. Forget picking off the potato bugs or hanging a fake wasp nest to deter stinging pests. NONE OF THAT WORKS, PEOPLE.

The soul-sucking weeds and the satanic hornets who decided to hibernate in tunnels in my innocent little garden are declaring war. And I'm not going down without a fight.

Husband and I are armed with twenty different brands of chemicals, poison and flamethrowers. Those weeds don't stand a chance!! And the hornets? Well, I've already been stung once and short of pouring gasoline down all the holes, I'm not sure what to do. But back-pack Barry has sprayed poison all over the entire yard (don't bring your children over to play), so hopefully they've all died a slow and painful death.

If you're worried about the health and safety of my family once we start eating our radioactive lettuce and explosive carrots, don't fret. I will wash everything before it comes into this house. And if the bunnies manage to crawl through the hole in the fence that Shelby attacked with the lawn mower, then too bad. DIE BUNNIES, DIE.

I feel clever and powerful and impishly evil.

Wish me luck friends.

In 20 years....

My favourite son is taking this two week class at school called "The 2020 Program." It basically tells you where you'll be when you're 30.

The idea is to plan your entire life before you're 9. It's pretty cool.

So let's pretend Oscar is now 30. Here is what he's come up with in this class:

He is a long haul truck driver. He is unmarried, no children, and lives in a meager house on I9 (wherever that is). He drives a motorcycle that has winter tires. He also hopes that he can play in the NHL on the side. (but that wasn't an option when they were picking their careers so he just verbalized that to me at suppertime)

Now this is not exactly what I had planned for my future humanitarian. My plans go something like this:

My 30 year old Oscar is an accountant (pays well and is physically safe). He lives across the street from his parents in a lovely house with a kind-hearted wife (who he doesn't love more than his mother).He has three perfectly adorable children that LOVE their grandma. He volunteers at a soup kitchen on the weekends and coaches kids sports every night of the week. He drives a safe and reliable hybrid minivan and visits his mother every other day to help her with her garden.

As you can see, our plans are rather different. So I tried to think back to when I was around his age. What were my dreams? Where did I think I would be? So I looked in an old school journal.

It went something like this:

I hope to be a country western singer on the Tommy Hunter show. I think I'll have a pretty good chance because I do a lot of singing. I also hope to have some daughters. And I'll probably still be raising cats. I think I'm going to copy the style of Loretta Lynn or Crystal Gayle. If the singing doesn't work out, I'll stick to being an actress.

So its not exactly how things turned out for me. But I'd say I'm doing alright. I will strongly attempt to support Oscar in his current goals. ( But I will most certainly drop hints that accountants get all the chicks.)

If I weren't a Hockey Mom

If I weren't a hockey Mom...

I wouldn't have the ability to stay warm in -35 degree rinks. I'd be a chicken and stay home.

I wouldn't be so feisty and fierce like a mamma grizzly bear. Oscar really didn't know that you can't throw your stick into the net to save a goal.

I would have a better singing voice as I would not lose it each weekend from my wild and crazy cheering.

I would not know the stats of every NHL team and be forced to sing OLE OLE OLE OLE...blah blah blah every time the Habs score a goal.

I would not have two mini nets set up in my living room as permanent fixtures and paint chips in the wall from ball hockey every night before bed.

My heart would not have dropped into my stomach when Shelby body checked that poor kid last weekend and got sent to the penalty box. I must come to terms with the fact that she is on her way to being the GOON of the team.

I would not know how to raise the puck, and YES, I really did just learn that the other day. Or drive a mini-van and strategically fit 5 hockey bags, sticks and extra kids into it.

I would not have nearly all the lines to Mighty Ducks 1, 2 and 3 memorized from watching it in the van on the way to all ends of the earth for our games.

I would have my weekends back. Chores might be done. Video games might be played. But even then, it would probably be NHL 2k10.

I wouldn't have already wrote about this here , here, and here.

I would not have witnessed the camaraderie and bond that occurs between team mates. How I LOVE to watch my kids go pat their goalie at the end of a game. Win or Lose.

I f I weren't a hockey mom, I would've missed out on one of the best eras of my life! I'm so proud of my kids and their teammates!


GO STEELERS!