Innocence

Okay, I’m a fairly cool-to-the-hip mom. Or try to be. So when my daughter asks me questions about sex, gay marriage, baby birthing, and/or what to do when she’s kidnapped, I am usually pretty straight up with her. However, I am also smart enough to know that I should usually steer the conversation out of ear shot for my son.

So last night, Shelby is asking me questions about babies and uteruses and stuff while Oscar seems absolutely mesmerized in the latest episode of Zack and Cody. I figger he’s not paying attention so I yip and yap and sing praises about my most awesome uterus and how pregnancy usually works.

When suddenly, Oscar runs in and asks in a panic “Mommy! What happens if you get sick and need to barf? Will the baby barf up out of your mouth????”

Shelby fell to the floor in a fit of giggles. I stifled mine and replied “Oscar! What a good question!” And then I attempted to explain all the fixings of a uterus in 6 year old language. Satisfied, he went back to his little man’s soap opera to get tips on picking up grade 2 chicks.

These are the moments I truly live melt for. Like when we’re driving to Grand Forks past the sugar beet factory and Oscar looks up at the tall building blowing fumes everywhere and in his dreamy little voice says “Look Mommy, that’s where they make clouds!”

Masking Nutrition

So, tomorrow night is parent council meeting night. Which is fine. Except as usual, I have procrastinated and have no idea whatsoever what kind of hot lunch I will be presenting to our precious pupils for November.

Now here is the problem. School boards are outlawing all the main food groups like pop, chocolate and chips, and replacing them with the new age fad crap like 100% fruit juice, vitamin water and wood chips. Did I say wood chips?? I meant wheat crisps. And if y’all saw the Echo last week, it reported that the parent councils support and reflect this with THEIR choices. Ahemm….ha ha ha….

I’ve tried, people. Last couple years, I tried serving veggie platters, chicken wraps, and taco salad. I even tried to trick the little buggers by calling the veggie platter “a special picnic lunch!” They didn’t buy it. Not one bit.

The only successes I’ve had are with your good ol’ mac and cheese (I swear that stuff is radioactive), greasy pizza, anything that tastes similar to a fistful of sugar, chicken nuggets and fries. All of course, with globs of ketchup.

I need a healthy lunch idea that will have the parents and teachers oohing and aahing at my nourishment expertise whilst tricking their offspring into thinking it’s better than a fried KFC leg doused in chocolate ice cream.

I would love to go organic, free-range, hormone and antibiotic-free, but as I do not have dreadlocks or partake in the ganja, I think it’s best we start out simple.

So fellow internets – give me a solid idea. One that I will tout as my own and present it to the school board soldiers as they get enriched by my greatness.

Disclaimer: For those who STILL don’t get my sarcasm, I fully support and encourage healthy eating and am mostly aware that chocolate is not a food group.

99 Reasons my day sucked rocks

1. I was pretty much awake ALL night because my darling Barry snored like a dying hyena.

2. I realized I forgot a bunch of people to call or mail about skating registration tomorrow. I feel like a piece of unreliable cheese.

3. I went grocery shopping and bought 8 sorts of crap I didn’t need and nothing of the milk variety which was the reason I went in the first place!!

4. My house is so dirty and messy, I need a shovel fit for the friendly giant to clean it.

5. My poor best Dad fell down the ditch and broke his shoulder in two places and gave my poor best Mom a darn near coronary in her panic to rush out and save him. I feel sickly sad about this.

6. My fridge stinks.

7. I have meetings and what-have-yous every night this week and Barry is working late every day for what seems like the rest of his life. I like Barry.

8. Somebody told me that it’s too early to hang up Halloween decorations. That blasphemous heathen can go to heck. DO YOU HEAR ME??? TO HECK.
(I have a good mind to spitefully hang em up in August next year, because I’m aggressive like that.)

Yeah, so I’m not sure if that’s 99 or what, but remember, I didn’t sleep last night so messing up my counting abilities is allowed. I hate everything.

Goddess in my own right!

Yes, it’s true. I am domestically challenged.

I figured if you can roast a mean chicken and bake a cake from a box, you’re good.

But NOOOOOOOOO. Apparently the gods of great-grandmothers’everywhere, are on to me. Hanging out with the “other mothers” as I affectionately call them has brought up the rather embarrassing and WAY TOO FREAKING FREQUENT questions.

Them : So, what kind of yeast do you use for your whole wheat bread?

Me: Umm….Is that a Wonderbread product??

Them : Did you sew those curtains yourself?

Me : Yeah, and the flimsy purple power ranger costume that Oscar is wearing for Halloween this year is also my creation. Really. I made it with my Superstore machine!!

Them : What kind of canning did you do this year? Did you make peach jam?

Me : Screw off, Martha Stewart. I BUY my condiments. (K fine, I didn't actually SAY these answers but I angrily barked them inside my head.)

I don’t sew, make breathtaking crafts, or throw lavish parties with hors d’hoeuvres that don’t come out of a box in the freezer.

My meager garden has about 4 basic vegetables and sometimes the kids have to take Snak-Paks (shout out to snak-pak inventor!) to school.

Ideally, I’d like to be one of those mothers who grows all her own food, bakes her own bread, whilst gently nurturing her children in an environment of educational bliss. And the charming high heeled wife who naturally converses and chortles among her husbands business colleagues about the Dow Jones and Syria’s nuclear developments.

But not today. Or tomorrow. Sorry, my disappointed internets. It most probably won’t be happening.

However, I may switch from Dream Whip in a can to the powdered stuff. Just don’t push me!

Grade One is the devil

Soooo, it appears that I am doing mildly better than anticipated with this whole “Oscar is 6 and goes to school every day now,” thing.

You faithful readers may remember the letter blawg I wrote to his teachers last year(did not send however due to fear of being diagnosed with some kind of severe neurosis).

Well, Oscar has definitely grown up a lot in the past year. He will tell you himself he’s more than ready for big-boy-every-day school. After all, he can count to eleventy bazillion, is a super awesome monster truck driver, and mostly puts his clothes on frontwards. He can even brush his own teeth…and YES, the big boy teeth are coming!

I, on the other hand, am NOT ready for big-boy-every-day school. I thought I was. I walked out of the school yesterday morning feeling calm and mature. But then one mother asked me if I was okay, at which point, my knees started to buckle, and I booked it to my car and let the tears flow freely. And then today, I walked him all the way to school teaching him carefully to stop at each STOP sign and look both ways. TWICE. (I would like to know who taught him to roll his eyes at me and say “I KNOW MOMMY!!)

I watched him walk across the playground with his little Ninja Turtle backpack and felt an overwhelming sadness that he was not suddenly turning around in panic and running back to the safety of his Mommy’s arms, begging to stay home with me. And then I saw two much bigger shady looking grade two-ers approach him on either side, and was ready to run at them with my teeth bared and my fists flailing, but later learned that those were his friends who were saying Hi and hugging him, not pushing him and trying to sell him drugs.

I spent this bleak afternoon making fattening desserts that nobody needs and watching the clock for 3:30 to finally come.

For Sale - My right to say NO!

Over the many years of my adult life, I’ve attended many ridiculous direct selling parties. I don’t think “party” is the term I would use for these “suck all your female friends into buying crap with a 500% markup so Sheena doesn’t have to get a real job” events. However, that is what they call them. You’ve all been to them…(okay well maybe not the men), but ladies, you’ve attended at least one Tupperware/Party-lite candle/Pampered Chef/Silk Plants/Mary-Kay/Weekender Clothing …etc…BARF…part-ay.

Well these fancy soirees just aren’t my bag. Don’t get me wrong, I love to go eat tiny crackers, cheese and cutesie little spring rolls, whilst we gossip about the new neighbour and her real or fake bustline… BUT…seriously, are you a true friend if you want me to spend $20 on a little box of tealite candles? Or $50 on a plastic cereal container? How bout $100 on a polyester vest that my great-grandma might have liked? Especially when you KNOW that I love to find me a sale at good old Target and can get all the above crap for less than 20 bucks and still throw in a bag of Doritos. And don’t EVER say, “oh silly, you don’t HAVE to buy anything…just COME…it’ll be loads of fun!”…I know that as soon as I’m out the door, you’re bitching about what a cheapskate I am.

So I’m sorry friends. I’m not going to go to your selling parties and feel pressured to buy a large amount of crap I don’t need just to get you to your sales goal so you can get a free votive or measuring cup.

Please feel free to invite me to your wedding/baby showers, anniversary parties, or plain old catching up with coffee nights, and I will jump at the chance. Just don’t invite me to something where I’ll feel like a bonehead if I don’t hand over my cash for useless crap.

P.S. I hope I still have friends!!

New Faces at the Graham House

After we let our little river frog, Susan, go back to the wild, we felt an emptiness within ourselves.

So to replace the burning desire for pets, we caught a caterpillar yesterday. She is the biggest caterpillar on the earth. Oscar named her Vinegar.She is living in the habitat where Susan used to live.

And then, my great pal Rehannon, (the one who caught us Sasha the snake last year), caught us a handsome young salamander today. Shelby named him Luigi. We have a nice big habitat for him and are feeding him some tasty slugs and earthworms.

As you can see, the Graham family loves to take on pets. But fear not, we usually only keep them for a couple days... until Oscar makes us return them to their real home down by the river to ensure they don't get too sad.

Bridezilla! Run for your lives!!

It’s been well over 5 years since I got married but I still get the burning question every now and then as to WHY…..oh WHY would I run away to get married in a small private ceremony?

So, without further adieu…HERE are my reasons.

-I hate big fancy weddings.

-I hate balloon arbors or balloony-ribbony lined aisles. It’s not supposed to be a circus.

-I hate shoes having to match the dumb tiaras and ribbon on the bouquets.

-I hate the same old strapless puffy dress that every bride wears. (Yeah, even I had one.)

-I hate matching bridal party dresses. Why clone your friends rather than allowing their individuality? And don't say..."It's the kind of dress you'll wear again!" No we won't. Not ever.

-I hate the garter, the “wedding party only” dance, the obligatory drunk uncle toast, the fish bowl centerpieces that SO outdid the last bride’s chocolate fountain centerpieces….ARGH!!!

When you spend your family’s savings on a wedding planned clearly to impress your friends and outdo the last wedding you attended, you risk forgetting why you’re there.

Which is supposed to be to declare your undying love and commitment to the man of your dreams. How can you focus on that when you’re in a panic over the shade of pink rosebuds on your 50 tiered bad tasting wedding cake not matching the ribbon on the knife to cut it?

Someday, I may renew my vows to my husband. My wedding will hopefully not reflect any of the above.

Our precious Susan

Dear Susan,

It has only been a couple weeks since our son made us let you go home to your family down by the river, but heck, I miss you.

I caught you in the muddy swampishness that is the mighty Red when we were having a Graham hike and immediately my daughter decided you must come home and be part of our family. She carried you all the way home (we thought she killed you at one point) and gently put you in your new Habitat home. She named you Susan. Yes, I realize you may have been a boy. So what.

I caught plenty of flies and mosquitos for you, and tried to get my children to catch them also. They didn’t. Shelby thought you would self-suffice. Oscar stressed about you missing your frog family and not being happy.

Thus…we took you back. Even though we only had you for 4 short days, you became part of our family and we will forever miss you.

(okay, actually I was afraid we’d forget you in a week so I am blogging about this so I can remind Shelby why she can’t have another freaking reptile for the rest of her life.)

Take Care Susan,

Mama Graham

P.S. Please don’t be offended if you are actually a toad instead of a frog. I don’t see breeds anyways. I love equally.

Clips of taking Susan home.

Updates you won't want to miss!!

I haven’t been keeping up with the ole' blawg lately because it’s summer and I do stuff. YES, I am more than an un-employed bum that sits at home eating chocolate covered cherries watching her stories! Actually I am nothing of that sort, but wouldn’t that be fun?

So just a couple things that you may want to know:

Firstly

I love camping. I love smelling like fire, I love seaweed and sand in my butt crack and I LOVE the hot hot sun blazing on me. And so do my kids. And so does my husband. We’re back for a bit but will head back out for the long weekend.

Shelby and I love to sit on the beach reading trashy magazines while drinking aspartame.


I learned to boat myself and my small humans clear across the lake. I may row in the next Olympics.

We had bird feeders and chipmunk dishes. We tamed them. We are one with nature.



Secondly

She did it again, only worse. Yes, that’s right. My “practically ten”year-old cooler-than-cool daughter came bounding and leaping into the living room yesterday sporting one of my bras. “See, Mom?? It fits!” she says excitingly.
I don’t know whether to be embarrassed that my 32A bra can fit a very small child or start anguishing over the thought that my adorable little girl may be ready to become a woman!

Either way, she is not getting a bra anytime soon. I don’t care if her BFF has a training one or that “Geez, Mother, its part of growing up you know….”

Advice on this issue is welcome…*hint* hint*


Thirdly

I went to the Fringe Festival the other night and saw my dear friend Serena Postel perform. I love her.
Barry purchased me some mighty fine cheap handmade jewelery pieces AND….drumroll please….I completely abstained from purchasing any cute skirts or dresses. Clap for me. Y’all know how I love me a cute dress.


So that’s my July so far, other than the occasional mutant radish I grew or the rebirth of Leonard Cohen music into my life. I hope all four (okay fine, two – love you Mom and Barry!! ) of you faithful readers are relieved to know that I’m alive and well and still able to write my deep thoughts out for you every couple weeks…

Bring Home Our Canadian Troops

Why are we still there?

The news of more Canadian soldiers killed in Afghanistan last week brought tears to my eyes. My naïve little heart has gotten to the point where I can’t even watch the TV reports. I know it’s callous and perhaps a tad ignorant to say we don’t belong there, however, I continue to struggle with the following points:

• We did not invade them and blow everything to oblivion; however we are the ones left with the mess. Where are the U.S. troops? Too busy annihilating Iraq and plotting against Iran? Are we going to go clean up those countries after the U.S. bullies them into submission?

• Is it realistic to believe that our gentle hearted Canadian forces can rebuild a corrupt society that does not want our help? We will never entirely eliminate the Taliban. They will always rise.

• How did the Canadian troops get the shitty deal of being the closest ones stationed to Kandahar – the heart of the Taliban?? Put the f*cking American troops in there!! Let our guys go build bridges on the borders and teach them to farm. WE are a peacekeeping and rebuilding people.


I can’t wrap my head around supporting a mission that sees our brave sons/daughters/brothers/sisters risking and losing their lives for a battle they cannot win. Small victories in various Afghani provinces do not compensate for the lives lost and the reality that this mission will not turn Afghanistan into a society rebuilt in Canada’s image.

Tweens - What are they good for?

You know I acted like I was all excited for summer. And I was. Until I realized that I had to spend actual time with both my children together. Yes, I love my children. But only separately. When you put them together it’s like parenting a pair of angry killer apes. Their sole motivation for waking up each morning is to think of ways to make life as miserable as possible for eachother.
“MOM…Oscar took a sip out of my cup!!”
“MOM….Shelby’s smiling at me!”

“Kids…GO PLAY IN TRAFFIC!!”

I realized they’re probably just bored so before they started gnawing on the furniture, Barry and I decided to take them to Grand Forks for the day. Besides Shelby needing some new clothes (she is growing at the rate of my steroidal lettuce), I also wanted out of the war zone house to maintain what little sanity I have.

So with portable DVD player in the car, lots of water, and sedatives (just kidding), we set out for Columbia Mall.

Now, up until now, shopping for Shelby has been a breeze. I always figured she was switched at the hospital as a baby since she got none of my passion for pink frilly things or floral ensembles. She was happy as long as she could play in mud and roll around in grass.

Well, things have changed.
We went into a store called Raw Edge. Yes, she asked if she could buy a bra. No, I did not quite have immediate heart failure. Yes, she begged and said “it doesn’t matter if you don’t have boobs- that’s what tissue is for!” *gasp* *choke*

Then she found the sunglasses. “Mom, I want Paris Hilton sunglasses.”
“But Shelby, your head is the size of a peanut.”
“Motherrrrrrrrr!!!!” she exclaims in embarrassment since I obviously didn’t care that there were a bunch of little Miss Thang 13 year olds around us.

Nothing in that store was even close to fitting her, since she’s 3 foot nothing and about 50 pound soak n wet. So off to the kids section in Target. What a relief. And luckily, there were no black skull Avril Lavigne shirts or Gwen Stefanie bustier tops there.
So what if she has to wear cute little Bambi overalls for the rest of the summer??


I’m rather enjoying my new role as mother from hell.