Try Something New . . . or NOT

So upon turning 40 a few months ago, and pondering on reaching life goals, I was conversing with my dear friend and neighbor about things I still had left to accomplish. Only a few months away from finishing a Master's degree I had debated since my 30th birthday, I had one check on the list. Other accomplishments from things to do before you die: marry decent man for love and attempt to raise decent children - check, and still a work in progress . . . . get boobs - check, and also still a work in progress as they are officially three weeks old and I am in love again . . . and then came hair. I have Italian ancestry - need I say more? Between hormones shifting post baby and perimenopause - a new term I've learned all about - the ten or so years before pre-menopause (who thinks this stuff up??) I've had to contemplate hair removal. The arrival to Texas and the need to bare legs for many, many days at a time led to laser hair removal and worth every penny. I jumped on that band wagon within a few months of arriving and have never looked back. Eyebrows and upper lip - frequent part of female grooming and a non issue. Post baby chin whiskers - not feminine but controllable with a pair of tweezers - at least for the time being. But arms - hadn't really thought about them much. In the white zone of a Canadian winter, I had tried bleach once when I had to go to a formal Xmas event and the dark shadow that was usually blonde in the summer (thanks to the sun) stood out a little too much and I tried bleaching for the event. Worked out fine, but not something I'd ever had much of a desire to repeat as I usually wasn't walking around in a formal gown, nor short sleeves. But in Dallas, long sleeves rarely occur (except this winter which is Calgary relived!) So back to the discussion with girlfriend neighbor, another Italian ancestry kind of girl: Get Nair on those arms. I googled and researched reviews and read that Veet was much more year 2000 than Nair, so I gave it a whirl. One comment I read over and over was NOT to use the plastic razor wipe off thing that came with it as it will cut you to pieces. Who ever follows directions? So my first Veet effort left me telling people I had a few fights with my rose bushes, which they believed because I'm always fixing my garden. Removing Veet from arms needs to be done in the shower with a pair of scrubby mitts. After that, beauty and a convert. But the story does NOT end here.

Now that I view my self as a Jaguar (the sexier version of a Cougar, because I'm 40, classy and at peace with my self rather than 30 and, well, Cougarish) and sporting the new rack - which is hardly substantial but still perfect - I get the Veet pump to fix up the arms while standing in the shower. I look down. I wonder what Veet would do to "the patch". I proceed. I'm sure some where the directions said DO NOT do this. I do. Every nook and cranny. I'm on a role. I've never been so brave with a razor, so why now, with a chemical???? The minutes tick by. I wash. I get the scrubby mitts going after I comb off the major top coat. Nasty combination that was! And then reality hit. Some body parts were NOT meant to be touched by chemical. Holy Crap. Nothing pretty to look at down there. Reminded me of moments before birthing (even if I did end up with C sections) - over stimulation and swelling to the max. I'm sure this is way too much info, but I do it for your own good. Never, I repeat, Never, Veet the Bush. Bikini line, sure, bring it on. Veet the intimate dealings - Never. Ever. Ever. Do add pain to my already not so aware misery, I decided to make use of my clean and fresh moment and bring on husband. Worked well until the post shower. This time HOLY CRAP needs to be in caps. Have I said NEVER, EVER enough yet to make my point?? I will also be banned from any form of future husbandly encounters now for the next few weeks as the Sand Paper effect kicks in. So I pass my Yoda wisdom of 40 on to you. Use wisely young Jedi!!!

It's a good one

I've always been a Nora Jones fan, and bought this CD at Christmas. In fact, I listened to it on repeat for hours as I rewired my pre-lit tree, and decorated it. Not exactly nostalgic xmas music, but I loved it all the same. It is nothing typical of Nora Jones and I had to keep listening to it over and over to decide what I really thought. Alas, one of my MOST favorite CD compilations to blast in the car, in the kitchen, while cleaning, while hiding from my kids . . . . basically anywhere. Still Nora, but with a twist. If you haven't listened, give it a try.

My Penis is growing a baby!!!"

Just one of the lines that came from this evenings bath time conversation. Once in a while, my little man ( 4 yrs) has an inquiring mind about his favorite appendage. One day it was about size/shape/colour in comparison to his best buddy, another blaming "bad penis" for peeing all over the toilet seat. Today he noticed his testes.

"Mommy, what are those wiggly, wrinkly things bugging my penis?"

"Those are your testes sweetie."

"What are they there for?"

"That's where the sperm grows so you can make a baby one day when you are a man."

"So I can grow a baby?"

"No, you can grow sperm that will later help to grow a baby."

This was obviously not quite enough information, as when he made the title announcement to his six year old sister whom is well versed (in her mind) about all things relating to human reproduction, she was quick to shut him down and tell him that only girls could grow babies, looking to me for confirmation after her "don't be such an idiot" tone directed towards her brother in her reply.

And since he is so great at ignoring most of everything that springs forth from her when said tone is utilized, he carried on with his fantasy that when he was a man, (a fact he wasn't too thrilled about having to wait on), he was going to grow us all a new baby and we could keep it in the fancy room (formal living room) so that everyone could watch him grow and sleep, and that Little Man would take very good care of him. All very fitting considering Gman's imaginary friends consist of a variety of babies he carries around in his pocket, hand, back pack etc. Baby world exists in his room, and quite often one of the babies is suddenly with us - defined by color. There is white baby and black baby, blue baby and green baby, purple baby, spotted baby, striped baby . . . you get the idea. Where his fascination comes from, no one knows as we have no babies in our family future nor do we talk about babies other than those in Gman's baby world.

I hope this doesn't mean I'm looking at an early grandmotherhood . . . obviously it is time to get the childhood sex ed books out around here!

Snow and all things Sad

Strange title perhaps, but pretty much the way things are around here these days. Dallas had a historical snow fall last Thursday/Friday, which left many delighted as they went outside to have traditional snowball fights (something some had never done), made snow men and snow forts, and generally awed in the beauty of it while the cold temperatures allowed the trees to remain portrait like for hours. I would have included some stunning photos, but my new camera was in the shop. Instead, as life continues around us, the above photo held strong in the minds of others dear to me.

My friend of 20+ years has been supporting her mother through years of battling cancer. A few times we thought we were getting close to losing her, and then she'd rally back with clean work ups. My friend was exhausted, as even on a good day, mothers can be draining. In October, her father came home with a not so good diagnosis and was ball parked a few more years. He hadn't been feeling well for some time, but also suffered from arthritis, so no one expected such a rapid decline. The made family trips as best as they could given his pained condition, and she worked diligently to get all the affairs in order. Slideshow for her dad, long talks, letters, quiet moments and hours together. He lived just down the road, so it was easy to stay close.

Two weeks ago she called and said they were meeting with hospice counselor and such as he was fading fast. The following week she found a lump in her breast. Given the double sided family history (going back generations), her doctor has her pegged as "urgent" for needing an ultrasound/mammogram. Of course, with the awesome Canadian medical system (ie: wait lists) "Urgent" means three weeks from now. Then the call came late Saturday that dad has passed away in her arms. He is gone and she is devastated, despite having had all the prep.

I am close to her family, as the "adopted" daughter/sister over our university years. A whisper of a call came on Sunday - "When can you come?" and I booked my flights. It is time for me to go be her strength for a while, but I am scared. Not afraid of the stuff in the moments to come, but in the moments to follow as we wait for her own diagnosis. Thus my photo for today. The Breast Cancer cell. Put it on you dart board; rip it to pieces; burn it. Make it go away.

Who would think a book could change your world?

I thought I’d explained it clearly before. Bella, I can’t live in a world where you don’t exist. Edward Cullen, New Moon, Chapter 23, p.509

And now I'm wondering how I'm going to live in the real world after drowning in theirs . . . with the last third of the last book to go, my heart is heavy. I can't believe the pain and anguish my own memories have locked away: first love, forbidden love, lost love and found love. I want to stay on an eternal high. I'm not sure how I'll go back to the mundane, even when my own life is far from mundane. This series is a drug and I am an addict. I understand addiction far better than I have in the past - I feel it at every level of my being. I don't want to return to sobriety - ever.

Are you kidding me????

Did I mention I moved from Calgary, Alberta, CANADA . . . land of the frozen tundra . . . to hotter than H:LL, Texas??? You'd think I would know what to do come winter and freezing temperatures and an irrigation system. Obviously not. Part of the reason being it never gets cold enough here long enough to worry about such things. Enter, the big freeze of 2010.

As if the year wasn't already on a roll with exciting adventures beginning, the day before we are about to leave town for a much too quick return trip to the great white North (well, wet and grey actually, in the case of Vancouver), the auto fill quits working on our pool. Not an issue when the weather is mild, as one just places the garden hose in and fills as needed. But when you aren't thinking about such things, you also don't think to disconnect the frozen hose from the wall in the event you may randomly need it. Imagine my face when I suddenly realized the pool is NOT filling after I've turned it on twice, the afternoon prior to our 6am departure, and I have about 4 hours to figure out a plan for getting a massive amount of water in to the pool pronto. This is a problem because given the severe cold temps as of late, the pool has to circulate 24/7 to prevent pipe damage . . . and in order to circulate it needs to maintain a certain level of water to prevent the pump from exploding (read big bucks in above mentioned cases) . . . which wouldn't be a problem if the water wasn't evaporating as quickly as possible because the system isn't set up to accommodate weeks of sub freezing temperatures!

At 3pm, irrigation dude tells me he'll stop by and take a look and I figure it is a no brainer for him to quick fix. An hour later he tells me he'll be by on Monday with the part - the underground part they need to find - not a help in the moment. My neighbor was prepared for pool duty, but she was thinking "Hit the auto fill", not devote an hour a day to filling by garden hose via the kitchen sink. Off to Lowe's and then Home Depot I go, only to spend more than a precious hour hunting down the piece I need. I finally get the frozen hose detached and thawed from outside via a candle torch and hot bath, and get the water flowing just as the pump begins to suck air. My kids have eaten cereal for dinner; I am frozen for all my outdoor trips in my t-shirt thinking my now texan Cdn skin can handle the shock, and I move on to getting kids to bed before the big 6:30 departure/10 hr/2 plane, customs and rental car trip. FUN.

Rather than my usual night before prep, in my exhausted state, I decide to just download and update the iphone/itouch combo to make above mention travel detail survivable with a 6 and 4 year old. I must have seriously gotten brain freeze because for what ever karma make up I was being handed, I ended up sleeping on the play room sofa in intervals of 30 minutes between midnight and 2am getting the download and software situation rectified. A few hours later I was scrambling to do something I had done many times over, making it to the airport with only the charger and snacks left sitting on the kitchen counter. Thus came a Starbucks airport load up and a trip to the store upon arrival to Vancouver, as the trip home was even longer, and without a charger, I was doomed.

So all is well until the next morning, yesterday, when we get the 7am call (9am at home) from neighbor to say the back yard has flooded since her check last night, which means her driveway as well, as I forgot to turn off one of the valves (the one the irrigation geek TOLD me to turn off after he was right there looking at it!) but as I was dealing with my pool drama, allowed it to slip my mind, resulting in a big ol' burst. Ha Ha. The Canadian who knows to blow out her irrigation system in the winter is the on the street with the busted pipe. Nice.

I am grateful that her husband risked his fear of frost bite to stick his hand into the few inches of icy cold water to turn the valve off for me, and then I gave up (from my spot in bed) and tried to get back to sleep, which was NOT happening as my kids were bouncing off the hotel walls by this time.

Despite all the drama, we had a fabulous, albeit short, visit with Grandpa Walt, who is unfortunately very ill, and were up at 3am this morning heading back. We dropped Daddy off at a dinner meeting in down town Dallas, right at the peak of rush hour, and enjoyed the near hour drive home that normally takes about 25 minutes. At least we were able to get the phones charged up, and had a decent enough layover to get the kids well fed and steamed burned off before the second leg of the journey.

On that note, the kids were amazingly well behaved given the travel time they put in, both on their best behavior as they have been told they are still on trial for being "well enough behaved" to take on the sailing adventure. The earned their spot on board with flying colors this weekend, although I'm not about the 'fess up until the last minute. Arrrgh Matey! Oh crap, I've left the hose on and now the pool is overflowing. Are you frickin kidding me! Gotta go!

When all else fails . . .

go on vacation! For those of you barely in the know, as I've been too crazy busy with life to keep in touch, my sweet husband has taken a few months off work to contemplate life. He is an avid sailer (at least was pre wife and kids), and has been chomping at the bit to get back out on the water with the kids to teach them a love of sailing. I have an extensive number of boating hours clocked from my own youth, so time afloat is time well spent in my eyes - but imagine the look on my face when we were discussing taking a week off, just the two of us, to regroup after Xmas and plan for the next few months, and he said "Let's just take the kids with us." Granted, 24/7 child care does not come cheap when you have no other option but to use a babysitting service, but a week on a sail boat with a 4 and 6 year old? My anxiety had already peaked to an unhealthy level with the post Xmas transition, so I was in a less than optimum state of mind to contemplate three flights and life at sea . . . however, over the course of 48 hrs and multiple pro/con lists, I am genuinely excited to report that we are leaving FREEZING Dallas for the BVI to do nothing but lay back, island hop, snorkel and explore. Most of our time will be anchored in a bay somewhere with only a few hours under sail per day, so it isn't as bad as initial the thought of being trapped in a closet with 2 kids for a week. The kids are over the moon excited, with one believing she may actually turn in to a mermaid once her legs hit the sea water, and the other asking if he can be a pirate on his "aventure". When I ask little man what he is most excited about regarding the trip, he repeatedly replies "Seeing my bed, and no one better disturb me when I'm having my naps." Ah yes, spoken like a true son of mine! Then again, this is the same kid who at 3 spent most of his time at the resort in Mexico lounging on beach chairs and sipping "drinks." If you don't hear from us after Feb. 1, perhaps we've decided just not to come home . . . the real world if far over rated!