not so proud

Well. I have to admit that every time I give into the temptation I feel bad. So, no! I'm not proud to admit this.... and... this comes from a mother who is proud to watch her kid's blank face at shcool, when most of the other kids hoo, humm and haaaa at the word "McDonald's". Indeed, only a week ago I asked Kaspar if he knew what McDonald was and he responded "Maybe... it's a truck driver? What do you think, mommy?" But we do have a Pizza Pizza in the neighbourhood and Kaspar must take after me, because he loves pizza, chips, french fries, sausage, salami and pretty much anything savory and salty. So, today after spending over an hour running errands with Stella and Kaspar in tow I resigned to having lunch at PizzaPizza. I was pleasantly surprised by their Thai Chicken slice myself and Kaspar had just the best time picking the pepperoni off his own slice. But the most surprising thing was a large flat screen TV in the corner of the shop (which I admit, I had not noticed before) and as we were waiting for our order it was showing a channel called PizzaTV and I felt like I was having a total breakdown, because the first thing I noticed them showing was Elliott Brood's video called "The Bridge". At first I thought - I must be seeing things! Is that what happens when your hubby goes on the road for weeks at a time? Then it dawned on me... no, this is for real. And I thought - Oh shoot, the artist must have needed cash pretty bad to sell the same cartoon to PizzaPizza. But it turned out to be the real Elliott Brood video with the name and caption at the end and everything legitimate, even the Six Shooter logo and name appearing as their label. So, I worry for no reason one again. But it really is weird walking into a PizzaPizza and watching an Elliott Brood video with no sound as I'm placing my order. Weird. I just do not get it.

let me tell you

Let me begin by telling you the story about Al. He lives two doors down from us. He's a really nice fellow in his fifties, who lives alone and is always ready to lend a helping hand. He loves his leaf blower and his beer. Al has always put up the most extreme Christmas decorations on his huge tree in the front yard. But we wait to see what will happen this year, because the tree was just cut down a week ago. The city deemed it too old and sick to leave standing. Sadly. But that's another story. Al is tall and skinny and sports what I could describe as the Kim Mitchell look. You know, the long thin hair, the trucker's cap (with mesh in the back and in some hideous colour), aviator's glasses, a well worn t-shirt, old leather jacket or windbreaker, jeans... you get the picture? A few days ago I decided that it was time to give Kaspar a hair cut. His hair had grown long enough to pull into a mini pony tail and was bothering his vision in the front. What did he reply? "No! I want to grow my hair like Al's!!!" Who was I to argue? He knew what he wanted. We had to come to some sort of a compromise. So, Kaspar ended up with a mullet. I think the "mullet" style runs in his blood. His dad had a mullet for years, after all.

lost

This morning I found myself in one of those situations, where you begin questioning your own sanity.

It was a relatively calm morning. Kaspar was once again playing garbage man and unloading ALL of his toys onto his bed (the garbage truck). Stella was happily playing with the zipper of my purse. All doors and safety latches were done up and closed. So, I decided that it was safe for me to lock myself in the bathroom for about three minutes to do the things that people do in bathrooms on their own. Sometimes I don't have the luxury of privacy in my bathroom... but this morning I thought I'd take the chance while everyone was calm and happy.

Upon reentering the bedroom I realized that Stella had managed to get into my zipped up purse and pull out everything onto the floor. So what! A few ripped bills? A destroyed lipstick. Nothing worth worrying about. The day goes on.... until.... I pack the kids up and get ready to go to the store. And I cannot find my wallet.

I search. I tear the house apart. I get the kids dressed and undresses several times. I go back and forth between the house and the garage several times. In the end I tell myself that I'm 99.99% sure that it was in my purse. Back to the indoors. I rearrange the entire bedroom. Go through clean and dirty laundry. Go through everything that Stella might have gotten into. I start to feel like I'm going crazy. Nothing. Two hours pass. Nothing. Three hours. I'm still searching. In the middle of it all, the phone rings. A very apologetic voice on the other end asks for me. It's or RESP fund manager calling and being very sorry about disturbing me on a Sunday. I'm so frustrated I want to yell at her. I take a deep breath, take a break from searching and try to deal with whatever is about to come my way. I'm already expecting some tragedy, but She's only asking me to check my son's birth certificate, because of some mistake SHE has made on the application. Thank goodness that's all! So, I'm opening the "filing cabinet" which is really just a cardboard filing box under the desk in the bedroom... and yes... my wallet is right there! Sitting amongst the first few files. Nice and neat.

I yelled so loud that she must have thought I was nuts. I felt so happy about her calling that I almost invited her for dinner and called her an angel. She definitely thought I was nuts! I even made her listen to my entire sob story about my wallet and shed a few tears of joy while telling it. Madness!

Stella must have managed to pull out my wallet, go through everything else in the purse as well as stuff the wallet through the banker's box handle hole into the box, all within minutes of leaving her alone in the room. How is that possible? And the hole is only an inch bigger then the wallet.

I don't get it!