How Do You Spell Guilt? RESOLUTION.

Today is one of my least favourite days of the year. Besides the fact that our roads will be polluted with every drunk this side of Betty Ford, there is this insane pressure to RING IN THE NEW YEAR!!! Whatever.

Yes, tomorrow will mark the start of a brand new year but it's meaningless to me except that I will have to remember to sign my cheques with an 8 instead of a 7. I fully expect to be subjected to the barrage of "Year in Review" programs that populate mass media. From the top 100 songs and the biggest celebrity meltdowns to the most compelling news events and of course, George Bush's most illiterate moments of the year, we will have a scintillating choice of mindless lists to digest.

And of course, I feel compelled to make a blasted list of my own. So here it goes:

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS

• Read at least one book a week.
  

• Look, I know that I probably won't have the time to do this but what's a good resolution list without a few items that are impossible to keep?
  

• Stop using the "f" word.
  

• This may just fall into the "impossible to keep" category because there are times when no other word will do. And it is such a versatile word. It can be a noun, verb, adverb, adjective and object...often within the same sentence. If you say it softly, it's like a tickle. Say it with a little gusto and people could be wiping spittle from their eyes. In any case, I'm likely to miss it.

• Learn to speak another language.
  

• I know that in my line of work, Mandarin Chinese or Hindi would be useful but I've been looking for courses in daughterese, ex-husbandish and umm Kiwi. I still am not completely clear as to what the heck "crikey" means but a POME? Well, that's just a prisoner of mother England, don't you know? And it's a slur but compared to the ones we have here, I think we can all agree it's pretty tame.
  

• Exercise More.

• There is the gym and my perpetually psycho scale but I think that the best kind of exercise is the type that Eve whispered to Adam after that first nibble of the apple. I'm not terribly particular as to how the calories are burned, just that they are.

• Say Thank You More Often.
  

• Dallas's sister is this fiery, smart, independent woman named Leisa. I have never met her but I know that she would fit right in with the GNO crew. We are exactly one week apart in our birthdays and I'm older but I can't seriously hold that against her. Recently, she sent Dallas a note to let him know that she would like for me to attend an intimate luncheon and the wedding ceremony which was originally intended for close friends and parents, only. I had plans to shop in Auckland during this time and hook up later at the reception but her email changed everything. To Leisa, I say my first of many "thank you's" for the year. I understand how meaningful this day is and to include me in those plans is an incredibly magnanimous gesture. Some people teach you grace. Leisa appears to be a part of that group.

So there you have it. I could probably write a resolution list that would span the continental US but five is all that I'm able to manage. Any more than that would be as wasted as a common sense lecture for Britney Spears.

I hope that all of you have a prosperous, healthy and joy-filled 2008.

Where Did You Say You Was From?

It's a queer feeling to spend some time in your native country and find that it has become foreign.

I walked down to the local grocery store yesterday to grab a few necessities and as I perused the aisles, I had a hard time picking out a single brand that was familiar to me any longer. Then, I stumbled upon the sweets aisle and in a blink, I was transported back to my childhood when cookies were the only reason for choking down overcooked spinach (eyes watering, gagging).

Dare cookies.

They are a little slice of nirvana. I can remember climbing up the formal dining room chairs to get the bags of cookies that were hidden on top of the china hutch. And yes, you can assume that there was an issue when parental units are forced to hide the sweets. And because I am nothing if not patriotic, I bought a bag of Dare Maple cookies to take back home.

Old Dutch Potato Chips.

You have not lived until you have burned off the inside of your mouth with their salt and vinegar offering. It's hard to find that flavour in the US. Dill pickle is another Canadian favourite. Of course, I haven't had a chip since 1987 and can't imagine being friendly with my bathroom scale in the foreseeable future so marching down nostalgia lane is an exercise in junk food frustration.

Did I mention the drugs? According to the current American administration, Canadian pharmaceuticals are of inferior quality because negotiating the cost with the manufacturer is madness, I tell you. Certifiable. Besides, who has time to bicker over price gouging when there are more important things to do like topple "rogue regimes". But I digress.....the drugs. Yes. In Canada, there are magic pills called two twenty twos (222's).



They are basically Tylenol 3's and they are available over the counter. Apparently, Canuks are responsible enough to handle a little caffeine and codeine without too much trouble. Since most Canadians have engaged in at least one of the national past times (the consumption of beer, contact hockey), 222's are as vital in the medicine cabinet as toothpaste.

I took my purchases up to the register and noticed that the cashier had a fairly thick Canadian accent. As I paid and exchanged pleasantries with her, she asked me how I was enjoying my visit.

"How did you know I was visiting?"

"Oh because of your accent," she answered.

This took me by surprise but I guess after fifteen years in another country, assimilation will take place. My knee jerk reaction was mild panic at the thought of losing the Canadian in me but after giving my head a shake, I realized that I get the best of both countries and who really gives a flip if I can no longer be identified by the way I talk.

I was once caught speeding in northern Michigan and the first thing the police officer said to me after I opened my mouth was, "You ain't from around here, are ya'?" Today, I'd have to ask him to define, "here" because for me, home has really become less concrete and more about where my hat is hanging.

Special Gifts Come in Small Packages

Last Friday, just as my plane touched down in Canada, my eldest daughter went into labour. After fifteen or so hours, she gave birth to a healthy eight pound baby boy.

So I'd like to introduce you to the best Christmas present our family received this year:

MADDOX CADE

I can't wait to meet him.
I hope your Christmases were equally fabulous.

The Food is Better at Grandma's

I'm sorry about the lack of posts recently. After posting every day for the month of November, I had very little left to say. Then we had the holidays....

The kids and I got on a plane last Friday at 5:40 am (don't rub your eyes, you read that right) to fly to my mum's house in Victoria, British Columbia. After three flights and ten hours, we arrived to typical winter weather in the Pacific Northwest. Rain. Vast quantities of stuff. Biblical. As in Noah and his bloody ark.

In spite of the damp, I was once again awash in the feeling that comes when I go home. I think it might be awe. As soon as I step out of the airport, the visual aesthetic of the northwest blows me away. EVERY TIME.

And the air tastes...I don't know.. clean somehow. It's hard not to be impressed when a single 360° view produces mountains enrobed in mist, towering evergreens, lush holly trees in full berry bloom and the cold, gray fury of the ocean. Rain or not, the beauty of this area is unparalleled.

It goes without saying that my children love being with their grandmother because her sole purpose in life is to exist as the antithesis of me. They are lavished with attention, stuffed with all sorts of sweets and generally waited on hand and foot. When we get back to the US, they'll wander around our house asking for ridiculous things like a home cooked meal or a bedtime story. It will take WEEKS to deprogram them!

We spent Christmas day like a lot of other people: eating ourselves into a coma and talking with far flung relatives on the phone. I was sloth-like. I got up from the couch to...um....well...I guess "got up" might be a slight exaggeration. I probably slid off the thing a few times to amble to the fridge or the bathroom. Other than that, I did a whole lot of nothing. It was pure bliss. Tomorrow is Boxing Day and I intend to go shopping. I am well aware that hitting the stores on the day after Christmas is a lot like having an ice pick jammed repeatedly into your brain but the advertisments use language like, "clearance", "sale of the season" and "80% off". The cerebral self understands gimmick marketing but I am an imperfect woman and if there is the merest whisper that a real deal might be had, I feel compelled to participate.

Hello. My name is Beth. I am a female with a little money and a babysitter. Why don't you just preauthorize my Visa right now so we can get this party started.

Table for Eight

I have a love hate relationship with Christmas.

On the one hand, there are all of these memories of snow, cousins, rosy cheeks, food and laughter. On the other, I remember stomach churning anxiety. I loved shopping for gifts but as a student, I always spent an obscene amount of money which usually represented my car note, rent or tuition for the next semester. And I stressed over the gifts themselves, worried that they wouldn't be good enough. Yes, I know. I was in desperate need of approval, blah, blah, therapy, blah, blah....

And then, I gave birth.

Children give the gift of Christmas back to us, don't they? There are letters to Santa, classic holiday TV shows, baking shortbread and sugar cookies and staying up until four in the morning with a set of Japanese instructions in an effort to assemble the gadget of the moment. I have loved this time of year for the past decade. To see the look of awe on their faces Christmas morning makes it all worthwhile. Besides, Santa is a great disciplinary tool as in,

"I'm picking up this phone right now to make a report to Santa about your behaviour, young lady" which usually yields the desired results: look of horror, mouth open in silent scream and immediate change in attitude.

But this year felt funky and for the life of me, I don't know why. I sort of wanted to blink and have the holiday go away. Bah humbug! And the crazy thing is that I couldn't get a handle on why I felt this way because I have been living a charmed life. I should have been spreading Christmas cheer instead of ducking it. Then, early this week, everything changed.

Dallas and I got our respective broods together to celebrate Christmas since the kids and I are heading out of town tomorrow.

It was a madhouse.

We had dinner and then opened our gifts. It was noisy, confused, wrapping paper everywhere and quite fun. I think Dallas might have been overwhelmed because I don't hold to any gift-opening rules. I let the children run wild. WILD. It was mayhem and for the first time this season, I felt the beginning jolts of Christmas excitement. We looked like a big, disorganized family and I loved it.

For years, I concerned myself with the quantity of gifts under the tree. I always fretted about whether the children would be disappointed. Did we have enough? Would they be happy? This year, none of that crap mattered. Sure, the kids enjoyed opening their gifts but looking around the room that night, the magic for me came from the sense that we were blending together nicely and defining family in our own way. At one point, I looked over at Dallas during the frenzy and he smiled in a way that said, "Can you believe this? Aren't we fortunate?"

Unbelievably so.

Is Vegemite Actually Edible?

Last weekend, Dallas received a postcard in the mail announcing the planned February nuptials of his sister. Tuesday, we booked our flights to...

NEW ZEALAND

Excited doesn't begin to describe my feelings about this. Besides the obvious plus of meeting his family, I'm looking forward to seeing the southern sky for the first time. I know that it must sound ridiculous but I can't wait to have a look at the constellations south of the equator. I hear the beaches are fabulous, too. And it will be their summer. Which means shorts. And possibly a bathing suit.

Okay. I'm not going to let myself get all freaked out by that last thing because I'm going to

NEW ZEALAND !!!

Wearing My Emotions

This weekend, we had our office Christmas party. I know that many of you are rolling your eyes because often, these kinds of events are their own special brand of torture. Believe me. I have been there, too. Ours is a bit different, though.

Because we are a relatively small company, we have this intimate affair with great food, wine and some sort of live music. Last year there was a harpist. This year, we had four musicians playing Christmas carols on violin. It is low key, tasteful and very, very conservative. The men dress in suit and tie and the women are just one Spanx garment shy of a ball gown. This year, I asked Dallas to be my date. Gulp.

Besides being a great sport about shucking on a suit, Dallas allowed himself to be introduced and scrutinized by the thirty odd people at our event. They had all heard of him, knew he rode and had seen up close that I was crazy about him. In the four and a half years that I have worked for this company, I have never once showed any real interest in a man so it was only natural that my work family would be interested to lay eyes on this "Harley" guy. He was charming, attentive and a perfect gentleman. I was thrilled to be there with him.

Later that night, we went on to a local club with Steph the Magnificent and her husband. After a few cocktails, it was decided that the four of us would try to get to a Nascar event sometime next year. Steph promised me that I wouldn't have to flash my boobs and just like that, my metamorphosis into a southern Republican began.(NOT!)

Yesterday, those of us in the local office were gathered around the water cooler rehashing the party. The girls told me how happy I looked and that Dallas and I made a cute couple. I gushed like a school girl, of course because I don't seem to have an emotional off switch where he is concerned. Then, this delivery arrived:



It seems that Dallas was thinking of me and wanted me to know. The bouquet was lovely but it was the card that made me misty. One of the girls in the office whispered to me that I "wear love well".

And truthfully, this is the singular instance in my life where I could care less that I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve.

The Exhale

God, I'm happy.

I have always been able to laugh pretty easily but these days, I'm downright giddy.

What has struck me lately is that I feel content. So what, right? Who cares about contentment? Well, I'm not sure that I have ever been content before. I've certainly had extended periods of happiness. I've experienced joy and peace but there has always been this quality of restlessness about me. Foot-tapping, onto the next idea, breathless, agitated, unfocused, can't-put-my-finger-on-it unease.

For years, everything I owned would fit into a backpack so that at a moment's notice, I could bolt if I had to. I have lived in this one horse town city for seven and a half years. It's the longest that I have hung my hat in any single place ever. EVER. Like, as in forty years ever. And the strangest thing is that I like it. I am content here.

I suppose that happiness is a choice that we make each day but it is so much easier to pick that option when all facets of life are working together in harmony. Some people keep gratitude journals, some carry gratitude stones and still others blog their blessings on a daily basis. Regardless of the methodology, I'm convinced that a sustained, conscious and focused effort on the positive is life changing.

Shit happens. Yes.

But when it hits the fan, it's comforting to know that I've got more than one umbrella to weather the storm.

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

I have been a good girl this year. I did not maim my ex husband and most times, I was able to greet him with a smile. I made an effort not travel as heavily this year and sure enough, my children no longer panic when I leave to go grocery shopping. I kept three houseplants alive and there are enough weeds in my flower bed to confirm that I am capable of nurturing something more than a grudge. I ate my loathsome vegetables. And I flossed.

Please see this year's wish list below. Please note that the usual requests: world peace, an end to human suffering and the impeachment of Dubya, should be considered understood and thus, they are not included.

1. I would like a blank cheque for the plastic surgeon. Now I know that this might be viewed as a hefty request but really, if one is going to receive Botox, what's a little Restylane to fill in the crevices? And if I have to be anesthetized to receive lipo, doesn't it just make sense to keep me under a wee bit longer and give the girls a make over? ECONOMIES OF SCALE, I tell you. Is it too much to ask to be able to see my abdominal muscles again without the benefit of an MRI?

2. I would like an inground pool. When it is 120 degrees outside and the humidity is 99%, I find that it is difficult to be reasonable. Can you wiggle your nose or snap your fingers and find some way to get it installed without having to dig up my back yard or rip down my fence? And while you're back there, would you mind planting a tree that I can't kill? Maybe something like a cactus would work because apparently, two sugar maples, a dogwood and a Bradford pear require watering and who the hell has time for that?

3. I would like one week at a luxurious beachfront resort with Dallas, preferably after healing from the plastic surgery. (see item #1)

4. I would like a personal chef. I have come to accept the fact that my idea of domestic bliss is to outsource the dirty work. My yard is mowed and my house is cleaned by other people. It only stands to reason that the final barrier to total sloth be breached. The candidate should understand that sometimes, he will be required to double as a short order cook because my children have never met a box of mac and cheese that they didn't love.

5. I would like the opportunity to be fifteen again for one day. There are several reasons for this. First of all, I'd like to sit my teenage self down and veto the decision to start smoking since all of those years contributed to the vain need for Botox. Second, I'd tell her to take a cab instead of accepting a ride home from that creep in the donut shop. Finally, I'd like to crawl into her body just once more to see what ten hours of unbroken sleep feel like.

Well, Santa. That's it. I realize that there are some tall orders on that list but I have confidence in you. By the way, my dentist has recently informed me that I will require a crown and a possible root canal so if you happen to see the Tooth Fairy in your travels, would you mind sending her my way? It's obvious that I have somehow pissed her off and I'd like to apologize. Thanks!

The First Stirrings

After a completely indulgent weekend including beer, wine and a veritable carb festival, I got on my scale to find that I was down nearly two pounds.

So let me get this straight.

I limit my carbohydrate intake to sniffing the air at the local bakery, workout until I vomit my spleen and I get to gain a pound OR I eat and drink like a toga clad Roman and I lose weight. Yes, that makes perfect sense....if you live on Fantasy Island.

The only conclusion that I can reach is that my scale is possessed by a lithium-popping, filthy, lying, whore named Cybil.

Anyway, the weekend was fantastic. Dallas and I spent it doing mundane things like an ordinary couple and it was the best time I've had in months. We cooked, shopped and went out with friends. The definitive high point of the weekend was meeting Brandon and his wife, Erin. Wow. They have got to be two of the smartest people on the planet. Several times during the evening, the four of us were howling with laughter.

Besides the fact that Brandon could pass for a Canadian in his mannerisms and his dress, he further endeared himself to me because he married Erin. She is warm, sharp and she makes no apologies for her opinions. After years as a designer in the theatre business, Erin elected to go back to school to complete her degree in architecture. She can spell and she's got a great eye for all things creative. NOT FAIR. Best part is that Erin has agreed to join us on "Girls' Night Out: The Road Trip". And the mix just keeps improving...

They were just awesome and I look forward to getting to know them.

Late Sunday afternoon, Dallas dropped me back at my house and as I watched him pull out of my drive, I realized that my defenses had disappeared. I think the scientific term is smitten.

After four years of self-imposed exile from the dating pool, a girl can become remarkably comfortable with the idea of spending the rest of her life alone. She tells herself that it isn't so bad because after all, the kids need her and that floor really could use a good washing. She doesn't have to consult the TV guide to know which shows are on and she spends hours on the phone with family and friends catching up on the minutiae of their lives. She tells herself that she owes it to her children to remain free from entanglements because the stain of her failed marriage is still vivid. But there is a difference between being alone and being lonesome. Eventually the day comes when that line gets crossed and she will open up her mind to the possibility of being involved with a man again.

Thank God for eHarmony. Dallas and I joke that we'll be making a commercial for them one day. Nobody knows what the future will bring but today, I'm liking our odds.

Last Post for November

My goodness. Is it November 30th already? The month has just flown by, hasn't it? Today is the last day of NaBloPOMo. Thanks for continuing to tune in because believe me, I know how lackluster some of my posts were.

So many things happened this month that I feel a little like Dorothy spinning around in the tornado.

Even though I knew that the colder weather was coming, I was still surprised at how crisp our mornings became. If I had known that my last ride on Big Boy was going to be it for the season, I would have made myself savour it even more (if that's possible). There are those people that ride through the winter months but that won't be me. I despise the cold. There is hope, however. Dallas told me that we can expect approximately ten days during the winter where it will be warm enough to ride. I hope so. Every couple of days, I sneak into the garage and turn the engine over just to sit on the bike and hear the pipes rumble. I am a total dork.

The big deal. It came together and it's a doozy. I can't believe it, really. I don't want to send negative vibes out into the universe but I'm walking around with this feeling like I need someone to pinch me awake. I can't quite get my mind around what this will mean for my family. And I am profoundly grateful.

The gym. I've started up again and it's like going home. I feel good about this decision on a bunch of different levels. This is the first time in my life that I'm not polishing off my workout with a cigarette on the ride home. In a week, the regular activity has already affected the way my pants fit. I'm not really the kind of girl to do something half way (some might classify this as obsessive/impulsive/compulsive) so I expect to be successful in this quest for total health. Right now, the physical, mental and financial parts of my life are looking pretty rosy. Which leaves the emotional.

Dallas. We haven't really discussed what it was that moved us off the friends path but I don't care. I'm happy. We had dinner last night and conversation was so easy even though there were a couple of subjects that could have been uncomfortable like our respective dating lives while we were apart. Again, I'm not interested in analyzing the situation. I just want to let my feelings dictate my response and so far, it's all good.

November was very kind to me and I am mindful once again of how fortunate I am. I will not squander my blessings.

Is This Really Entertainment?

I did something last night that I rarely get the chance to do. Not THAT, silly.

TV. I watched it. Live. Commercials and all. And wow, the pharmaceutical industry must be making money hand over fist because during one commercial break from the evening news, three separate drug ads came on, one right after the other.

Depressed? No problem. Suffer from chronic constipation? See your doctor. Heart condition and have the common cold? Look for the medicine with the heart RIGHT ON THE BOX (so says S. Epatha Merkerson). It was slightly ironic that these came on during the news because Katie Couric did a segment for a week long piece called "Generation RX", detailing the epidemic of young people addicted to prescription drugs. What a surprise because if you've got an ailment, by god there's a pill for it.

After the news, I tuned into TMZ. When did this Internet favourite get it's own time slot? I was blown away. Celebrity gossip on steroids. For me, shows like this are a bit like a car wreck. You don't want to look, but you can't help yourself. The thing that arrested me was when they highlighted celebrities who were just trying to get a coffee or cross the street like the rest of us. The camera panned back far enough so that you could see the MOB of photographers snapping away and nearly chasing the flavour of the moment down the street. I know that celebrities make gobs of money and that they understand that losing their anonymity is the price of success but geez...I feel sorry for them. I think it would bite to have hordes of cameras in your face like that following you everywhere you went. I do have one question, though. When did Melanie Griffith start looking leonine? And Carrot Top? He gives Michael Jackson a run for freak of the century. I learned several things and each of them caused me to feel a bit queasy.

1. New show called, "Celebrity Rehab" has either debuted or will be sometime soon. This, of course, is just what America needs because we aren't neurotic and narcissistic enough. Throw in second shot at that elusive fifteen minutes of fame and presto! casting agents will FINALLY take note because nothing says manageable insurance risk like a successful stint at rehab.

2. Danny Bonaduce apparently wants to pose for Penthouse (you read that right)because nude photos that surfaced of him sometime this year were not especially flattering. Perhaps he is hoping better lighting might augment enhance his assets. Whatever. Pass the bucket.

3. OJ and his Las Vegas posse have plead "Not Guilty". Shocking! I sure didn't see that one coming.

So that was my evening. I figured that I deserved some entertainment after punishing myself at the gym but I think that in the future, I'll stick to TIVO.

It Ain't Your Mama's Dating Experience

When exactly do two people move from the generic term, "dating" to something more substantial? What the hell is dating?

I have this apparently antiquated notion of dating as something Richie, Potsy and Ralph did. You know what I 'm talking about. Week after week they saw several different girls and had these apple pie adventures at the drive in. It was all very innocent. There was hand holding and some kissing but nobody ever talked about a commitment. When one of them really, really liked a girl, he gave her his class ring or his letterman sweater and voilà, they were going steady.

Fast forward to today. Everyone uses the term dating to describe everything from a one night hook up to a serious relationship. One of the women at work has been seeing the same man exclusively for over a year. She says they're dating. Well...

I guess I'm dating, too. And surprisingly, I like it this way. I will admit that the course of this relationship doesn't fall within my normal pattern. In the past, I have allowed myself to be swept up in the promise of what could be rather than what was. With Dallas, our lives have dictated that we take things slowly. Both of us are single parents. We both have demanding jobs. We have very full lives steeped with obligations exclusive of our relationship. Yet somehow, we have managed in the last week and a half to make room for "us". And I'm grateful that after four months, we finally have landed here. There is commitment that doesn't need to be discussed or labeled. We have made plans that are better than a month in the future but I don't find myself needing to put my head between my legs to stave off hyperventilation. The unspoken rule is one day at a time.

Last night Dallas said, "Let's see what develops naturally" in reference to something unrelated to the status of our relationship. After he left, I realized that as a couple, we are doing just that and so far, I don't feel the need to run away.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find some salt and some wood.

On Becoming a Gym Rat

I had a pretty challenging Monday at work. I sat in front of my computer for most of the day trying desperately to get my arms around the number of projects sitting on my desk. Some days, it's all I can do to cross one or two things off my "Hot List".

Please don't misunderstand. I am NOT complaining because if there aren't any irons in the fire, I'm not making money. Busy is good but stretched to the limit is testing every last brain cell that still occupies my head. I'm afraid to sneeze.

Yesterday, I grabbed the kids from school, turned up the music and tried to get home early so that I could get dinner started and get to the gym. Olivia and I spent over an hour there. She coloured with her friends and I worked my chest and abs until I couldn't breathe. Even though I think up a million reasons why I don't want to go, I am always so happy that I did after I'm done.

That's the trouble with middle age. If you allow it, there is this insidious complacency that develops. Of course as we age, health becomes a greater concern but it's so easy to tell yourself that there is just not enough time in the day to make it to the gym. I will admit that spending time there is causing me to have to be a better meal planner but other than that, all of the excuses that I have used for the past several months have flown right out the window.

As I sit typing this, my arms are visibly shaking and my abdominal muscles are sore. But it's all good and I'll be back there later on today for a little cardio.

A Tale of Two Girls

Oh God!

It hurts!

Remember my little workout on Saturday? Oh yeah. There is nothing in the world like a great workout to make you feel every last shooter, cigarette and all nighter that you've ever had in your entire life. I'm dying. But it's a good pain and after I pick the kids up from school today, I fully intend to drag my forty year old ass back to the gym.

(bikinibikinibikinibikinibikini)

One thing I forgot to mention yesterday was that I spent part of the time at the mall trying to find a new holster or two for the girls. TOTALLY DEMORALIZING. I am not ready for Victoria's Very Sexy just yet. I have lost a pant size but the girls seem to be content to settle in for the winter. They're not interested in downsizing from a house into a condo and thus, I have become a letter "P". While this may be appealing to boob men, can you understand how difficult it is to buy a dress or a two piece outfit? The bottom is one size and the top is a couple of sizes larger. So fit the top and lose every curve from the waist down or fit the bottom and look like a sausage in a too-tight casing on top. In a dress if the ladies are comfortable, I could have a three ring circus happening in the tent below and nobody would be the wiser.

I have watched the occasional episode of Dr. 90210 and there is no way that a reduction is in my future. EVER. So, today I will focus on chest exercises in valiant but largely useless effort to get the girls to conform.

I'd Rather Be Riding

It's official. I am Scrooge.

I ventured out to another mall today and tried to Christmas shop. I just couldn't get in the spirit, though. I am not the least bit excited.

I did make some purchases but they ended up being for me, which was fine while I was at the mall but sucked when I pulled into my driveway and realized that I had just spent sixty bucks on a sitter and accomplished nothing.

My original plan was to leave all of the shopping until I arrived in Canada because I didn't want to deal with clearing Canadian customs but this plan was flawed for a couple of reasons.

1. Have you seen the exchange rate? Our dollar has sunk like stone against foreign currency and with provincial sales tax and GST, I might as well blow up my credit card right now.

2. I am type A. I am organized. I follow a plan. For me, waiting until the 22nd of December to purchase Christmas gifts is like expecting teenagers to postpone sex until they're married. NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. I usually have all of my shopping done by November 30th. I'm a little panicky, already.

3. Traffic in my one horse town might be annoying at times but driving in Victoria, British Columbia is a whole other experience. Blue hair, horse carriages and tourists guarantee that any commute ANYWHERE is slow in the best case scenario and downright dangerous in the worst.

So, I'll try again next weekend and hope that visions of effing sugar plums finally dance in my head.

'Tis The Season

Today we put up some of our Christmas decorations. I just love opening the storage box and hauling everything out. Tomorrow, we will put up the tree and I am going to make an attempt to light the yard with pathway lights.

Obviously, I have run out of stimulating blog material. I'm dry. I did spend nearly two hours at the gym today and not because I'm dedicated. My housekeeper decided to clean and we needed to be out of her way. So, I did nearly an hour of cardio broken into two sessions and an hour of weight training. Tonight, I read Liv a book and when I descended the stairs, I felt the first twinges of what I know will be teeth gnashing pain. I'll let you know Monday because generally, the second day is the worst. I just keep saying, "Bikini in March, bikini in March", like a mantra.

In other predictable news, I am no longer dating online. Dallas and I are going to try to make it work on an exclusive basis. I hate even saying that out loud but I am determined to send positive, happy and successful thoughts out into the universe.

They'll be in good company with all of the salt I've been throwing over my shoulder lately.

Another Day After

Is the month almost over? Blogging every day is like having a deadline that never goes away. How do the writers of daily television shows do it? Burnout for them must be worse than air traffic controllers.

...not that I am comparing my pointless drivel to real talent like the Tonight Show staff or anything...
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Today was "Black Friday" and when I got into my car to drive off to the mall, I missed the fact that my HEAD WAS ON FIRE! It's not like the deals were really that great. Oh, I suppose if one got up to be at a store at 4:00 am for the "early bird" specials then who am I judge but I am old enough to remember the Cabbage Patch frenzy and the last place I wanted to be was in a Wal-Mart fighting over a Hanna Montana dress up set with a woman who could eat corn in the cob through a picket fence.

So, I waited until a reasonable time to partake of the shopping lunacy and immediately, I regretted my decision. Between screaming toddlers, Michael Bolton Christmas songs and those god awful Santa Clause animatrons just inside the door of every shop, I'd had enough well before noon. I knew that I would lose it if I laid my eyes on one of Santa's helpers. There is just something terribly disturbing about an elf with a mullet.
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In other news, I think that I may have sold Little Girl today. She wasn't really up for sale but I had someone offer me a reasonable sum and I'm probably going to take it. Strangely enough, I'm feeling sad at the thought of opening the garage door and not seeing the Sporty.

I guess it's true that you never forget your first. Of course, once she goes, there will be an empty spot in the garage......

Another Thanksgiving Post

Since today is Thanksgiving, I decided to be a total cliche blogger and list all of the things for which I am grateful.

-My children. What can I say? They are the source of my greatest anxiety and also my greatest joy. All three of them surprise me on a daily basis and I am exceptionally fortunate to have a front row seat in their lives.

-Dallas. I love this city. It is the place where the factory responsible for my home run deal is located. It is also the namesake of the man who has my heart.

-Harley-Davidson. Unbridled freedom, wind in my hair, sun on my face, the rumble that sets my cells humming and pure, bubble up from the core of my being, happiness.

-My job. Remember in university, when you'd sit with a group of other students and speculate on the perfect job and the ideal professional environment? My company has exceeded all of my pie in the sky expectations. Oh sure, we have our issues but I don't believe that it gets any better than this.

-I am a non smoker. I'm proud of that. I feel better about myself.

-My family. They're a completely whacked bunch, thank God and they make me laugh until I cry. I love them.

I know that I am living a charmed life. I have my health, a dream job, loyal friends and most of my faculties. I am loved unconditionally. Like everyone else, I have those days that make me want to hide in a spa with chocolate and red wine but they are the exception, not the rule.

In high school on the eve of graduation, my girlfriends and I wrote out what we thought our lives would look like on our 40th birthdays. Of course, we all dreamed of loving husbands, well adjusted children, brick homes and fulfilling careers. We listed all of the fabulous places to which we would travel. We were going to make gobs of money and give most of it away to worthy charities.

A few days ago, I pulled out that piece of paper where I had scribbled my vision of the future and quietly realized that I am one of the fortunate few who is getting to live her dreams.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Home Office Hell

Yesterday, was day two at home with my children while trying to work. They are not in school this week which has caused me to have to operate from my home office. Normally, I would welcome the ability to have conference calls in my pajamas but not this time.

They.are.driving.me.crazy.

Olivia has a magical Hallowe'en bucket. It appears to replenish itself. I'm finding candy wrappers all over the house: under beds, stuffed beside the cushions of furniture, tucked away under clothes in her drawers- EVERYWHERE. She still has not made the cerebral connection between mass quantities of candy and a bad belly so I had to take the bucket away yesterday which resulted in her repeatedly throwing herself on the floor. She hasn't done that since she was two. After that episode was finished, she was understandably drained and asked if I would help her find some mind numbing cartoons. I gave in and let Nickelodeon babysit.

Then, Dylan and two of his friends slammed into the house and banged up the stairs where they proceeded to play "Guitar Hero" loud enough to make my molars ache. I usually try to be that cool mum who has refreshments available and favoured snacks on hand because I want the neighbourhood kids to hang at my house where I can make sure that they're not snorting too many lines. But yesterday, I couldn't take the cacophony one second longer. I was working on cost sheets and after hearing "Smoke On The Water" FIVE HUNDRED TIMES, the numbers were swimming on my computer screen. I had to throw the boys out. "But we're thirsty," my son complained. "There's a hose on the side of the house," I replied, while fastening the dead bolt.

By the end of the day, I was grateful to get in the shower. Friends of mine had invited me out to dinner and the thought of adult conversation and alcohol of any kind was beyond appealing. I practically skipped out to my car.

Once inside, I turned on the iPod, jacked up volume, opened the garage door and

PROCEEDED TO SLAM INTO MY BABYSITTER'S CAR,

which was parked in the driveway.

Well, shit.

Today, I get to go into my real office. With a receptionist. And relative quiet. And no SpongeBob, no kitten high on catnip, no pre-adolescents making fart sounds with their underarms, no bag of popcorn being set on fire in the microwave, no tantrums, no wrestling, no "Mummy! Can you PLEASE wipe my bottom!".....

I've never been more grateful to walk into my 100 square feet of occupational bliss.

Guilted By The Lights

People in my neighbourhood have begun hanging their Christmas lights. Five or six of them that are completely done. For Pete's sake, it's not even Thanksgiving yet. What are they thinking? Don't they know that behaviour like that causes the rest of us non-motivated homeowners to develop nervous tics that are rooted in feelings of inadequacy? That's what normal people do when they are in the presence of annoying over achievers. I get that same feeling every time a working mother tells me about how she cooked an elaborate dinner, while ironing her husband's shirts and hanging curtains in her child's bedroom. I'm just happy to get the canned spaghetti opened without requiring a trip to the hospital.

So, when I received a gorgeous full colour brochure announcing this new community service:

PROFESSIONAL CHRISTMAS HOUSE DECORATION

I nearly fainted with relief. And the pictures of their work are beautiful. The houses they have done are tasteful, elaborate and scream, "I'm in the holiday spirit, damnit!" Internet, I know that you are thinking, "Lazy heifer" and I don't disagree but have pity on me. I do not have a husband that will fall off a 20' ladder while trying to adorn the peaks with cascading lights. I don't have a man to nag mercilessly well into March to remove the damn lights.

It's just me.

And two children who cannot seem to make their beds.

And a kitten.

I'm going to make the call and get them over here just as soon as they will come because I can't be THAT house. High school might be 20 15 odd years behind me but peer pressure is still a potent drug.

Giddy Up

Saturday, Dylan and I rode horses. He has been learning to ride every weekend out at a colleague's ranch and this time, I agreed to saddle up with them. It's been years since I've ridden but I figured that it would all come back to me. Like riding a bike, I thought.

I was wrong.

The first issue was getting the saddle on the horse. They weigh a bloody ton. After three attempts, I finally got the saddle up high enough to sling it over my horse's back. I don't think he was terribly amused because he kept stomping his feet and snorting, which strangely enough, reminded me of my ex husband.

Then, there were all of the straps, the bridle and the reins. I struggled to get everything right and my first attempt at mounting the horse proved that I hadn't. My left stirrup flew off and I looked like a gymnast with my right leg over my head and my left hurtling towards the ground. It could have been very, very bad but my horse startled, moved forward and I was able to land with BOTH feet.

Laura came over and fixed everything and our ride began. My horse was the one reserved for the inexperienced and the handicapped. He was docile, compliant and knew his place in the pecking order. If he were any more laid back, he would have been smoking a joint and listening to Dark Side of the Moon. Several times in the first half hour, he dropped his head to nibble on the few remaining pieces of green grass. Then he stopped to take care of his bodily functions. To get him to trot with the other horses, I had to dig my heels in several times, while yelling cowboy things like, "HA!", "LET'S GO!" and the Chinese version, "HIE!" None of it worked. He would pick up the pace for two seconds, decide it wasn't worth the hassle and then slow to a mosey.

As luck would have it, Laura's son was having a difficult time with his horse, "Jackie Legs". Legs was spirited and unpredictable so I offered to trade rides. I needed a challenge. And that turned out to be one of those "What the hell was I thinking" moments.

Legs was a challenge.

Understatement.

This horse heard phantom sounds of a thousand ghost hooves. We could be walking and all of the sudden, I'd feel him tense and he'd start to trot. Then, out of nowhere, he'd bolt into a full on run. Shadows in the trees spooked him. One time, I was passing a water bottle to Dylan and it must have been in the horse's peripheral vision because he chose that moment to break into a run...with no warning! I stayed in the saddle, but just barely. Most of the ride was spent trotting which is like someone taking their fist and repeatedly punching your ass until it is bruised to the point where you are unable to sit down on a toilet without flinching. Don't even get me started on my girls. Never in my life had I wished for a uni-boob until that moment. I would have welcomed them being bound up like a pre-operative transsexual.

Yesterday, I woke up sore, but manageable. Today is a whole different chapter in the book of OH MY GOD I'M DYING! I am bruised on the inside of my thighs right down to the knees where there happens to be a new, lovely cluster of burst capillaries. My lats are so sore that I am unable to lift my arms above my head. My obliques are positively screaming. I never knew how often one uses abdominal muscles in the course of a day until this morning when merely sitting upright in bed made my eyes water. The worst part of this is my bum. I think it may be broken.

I had been told that horseback riding could help with the weight loss effort and that actually proved to be true. I got on the scale this morning to find myself two pounds lighter. Yeah. Woo hoo. Whatever. I think a colonic might have accomplished the same thing and at least I could have been lying down.

Back in the Saddle in More Ways Than One

Life has a way of throwing out the strangest twists. Just when I think that my feelings are tucked away where they are safe and manageable, something will happen.

Yesterday morning, I sent a text to Dallas asking him if he planned to take his bike out. I was debating whether or not to ride my big bike over to the ranch and I was feeling insecure so I wanted to talk to him. I knew that Dallas would tell me to stop procrastinating and just do it. But he didn't reply. I was annoyed but shrugged it off because I had months ago moved into the "friends" mode with him and my expectations were adjusted accordingly.

Sounds good, right? I thought so. The trouble is that I still hold a place for him in my heart and it is a tender, somewhat vulnerable place.

In any case, I made the decision to swallow my anxiety and get on the Glide. I did just fine and arrived at the ranch with a huge smile. We saddled up and played cowboy for about four hours. (Today, I am beyond sore but that is another post.) Then my phone chirped. It was a text from Dallas.

He briefly recapped his day and mentioned that he had tried to call my house. So I rang him and we talked for about twenty minutes but the tone of our conversation was different. Something had shifted and I couldn't put my finger on it. When we hung up, he stayed on my mind. A hour later, he sent me a simple text which let me know that I was still on his, as well.

I went home, determined to nap because I had a date and I was still feeling the effects of the evening before. I was exhausted. As luck would have it, my date had to cancel because of a family issue. Relief washed over me. I envisioned a quiet night with a book and an early bedtime. Then, Dallas sent another text because apparently, he has been gifted with extrasensory powers.

Long story short, we ended up having a bite to eat. After dinner, before getting into the car, we had a moment and it became clear to both of us that the intangible something that was there several months ago has not dissipated. It isn't a surprise, really, because we have maintained fairly regular contact since deciding to part ways. I should be really happy about this latest turn of events but I'm not sure what to do. Dallas became my friend in that I-would-give-you-the-shirt-off-my-back kind of way and I need for him to remain in my life. If we somehow break our relationship beyond repair, I will have lost my friend, too. I'm not sure that I am willing to take the risk.

I woke up this morning, like countless others, thinking about him. I suppose that if I were to be honest with myself, he has never strayed terribly far from my thoughts. I guess that is how it is when you love someone.

Wine: All Purpose Truth Serum

I'm just heading out the door so this will have to be brief but last night was loads of fun. I was somewhat worried early on because the conversation was very "Leave It To Beaver". I had shared with Stephanie how much fun we usually had but the night didn't seem to be moving in that direction.

And then we had that second glass of wine. And then a third.

It never ceases to amaze me how open women are with each other. The discussion moved fluidly between dating, personal grooming techniques, sex and toys for mum. I find myself coming away from these chats shaking my head and asking myself how it is that I could go forty years on this planet without knowing some of this stuff. It's not like I've lived under a rock.

In any case, it was fun. We have even begun planning "Girls's Night Out- The Road Trip". If by any chance that comes to fruition, I most certainly will never be able to run for political office.

Hurray for Friday

Tonight, I will be participating in the second "girl's night out" soiree. I learned my lesson well the last time and I have vowed to drink two glasses of wine, MAX, because I have to be a functioning member of society on Saturday. And if the truth were to be told, there is nothing quite like that first glance in the mirror on a rough morning after to send one flying into the plastic surgeon's office. It's the one time that I am grateful things are blurry close up.

I'm most excited about the fact that Stephanie will be joining us. I think the conversation could make that turn, you know? Stephanie appears to be that perfect suburban mum who sews costumes for the school play and actually cooks from scratch. She is all that but I suspect she may also have some scandalous college stories. In any case, I'm sure it will be fun.

I apologize but i just don't have anything left for you today. I had a crappy encounter last night with a person that I briefly dated and for the first time, I felt head shaking anger. So to make myself feel better, I contemplated making a booty call but I went to the bookstore instead. Safer choice. I picked up a book called "Dating Sucks". I'll let you know if it turns out to be any good was but I'm betting that I could have written it myself.

The weatherman says we might have some real winter weather just in time for Thanksgiving so this may be one of the last few weekends that I get to ride. It's going to be cold but I'm determined to get out and soak up the last few moments of fall. Did I mention that I'll be riding a horse on Saturday, as well?

Blog material, people.

Spandex Is Not My Friend

I have only a couple of things for you today.

First of all, I loathe my bathroom scale. It lies. Whore.

Everyone tells me that the weight loss is really noticeable, which I believe because the pants that I wore three weeks ago can now be removed without undoing the zipper. The cerebral part of the self knows this. But the emotional side of me just goes bat shit when I get on that machine and the digital read out says the same thing it said yesterday...AND THE DAY BEFORE...AND THE BLEEDING DAY BEFORE THAT!!!

All I want is a steaming bowl of tortellini, a loaf of warm bread and a bottle of 2003 Amarone Allegrini. And I want chocolate. Heaps of it. But noooo.....I don't give in because hanging on the back of my bathroom door is the Miracle Suit in all of it's girdle-like glory. I would rather watch a George Bush State of the Union speech (with the volume turned up) than face having to pull that baby on ever again.

So. I'll munch on my celery and try to be content.

In other news....

My.Deal.Came.Together.....For real.

My friend called me and said two words, "It's done." For the first few minutes, I sat in my office and stared out the window because I was quite certain that hell had just frozen over and I was interested to see what flying pigs might look like. Then I exhaled with the realization that I had been holding my breath.

Then, I reached for the power switch on my calculator and turned it on.........

Let's Make A Deal

Just when I was sitting around the office wondering how I was going to earn my keep next year, an old friend of mine dumped an opportunity in my lap. At first glance, it looked pretty exciting but then again, I've had several things come my way over the last four years that I was convinced would buy me that villa in the south of France. Then, something would happen. A buyer would leave or the product would suddenly become unavailable and I'd watch the home run turn into a strike out.

So with a skeptic's eye and a pessimist's heart, I agreed to make a few phone calls because what the heck? After years of slinging mud at the hut, something was bound to stick one of these days.

Whatevah.

Then late last week, some of the elements of the deal started to come together and I allowed myself just a sliver of hope.

And I began to knock on wood.

In earnest.

However, I did not allow myself to pull out the calculator and speculate on commission income because that would indicate an emotional investment in the eventual outcome.

WHICH WOULD CAUSE LOCUSTS TO RAIN DOWN AND THE SEAS TO TURN TO BLOOD.

Instead, I shrugged it off, enjoyed my weekend and arrived at work Monday completely detached. To my amazement, still more pieces slid into place. I had to remind myself to keep my head down and just put one foot in front of the other. "Due diligence," I whispered. "Find the deal spoiler." Indeed.

And as fortune would have it, yesterday I was given a glimpse at the bastard proverbial wrench-in-the-deal person. You know the guy I'm talking about. He's the control freak with the hidden financial kickback agenda who enters a room wild-eyed with suspicion, convinced that the world is going to swindle him of his last penny. He squawks out of both sides of his mouth about integrity while deftly slipping the knife between your shoulder blades. I've been fortunate enough to walk the path with his type before so this time, I was able to spot him, anticipate his game and neutralize him before he had a chance to kill the deal.

I lightly fondled the calculator yesterday but still, I didn't go there. I just couldn't. My friend, who handed me the opportunity in the first place, called me at home last night. He was so excited. It was infectious. I felt it bubbling up inside of me, too. He was confident that the deal was 95% done.

Every minute or so during our conversation, I was knocking on wood and throwing salt over my shoulder.

Pure, unadulterated, wack a do.

The CEO and president of my company have been out of the country and are scheduled to return at the end of the week. It's been a challenging final quarter for all of us. If this deal gets done, it should be inked by Friday. It would be nice to tell them that we finally knocked one out of the park.

O Canada!

Being a Canadian in the United States is nothing I think about much of the time. Sure, I talk differently than the natives in this area do but then again, so does most of the rest of the country.

My politics list to the left of center and I can't for the life of me believe that the framers of the constitution envisioned automatic weapons when they included the right to bear arms.

I speak metric and conversational French. I played hockey competitively and I am capable of laying you out flat against the boards. I love a cold, robust beer on a hot summer day. At Christmas time, we (my mother) make fruitcake but not that dark, grainy, foul kind. No, our cake is this light, buttery, melt-in-you-mouth delight that is prepared a month before it is served. My mother is probably working on one as we speak.

As a Canadian in America, I sometimes long for a few things native to my country. I miss our beer. I crave our chocolate. I yearn for over the counter codeine for that really stubborn hangover headache. Every time I fight with, swear at speak with my insurance company over a claim they refuse to pay, I get all misty and nostalgic for the free health care I once enjoyed.

Sometimes, I wonder what the heck I was thinking to move down here when I clearly stick out like a "Fargo" joke. And then April 15th comes. Each year, the American government allows me to DEDUCT my mortgage interest right off my gross income and for a split second, I am unable to even spell Canada.

The truth is that I am one of the most fortunate people on the planet. I get the best of both worlds.

As Canadians, we might not have a cohesive national identity but we sure have a sense of humour. Thanks to a friend for the video link.

Turns Out The Girl's a Dude

This commitment to post every day is nearly killing me. My life just isn't that interesting. I have started doing crazy things like standing outside with an open umbrella, in a storm, begging to be struck by lightning because at least then, I would have blog material.

The pressure to be witty on a daily basis (which is impossible) has found me following my children around with a camera hoping that I will catch a Stepford moment. Since I take sucky photos and I am unable to spend the time necessary to figure out Photoshop, you can imagine how successful this endeavour has been.

However yesterday, a moment or two did present itself on a colleague's farm. Dylan will be learning to ride there every weekend. It seems that my son has inherited his grandmother's horse whispering talents. He's a natural.



Olivia got into the action, as well. Please note that I have learned to pick my battles. Thus on the weekends, I do not spar with her over her eclectic fashion sense.



Dylan was scheduled to leave on a serious ride so Olivia and I spent a few minutes in the barn. Instantaneously, she made friends with one of the kittens. It followed her around and entwined itself around her legs looking for some attention. It would not leave Liv's side so we took it home. (I blame the lapse in judgment on blogging pressures)

Olivia named her Sally. This was their afternoon nap.



Turns out that Sally has testicles so now she's Nate.

A Ride, A Pucker Moment and A Reunion

Yesterday was the first time in a while that my bike did not feel totally comfortable underneath me. It was so strange. I found myself really apprehensive with some of the more challenging curves on our route and when we pulled off for a break, I was so relieved.

Perhaps it was the cold. Experienced riders tell me that the bikes perform much better in warmer weather. Maybe it was the wind which threw me around a bit. There is also the fact that I was following Mark. He was on a Suzuki Bandit, which is a racing bike and it executes the twists and turns differently than a Harley. It is compact, agile and make-your-eyes-water fast. In any case, as the day wore on I adjusted.

We stopped for a late lunch at a known biker place and took in the local scenery, which happened to come in the form of some pretty colourful people.

There are three distinct biker groups. You have people like me who go to work everyday in an office and break out the leather on the weekends. Then there are the metric devotees like Mark, who are also nine to fivers but they often ride EVERYWHERE because that rush is as necessary to them as breathing. Finally, there is the third group. These folks are hard core bikers. The stereotype. Rough, tough, unwashed, cigarette-smoking, whiskey-swilling, scary types who have scarred knuckles and dirty fingernails. And that's just their women....

Anyway, the place was full of all three and although nothing out of the ordinary happened, there was a feeling that at any moment, something could.

On the way home, I noticed that my throttle was sticking quite badly. I'd change gears and the rev would stay on until I purposely rolled it off. Finally, it got so bad that I made a left turn and it stuck as I changed into second gear. I immediately pulled up out of the curve, took a curb straight on and came to a quick stop in a bank parking lot. I silently gave thanks to Tim and Trey (my instructors) because they drilled us on this exact situation and although I chewed on my heart, I survived it without dropping the bike. As it turns out, there is a small cruise control nut that I had unconsciously nudged tighter with the knuckle on my thumb every time I rode the bike. I had finally wound it to the point where the nut stuck and the throttle stayed in an open position. For some reason, my left turn signal relay went bad at the same time, too.

So, I got home eyeballed Big Boy and decided that it was time to take him on real roads and not just my neighbourhood streets.

He rides like a dream.

Goodbye Bread. So Long Pasta.

I'm cranky.

I haven't had a decent carbohydrate in over a week. Even milk chocolate is starting to look good. I eyeballed my kids' Hallowe'en buckets this morning and seriously contemplated some sticky finger action. My son picked up on the desperation because I overheard him tell Olivia, "You should hide your candy." It's not like they couldn't spare a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup or ten.

Most of the women in my office are on some sort of diet. When you combine the food restriction with monthly hormonal fluctuations, you can imagine the atmosphere. Four of us have lost significant weight and while we rejoice about it every day, there is an edgy undercurrent. Although the men have said nothing (so, so smart), they seem to sense that the jovial mood is a mere baguette away from lunacy. They're like deer. They stop, sniff the air and get a hint of danger but too often, they're standing upwind and can't tell they're in the cross hairs until it's too late.

One of the girls is restricting herself to 500 calories a day and a supplement from her ND. Five hundred calories. You know what that looks like? 6 eggs. 5 slices of dry toast. A Big Mac. She claims the supplement staves off the hunger and she is down about 12 pounds in 10 days but 500 calories? I'm not sure my body would continue to breathe or pump blood and I definitely know that I'd be dangerous in a manic, for-Christsakes-feed-me sort of way.

Skinny Steph the Magnificent refuses to weigh herself but the pounds have obviously melted off of her. I suppose the extra weight she was carrying on her left earlobe was bothersome. She's been watching her carbs and after witnessing her shed a pant size in a week, I jumped on the low carb wagon. I hate my scale but today, I succumbed.

I am down a total of 10.6 pounds in 10 days. I have lost a pant size.

Rah, rah. I am pleased with the results but why does everything really good in life have to be illegal, immoral or fattening?

There is some motivation, however. I was speaking with sistah cousin the other day about our spring break plans. Originally, we were to go to Vermont skiing. As you know, I was slightly apprehensive at the thought of barrelling down the side of a mountain so when she told me that they were having a hard time booking my accommodations for that particular week, I wasn't too upset. Instead, of skiing, we have tentatively decided to meet back at Disney. I'm thrilled except for the prospect of spending a day at one of the water parks stuffed into a Miracle Suit.

NOT THIS TIME!

I have made myself a promise that my next trip to Blizzard Beach will see me in a cute little two piece. Period.

How's that mid-life crisis coming along, you ask? Just bloody dandy. Now bugger off unless you've got carb-free dark chocolate that doesn't taste like a laxative.

Small But Profound Gifts

There were a couple of events yesterday that surprised me and both of them happened to involve my children.

On the way home from picking the kids up at school, I was flipping through the iPod and subjecting them to some of my favourite songs. About 3 miles from home, the entire car (including the children from my carpool) were belting out the Police's "Roxanne". Everyone was in a great mood.

After that song, I put on another and told the kids to listen because I thought the guy's voice was just amazing. Thirty seconds into it, I'm tapped on the shoulder and told, "Olivia's crying". Now, this is not unusual. It is the end of the day, she is exhausted and there are times that the four children hack each other off. I also had the music on loud enough to make ears bleed so I thought perhaps the tears might be a result of some sort of physical discomfort.

I lowered the volume and said, "Livvy, what's wrong, honey?"

She looked at me with giant tears spilling down her face and bawled, "I love this song!" There she was boo hooing away and I thought that I must have heard her incorrectly. I said, "You don't like this song?" She shook her head and said, "No mama. I like this song." I asked her why she was crying and she said it was because the song made her heart sad.

Oh.My.God. She's bloody brilliant. And she has exceptional taste in music.

This was the song: "I Am The Highway" by Audioslave.



The second thing happened as we sat down to dinner. Dylan and Olivia were trying really hard to be kind to each other and it was just a hair shy of nirvana for me. Most of the time, this is the witching hour in my house and it is all I can do to survive it on a daily basis. Yesterday was freaky in an Invasion of the Body Snatchers kind of way.

So we're chatting with each other and then all of the sudden Olivia pipes up and asks Dylan if he remembers when Dad spanked him over the spaghetti. Of course, this gets my attention and Dylan tells me that a few weeks ago while visiting their father, Olivia was full and dumped the remainder of her spaghetti in the garbage. My ex walks back into the kitchen and starts screaming about the pasta and how he was going to tan her hide for throwing it out, etc, etc and my sweet, sweet boy did the unthinkable. He took the fall for his baby sister.

He told his father that he was the one that threw out the leftovers and apparently my ex spanked him until he couldn't sit down. After he finished with the story, I asked Olivia if it was true. She said yes. Then, she slipped out of her chair, went over to where Dylan was sitting, hugged him and told him that she loved him. I was flabbergasted. It was all very Norman Rockwell and I wanted to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

You know those times when that full to the brim feeling of love for your children washes over you and threatens to lay you right out? Yup...

Serious note to self: sitting down as a family to dinner is no longer optional.

Telemarketers suck

Last night, I was in bed trying to find a way to make beef stew exciting enough to blog about when the phone rang. It was nearly nine.

I answered and a prerecorded message said, "All credit card holders.....blah, blah, lower your interest rates now...just press nine...blah, blah, blah.....as low as 6.9% just press nine right now....blah, blah,blah, did we mention JUST PRESS NINE."

So, I pressed nine and was directed to another soft, robotic voice which assured me that the next available agent would be happy to take care of all of my needs.

Well shoot. Why didn't you say so? I have a laundry list of needs. Where would said agent like me to begin?

-I need someone to drive my ex husband to Siberia.
-I need liposuction.
-I need the kind of sex that makes you forget your name.
-I need a chef.
-I need more time in the day.
-I need my neighbour to close her west window when she cooks curry.
-I need a pedicure and a manicure.
-I need to read more fiction.
-I need for one of my largest customers to get a personality.

Truthfully, I got just the slightest bit annoyed because it was nearly nine in the evening and I'm receiving a sales call. I am on the national "Do Not Call" list so when an agent finally got on (3.5 minutes later) I was perturbed.

"Are yous holdin' for the low rates?" Oh no. You have got to be kidding me. I shouldn't have been surprised because the call was pretty late but still.

(Clearing of throat and then politely) "Actually, no. I'm on the "Do Not Call" list and I was on hold so I could ask you to remove my number from your logs."

No answer. I listened for some heavy breathing because it may have just been that the agent was thinking. Something told me that creative brain activity might be strenuous for this person. Still no sound.

"Hello? Hellooo?"

Then, there was ringing. The agent must have transferred me to someone who would be able to remove me from their call list.

"If you would like to make a call, please hang up and try your call again. This is a recording."

At some point, she had hung up on me! My caller ID showed no data available and *69 didn't work.

I always felt sorry for telemarketers but that's all done. No more sympathy from this gal. No way. Now, they're all just toe jam.

Who You Calling Player?

I couldn't have asked for a better weekend. The weather was ideal, the fall colours were at their peak and my children called Daddy's house home for two days. It was a delicious little bonus that daylight savings ended this weekend because Sundays are my favourite day of the week and to get that extra hour tickled me to no end.

I rode like a crazy woman all day Sunday. In the morning, I went out to visit Tim and his class, which was fun. It was interesting to watch them because they struggled with the same exercises my group did and now, after a few months of riding, I know that those same drills would be a cake walk for me. (I think)

Tim and I also had a bit of time to catch up on a personal level and it was during this discussion that he referred to me as a "player". What? Player? PLAYER!! Ouch. But really, player? C'mon. That term usually refers to hot men who date several women at once, sleep with them all and manipulate them into believing that each one of their relationships is exclusive.

First of all, I don't think I qualify as hot. Cute? Well maybe. But I'm going to be a grandmother...automatic hot disqualification. Yes, I have dated several people, often within the same week but going to dinner or taking in a movie is not the same as a shag fest. If things progress to a relationship, I adhere to the rules. I cannot help it that I feel like a noose is tightening around my neck after a few weeks of the serious stuff. I am not ready for serious but you see, therein lies the dilemma because I am equally unable to have casual sex. I wish I was like Samantha from Sex in the City because she went out there and took what she wanted and made no apologies. But that just isn't real life.

Not to be all Lady MacBeth who doth protest too much but player?

Puhleez.

Existential Harley

Yesterday was fabulous. The ride was better than expected except we got just a wee bit lost a few times and I thought that I ran out of gas.

For those in the dark, motorcycles that do not have a gas gauge come equipped with a handy fuel reserve. As my motorcycle wheezed and spat from fifth gear to fourth, I muttered all sorts of profane language and kicked my stupid self for not checking the fuel levels at the last pit stop. Then my friend from work pulled over, pointed to my fuel shut off switch and told me to turn it to reserve. EFFING DUH! I would like to think that had I been alone in this situation, I would have remembered but really, the more likely scenario is me with my thumb out like a Ted Bundy lure asking for a lift to the nearest gas station.

After the ride, I had five minutes to shed the leather for more appropriate Grandma gear and get out the door to Tiffani's baby shower. Her current situation isn't that far out of the ordinary. Girls are having their babies at a much younger age down here in the south. One man was surprised to learn that Dylan and Olivia were mine. He thought that their mother was this girl who happened to be twenty years old. I'm not sure where the disconnect happened since the second I walked in the door, Olivia draped herself over me and chanted, "Mama, Mama, Mama" like a Buddhist monk. She then proceeded to torment Dylan with little pinches and pokes until he was nearly spastic with his need to clobber her. I admire his self control. However, he did speak up once or twice: "MOM! DO SOMETHING!!" The point is that my kids clearly claimed me as their own and still, the man couldn't get his head around the fact that this forty year old (WHO, I REMIND YOU, LOOKS LIKE 32) had young children.

Anyway, it was a busy day. Today, I'm headed to the dealership range and then out for a ride with Dallas. While at the dealership yesterday, I ran into my friend Tim, the Rider's Edge instructor. He's teaching a small class this weekend and casually suggested that I hang around and chat with his students, presumably about my experiences so far. Eight weeks ago today, I was stressing about passing my road test.
Fifty six days.
Two months.
Impossible.
It feels like this has always been a part of my life.

Riding is one of the best decisions that I have ever made. Every day when I come home, open the garage door and see the two bikes, I am thrilled all over again. I ride daily, even if it's just a quick jaunt through the neighbourhood. Now, I acknowledge that I'm probably more passionate about this than a lot of people but there are these instances of indescribable joy that happen when you are on a bike. Yesterday, our route took us through a section where the road is bordered on each side by a wall of rock. The view ahead included a postcard panorama of forest, meadow and blue sky. It was sunny and clear and the scenery was absolutely breathtaking. As we passed through this mini canyon, the pipes of 250 motorcycles reverberated against the rock and in that moment, any stress in my life just melted away. I was filled with this sense of happiness and gratitude and I thought, "Wow. I cannot believe that my life looks like this."

And really, isn't that what it's all about? We spend our lives searching for whatever it is that gives us those bursts of clarity; the ones where we unconsciously focus on our blessings and where we come away with a sense of peace that even the worst day at work can't touch. My kids, the perfect chip shot and my Harleys provide those times for me.

It makes me tingly to think of what else might be out there that I haven't discovered yet.

Blog, blog, blog and more blog

This month, I am going to try to post every day. A friend of mine in the blogosphere had a post about participating in NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month). All I have to do is post something every day for the month of November. This is a lot harder than it sounds considering that sometimes it is more exciting to watch grass grow than chronicle my daily activities.

It's not that my life is always boring, per se, but when you know that your aunties and uncles are reading your posts, there is a certain amount of self imposed censorship that takes place. For instance, when I purchased my Harley, I didn't immediately pick up the phone and ring my mother to tell her about it because I knew that the waves of disapproval would hum down the telephone wires and soak my enthusiasm. My mum doesn't read my blog regularly and it just so happened that on the day I posted about my motorcycle acquisition, she tuned in. Coincidence? Not likely. I think a little sister bird or two whispered in her ear.

I can allude to events and use a bunch of metaphors that might be construed a different way but the truth is, I'm from a family that keeps secrets so they are understandably aghast that I write about my life for ANYONE to see. Oh, the horror! Canadians are generally a more socially conservative bunch than Americans and the only two topics that we really have a strong opinion on are hockey and beer (take off, eh). We identify with countries like Switzerland where the national policy is neutrality and secrecy rules. We're very vanilla. I keep using the plural first person, "we" but after fourteen years down here, who am I kidding? Any modesty I may have possessed disappeared while my feet were in stirrups... giving birth to my first child...in a teaching hospital. I've even lost most of my accent. And I use the word "fix" interchangeably with "going" as in, "I'm fixing to blister your lily white behind if you talk back to me again." And, I've learned to consume the odd American beer without commenting on it's similarity to donkey pee.

But I hopelessly digress, as usual.

So, I'll be blogging every day. Thank you ahead of time for sticking with me. I'll try to go in search of really funny events. If they fail to materialize, we can always fall back to the email I've received from the online dating thing. Really.

T.G.I.F.

Oh, thank GOD it's Friday.

I'm taking today off to see to some personal business and I have never been so happy to welcome the weekend. This has been a monstrously stressful week at the office and I'm not even bearing the full brunt of the issues. My Seinfeldian workmate in one of our satellite offices has had to be the face to our customers and I can only imagine how hard he's hitting the bottle this week has been for him.

This weekend, I'm planning to ride and golf. Close your eyes. I sound like a guy, don't I? I probably need to check that. Anyhoo...Saturday, a friend from work and I will be participating in the last poker run at our Harley store. I've never ridden in one before but apparently, you start at the dealership and then cruise to several different locations. At each place you will be asked to draw one card. Everyone stops for lunch and then rides back and assembles their cards into a poker hand. Best one wins. I don't know what the prize is but who cares? Just getting the itch scratched is enough.

Sunday morning I'm golfing and in the afternoon, Dallas and I are going to ride out to one of our favourite places for a late lunch. The route is lined with huge sugar maples so the scenery should be spectacular. Besides, I love spending time with him.

The weather is chilly enough that I'll have to dress like a serious biker chick. Gloves, my new jacket and leather chaps will be the outfit du jour on both days. Chaps are naughty. It doesn't matter that they serve a purpose. They're wicked. You just never know what a girl might be capable of when she's wearing a pair of chaps.

The Day After

Yes, November first is one of those days that I just know is going to start off lousy. I'm not a habitual pessimist but the deck gets stacked the night before.

My children stay up later than usual, they consume their body weight in sugar and they get a bunch of exercise running from house to house right before they are supposed to go to bed. They become so wound up that you can take their pulse by looking at their neck from across the room. This year, because daylight savings time was still in effect, it didn't get dark until after 6:00pm which just compounded the whole problem.

The kids had a blast and Olivia chose trick or treating as an excuse to meet EVERY SINGLE NEIGHBOUR. She wanted to know if they had children or pets. What was their name? Were their treats store bought or homemade because Mummy was going to throw out the homemade stuff because there are bad people. Not YOU but other, scary people....

She was exceedingly chatty but she did remember to thank everyone.

Dylan was dressed as a biker but some people thought he might be a pirate which irritated him to no end. He started off the evening in a leather do-rag (the probable source of confusion) and ended it in one of my helmets. Problem solved. Before we made the switch, he came away from one house and said,

"My leather jacket has Harley Davidson right on the front. I am wearing leather gloves. I have on a Harley shirt. Mum, what pirate wore this stuff?" My son hasn't yet learned to let this kind of thing roll off his back. He's a bit tightly wound.

So, we finished up at around 8:00pm. After baths, teeth brushing, etc., they crawled into bed around 9:00. Olivia woke this morning around 6:00, had herself a peanut butter cup and spent the next 30 minutes on the toilet as the chocolate from last night shot out of her body. We had tears before 6:15 am, which might be a new record for her.

Dylan was still in a carbohydrate coma when I tried to wake him this morning. When he finally did become coherent, the first words out of his lips were about how the do-rag spoiled his whole costume. Yep...incredibly easy going, that one.

This was taken in the morning in the car. They were allowed to wear their costumes to school.

With carpool buddies.

Princess before going out last night.

It's Hallowe'en..finally

I apologize for the lack of posts. I'm absolutely swamped at work and all hell has broken loose over the quality issue that first came to light while I was in China. It's a huge deal and I'm sick about it. It's one of those situations where there is no solution in sight so that tense, thick knot of yuck doesn't dissipate.

Olivia woke up this morning at the crack of flipping 4:00 am dawn and announced that today was Hallowe'en. She did this yesterday and Monday too, so when she put her chubby little hands on my face and got this close to me to make her announcement, she was somewhat uncertain.

(Sigh) "Yes, Liv. It's Hallowe'en today but Mummy needs to sleep for a bit longer or she'll be a wicked witch all day long."

"Mama, that's okay. Even witches get candy." Yes, I suppose they do and with that, I surrendered and got out of bed.

There is nothing like a child to help you put things into perspective.

(pictures to follow later on today)

Life is just a big baseball game. Just when you're thinking home run, the pitcher throws you a curve ball that can't be hit and you end up standing there 

Gratitude

There is nothing like international travel to make me profoundly grateful. On the one hand, I am so thankful to have a career which enables me to experience things like the Taj Majal and the Great Wall of China. On the other, I am always glad to be home and I never fail to feel fortunate to be able to queue up in the "Citizens/Resident" line in customs. Why? Well, for starters, I love our toilets.

I know how off the wall that sounds but once you have been forced to use one of the Chinese numbers, you will never again take our little slice of heaven for granted. We have seats...to sit on. We are also usually provided with at least a square of toilet paper, soap and running hot water. Unless one is a total imbecile, it is likely that she will be able to use the toilet without peeing on her pants. In China, the dominant potty is a hole in the ground. They may line it with porcelin replete with fancy foot marks to show you where to stand but there is just no getting over the feeling that you're back in university squatting behind the bushes after a night at the pub. You are not provided with toilet paper and the running water is cold. Soap? Forget about it. Oh, and there is this one special thing about traditional Chinese toilets. You cannot put any TP down them. Instead you are required to dispose of your paper in a nearby trash can. You can smell a toilet long before you locate it. I didn't snap any pictures myself but here is one that I found on the web.

My question is, what do the elderly, with their osteoporosis and their arthritic joints, do? The Chinese drink A LOT of tea.....

This trip marked my first as a blogger and thus, I was surprised to find that I was unable to view my own blog while in China. I could post to it but I was unable to see it. I did a bit of research and learned that the "Great Firewall of China" is in place. It seems as though the popularity of the blogosphere (and the unrestricted exchange of ideas) poses a unique issue for the Chinese government so they have closed off most of those channels. Apparently, you can get around this censorship with paid proxy services but it still had me shaking my head. Again, I found myself acknowledging how fortunate I am to live in a place that values freedom of speech, in spite of the current administration's efforts to erode it.

Oh, there is so much more:

• -I love the fact that we have gobs of space. Our homes and vehicles are massive by Chinese standards. Of course, so are our waistlines and rear ends so I suppose it's all relative.
• -I love that my children get thirteen years of free education. In China, there is no such thing as public school.
• -I'm grateful that I am expected to work only five days a week instead of six or six and a half.
• -I am allowed to have as many children as I like. In China, a couple that chooses to have more than one child is financially penalized through various means.

I could go on forever but I'm sure some of you are already nodding off. Let it suffice to say that I'm aware of how lucky I am to live on this side of the globe.