The Long and the Short of It

G had been pushing a few limits. Even the way he said my name was getting a little out of hand. The usual sweet - if not overused - "Mummy" was replaced with "Maa. Mommo. Mom..."
"G, what is my name?" I finally asked, somewhat firmly, hoping for a bit of respect.
"Mommy Clean-Up" was his response.

Banana Clip Update

It has been about a week and a half since I received my banana clips, and I have worn them about four times: to a moms' playgroup, a wedding, church, and at home for mopping and hosting company. See? Perfect for all occasions.
You should get some.

It's Official

G is in the "why" stage.
I know I should be thankful, since it shows a curiousity in the world around him. That is what I tell myself. But really, the tone of voice he uses and the constant explanations I am forced to give are just a little much sometimes.
For added fun, there's the "Why because, Mummy?" I haven't quite figured out how to answer that one yet.

Getaway

This past weekend my wonderful parents had the wonderful idea to whisk me, my children, and my oma away for a weekend of getting spoiled. The excuse was Mother’s Day. Or maybe it was the tulip festival? Or maybe it was my dad’s birthday? Whatever it was, it was just an excuse.
They picked me and the kidlets up (Rod stayed home so that he could work on the ongoing house renovations in peace)and we all piled in the van and headed up to Ottawa. The hotel suite was *lovely* with a kitchen, sitting area and dining room, two bathrooms and two bedrooms. The food was delicious. The time to spend together was much-appreciated. Sadly, the weather was less than cooperative: after a week of sunshine, the clouds and rain had had enough, and it rained the entire trip. Even so, we made the best of it. We weathered the weather (or tried to), but in the end we were as drenched and droopy as the tulips we went to see.

Some other highlights included:
-Getting to see my Cousin John and his lovely wife: always a good time. They were less droopy than the tulips.
-Watching G eat his French fries and French toast at the restaurant: First, dip in ketchup. Then, dip in maple syrup. Then, dip in blueberry compote. Eat.
-Watching (from the rear) the parade that was us coming out of the hotel: Cousin John the Gimp on his fully-braced leg and crutches. My elderly, matronly oma. G in his bright yellow boots strutting along. My dad, loaded to the gills with all of our luggage. Me, carrying N and all of her belongings.
-Hearing G refer to the parliament buildings as "a castle."
-Starting the day with a dip in the hot tub and pool.
-Seeing G in his Superman bathing suit.
-Seeing my oma interact with her great-grandchildren.
-Running into a RUC alumnus in the church nursery.
-Seeing my husband again.

Cold, wet, and still smiling. G was fascinated by the fire and the water and the pennies for his piggy bank. N wasn't sure what all the fuss was about, or why we bothered going out.

Four generations

G and his daddy. So happy together.

Thanks, Mom and Dad for a lovely weekend away.

Bring Back

Anyone who knows me knows that I am no fashion diva, and I am fine with that. Living in a university and college town, however, I am still able to see what is considered to be in vogue among the young and modern. What I do see often brings to mind the words of Ecclesiastes: “There is nothing new under the sun.” I shudder to see how much of a comeback the 80’s have made.
I grew up in the 80’s and, while I thoroughly enjoyed my childhood and have fond memories of some of the clothes that I wore, I have no interest in reliving those styles. Once was enough. Arguably, once was more than enough. Very few of the styles are worthy of being recycled. Stirrup pants, side ponies, scrunch socks, knotted shirts, neon jumpers….the list could go on of all the bad choices that were made. Some people were guiltier than others.
However, of all the bad choices that we made - and now others are making - there is one thing that is shamefully noticeable in its absence.

Yup, the banana clip.
After a half-joking-but-mostly-not request, the dynamic duo (thanks M and B) managed to find one of these super-duper inventions for me, and I am going to do my darndest to bring it back in style.
“Why?” you may ask. For some very simple reasons:
-It’s actually useful. Not quite a ponytail day? Not quite a hair down day? Then the banana clip it is.
-It’s really not as ugly as some of its other 80’s counterparts.
-Why not?
-I think I can pull it off.
-Look at all the great colours they come in (mine are less colourful). Think of the options.
-Since the 80’s are in, it will be my small attempt to be stylin’.
So, join me, if you will. I’m sure it can be done.

Housekeeping 102

Dear Dust Bunnies,
How are you? I probably shouldn't bother asking that question, because I know that you are well. Very well.
It seem problematic to me that my toddler knows to call you by name. Not only that, his most frequent words about you are, "Look at them all!" and "It's huge!" He has gone from being scared of you to being trained to find you and put you in the garbage ... where you belong. Jokes such as, "Who needs a pet when you have so many dust bunnies" are really not funny. All of that to say, Dust Bunnies, that your presence is less than welcome.
I don't claim to be the best housekeeper. However, I do try, and that ought to be respected. I sweep often; I move furniture; I get down on my hands and knees when I mop; I have no hairy pets - or any pets, for that matter. And yet...you constantly show up, uninvited. Is there anything that I can do to make my home less hospitable to you?
These may be personal questions but I will go ahead and ask them anyway: where do you live? Is there a "secret hideout" that I should know about? Also, how do you multiply so quickly? (I guess that's why you're called a "bunny" - because you propagate so well?) I hope I have not overstepped my bounds....but really, you have overstepped yours.
I look forward to your disappearance.
Unkind regards,

Quotable

"Don't use Nomi's finger to pick *your* nose."
(me, to G)

Helpful Hints

I have a confession to make: I do not enjoy door-to-door sales pitches. I should make clear: it's not the people I don't like so much as what they are doing. I can sympathize that it may not be the best job and that really, they are trying their hardest to earn a decent living.
We had a salesman come by recently, trying to sell us an alarm system. In my book, he broke some pretty important rules that really just made me want to say good-bye sooner.
-Please don't open our front door and *then* knock. As any mother should have taught you, the polite thing to do is to knock and wait until the homeowner opens the door.
-Please don't refer to me by name *before* I have told you what it is. The same goes for my husband.
-Please don't invite yourself in.
-Please don't play on our sense of fear by bringing the children into this.
-Please don't refer to our front "yard" as a "flower bed" - as much as it may look like it.
I'm sure there are more. Until then, how about we just say, "If I'm interested, I can contact you....you don't need to contact me." Call me old-fashioned.

Housekeeping 101

You'd think I would know by now, but a few household tips for any inquiring minds:

1) Kleenex are not washable. Especially not in a 'darks' load.
2) Neither are grapes.
3) Housekeeping is not my forte. Don't ask me for too many more tips than that.