Thank You Notes

Dear Apple,

Thank you for making a wireless keyboard that can withstand one very full mug of hot drink in the first week of use.

Dear JoAnn's Fabric and Craft,
Thank you for shipping to military at a time when I was desperate to acquire Distress Ink to add to my dust-gathering craft room to start a new hobby, however, rumour has it that folks in Atlantis are still waiting for something they ordered...


Dear Disney World in Orlando Florida,
Thank you for readily accepting my children's college funds for our upcoming Autumn vacation.
Enclosed with our room request (close to the laundry room please) is a weather request. I prefer not to walk around soaked before I ride the Kali River Rapid ride please, so a few notches down on the heat would be great. Grumpy heat-hating Son will be joining us again--in his own room-- so I know he'd appreciate a cool breeze for a few of the days as well.

Dear Hubby,

Thank you for my Valentine's Day gift. Although some women swoon for chocolate, roses and diamonds, you knew just the perfect gift that would strike that cupid's love arrow...






I love my new number plates!



Also I'd like to publicly thank you for not only NOT being upset when my
"Simon Lappin King of Spain" flag went terribly wrong, but instead, for generously helping me to clean his Scottish footballer face off our kitchen worktop because I had forgotten to put something under my transfer-- without ever saying, "That was pretty stupid."



Dear J2's School,
Thank you for not reporting me to Child Protective Services yet. My child really is ill and spent the entire half-term holiday wrapped up like a burrito on my sofa. I would love to come sit in on his classes if you wouldn't mind sending someone here to relieve me. please.


Dear Bloggers Who Aren't Doctors But Play One on Their Blogs,

Thank you for your welcomed diagnosis on the following symptoms: Child who usually NEVER cries, crying with painful headache. Spiking fever. Sporadic bouts of vomiting, usually following the pain. Red, spotty rash resembling chicken pox or measles on face that spreads down through the arms but no where else. Spots and rash disappear when the fever is reduced. No symptoms are constant. May be bad in the morning, gone in the evening or reversed. Illness completely consumes Mother's time and energies, especially when shared with siblings who managed to kick it much quicker (and had varying degrees of symptoms-- one boy had welts instead of spots)


Dear Blog World,

Thank you for not deleting my blog when one busy day turned into two and next thing I knew there was no posting for two weeks. I forgive anyone who didn't notice I was gone.
really.
No hard feelings that noonecaredthatImayhaveoverdosedonchocolate.


Dear Belly Dancer and Jillian Michaels DVD makers,

Thank you for your efforts to create something really wonderful for me to use in my own home. If the local community were aware how perilously close they came to dying from laughing hysterically, they'd be thanking you for creating a product to keep a very uncoordinated woman away from the unsuspecting folks trying to learn in a community environment.

I'm sorry your wonderful dvds are being neglected since their arrival and hope you're not upset that I haven't given you feedback for your still-in-the-shrink-wrap product.

Dear iTunes,

Thank you so much for not awarding me the prize. What in the world would I find to spend $10,000 iTunes credit on? It's stressing me just thinking about it.

Dear Lord,

Thank you for ignoring my whinges about a particular female living in our house because of her nocturnal gypsy spirit. Even though I tell everyone it's miserable how she wanders into our room in the middle of the night and I insist that she stays only because I'm too tired to lift an arm, much less her solid cement bag-like toddler body (and Dad sleeps as soundly as a chunk of concrete), the truth is I like her sweet, little girl smell and the warmth of her body with my arms around her. I do NOT like the feet that sometimes kick the blankets off or bruise my kidneys, but I'm trying to be a more grateful person, so thank you.

All Because I chose To Do Something Frivolous...

...like clean my refrigerator (you know, remove all unintentional science experiments growing in Tupperware containers).





The tile and white carpet are just as pretty.





Hosted by Cecily and Mamarazzi

Choices

You think you're doing everything you can to be a good mother.

Clothes are clean for school and you whinge very little about the sleep lost making it so.
Meals are balanced and healthy, yet still edible by picky palates.
Santa, under your personal direction, always manages to pull off miracles.
Birthday parties never disappoint, even when a heinous, last-minute sand storm eliminates all but one child from the guest list of child's last party in the U.S. in March 2006.



The child's needs have all been met.



So why is it,

when said child is presented with a spectacular opportunity--for his 10th birthday-- to run out onto the pitch of family's favourite footy team, with the player of his choice...

does he pick Dad to be his one allowed companion?

Dad?!

The guy who would forget to feed the child if there was a level to beat on Guitar Hero.
The man who thinks a well-balanced diet consists of frozen pizza.
The same man who wouldn't see anything wrong with child being labeled for life as: "kid with the craziest bed-head", "kid whose clothes never match", "kid who is late for school regularly".

Somebody is having nothing but saltine crackers for dinner for a while...

The Effects of Being Youngest of Five

From this angelic face, "What's up my homey bro?"

A New Trend

Something concerns me.


I'm afraid all intelligent (and/or) witty conversationalists must have all become bloggers and are presently holed-up in their houses somewhere.

I spent 12 hours out of my home today, traveling to London and back and found people as entertaining as a pile of rocks.
Don't think I'm being hard on the Brits-- Nearly all of those people were on the American base.

How hard is it to smile at someone?

Or hey, here's a novel idea, LOOK AT THE PERSON WHOSE THINGS YOU ARE RINGING UP.

Admittedly, I'm usually too friendly. I'm the lady you run from in the grocery store when she starts giving you tips on where the better deal is. I don't want to be your best friend, I will not follow you home. You can smile, tell me the weather looks nice and leave.
However, today after the day of dullness I was feeling a little snippy and tired of trying to bond with strangers. The commissary baggers that love to throw tomatoes, grapes, eggs and bread at the bottom of a bag of canned goods?
Well, because of my irritable disposition, there's one bagger that will think before he ever again bounces the cart off a curb like he's four-wheeling.

"Oi! I have breakable jars in there!"

"Oh, you do?"

"Well yes-- you should know, you packed them!"

He spent the next five minutes throwing bag on top of breakable bag into the back of my car while apologizing and admitting he shouldn't have taken the curb that way.

I don't know why I'm complaining, at least he talked to me.

You Can't Understand Women?!

We, as women take a lot of stick.

How many times in my life have I heard, "Women, don't try--you'll never understand 'em!" as a punch line on a sitcom or advice from a friend? I don't think it's fair.

Here's something for the testosterone-driven gender to explain, because no matter how hard I try, I don't get it:

When one (male) has a day off from work, his spouse may have ideas of how that day should be spent.

Examples:

• There's leaves still needing raking from last Autumn.

• The oil needs changing in her car.

• The bathtub needs caulking before any more tiles work loose.

• Shelves still need putting up.

• His side of the bedroom needs sorting.

• There's things of his still sitting in the dining room from two weeks ago.

• The garage needs to be put in order since everything was haphazardly thrown in there with the whirlwind move.
• In general, our garden looks like we're the Beverly Hillbillies--just arrived. Bikes are scattered everywhere, wagons, balls, logs rejected when fires were burning last month, BBQ grill never put away and patio chairs strewn all over where kids have used them for boundary markers. All we need out there now is a toilet.
  

So why...

Why does he choose to go into town to buy supplies and then spend the rest of his afternoon working on a radiator that has never worked (and we don't need because it is in a small room we don't use)?



On a similar note,

I do think the fact that Sexy Guy has gone all Rambo on the mouse population (mostly because they ate up his very expensive internal-frame backpack for the MREs stored in it) is useful, but I wonder if he's losing touch. He reports in daily with how many raisins were eaten without springing the trap, takes great interest in mouse poo and how fresh it is... Have you seen the movie Mouse Trap? The minute Hubby tastes one of those poos, I'm taking him in.

The only saving grace to his undecipherable choice of ways to spend a day off is that Miss Ky is trailing him everywhere he goes, speaking a mile a minute.
That's justice.





Note: Exactly the same time as I hit "publish post", he came in to say, "I'm going to go out and do your oil in a little bit". Do you think he's psychic?

The Love Month

I LOVE being a Mother.


Especially at bedtime.

Nothing screams joy like kids whining and pleading to stay up later, sleep with their brothers, or my favourite, "I took a bath...um...uh..I think Saturday."

I LOVE getting them all bathed, all in pajamas, all with their hair dried and teeth brushed and into bed. I especially love when I've plopped down on to the sofa with a warm drink and am joined by Cindy Lou Who (who should've been asleep), "I didn't brush my teeth".

I love that she's right and I leave my spot of respite with remorse.

Last night I LOVED whispering into #2 Son's room, "You have to keep your door closed so that you can get the full effect of your breathing light (like Vick's, only the U.K. version). When I reached the stairs I realized something wasn't right and quietly went back to the boy's room. I felt his bed. All over his bed. No miniature human body ever made contact with my hand.
Just as quietly, I walked down the hallway to the other boys' room, not surprised to find the door shut tight.

I LOVED their expressions when I opened the door to see them all lined up like carnival ducks playing their electronic games.

I LOVED taking those games for the umpteenth time in a few months.

I LOVED finally making my way downstairs for a little alone time, only to find my warm drink was now cold.

It's great having so much LOVE in my life.

Stop Calling Me!

No, I don't mean that, don't stop calling me, but understand that if I'm in my car, I won't answer. I will ring you back.
If it's an emergency, ring a few times and I will pull over to call you back.

I have pledged to keep my car a No Phone Zone and I'm asking you to do it too.

Using a headset does NOT make you safe.
Laws will not change anything.

I'm not going to link to statistics, we're all intelligent people. You have to know that you can't do your best possible driving while talking, texting and emailing.

We have to make a change with how we think, with how we do things.
And yes. I do.
I was doing it only a couple of hours before watching the video online and then signing the pledge.




You may wonder why I even care what you do in your own time.

Over a year ago, I was regularly emailing a woman I had met through my blog. We were friends across every network we both joined and the fact that we had never met in person didn't matter.

I went away on a holiday and when I came back, there was a post on her blog. It was a plea from her daughter for help to find her mom. For a few moments I thought it was a joke to extricate herself from one of her blogs. And then it started to sink in... she was really gone.

They never found Kathleen McBroom and I mourned her like I would mourn any friend I spend time with here. I still check her blog regularly for any news. She's left a huge hole.

So, yes. I care about you. I will miss your comments and your blogs if something happens to you.

As long as we're encouraging each other to live better, can we just make a pledge to live?

I'm pledging to you, to my husband, my kids, my parents and siblings that no phone call is worth someone's life. If you feel the same way, you can click on the No Phone Zone banner above and it will take you to the official pledge site.

Were You Expecting Any Less From Me?

I have a dream...

I dream that when I go to Disney World this year, I will be able to upload photos via my iPhone without editing one chin and my bottom half out of the photo.

I dream that there will be only one need for buying new clothes, and that will be because shorts look silly gathered tightly with a massive belt.




This confession of my dream to the masses (all 6 of you) is so that I will be accountable for making better choices.

I don't believe in dieting.

Our bodies are like Russian secret agents that adapt to any (starvation) plan we come up with. I'm going to kill my agent with kindness.

There won't be any torture, like baking chocolate chip cookies and then withholding them from myself. Instead, I will choose to eat one instead of a whole batch (leaving me with no choice but to frantically bake another dozen in the middle of the night so that no one notices the first batch is gone. In the past, I've tried telling them that I put them in the freezer, but they never buy it).

When the choice is junk or health, I will choose health.

Pizza is currently not my friend (keep repeating until you feel it).

Exercise is fun (keep repeating).

My Husband is my biggest down-sizing enemy. He likes Rubinesque women (this is the man who tried to kill me with a chocolate overdose). He may have to be served with a restraining order.

"If I wanted to see bones, I'd hang out in a cemetery".

Yes, Dear, I understand that you don't like women who look like they might break, it's just that the bones I'd like to see again are my anklebones.

Not a fan of the 60's Twiggy look myself (although the 2010 Twiggy looks fantastic). I just think it's kind of sexy to be able to see that a woman's has knees.

It'd be fun for people to see my vacation photos and instead of asking, "Is she at a supermarket? Look at those giant hams she has hanging around her neck." (those are my arms, thank you very much), they can say, "Oh look how much fun Jeri is having not hiding behind Eeyore".

It's not so hard, right? If I can put on 40 pounds in 9 months while incubating a child, I should certainly be able to take off 10 when I'm only eating for one.

We're all allowed to dream.

Anyone want to join me on my February - August "Choose Healthy" quest?