Mind of a Mad Woman

Beautiful. Courageous. Willful. Strong. Steady.

Those are just a few of the words that I have used to describe my mother over the years. That’s her up there in the picture. She’s on the left of her mom and little sister. Born to a military father in Toronto, Canada in 1953, my mother is one of the most amazing people I know. She is the eldest of 3 girls and gave birth to two girls of her own. Because of my mom, I am the person I am today, like it or not. The good, the bad, and the ugly…..we learned how to deal with it all because of the way my mom dealt with life.

(That’s mom pregnant with me at Circus World.)

In the late 80s, my mom suddenly found herself a single mom. I have known many people to end up in this position who don’t cope very well. Granted, I don’t remember much of those years, but from my perspective it was ok. We were ok. My mom looked after me, worked, went to school and held things together as best she could. Then she met a man who would take us away.

She was so in love. He was a smooth British man in the Air Force who knew all the right things to say and he said them. I have pictures of my mom sitting in a field full of daffodils and she looks so happy. I have always loved seeing my mom smile. She married that Englishman and we lived all over Europe. By the time I was 11, I had a baby sister and got to see my mom do all the things she must have done with me, and more. She was gorgeous when she was pregnant. She was rather the size of a barge heffalump cow gloriously pregnant woman with a large baby inside her, but she seemed to take it all in stride as was her way.

My mom helped me learn so much. I love to read. I remember that if I couldn’t immediately get an answer from mom or find her, chances were she was curled up with a book somewhere. I swear the woman would have lived in a bookstore given half a chance. Some of my best memories involve just sitting around with my mom - reading.

As I got older, and became that hormonal, bitchy, moody, horrible teenager that I dread having in my own house, my mom dealt with me. Sure, I spent many a weekend grounded. I had privileges removed, friends turned away from the door and tv viewing time suspended. I screamed, I yelled - she screamed, she yelled. We drove each other crazy.

My mother trusted me, and had that trust broken. She loved me and had that love thrown back in her face so many times that any normal person would have thrown up their hands in frustration and walked away, but she continued to love me. For years, I never understood it. Then I had my own children.

When I was scared, my mom was there to comfort and protect me. When I got my heartbroken by yet another boyfriend, she was there to offer sage advice and tell me it would all be ok in the end. In recent years, as I watched my stepfather walk away, I wished that I could do the same for her, or at least on the same level.

I am sure that over the last 29 years I have disappointed my mother in many ways. The day I laid my head on her lap and cried and she found out I’d pierced my ears again. The day I wrote her a letter to tell her i’d lost my virginity months before. The day my “friend” stole stuff from a house I was babysitting at, when they weren’t meant to be there in the first place. (Yes, I’m a moron).

I’ve disappointed her, I’ve hurt her, I’ve screwed things up time and time again and my mom still loves me.

She is one of the strongest people I know and is a daily inspiration to me in the way she deals with life. Sure, we have had our screaming matches ups and downs, but I cannot imagine my life without my mother. When I need advice, I ask my mom. When I need someone to tell me I’m an idiot, I go to my mom. When I need someone to tell me whether I’m right or wrong, my mom’s the person.

Amazing. Inspirational. Role-model. My hero.

Those are a few more words for my mother. I’m sure it would come as no surprise to learn that I’ve had some other choice words for her over the years either, but I’m pretty sure she’s had some choice ones for me too.

It’s my mom’s birthday today. Technically she’s 55 but while she has the wisdom that comes from the experiences she’s had over the last 55 years, she still has the heart of a young girl. And the face too. My mom is beautiful.

We don’t always see eye to eye but one thing is for sure - if I can be half the woman, half the mother that my mom is, I will be happy.

Happy Birthday Mom! I miss you all the way over there in New Zealand and I love you so much.

Love always,

Meggers

Oh my lovely readers, if you could be where I am today. Or rather, where I was today. Although many of my fellow countrymen are still buried under inches of snow, and freezing their nads off in the cold, the weather here on the Island tends to be, well, a little temperamental. And yet, even on the wettest days, it is still nice.

Today, the weather forecast promised me sun. Did I get it? No. Of course not. That would just be far too lovely. Instead, it rained. More to the point it drizzled. Nothing really worth getting the umbrella out for, but enough to make the grass too wet to sit on, the playgrounds too wet to play in and the swings to wet to swing in. Unless of course you have no objections to a wet ass.

What is not too wet though, on a day like this, is the beach. Yes, that’s right, you heard me. Beach, beach, beach. I said it. And I’ll say it again - beach beach beach.

A friend and I took our clan of kidlets down to the beach this morning to explore the rocks and the waves and the gross seaweed. The beach is phenomenal place in the wet weather. Little tiny crabs scurrying all over the beach, purple seaweed washed up everywhere, and beautifully exquisite driftwood arrangements. As the kids played in the waves and combed the beach for seashells, my friend and I busied ourselves snapping pictures. When you have four children between the ages of 3 and 6, it can be incredibly difficult to get a good picture at times but when they are busy with that new shell or piece of beach glass, you get some amazing shots.

Sadly, the endless drizzle wears on the patience of the adults and kids alike and after 40 minutes of wetness, and having seemingly acquired every glass and shell that the tide had washed up, we were all ready to leave. We decided to brave the fast fading fuses (oooh alliteration) of the kidlets and go in search of ice cream. Clearly not the best plan we’ve ever had. Nor was the plan to go to McPuke’s to obtain said cold treat. I have recently discovered that when the young Barbie dolls at the golden arches do not feel like making anything that requires being within 2 feet of their ice cream machine, it rapidly becomes “broken”. (That’s right people, I’m onto you!) Today was one of those days, and we were informed it would be at least 25 minutes before we could have ice cream.

Oh crap. Brace yourself. We have 4 kids who all want ice cream and these idiots minimum wage flunkies people can’t be bothered making it. Alright, there’s a Timmies across the way, let’s go get a donut! My kids, thankfully, were all over that idea. Sadly not so much for the my friends children who were busily demanding french fries. I left her to the battle and sidled over to Timmies. It was at this point that my children were possessed. I’m serious - absolutely possessed by some evil, screaming, powerful force. As they bounced around the restaurant to the sound of my muted threats, I clenched my fists, gritted my teeth and promised myself that by the time we hit the front of the line everything would be peaceful.

I’m not entirely sure when I turned into this naive boob, but I do know that I refuse to be intimidated by anyone under four feet tall. Somehow I found myself dragging two screaming children out of Timmies and out to the car. The possession continued. They screamed non stop for the next 20 minutes. I have never in my life been so tempted to sell my children on eBay.

I’ll start the bidding at $200…any takers??

This evening, after much needed naps on the part of both children (yes, they still nap occasionally even at their ages), we dropped Ash at a friends house for a sleepover. I am still firmly ensconced in denial thank you very much. It just simply isn’t possible that my daughter is now old enough to be sleeping over at other people’s houses. She packed her own bag, got in the car and off we went. After hanging around like the anxious parent I’m not for about 20 minutes, she looked me straight in the eye and said “Can you go now?”. WHAT?!? No I can’t go. I can’t leave my baby at someone’s house and go home.

But I did. Hotty Hubby, CJ and I heading to yet another beach (beach beach) and sat around a bonfire with a bunch of wonderful friends who I haven’t seen in a while. My dear friend Jen was turning 35 and this was how she wanted to celebrate. CJ decided this was the opportune moment to wade into the water up to his knees and then promptly sat in the sand. That’ll make for some fun laundry.

All in all, it was a wonderful evening at the beach, roasting hot dogs and marshmallows, eating a scrumptious chocolate cake and carrying on mostly enjoyable conversation. We ended up with a lot of wet sandy kids, and had one small child fall into the fire (but Matt to the rescue!!) with no burns, and by the time we all went home we were fairly confident all the kids were tired enough that there would be no more evil possessions.

Happy Birthday Jen!!

In these days where our children are incredibly over scheduled and as stressed out as the CEO of a major corporation, I was hesitant in signing up Ash for T Ball. She already does Sparks (that’s the level below Brownies, not a group for budding arsonists), and she will be doing swimming lessons as well. But, we bit the bullet and signed her up. She loves it.

After a little bit of chaos in trying to figure out when and where her team was meant to be practicing, getting uniforms for them all, and finding that ever elusive coach, it was all sorted. On Sunday we went out for Opening Ceremonies and their first game.

Something that has been splashed all over the media in recent years is those over zealous parents who beat the crap out of each other because Little Johnny got called on something and his mommy thinks the sun shines out of his ass, so how dare he get penalized. Parents get into screaming matches and fist fights while their kids look on thinking “what is wrong with those losers”. As a result of this, not only are the players now required to take a pledge of good behaviour at the beginning of the season, but so are the parents. I think this is so that if any of us break those rules, the coach can take us behind the dugout and give us a good ass kicking himself, though I’ve yet to clarify that.

So at the Opening Ceremonies, they announced all the teams and coaches (for the teams that had them..lucky buggers), took a big huge group photo, did these pledges and sang “Oh Canada”.

**Side note for all you folks out there who are totally oblivious to how things work when the National Anthem is sung - Face the flag and take your freaking hat off!! Nothing makes me madder than seeing a bunch of adult men standing around with their hats on their heads after all the kids took them off without question.**

PLAY BALL!

I gotta tell you - there is nothing cuter than little folks playing sports. In this case, it was the little kids in their oversized helmets. They were so keen, so ready to go.

After plonking these helmets onto their heads and trying valliantly to stay upright, they got ready to bat. I listened to the whisperings around me and most of it was positive, though I did hear one idiot constantly talk about how “the kids aren’t even holding the damn bat right”. We were all just enjoying the happiness showing on the faces of our kids.

Here’s the thing though. At this level, the kids are 4 to 6 years of age. They have no concept of the rules of T-Ball, of where they’re supposed to run (or when), and yet they have an amazing amount of fun. Our lovely Coach Nate got them set up to bat, tried (often in vain) to avoid getting hit with the bat as the kids waved it around, and then let them go for it.

THat’s great Coach. I’ve hit the ball, but now what the heck do I do? Run? Sweet! Run where exactly?

We had kids running in all sorts of different directions. And as us parents are known to do, we want to help. So we’re sitting in the bleachers yelling “Ruuuuuun little Johnny!” and waving our arms. Little Johnny sees this and instead of running to third like he’s meant to, he runs towards mom. “whadya want Mom?” Yeah, we need to keep our mouths shut and let the coaches do their thing right? Also, it’s kind of funny to see 3 kids from the same team all standing around on second base chatting away while the parents all yell “ruuuun!” at them. The kids are probably talking about why they bother bringing their parents to these things, and maybe next week they’ll just leave them all at home.

We even had a couple of kids who like to watch baseball at home with their daddies who decided it would be fun to slide into a base. Thankfully, Ash isn’t that ambitious. Either that or she takes after me and really really values the fact that her skin is still attached to her legs.

Eventually they all made it around to home plate, albeit through untraditional methods. Some even decided to do a little dance around it. And then it was time for them to go out and field.

My mother used to sing me a few lines from a children’s song (I think by Raafi?) about standing out in right field watching the dandelions grow, because this is what I used to do as a child. What can I say? Baseball didn’t hold my interest as much as perhaps it could have. I always used to laugh it off and think that no one’s child actually does that. Ha! Oh yes they do. In between the chats at the bases where they set up lunch dates, they would take turns counting the dandelions and the daisies that were growing. I hear there’s a few hundred out there, though I think they’ll be doing a recount on Friday at practice.

By the way. Barry Bonds has nothing on 5 year olds. Ok, I have no idea if Barry Bonds was a pitcher or not, or even who he played for, but I do know that some of these kids can throw. One little tyke (bless her heart) just about kneecapped me when she threw the ball at me.

For the next three months I get to sit and watch these wonderful kidlets hurl balls at each other’s heads, try and hit the coach with the bat and yell at each other to “ruuuuun”. I also get to hope that none of the parents get so bent out of joint that they pummel each other. Having said that, if this does happen, you bet your behind I’ll have a video camera running to capture all the fun.

Mondays. Yeah. I can’t even say they suck, because truthfully it feels like any other day to me now that I don’t work during the day anymore. But this morning was more hectic than usual for some reason. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I sat up til 1am knitting instead of going to bed at a reasonable hour or that this morning when the alarm went off at 7am for Hotty Hubby to drag his ass to work, I just kept hitting the snooze button til after 8am. I should have been up getting kids ready and snacks put together for school. I should have been throwing a bunch of laundry on. But I was sleeping. And you know what? I’m not sorry. So there.

But it really did feel like a “Manic Monday” this morning and the whole drive to school I kept thinking that, and as a result I kept singing it in my head. Ok - and out loud. So shoot me. My kids thought I was completely insane. I could almost see the thoughts circling in their heads. “What is this drivel that momma is singing?” “Why is her hair getting bigger the longer she sings the song?” “Are those shoulder pads?!”

I thought it only fair that because I am now hearing this song play on a loop in my head, that I should share the thought with all of you so that you can picture it all your head and hear the tune….the Bangles at their worst, big hair and shoulder pads and blue eye shadow galore.

Now - who wants to come clean my house so that I can sit on my backside and knit some more?

I sound rather like an old lady now. Knit knit knit. I have a problem. When I sit and watch tv I need something to do with my hands, so in the past I would eat. Clearly this is not a great solution as you end up looking rather like a blob from outer space. So, I begged my dear friend Allie to teach me how to knit. And now I have a different, more expensive problem. I am a knitting fiend. Rather a shame that the only things I have managed to knit so far are washcloths, but you can never have too many of them right?

I’m working on a blanket right now. Carpal tunnel has never been a problem for me, regardless of the hours I spend on this contraption, but it’s fast becoming one now. Never have my hands felt so strong, so powerful - so..painful! Ow.

If anyone is planning an event in the near future, where a microphone or megaphone might be in order, fear not! I have the perfect thing for you. My son. I swear to you this child has no volume control. At least not at the appropriate times that one would wish for it. What is perhaps the most perplexing and frustrating thing for me is that when I need him to be quiet, he is not. When I need to him to speak up so that I can actually hear him, he whispers. I am getting bald patches from the hair pulling that this provokes. However, this is not the thing that prompted this post. Not directly.

Yesterday afternoon was a perfect example of of his inability to control this “gift”. We made a stop at the bank in the midst of my lengthy list of boring and endless errands. This is not a favourite task for me or for the children, but alas it is something that must be done. In all the years I have been frequenting banks, I must admit that I have never seen one that is a party scene (wouldn’t that be cool), but they aren’t all hush hush like the library either. Having said that, when we are out in public and especially when we are in somewhat confined spaces such as a bank that is rigged with silent alarms, I do like my spawn to at least pretend to exercise some decorum lest they scare the little Barbie doll behind the counter and prompt her to trigger said alarm. I’d hate to have to try and get the kids to sleep on a concrete slab. Personally I can sleep anywhere, anytime, but they are a little pampered in that respect. They would at least require a sheet.

I digress.

Yesterday we stopped at the bank and the kids ran (yes really) to their normal corner where the bank has supplied some rather ancient looking Fisher Price toys that are probably holding enough germs and viruses to kill off an entire third world country. I stood in the long line up looking as bored as I could possibly manage in the hopes that the Barbies would hurry up and get me through the line. In front of me in the line was an acne covered teenager humming along to his iPod, a rather good looking guy in a power suit who probably drove up in the compensation car I saw out front, and a pinched looking woman who looked like the broom that was normally stored up her ass had in fact been pushed up so far it was about to fill the hole left by her shrunken heart. I’m sure there were other people in the line too but these were the ones I noticed.

I knew right away that this broom cupboard of a woman was going to be an issue, but hoped that my instincts were a little further off than they usually are. Sure enough, my son decided that the bank would be the perfect place to test out his admittedly stellar vocal range. Top of his lungs, singing some completely made up lyrics.

I shushed him a couple of times and his sister tried to clamp her hand over his mouth and nose to smother him into silence but he would not be dissuaded. We got closer to the front of the line and I could see the acne commercial, the Barbies and the power suit stifling giggles at my son’s little ditty so I didn’t bother shushing him anymore. In fact, my extreme blush (think lobster) was disappearing and I was fast approaching a semi normal complexion. I was happy to have scored such an amazing crowd of people. Happy that I was not being chased with pitchforks for bringing this hellion into their midst and disturbing the peace.

This feeling of relief was rather short lived however. Broom lady had finally finished her business and was heading towards us to leave the bank. I really thought she was going to be her proper little British self and keep walking. Oh how wrong I was.

Broom Lady: “May I suggest that the next time you bring your……children <said with incredible scorn>……into a public place like this, that you keep them within an appropriate range and actually control them?” (all said in her snippy little British accent)

Me: “uuuhhhhhh” (yes, I’m a little slow on the uptake)

Broom Lady: “I really have no wish to be subjected to this……noise <there’s that scorn again>….when I come into the bank and expect peaceful quiet to conduct my business”

Power suit guy: **GASP**

Acne Boy: **Bug Eyed**

Twinkies: **Gaping mouths**

I looked at her, balled up my fist, sang “Another one bites the dust” at full volume and punched her in the head.

“How’s that for peaceful quiet bitch!?”

Actually I stood there dumbfounded while she waddled off with the broom sliding further up her ass than it already was. Of course by now, my son was perfectly quiet. He was too busy watching his mother get bitched out to continue his song. He waited until we got to the grocery store to continue …. where he found a few other preschool aged children to join him. They will begin their world tour, to promote their album, in the summer.

**WARNING- Sappy Post Ahead***

There is someone in my life who I would like to brag about for a moment. While I have only known this person for 7 years, I feel like I have known him forever. From the very first moment we met, it felt like we were open books. The first night we walked all over Victoria. He took me up the steepest hills, to parts of town I had never seen before. We walked for so long and made each other laugh. At some point we ended up back at his apartment and stayed up all night talking.

In the 7 years since that night, we have seen 6 different apartments and houses and even been through about 10 couches. We’ve had two children and been through some incredible highs and lows. And we’ve made it through it all. This man has put up with my tendency to put up the highest walls around myself and even my penchant for walking away in the middle of an argument. Sorry - “Discussion”.

I have found it incredibly hard in the past to be able to talk things through and would prefer instead to ignore what is happening around me in the hopes that it will get bored and go away. Not the best way to foster good relations in your marriage. Recently however, I was encouraged to rid myself of this horrible habit, and it’s been incredibly freeing. I thank this man for this development and now we talk about everything.

I have two of the cutest children ever, and while I frequently refer to them as “spawn” and “hellions”, I love them to death and this man is to thank for that.

He has worked his ass off to support our family and oftentimes it is thankless work. He loves us, he cares for us, he supports us and he plays with us. We enjoy cuddles and snuggles, hugs and kisses, woogies and wedgies and frequent visits from the tickle monster. He takes the attitude from the kids. Ok, and from me.

This man is the rock of this family and the (*warning - cliche moment*) glue that holds our family together.

I will be forever grateful for the day I met him, for the day I married him, and for the days he has made me sit and talk instead of running away.

This man, in case you are dumb and haven’t guessed yet, is Hotty Hubby. I love him with all my heart. And here ends the gross sappy post. Enjoy some pics of Hotty Hubby…..they’re on me. And so is he. HA!