Theatre of Your Mind

I like to read.  Truth be told, reading to me is like taking a mini-vacation.  I immerse myself in the stories being told and vicariously live the lives of the characters.  I can picture their faces, their stature, their posture.  I can picture their expressions and their actions.  All of this I can see through the power of the words written on the pages.  As I sit in my reading chair, and sip my latte, I flip page after page, voraciously consuming the unfolding drama.  For those of you who prefer to watch movies over reading books, let me describe to you the euphoric feeling you can get while burying yourself in a good novel.

I was one of 4 children in our humble family abode.  Being of European descent, our house was always boisterous and loud; very loud.  There was only one television set in the house.  Trying to find a program that everyone agreed upon was a challenge.  If my father was home then you could forget about any kid show or fantasy show.  We were lucky on Sunday afternoons because we could watch Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, but other than that, my father commandeered the tv and watched the news, or some war movie or…yawn…documentary.  It was at this time that books entered into my entertainment sphere and my world changed forever.

It was my sister who introduced me to my first novel.  She was working at the local library.  One day I was in the children’s section looking through the “baby” books as she called them.  My sister came over and handed me a large hard cover book and said, “You’re old enough now.  Read this.”  The book was The Little Witch.  At first I was intimidated.  There were 128 pages!  It would take me FOREVER to read this.  I sat down on the bean bag seat in the reading circle (I was in the kid’s section after all) and I began to read, “Chapter 1.”  It was the beginning of a new life for me.

This book introduced me to many new words.  It introduced me to other people (though make believe) who were like me and felt things the same way I felt them.  I had someone that I could identify with.  There were mean people and nice people, just like in real life.  Once I finished reading that book I knew I could read others.  I moved on to mystery books.  I loved the twisted plots.  I enjoyed trying to figure out “who done it” and congratulated myself if I had guessed correctly.  Even if I read a book that I didn’t like, it taught me the types of stories I preferred.  My vocabulary increased exponentially.  I even started writing my own stories.  I would bring them to school and have my teacher mark them.  (Yeah, did I mention I was the lonely brainer child in school?)  I even asked my grade 4 teacher if I could write a play and have it preformed for the class.  She said yes.  My classroom play was a success and I made friends because classmates wanted to be part of the show.  Using me?  Maybe…but at least my circle of “friends” grew from the solo me of daily life.  All of this because of reading.

I continued to read all types of books:  fiction, non-fiction, science fiction, Pulitzer Prize winners, old English, modern English, translated books.  People who became my friends would tell me how they thought I was a snob because I would sit in a room full of people and just read.  The noise never bothered me.  Growing up in a loud family home I learned to block all noise by immersing myself in my books and stories.  That was the ultimate escape.  It still is.

Reading is my way of taking a break from my daily life.  When I read, I live the life of the characters.  Sometimes reading about other people’s problems makes your own problems seem so insignificant.  Solving mystery novels gets your brain working trying to figure out the ending.  My imagination goes wild picturing all these things in my head. It’s like my brain has become a movie screen.

Don’t get me wrong, I do love movies and tv shows, but there is something about words and how, depending on how they are put together, you can see everything so clearly.  The stories being told can introduce you to things you yourself have never experienced.  It provides knowledge without you having to live through it.  It lets you be someone else without ever having to leave your own body.  How incredible is that?

Reading blogs and magazines, those short snippets of entertainment, are enjoyable in their own way, but grasping a book and flipping those pages (old school style), let’s you immerse yourself in an alternate life.  A good book will leave you wanting to flip to the next page.  It will leave you anxious and restless as you try to figure out how it will end.  A good book leads you into that other universe where you wander around trying to find the grand finale where you walk off into the sunset.  You wander along picking up information and storing it for later.  It might be needed.  You keep going and going, flipping pages, absorbing the thoughts and words, and when you get to the end you are sated.  The story is done.  You are euphoric if the writer was talented enough to give you a satisfying ending.  If not, you are still happy because you did it.  You finished it.  You close the book, lean back, close your eyes and replay the images and storylines.  No channel surfing necessary.  No need to connect to WiFi.  It’s all there for you to recall whenever you want.

Seek out a good page turner and escape your daily life for awhile.  Take a turn from the ordinary and enter the theatre of the mind.

 

And Nobody Lost an Eye…

Wiseguy and I are happy grandparents (who refuse to grow up).  We are lucky grandparents to five beautiful grandchildren.  None of them are into the double digit birthdays yet, so shopping for birthdays and Christmas can oftentimes be done in advance.  When I extricate myself from my humble home to go on a shopping spree, I will oftentimes pick up “future” gifts for the grandkids.  If I am in the midst of a clearance sale extravaganza I become quite a neanderthal; hunting and fishing for the best deals.  It was with grandchildren in mind that I purchased an interesting little toy that has left me with an indelible memory forever.

On this particular trek to the store, I ventured into the children’s area and found a toy on clearance called the Penguin Popper.  It looked kind of fun.  In my head I was already debating who would be the lucky recipient of this unique gift.  The eldest (a girl of 8 years) is more into the “tweening” phase of her life and is more likely to appreciate articles of clothing for her “American Girl” doll (or clothing for herself).  Then next in line would the 4 year olds; one boy, one girl.  Now, if I gave it to the boy, who is into wrestling and fake fighting, I  could see his excitement with the toy turning into devastation as one of the other kids would lose an eye.  How about the 4 year old girl?  Well, she does have great tomboy moments.  I could see her getting a kick out of it.  Then I thought, well her cousin (the 4 year old boy) would probably wish he had it (even though someone would lose and eye) and there would be sadness and loss of joy so I couldn’t bring myself to create that kind of drama in our lives.  So…no to both 4 year olds.  The last two were way too young for it.  A two year old and a one year old.  The toy’s packaging stated this as well:  Ages 4 +.  Hmmmm, what to do.  I expanded my search.

I thought about my niece’s kids.  Little dude of 8 months was waaaaay too young.  How about his big sister?  She would love something like this!  She is 3 1/2 years old.  Almost 4.  And she laughs hysterically when people get…injured.  Hmmm, like a mini ball in the eye from 20 paces would be hilarious.  My competent adult brain finally decided that this actually wasn’t such a great kid’s toy to introduce into our family.  I did the only plausible thing.

No I didn’t return it!   Remember the adults who refuse to grow up?  Well, I was so excited about my decision to keep said toy that I couldn’t wait to see Wiseguy’s face light up when he saw our new play thing.  I could picture us popping that ball out of the penguin’s mouth and having the kidlets go chasing after it to see who would get it first.  Then they could ALL take turns playing with it and no one would lose an eye and no one could keep it because it belonged at the grandparent’s house.  WIN WIN!  Right?

When I gave hubby the rundown on how we were now the proud owners of a Penguin Popper, he rolled his eyes in helpless defeat.  Not sure, but I believe (assume) these were the thoughts running around in his brain:

  • Not more junk!
  • Another toy?
  • Someone is going to lose an eye!

The comment that actually emerged was, “Waldo is going to steal the ball, choke on it, and die.”  (Note:  Waldo is our 10 year old super cute and fluffy thief dog.)IMG_3861

Well, I didn’t see that comment coming.  So, me being me, I had to prove that THIS was the coolest toy ever and he would be the most fun grandfather in the history of grandfathers!  Wiseguy turned and started to walk away.  I had to prove my point so I grasped the Penguin Popper in both hands, holding it directly in front of me, and I squeeeeeeezed his stomach.  (I’m assuming it’s a “him” Popper because there is no pretty bow on his head.  If it was a girl Popper they would’ve put a pretty bow.  Also, the inventors probably figured that girls wouldn’t do fun (vicious) things like this, but boys would and so the Penguin is definitely a boy.  Ahhhh, classic stereotyping at its best.)

Here is what happened after the stomach squeeeeeeeeze:

  • Loud POP! sound
  • My eyes opened wide, in a bit of disbelief actually, when I saw the velocity of this little once-inch ball catapult away from me
  • Wiseguy turned to me when he heard the POP!
  • The ball hit him on the side of the head
  • “Are you kidding me?!” emanated in an exasperated tone from my husband’s general direction
  • I laughed…hysterically!

I was in stitches!  I couldn’t breathe.  Tears were streaming out of the corner’s of my eyes.  I doubled-over to hold my stomach.  I couldn’t believe it actually hit him!  Oh, I had read the box while I stood in line to purchase the product.  It contained the usual words of warning:  “Never aim at anyone”.  It also said it could shoot up to 20 feet away.  Yeah, best case scenario maybe, I thought.  And yet, here I was in utter shock as the ball had ejected far, far away and NAILED Wiseguy!  My next thought was quite simple:  I’m dead.

Wiseguy was at my side in two strides (he has long legs and can cover 20 feet in two steps).  He confiscated the Penguin Popper from my hands.  I pivoted and ran.  I ran for my life.  I heard POP! and I turned around.

(Sidenote:  Why is it that when you hear a noise you look toward the direction of the sound instead of running away from it?)

Like a slow-motion movie I saw the ball (mini ball?  ball-ette?) wing by my head.  Wiseguy had missed.  Wiseguy NEVER misses!  He is Super Sportsman extraordinaire!

I am unsure why this next thing happened, but I believe it was from the confusion of NOT being hit.  I doubled over laughing uncontrollably….again.

POP!  Woooooosh!

He missed me…AGAIN!  Saint’s preserve us, I was lucky (or unlucky?).  Wiseguy then unceremoniously deposited the Penguin on the kitchen counter and meandered away.

My next thought:  Best day ever!  So many good things happened to me in that short amount of time:

  • I got a fun new toy since Wiseguy didn’t want it.  Mine…all mine!
  • I actually beat Wiseguy at a (non)sport
  • I laughed and laughed and laughed – my core muscles got quite the workout and all my tension of the day washed away

IMG_5673I am so grateful that I found this toy.  I am grateful that I decided to keep it.  I am grateful that I got to play with this toy.  I am grateful for the once in a lifetime experience I had using it.  I am grateful that Wiseguy finds this story as amusing as I do and doesn’t mind that I have shared this.  I am grateful that he isn’t really considering payback.  Right?  Right????!!!

 

EPILOGUE:  

Waldo got the ball.

He is still alive.

As of yet, nobody has lost an eye.

Sunny with a chance of…wishes?

Last month I walked out of the building I work at and thought it was snowing…in June!  Ok, snow in June might be likely in Nova Scotia, but definitely not something that happens in Ontario.  The weather was warm…way too warm for snow.  After my brain attempted to interpret what Mother Nature was up to now, I finally realized what was happening and couldn’t help but smile.

Remember the lovely fields of dandelions?  Those flamboyant yellow “weeds” that were covering all untended lawns?  Well, the transformation happened.  They went from the pretty yellow, bloomed flowers to the airborne plethora of wishes.  The sky was full of them.

 

I have a unique perspective on life.  I oftentimes see the world with a different lens than most others do.  I try to find the good in all around.  Sometimes it’s hard work as I need to really try and re-focus my thoughts.  We are taught and trained to think a certain way. It is through experience that we gain knowledge.  It is also how we learn to find our own uniqueness in this world of ours.  Just like the dandelions.

As children we are taught about the ugly duckling turning into a beautiful swan.  We are taught about creepy fuzzy caterpillars turning into beautiful butterflies.  So I say…why can’t the glorious bright yellow dandelion finally join the ranks of the transformed:  ugly to beautiful?  Then again, maybe they shouldn’t be part of that group.  In my opinion, they don’t really have an ugly phase.  We can learn a lot from the dandelion.

SELF-LOVE.  Dandelions don’t know they are “weeds” and are a scourge to be decimated.  They believe they are pretty and they stay nicely rooted and happily populate the world with other happy “flowers” of their kind.  So, be a dandelion.  Believe you are beautiful no matter what anyone else thinks.  Spread your happiness around.  Hang out with other happy people.

KEEP CHANGING.  The dandelion has the ability to reinvent itself.  It starts off nice and pretty and yellow.  It stays like that for quite a few days.  After it’s done sharing its sunny yellowness, the dandelion will dry up into a little round puff ball.  Not only that, but the puff ball is actually composed of seeds.  So, when that puff ball breaks apart, all the little seeds go parachuting to new areas and the circle of life begins again.  How absolutely fantastic is that?!  So, be a dandelion.  Don’t like what is happening in your life?  You can change it.  You have so many ideas about what you would like to do in your life and each idea is like a dandelion seed.  Plant those seeds and see what blooms.

HAVE FUN.  I like to believe that dandelions love when kids come and blow the dandelion seeds and chanting wishes as they do this.  There is something about watching that puffball fly through the air, riding the ribbon of wind that will carry it up to the final wish granter.  Be a dandelion.  Don’t take life too seriously and have some fun.  Do something silly.  Believe that wishes can come true.

YOU AFFECT THE FUTURE.  Dandelions…those wonderful yellow blossoms, become puffballs.  The original flower is gone, but from the seeds of that original flower become the beginnings of new flowers.  Be a dandelion.  Remember that you do affect future generations.  Everything you do on this earth will somehow affect this earthy world of ours.  You, though you do not feel very important, are magnanimous!  You are an incredible being and you do matter.  Your life is important and valuable and you do affect others.  It might be some small thing you do one day, but that seed will carry on and become the birth of another person, another idea, another thought.

After observing the whitened sky, I smiled.  It was a happy, contented, joyful smile.  Life is grand.  I know I’m a small piece in this puzzle of life, the size of a minute bug, but I know I’m vital in this world.  I also know that this world is an incredible place to be if we would just but take the time to look at our surroundings and appreciate all the incredible things that surround us.  Remember to look at the world with childlike wonder.  Remember what it was like when you saw these things for the first time.  Remember what it felt like when you used to make wishes on dandelion puff balls.  The magic lived in that “real” world then, and you can bring it back now.

So, all you green grass lovers and landscapers out there, I would like to invite you to join my world.  In my world, you can escape the minutia of the mundane plots of square manicured lawns.  You don’t need to pamper and water that greenery.  In my world, you can run through the bright yellow fields of dandelions.  And once they become seeded wonders, then race through that field again and watch the sky turn white as snow.  You can wish and wish and wish over and over again as you watch the puffs float freely and unencumbered toward the sky … a reminder that you should free yourself of unhappy thoughts and just let them float up far, far away from you.  When all you are left with are the happy thoughts, use those carefree, happy seeds to plant your new ideas and start growing this wonderful new life you are going to lead.

All I can say is…Be a Dandelion.

 

 

Best day ever!

Woo hoo!  Another year of being alive!  Now THAT’S something to celebrate.  Oh there are those out there who poo-poo their birthday.  They focus on the years of their life that were “wasted”.  They aren’t living their dream life.  They aren’t in the relationship they want.  They aren’t in a job they love.  Me?  I focus on the fact that I’m alive and mostly well.  As a friend of mine said, “I’m on the right side of the grass”.  So darn tootin’ it’s a fantastically, radically, amazing day!  BEST DAY EVER!

So, now that you’re substantially jealous of my incredible feat…living another year by default…what did I do on my BEST DAY EVER?  Seeing as this was my very last year of my 40s and I am careening into the mid-century of my life, I wanted to make it super extra special.  What does a birthday girl do to make her day extraordinarily spectacular?

  1.  Book day off work
  2. Be away from home

Not being at work meant no deadlines hence no stress.  Not being at home meant no cleaning or “home” work which also equaled no stress.  I am sure you were thinking I went all adventurous and did some skydiving or went for a surreal trip in a hot air balloon.  Or maybe woo-hooing as I went white water rafting or maybe zip-lining.  Yes, many things on my “want to do” list.  I don’t have a bucket list.  Buckets get holes in them. (Dear Liza.)  Nope, I kept it simple.

MOST IMPORTANT RULE:  Declare it your BEST DAY EVER!

Then…

Sleep in.  Absolutely lovely seeing the sun shine in through the curtains and gently awaken you.  You rouse from sleep thinking you are tardy for work and then BAM!  Wicked cool realization that it’s your Birthday and you booked the day off.  SWEET!  I declared it my HAPPY BIRTH DAY!  All about ME day.  Time for some FUN day!

BEST DAY EVER!

My birthday started off with a pinched nerve in my back.  My eyes popped open after my extended sleep.  I lifted my head to get out of bed and … OUCH!  I flopped over onto my side like a wounded seal.  I attempted to slide off the bed and to land on my feet.  Every move and every breath seemed to make the pinch worse.  I had the “dropsies” too.  I grabbed my sun dress and it slipped out of my hands, crumpling to the floor.  Good news was I did lots of squats since I couldn’t bend.  (Silver linings folks.  I’m always looking for ’em).  I managed to get dressed and decided that pinched nerve or no pinched nerve I was heading out and about.

I dropped into the driver’s seat.  Yes, dropped my butt into the bucket seat whilst holding onto the Oh Shit handle.   It was a scorching, hot 29 degrees (celsius) and did I mention that the air conditioning in my car did not work?  I drove for over an hour, with my underwear melting and my thighs stuck to my leather seats.  On the bright side I was soooo happy my car windows could roll down and BONUS:  a sun roof that I could open.  I was cruising with my hair whipping around my face.  Booyah!  Good times!  For a little while at least.

There was an accident on the highway as well as road construction on my regular route so I had to divert to city driving.  Slower speeds and lots of stopping at red lights.  Stopping meant no air circulating through my windows.  On a positive note I definitely got my Vitamin D for the day.  There was absolutely no snow in the forecast.  I wasn’t at work.  Happy trifecta!

BEST DAY EVER!

Finally got to my destination and was cheerfully greeted by a pig-tailed little 3 year-old darlin’ who wished me a happy birthday!

BEST DAY EVER!

“How old are you?” she inquired.  I told her I was four.  I left out the “9” part of the “49-year’s old”.  What do numbers really mean anyway?  She smiled happily so that meant it was a good age.  We sat.  We chatted.  We hugged.  We cuddled.

BEST DAY EVER!

Then we trekked to a kitchen supply store (besides makeup, kitchen supplies are my other crack).  I bought an aebleskiver pan.  Say what?  Yeah, new to me too.  The pan was too unique and too cool and too totally cast-iron so it was destined to be mine.

Check out these babies…can’t wait to surprise the fam with these goodies!

BEST DAY EVER!

Had chicken wings AND sushi for lunch.  Best of both worlds.  And a yummy, sticky, fresh baked DOUGHNUT for dessert.  My tastebuds sang hallelujah.   (My thighs screamed in horror.  Meh…can’t please everyone right?)  Then it was time to trek on home.

Traffic…swimmingly good.  No accidents or road construction or anything to divert me from my usual path.  Made it home in great time (while sweating off the calories I had inhaled).  Just in time to go out for more food.  Succulent ribs with a side of super hot fries for my screaming thighs (haha..great rhyme!)  Birthday treat was a colossal brownie, fresh from the oven, with some vanilla ice cream teetering on the top and slowly melting.  Oh glory be to all my gluttony (OMG…another rhyme…and after all this time!  Ok, my thoughts are getting loose with the ghost of Dr. Seuss).

And so it ended.  Another birth day celebration.  A day all about ME.  A day where all I wanted was to spend lots of time being happy and relishing everything in my life.  A day where I was wished a happy day from all:  the kids, grandkids, hubby, siblings, cousins, relatives, friends…oh and even my parents with a phone call from Europe.  All of them wishing that I have a wonderful day.  And do you know what?  Their wish came true because I had the BEST DAY EVER!

 

 

Message received…loud and clear

I shared with you the tale of how I let a spider live.  Some days I feel magnanimous and let bygones be bygones.  I also consider myself quite talented in several life fields.  This includes preparing fantabulous (my new dictionary word) meals and entertaining children, (and fostering dust bunnies).  Yes, my loud-mouth ways have created a relaxing and reassuring area for anyone that comes into contact with me.  I consider myself quite the Connoisseur of the Comfort Zone.  And yet for some reason, unbeknownst to me, I kill EVERY PLANT that is under my care!  WHHHHHHHHHHHHY?!

Yes, I am sure you could palpably feel and hear me howling out this unnerving reality.  There are so many things that I am good at and yet keeping these beautiful treasures alive is something that is beyond me.  It starts off in a positive way.  I make sure they are stationed in a prestigious area of the home where they can be observed lovingly on a daily basis.  Their beautiful, colourful petals are bathed in the warmth of the morning and afternoon sun.  My frail subjects seem to sway with joy at being so adoringly taken care of.  They bloom happily for about a week and then suddenly, I mean really suddenly, it all starts to change.

I consider myself a very happy and warm person.  Adults, children, even animals, like being in my company.  It is only when flora comes into my realm that something changes.  Maybe it’s because I down fawn over them every minute of every day.  Flowers can be quite particular about how much C02 they need to consume daily.  Maybe I’m not breathing on them often enough.  Maybe the space I have chosen for them isn’t close enough to the window.  It doesn’t seem to matter what type of plant it is.  Anything with petals seems to want to commit hari-kari after hanging out with me for awhile.  Is it me?  Do I smell funny?

The reason I bring up this shortcoming of mine is because another one bit the dust…literal dust…on the weekend.  It was a beautiful purplish hydrangea.   I had received it as a gift on Mother’s Day.  I had received a lovely, vivacious pink one on Easter. Rest in Pieces.  Having a new violet coloured one was like getting a second chance.  It’s almost as if the pink one had requested that the universe send me a new one so I could redeem myself and forgo my killer ways.  All for naught.

I will never forget the cherished time I had spent with Pinkie…my Easter flower.  Ahhhh, she was lovely, in a coquettish sort of way.  She was playful and lively.  She preened in the sunlight.  Such a spectacle she made of herself when the dawn’s rays shone upon her. Maybe she thought I was jealous of her.  Maybe she believed I didn’t deserve her.  All I know is that after I decided to research how much water she should be getting everything changed.

After gathering sufficient knowledge from the world wide web, I inserted my finger gently into the soil that housed Pinkie and discovered that it was dry; too dry.  Google told me that she needed to be very hydrated.  I was going to make sure she would live to be transplanted into the great outdoors so that all the birds and animals could enjoy watching her bloom and grow.  Again, all for naught.

I had read somewhere that plants didn’t like very cold water so I made sure that my Pinkie would have a tepid water refill.  I carried my water vessel to her pot and gently poured the contents in.  She absorbed everything as if she had never tasted water before.   Was it enough?  Did she need more?  How much did she have last time?  When was the last time she was watered?  So many questions that I did not have an answer for.  I cautiously felt the soil again.  It didn’t feel very damp.  I made an abrupt executive decision.  More water.  In hindsight, it was a fatal decision, but hindsight is always 20/20.

The day after I had quenched Pinkie’s insatiable thirst her flowers began to shrivel and dry out.  How was this possible?!  How can something dry up AFTER you water it.  It didn’t make sense!  Logically, in my head, this was inconceivable.  I realized that this was an evil plot.  It was karma getting even with me.

Poor Pinkie

One day, after spending lots of time trimming back my African violets, and tying up my purple velvet plant, I decided that the plants were taking up way too much of my valuable time and precious living space.  This realization came after one of the pots tipped when the dogs ran into it.  Dirt everywhere!  Game over!  Dogs in and plants out.  At first I worried since I kept plants to keep good oxygen in the house.  Plants were (are) great oxygen producers.  Well, we are still here and we have no plants.  Even if I wanted them, they don’t want to live here anymore.  They arrive here and then they die.  Kind of like Death Row for foliage.  I think I have finally received the message.

You see, you can have something in your life and not appreciate it so you get rid of it thinking you won’t miss it.  But sometimes you find that you do miss it and would like it back in your life.  It is then that you will discover you can’t have it back.  Sometimes the decision is not yours to make.  It will be made for you.

Then again, sometimes you need to get the message, process it, and move on.  Everyone, I’d like you to give a warm welcome to Spike.  My new housemate and non-plant.  Spike has been with me since December 2017 (5 months of compatible bliss).  Message received…loud and clear.

IMG_5231

 

Best Mom Ever…

Happy Mother’s Day to all you mom’s out there.  Hopefully this ONE day of the year you are getting treated to breakfast in bed (without having to clean up the kitchen mess).  You are getting creations made by your children (that you will cherish forever even if they find the macaroni art totally dorky later in life).  You are getting beautiful flowers (that you aren’t allergic to).  Basically, I hope you are getting spoiled and cuddled and loved.   I hope you are feeling like the “good guy” instead of the warden of your real life prison.  You see, being a mom is THE toughest job in the world with the least amount of accolades and awards.  Why do women do it?

Now, let’s look at this one day of the year that we honour and celebrate those heroes of child rearing.  Again, I am generalizing and focusing on those women who do actually care about their children and want to nurture them and help them grow into functioning rational adults.  There are those who would tsk-tsk stay-at-home moms as they are not bringing home any kind of income or helping with financial burdens like mortgages or groceries.  But, I am betting that many a stay-at-home mom would LOVE to swap a week out of the house with you, the bread-winner, so that she could have regular sleep hours and a regular lunch hour and just any break that the working class stiff can get.

Mom’s dream:  alarm clock wakes you up.  Yeah…it’s that’s simple.  It’s not a wailing child who is wet or hungry or both that awakens you.

Mom’s dream:  At the end of the week, if the child is still alive and well, she gets a paycheck.  Mission accomplished.  Job well done!

Mom’s dream:  Dress up for work.  Wow…fancy!  No spit up on your clothes.  No food or drinks spilled on you.  What a beautiful dream.

Mom’s dream:  A civilized lunch.  Not eating up the leftovers on your kid’s plate.  You know…the half chewed stuff they didn’t finish.  A nice warm meal and you get to finish it while it’s hot.  Oh and you don’t have to share it with anyone.  Especially if there is a cookie or chocolate or something to go with it.  It’s all yours!  You don’t have to hide in the bathroom or the closet to eat it.

Mom’s dream:  Pee in peace.  OMG to actually go to the bathroom and not have someone knock on the door or have a toddler crying because you left the room.  Pee in peace.  No rushing at all!

Mom’s dream:  Talking to adults.  Yeah, no reciting the alphabet or singing rhymes.  You can talk about tv shows (not Paw Patrol or Disney stuff), but things like Game of Thrones or Grey’s Anatomy, or [insert tv show you would love to watch and talk about if you weren’t so tired].

Mom’s dream:  Sleeping.  Actually sleeping.  NOT tossing and turning in bed, running through the list of things that need to get done.  It’s not just your stuff to think about, but you have to think for your kids as well because Mother’s are preventative thinkers.  We think about worst case scenarios before they even happen because that way we can fix it when it happens because we predicted it was going to happen.  Why do they call the big purses Momma bags?  Because we have EVERYTHING in there.  That tote has more first aid items in it than a Doctor’s bag.

Mom’s dream:  not having to carry a Momma’s purse.  Our shoulder’s would be so much happier.

Mom’s dream:  telling the kids to do something ONCE and have it happen.  Yup, just ONCE.  Go to bed.  Eat your dinner.  Come inside.  Go outside.  Get in the car.  Put your toys away.  Come take your bath.  JUST ONCE!

Mom’s dream:  Hearing your child say, “You are the best mom ever!  I love you.”  Yes, that is the ultimate dream.

For every tired mom with babies and toddlers you remember the morning sickness, the tiredness, the back aches, the swollen ankles, some even had bedrest.  The labour…OH DEAR GOD…the pain of actual birth.  Then the joy of that little bundle, so helpless in your arms.  YOU…mom…were the one that swore nothing would ever hurt that little angel in your arms.  You kept your promise.  The sleepless nights.  The multiple feedings.  You cherished that bundle and watched it grow.  It went from crawling to walking to running.  It went from cuddling and hugging to cutting the mommy-cord and wanting to be free.  Mom, you kept your promise.  No matter what, you would stand on the sidelines with your overprotectiveness because you made a promise, a long time ago to that little one, and you would never break that promise (even though some days you would want to end that kid’s life yourself).  You both survived.

From infant to toddler to tween to teen to adulthood.  No matter how grown up, that child will always be mom’s baby.  These kids will have children of your own which just doubles the babies in mom’s life.  Every mom knows that your child will grow up, but it never really does.  As moms we celebrate the accomplishments and their grown up lives and are happy that they’re happy because that was always the main goal…their happiness.

So, on this one day of the year that is called Mother’s Day, most mom’s don’t want stuff.  They want their child, the one that never grew up (but actually did) to just smile and hug her and tell her that “You are the best mom ever!  I love you.”

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!  To all you wonder-mom’s out there.  You have persevered in a thankless job, with no pay increases, no vacation time, no punch out clock, and best of all, absolutely no manual to refer to.  Kudos to every single one of you.  You’re doing it right if you’re doing it with love.  That’s all that matters in the end.

 

It’s all in the delivery…

Everyday life is entertaining.  Today, I am here to share with you a short story of a real life event and the jangledness (my new dictionary word) of my brain in computing the meaning of everyday sentences.

It was a day like any other day; only it wasn’t.  I awoke perceiving this day to be like an ordinary uneventful day, but that changed very quickly into a forever-etched-in-my-memory day.   Why?  I had heard something, thought I had misheard it, then realized I had heard it correctly and proceeded to laugh, doubling over in the agony of unceasing laughter.  Now that you are befuddled, let me draw you into this wonderful world of my brain and how it works.

My niece came to visit me.  This was kind of new, but not especially, as she has visited in the past.  Her husband came along.  That was new, but it really has no relevance to my story.  She has a three year old daughter (sooooo cute and dramatically delightful), and a 6 month old son (yummily adorable) and they were there too.   It is due to my niece’s desire to make her little girl happy, that my humdrum day morphed into a positively hilarious day in a matter of seconds.

It was a Sunday.  Actually, it was Easter Sunday.  My niece and her family were visiting and we were just finishing up eating lunch when my niece began telling me of a wonderful place to buy and sell items.   It is on Facebook.  It’s a section called Marketplace.  Basically, you post pictures of stuff you want to sell, or you search for items you would like to buy.  Neat!  She then continued to share the joyous tale of how she had scored a great buy for her adorable little daughter.  A coveted, two-foot high doll that she bought for a remarkably incredible price.  And this, dear friends, is where my ordinary, uneventful day, went from zero to hero in seconds flat.

First, I need to tell you about the most coveted doll in North America.  The original doll was called the American Girl doll.  This two-foot wonder costs anywhere from $80.00 to $300.00 or more.  She has outfits you can purchase for her (also stylishly and heftily priced).  There are things your child and the doll can do together like go to the Hair Salon.  Oh, the styling is not for your child, it’s for the DOLL to get HER hair done.  There are spa features and parties you can plan for your doll; for a nice little price.  What little girl wouldn’t want this super cool doll with a whole new life-style of her own?

With the fantastically great sale of this toy it was only a matter of time until the copycat dolls were rolled off the assembly line.  These little beauties were priced a wee bit lower than their original counterpart.  Finding a good deal for this doll was (and is) quite a challenge.  Enter Facebook Marketplace.

As my niece was perusing items for sale on Facebook Marketplace she noticed a pretty doll, similar to the American doll called a Journey Girl doll.  Asking price?  $3.00.  Wha-what???  Was this a posting error?  Why so cheap?  Well, my niece had to check into this deal.  After contacting the seller she discovered that the price was correct.  The lady selling the doll was moving to another country and did not want to pack and ship all the kids toys.  Some things just had to go.  So the lady confirmed that the Journey Girl doll was for sale for $3.00.  Well wonder of wonders and call her Super Mom, because my niece was gung-ho to get this doll for her beloved little toddler.

“I couldn’t believe the deal I got!” explained my niece excitedly.  “But then when I got there I realized why the price was so low,” she paused, took a sip of her coffee, “she smoked.”

“Ummmm….what?”  I asked, stupefied.  My brain heard the sentence.  My brain was computing the statement and then my runaway train mind ran off the rails as it pictured the innocent little Journey Girl doll with a cigarette dangling from her bottom lip.  My lips began to quake.  My eyes began to water.  My belly shook like a bowl full of jelly.  I was laughing hysterically; internally.

“Are you ok?” inquired my niece.

“BAAAAAA HAAAAAA HAAAAA!” I guffawed out loud and took a huge intake of breath.  (*inquisitive look from my niece*) I shook my right hand back and forth in the air, as I gasped for oxygen.  I needed to explain what was OBVIOIUSLY so funny because apparently she had not heard it.

Oh, yes, I knew she meant the person who “smoked” was the lady selling the doll, but read that sentence over again and you can see why my addled brain took the road to that funnier conclusion.

After I finally composed myself into an almost normal human being, I retold the story to all those present.  The gentlemen in the room agreed with my interpretation and the LOL-ing continued.  My beloved niece lowered her eyes at us.  The look of “it’s not THAT funny” being understood.

That tale reminds me of something else I read.  I hope you enjoy this one as much as I do.

Wife:  Honey, please go to the supermarket and get a carton of milk.  If they have bananas, get 6.

Husband returns with 6 cartons of milk.

Wife:  Why the hell did you buy 6 cartons of milk?!

Husband (confused):  BECAUSE THEY HAD BANANAS

Um…yeah.  Get it?  Got it?  Good.

So, next time remember, it’s not what you say, but how you say it.  It’s all in the delivery.