Sssshhh... can't talk

Lost is on.

The return of Lost

Yes, fellow Losties (if you are Losties), tonight is the night. Do not be fooled by the commercials telling you Lost returns tomorrow! The last episode from last season is on TONIGHT, which is fabulous seeing how it had been almost a year since it aired. I need to get back in to the story, I'm sure there are details I forgot.

Lost. Finally. Hee hee hee hee hee hee

Totally different topic

Remember how I told you I love Husbandly One's use of idiom, how it is his own unique blend of mainstream Canadian English and his immigrant heritage?

He is playing pool on the Wii, and just messed up a shot. His bitter comment? "Ahh...what a big chorizo!"

He looked at me like I was crazy when I laughed like a loon.

Being a parent means there's never an easy answer

The other day, a few of us ladies from work were standing around the water cooler. (Truly, we were. Does it make my life a bad cliche??) One of my friends -- I'll call her Crystal, because, umm, that's her name -- was filling us in on her current dilemma.

Crystal has two sons, 8 and 3. She and her husband had talked about taking the boys to Disney this March, but both were hesitating because, although they really want the 8 year old to have the experience, the 3 year old is.... well, I was going to be kind and say "he's a typical 3 year old", but that wouldn't do the situation justice. I'm sure he will grow to become a lovely child, but for now he is an unholy terror who exhausts his parents, his daycare teachers, his grandparents, and anyone who comes in contact with him. The 8 year old, on the other hand, is a shy, quiet boy who often defers to his boisterous younger brother.

Anyway, Crystal's dilemma was that she and her husband came to the realization that they simply can't face this vacation. And then her husband said, "But there's no reason you can't take Older Son, just the two of you."

So Crystal wanted to talk the situation out in front of us. I said, "I think that's a fabulous idea. Little Son is too young to remember anything about an expensive trip, any way, and it will give Older Son time alone with you."

Then another co-worker, I'll call her Esther because it's not her name, freaked out, "No, that's WRONG. Either it's about the WHOLE family or you DON'T do it. Leaving your son behind is WRONG, how could you CONSIDER it? That's just being selfish."

I tried to point out that Crystal wouldn't exactly be leaving her son behind alone, huddled next to a dumpster in a snowbank. He would stay home, having Daddy's undivided attention, while Older Son could have Mummy's undivided attention at Disney. Everybody wins. Esther has two grown children herself, whose age difference is pretty much on par with Crystal's kids, so I thought she would be more sympathetic, but I was floored by how rigid her thinking was. (Granted, she's also the same person who thinks single mothers should have their children taken away from them if they ever have trouble paying the bills....)

Don't get me wrong, Esther is a lovely, warm, friendly woman who would give you the shirt off her back. But when she gets an idea in her head about how you should raise your children? Fuggettaboutit.

Crystal walked away from the conversation, clearly a little down and guilt ridden. I cornered her privately later and told her how my best friend, also mother to two boys, literally schedules "Alone Time" with each of her two sons every week. Yes, family time IS a very important thing.... but remembering that your children are individuals who require individual attention is sometimes more important.

I hope Crystal goes, just the two of them.

Green Economics, Irma Style

This morning my newspaper reported that $100 million is being spent on a new wind farm not far from here. This wind farm will produce enough electricity to power 9000 homes.

My initial reaction was, "Are you kidding me? One hundred MILLION dollars, and it only services 9000 homes? Who could be that stupid?"

Then, umm, I got out my calculator, and realized that it only comes out to $11,000 per household. Oops. Because, seriously? Eleven thousand sounds like a good deal to me.

Imagine if you could go to your power company, and agree to give them a one time payment of $11,000. And, in return, you would NEVER have to pay for electricity again. Would you sign on?

Of course you would.

And before you get all snotty on me and say, "Stop being an imbecile, it doesn't work like that", let me tell you that I KNOW it doesn't work like that. But it should.

I should, hypothetically, be given the opportunity to buy in to the $100 million plan by giving the cash up front for One Household's Worth of Electricity, and then I should be able to disconnect my meter forever. I don't want to hear about how the power generated by the wind farm I financed will be returned to the grid for the use of all citizens, thereby reducing everyone's dependence on fossil fuels, thereby (cough! cough!) reducing the cost of electricity. I call bullshit. 'Cause, baby? We all know THAT ain't happening.

And please don't tell me that, if I want to disconnect from the grid, I can erect my own windmill. If you really think that, then clearly you have never fought zoning regulations for the right to put up a five foot fence on your property, never mind an 80 foot windmill. Maybe in your neighbourhood that'll fly, but I assure you, not in mine.

Fifteen years ago, there was only one phone company. Then, seemingly overnight, we had choices, and the new competition meant that people could choose whatever lowcost package fit their needs. Same thing with cable TV. Same thing with internet providers.

So why not power? Why not private green corporations, producing electricity for individual citizens?

Would I pay $11,000 --- hell, even $11,000 every ten years -- for my own, guaranteed, 100% renewable, 100% pollution free, source of energy? You bet your ass I would.


And so would you.

Always a mother

I listen to the unending news about Heath Ledger's death. Shocking. So young. I can't believe such a promising actor is gone, such a young, young man.

But my thoughts continuously turn to his two year old baby daughter who will have no daddy. That bothers me more than anything.

Must remember to remind Son how much I love him.

Trying to FLY

Yes, I am now a FLYbaby..... a very, very young FLYbaby, but a FLYbaby all the same.

Note to self: God, Irma, stop SAYING "FLYbaby". It'll make the nice people hate you, without even knowing why.

A FLYbaby is someone trying to run her home based on the principles taught at http://www.flylady.com/ Essentially, this program acknowledges that our homes have gotten away from us: they are cluttered, they are messy, we can't keep up, and doing housework makes us weep and knash our teeth with rage. It offers babysteps to regain control of our dwellings, and become the capable chatelaines we were all meant to be.

I won't get in to detail about the program, you can check it our yourself, and I do encourage you to check it out if you're looking for a new way. But I did want to talk about the verrrrrrrry first thing a new FLYbaby must do: shine your sink.

Shine. Not clean your sink -- we all know how to do that-- but SHINE it.

I followed the very detailed but straight forward instructions on how to do this, and people, I am here to reveal the shocking truth: If I could take my sink as my lover, I would. I never tire of looking at it, stroking it's glistening loveliness, and carefully drying it each and every time I run water in it. And because my sink is so blindingly beautiful, it is gently, slowly, helping me to love the house that surrounds it.

I know I sound like I just had a big glass of Kool-Aid (wait for it...wait for it... you'll get it in a second....) but if your home has gotten away from you, even slightly, I urge you to read the site, read how the completely free system works, and decide for yourself. But even if it's not for you, shine your sink!

Pressure

If you know me in Real Life, you know I obsess about vacations. Where to go, where to stay, what to do, how to get there, blah blah blah. And that's just for my Three: me, Husbandly One, and Son.

Then my Delightful Step Daughter enters the picture. Wants to plan their summer vacation around us, wants to spend time with her father, the grandfather to her children. I am SOOOOOOO all over this, I want to spend time with them, too, want to see my gorgeous grand-babies for more than a day.

But... Where do we go? Where do I reserve? Suddenly, we are not three, we are potentially TEN. (My Three, her Four, my Stepson, my Mum, and my Sister.) And I'm sorry, but decision making for THAT many people is scary.

The easy answer is renting two cottages nearby.

The thing I suggested tonight, though, is NOT easy. Or cheap.

Newfoundland, my favourite place in the world.

We'll see what she says.....

Home sick

I worked Monday, feeling kind of off kilter.
Tuesday, I went to work but came home at 10:30 am.
Wednesday, I didn't feel right but went to work anyway.
This morning, I called my office at 7:30 am and left a message that I needed to stay home.

Things I have noticed during my time at home:

-- My mail comes around 1pm. There is rarely anything good in it, it's all flyers, real estate agent self-promotion, and bills. Why don't we send letters anymore? Why don't we all, collectively, work to make receiving the mail an exciting thing?

-- When you are sick, playing the brand new Wii might seem like a fun diversion. The truth is it's too much work.

-- My dog is never going to learn to stop barking at everything that moves.

-- When you are sick, your "bed head" takes on new, previously unimagined dimensions. I'm sure it stems from night sweats, but I have to tell you that I have never been more unattractive than I am at this exact moment. I suppose I could take a shower, but...

-- When you're sick, showering seems like a foreign, unattainable goal. I don't have enough energy to simply stand under hot water. But somehow I have the energy to type. Hmmm.

-- A low grade fever is harder to deal with than a scorcher. For example, if my temp was 104, I'd take drugs, sleep, and fight that bastard. However, my temp hovers between 100 and 101, which is just enough to make me a whiny loser. I don't take drugs at this level, because I know a fever is my body's way of fighting, so why should I stop it? The side effect, of course, is that I become a complete baby, wanting the entire universe to revolve around me.

-- I promise I will be back shortly, saying something (anything) more interesting than this.

Romance

Romance can be a dinner for two.
Romance can be a thoughtful love letter.
Romance can be an unexpected, generous gesture.


And romance can be Husbandly One striding in to your office, saying, "Let me feel your forehead....you feel hot, baby. You're not well, go home and rest."

Do not under estimate or forget those every day moments. I love it when he surprises me with a Grand Gesture. But I like it when he pays attention to me more.

Fewer days before me than there are behind me

My father said that to me once about eight years ago, and I remember how beautiful and succinct I thought it was. I focussed on the beauty of his words, rather than contemplating their actual meaning. My father, when the spirit moved him, spoke like a poet, and it was the sound, the imagery that appealed to me. Not the message.

And then, almost two years ago, he died.

BAM.

Just like that. Gone.

What the fuck?


Reality check. I am 38. My mother died when she was 60. My father died when he was 60. Should family history mean anything, I can only expect another 22 years.

Not enough. Nowhere near enough.

My word for 2007 was BEGIN.

My word for 2008? HEALTH.

Just watch me go.

Rite of passage?

I have long heard parents lament over their searches to procure this year's Must Have Holiday Gift. And I have long sympathized.

But it was only this past Saturday (Jan 12, I think) that I arose from my delicious bed at 6:45 to gulp back a steaming cup of Life (coffee) and then head over to stand outside the local Superstore at 7am, in anticipation of their 8 o'clock opening. The rumour was that they had nine Wii game consoles on sale.

For the first time, I was one of THOSE parents, the kind that will bitch-slap you with her purse in order to obtain the object of her desire. Strangely enough, I felt a sort of communion with the other parents, I suddenly understood why they would stand in line an hour before opening, lightly shifting from foot to foot as they attmepted to ignore the fact that they needed to pee.

But don't kid yourself: my Inner-Bitch was also aroused by their appearance, and there was no WAY I was letting those bitches beat me.

Which I didn't.

Mama brought home the Wii, just like she said she would. Heh heh.


Umm...

Is now a good time to admit that Son didn't really want a Wii? This was all about ME. I saw how it worked, I wanted it, I got it.

Son is perfectly happy being my "excuse".... I am acting insane, and hitting you with my purse, because SON wants this.

Yeah, okay, whatever.

So....this is us

Yes, here is the first identifying picture of my family, taken at Epcot on Christmas Day 2007.

From left to right: Sister, Mum, Son (whose unfortunate shirt choice makes him look about eighty pounds heavier!), me, and Husbandly One.

Husbandly One....sexy, smart, masculine, funny, gorgeous, oh God let me tear my clothes off NOW..... (Sorry, was that out loud?)

Umm, yeah, I am ridiculously fond of Husbandly One.
I just want to bite him.
In the good way.

My lesson from Detroit

I have mentioned this before, but I will put it in context again: Husbandly One is almost twenty years older than me. Through him, I find myself, at the age of 38, grandmother to two fabulous girls. Yes, I have two grand-daughters who are 10 and 7... (my 11 year old son finds in hysterical that, through marriage -- or Whatever-- he is their uncle. But I digress.)

So here's something my oldest grand-daughter, Colie, showed me: take a crayon ( or pen, or pencil, or just a stupid stick) in each hand. Push the flat ends of the two crayons together. Hard. And keep pushing hard. Keep pushing. No, don't qustion my methods. Just push those crayons together as hard as you can.

Now slowly pull the crayons apart, and feel how they have become magnets and don't want to separate.

Cool, huh?

I'm baaaaaaaaack

For various reasons, I have been without internet access for almost three weeks. Between a wonky connection here at the house, and an even wonkier connection at our rental home in Florida, this is the first opportuinty I've had to update this site.... and of course tonight I am super busy with little time to post. So, here's a quick rundown of my vacation, by the numbers:

Ten - Number of glorious, sunny, hot days spent in Florida
Nine - Number of roller coasters I screamed my head off on. (Including front row seats on Kraken at SeaWorld. Yeah baby.)
Eight - Number of dollars I spent on a hot pink, goose down parka at the world's most kick ass outlet store in Detroit.
Seven - Number of Lego sets Son brought back from the Lego SuperStore.
Six - Number of bracelet charms Husbandly One bought for me at the Kennedy Space Centre. (I wanted ONE to add to my existing charm bracelet. Now, it looks like I have to start a new, "All-NASA-All-The-Time" bracelet.)
Five - Number of people in my family who left on the trip. And, on a positive note, also the number who came back.
Four - Number of massive snowstorms that hit my home town while we were away.
Three - Number of hours Husbandly One and I spent walking around Epcot one afternoon, just the two of us. Heavenly.
Two - Number of correct numbers I had on my lottery ticket, therefore forcing me to come home, after all.
One - Number of heartbeats it would take me to go back.