Aaand...I'm back. Again.

Looks like it's my annual fall review, where I reconnect with my blog. As the new school year starts, it always feels like a new beginning. Nevermind January 1st, give me the first week of September and I'll show you a plethora of resolutions. Well, let's give it a go again, shall we?

Here's what's happened since last we met...

Last December was a pile of endings including, but not limited to, Mr. Puss passing away right before Christmas and being given notice that I had to vacate my bakery. Add a little Christmas cheer to that stress level and maybe you can imagine the miasma.

In the new year I had to take a long, hard, look at my business and decide what to do. With the help and focus of my ever-supportive Man, I decided to go retail. Gah! If I thought December was bad, it was nothing compared to January and February. The permits, the construction, the politics, oh my! It was a step I didn't think I was ready for, but there you have it: when a door closes, a window opens. Luckily there was a ladder provided by my family and I didn't have to jump out and land in a splat.

In March we went to Europe, because we had planned [read: paid for] this trip back in November and we weren't going to deny the kids the chance to see their grandparents because of a little thing like opening a store. While I was away for 3 weeks, preparation went on without me. When I got back, everything was [almost] how I wanted it. Again, thanks to the incredibly hard work of my family.

I officially opened the new door on April 19th, 2013 and after a couple weeks I was even able to keep food down. The first weekend of May brought the Girl's First Holy Communion. A party for 40 that was planned in less than 3 weeks. Way to go me. But it got done, and She was so happy for it.

With May being the "official" start of wedding season, it was just a blur. I don't even know how I got to September. Where did the time go? Thank goodness we had the Man's cousin come visit us for a month in July/August. She was able to watch the kids for me while I was working. With her help and the help of my friend's teenage daughters, my kids only had to spend 1 day with me while I was working which was a step up from every day last summer.

Soooooo much has happened, but I finally feel that I can breathe again. There's only about 6 weeks left of multiple weddings/weekend, I have hired a competent employee with whom I get along and understands the culture that I want to create. Because of the added help this summer, my Man and I have been able to connect to each other more often instead of being passing ships in the night.

I'm still working 10-12 hours a day, but I've limited my Sundays and Mondays to only what's necessary so that I can spend meaningful time with my family (Sunday) and now that school has started, I can spend some meaningful time for me (Mondays).

Bring it on, Autumn. Let's do this. Again.

Tat's all, moms!

Since I knew they existed, I've wanted a tattoo. I love the idea of body art and expression. [Even if right now, I seem to be expressing my body's love of medium double doubles.]

A few years ago, after many years, pregnancies, and discussions with my husband, I finally took the plunge. I was ready. But what to get? And where?

I knew for sure I wasn't going to go for anything "girly". No roses on my ankle, or unicorn on my butt. Puh-lease. When I was a teenager I wanted a scorpion with its tail wrapping itself around my breast. Yeah...if I had gotten that, it would definitely be hidden now! So, what design did I want permanently inked on my body. I briefly considered getting my husband's name tattooed accross my back Black Dagger Brotherhood
style, but recalled that I was a sensible woman. What is the one constant that would never change. Ever. My kids. No contest. But how? Their faces? Names? Hand prints? I decided for a little whimsy that included my penchant for all things ladybug. Something that was uniquely mine, just like my little beasts.

Design: check.
Tattoo artist: check - one of my girlfriends had a trusted artist: Boris. I trusted my friend, and I liked that work she had done by him.
Body part: not so fast, Mama.

Where, where, where? My shoulder? No. Legs? Ridiculous. Face? Come on. I realized it needed to go on the trunk of my body. Somewhere I could see it and appreciate it, so not on my back or bum. Boobs? Absolutely not. That leaves only one area, my friends. Somewhere on my belly or hips. I figured, with such a wide expanse of canvas, surely there would be a few square inches to spare for a little art.

Picture this: I'm lying on the table in Boris' work room. My dress [don't wear a dress to get a tattoo on your abdomen - knowing is half the battle] is rucked up around my waist. Professional Dr. Boris [it helped me to imagine I was at the doctor and this was a routine shaming] is peering at my belly, poking and prodding and muttering things like "hmmmm...maybe it can fit there....no...too many...this might...no....what about..." and so on and so forth until I asked exactly what was going on. He told me he was trying to find the best place for my masterpiece. I pointed to an area near my left hip. He answered with a cryptic "Too many." Too many what?

Stretch marks. 

How ironic that I wanted a tattoo to represent my kids, but I couldn't get it because of the number of stretch marks acquired due to creating said kids. Did you know that you can't get a tat over stretch marks because the skin is too thin and will break? Neither did I.

Boris the Magnificent did find a place [gee, thanks] high up on my flank and all went well. It took about half an hour of pinching pain, but the result was exactly what I wanted.

My Tattoo [and stretch marks]

Two little ladybugs, with vines and tendrils that make up the years my bugs were born. Can you see it?

Do you have any body art? Are you given any flak about it?

Word on the street - Toronto

On Sunday, after dropping off The Man at the airport, and drowning our sorrows in a cup of fruitopia, my sister suggested that we check out the Word on the Street festival at Queen's Park. We decided to take the subway to avoid the mayhem that is parking downtown.

Riding the Rocket like a pro already.

What is Word on the Street? From their website:

The Word On The Street's Exhibitor Marketplace offers festival-goers a window into the Canadian literary scene, presenting everything from the largest publishing houses to the smallest niche magazines and everything in between. We also feature a World Food Market at various locations throughout the festival.

There was so much to do and see, it was almost overwhelming. My sister and I, both logophiles, could have happily spent all day there listening to speakers and authors, and browsing all the new and used book stands. However, it's a little difficult to do that with a couple kids in tow. The Boy is a great reader already and goes through 5-7 novels a week [We love our library!] but wasn't all that interested in seeing or talking to authors. The Girl, even less so. The KidStreet seemed geared more towards the younger set, not the 7-9 years that I am currently dealing with. So, while I secretly wanted to wait around to see the Polkaroo, the Kids wanted to grab some pad thai (but only because the hot dog line was too long).

This series is next on our to-read list!

We did manage to score some sweet swag though, including free books! Woo hoo! We got some books signed by the authors too. There were new books being given away every half hour, all along the festival route. it was pretty amazing. I picked one up for the Man about a woman's adventure along the Bruce Trail. Again, my sister and I would have waited happily in every line, for every book, but it just wasn't possible with the Kids. We collected buttons, pens, a bag, book marks, more buttons and even book lights!

One of their favourite booths was the Science Centre (to which we have memberships that are worth every penny). Here's the Boy getting his mind blown by the power of reading:

His head isn't really that big. :)

All in all, a great day walking around Queen's Park circle. The trees provided relief from the light showers and one downpour that we experienced - not nearly enough to dissuade the book lovers of Toronto!

We'll definitely make a note to head out again next year.

Daddy-Leaving Blues

Sunday morning, at the crack of ridiculous, the alarm went off to wake The Man and I. I had to have him at the airport by 8:30 (or so I thought) for him to catch his flight to Orlando where he's attending some conference or other.

Turns out, when The Man told me the night before: "Oh, I think we should leave the house around 8am", what he really meant was "If we don't leave the house by 7:45am I'm going to start getting really twitchy and nervous and start snapping."

So, after a 7 second shower, I race downstairs to discover that he was kind enough to make me a breakfast sandwich [2 pieces of untoasted bread with a leftover breaded chicken strip - I honestly don't even know where he comes up with these things] but he's pacing uncontrollably. Piling everyone into my car he informs me that we don't have time to move his car back into the driveway, I'll just have to do that when I get home. Okay. At the top of the street, we realize that he didn't have his sunglasses. No time, no time to turn back the 200m. Fine. Time? 7:58am.  [Behind schedule! Behind schedule!!]

Normally, on a day with regular traffic, it can take about 30-45 minutes to get to the airport. Shocker: on Sunday morning, not so much. He got out of the car at 8:16. *8:16*. :/

Then came the tears. Not from him, or me, but from The Girl. "Oh, Tata!! Don't leave me!!" and so on, and so forth. I peeled her away and strapped her into the car, but I couldn't manage more than a peck on the lips for him. I was a little too stressed. And I feel kind of guilty for that. Mainly because I know that he's a nervous traveller. I should have been prepared for him to act the way he did. I'm sure I'll make it up to him when he gets back, because I already miss him.

However, less sappy: having to comfort the kids who think that 4 days away from Tata, is akin to an eternity. What's a mom to do? This:



Yep. I took them to a McDonald's with a play area and got them a juice. :)


Slides cure all heartaches for kids.

Come home soon, Tata. We miss you.

WW: Sunday Afternoon Relaxing With The Family

Our most recent excursion out on a side trail of the Bruce Trail: Mono Cliffs.

>

Mr. Puss

Yep. That's *Mister* Puss to you. And me. And most especially to the Girl.

A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I made my kids a promise. They'd been asking for a pet since they could talk, but I had always put them off by saying it was not sanitary to have a pet in the same place where food is being prepared for others, and until my cake business was elsewhere, we could have nothing bigger than a sea monkey. The promise: "As soon as I get my own shop, we may get a pet." *sigh*

Good news: I moved into the shop in May.

Slightly less good news: the instant my mixer claimed a new postal code, the kids started in on me. "but you SAID we could!!!"

And so began the half-hearted attempts at looking for a new pet, which we quickly narrowed down to a cat ("Are you sure you guys don't want a goldfish?") for it's independant nature and lack of daily walking needs.  The looking online: "I don't know guys, there's a cat available in Vancouver, but it's about a week's drive from here..." They caught on about a month in, and so off we went to the city pound to see which lucky beast would be adopted.

I was somewhat horrified to note that to adopt an adult cat, it was well over $100. Kittens were the same, but came with a $40 voucher towards spaying or neutering. Not much when you consider that this costs in the $350 range. Hmmmm...this cat business was starting to seem a bit much. Sadly, we couldn't agree on a feline that day, so I suggested we sleep on it for a few days (weeks, months...)

Now, allow me to make a note here. I love cats. I've lived with cats almost my entire childhood and adolescence, right up until I got married, and we couldn't keep a cat in our first little apartment. It's just that, at the time, it seemed like the responsibility of pet ownership was just one more thing I'd have to add to my already overflowing plate.

My sister knew of our search, and of our criteria. The Girl's: that it be cute, fluffy, wonderful and the bestest friend she could ever have. The Boy's: playful and orange. The Man's: looks and barks like a dog. Mine: short hair, litter-trained, indoor, smallish, healthy, cheap. Enter Mr. Puss, the 5ish year old, black short-haired, trained, indoor, neutered, and best of all, free cat. His owner had to find him a new home ASAP because his new flatmate was deathly allergic. Yay for us. No, really. Yay. My sister put us in touch with his last family, and before you could say "Did you clean the litterbox today?" we had ourselves a cat.

The Girl is besotted. It's Mr. Puss this. And Mr. Pussy that. And oh, my sweet little pussy. Oh. My. God.

She wouldn't dream of changing his name and was horrified when we suggested it. Do you know how many diminutive forms of Mr. PUSS are available and how it sounds when a 7-year old little girl is squealing in public about how soft and squishy her little Mr. Puss is?

What can we do? It's been a month now, and we're all rather used to it, but every now and then a stranger will give her strange looks. (Yes, she still talks about him in public.) I know that in a few years she'll probably figure out why we wanted to change his name and I'm not sure it'll be as funny as I think when she does realize it. But in the meantime, I'd like to keep her innocence for as long as possible.

The Girl insisted on riding the cat on the carousel at an amusement park recently.

Out of the closet....and onto the floor!

Do you want to know the easiest way to get something done? Do it yourself. Or....as in this case, I threatened to do it myself. 

A little background: 7 or 8 years ago, my uncle and father did us the favour of installing tiles in our entryway. Right into the closet. However, they didn't rip out the original floor, but lay the new tile over it. This resulted in the track for the sliding closet door being raised. So raised, that it wouldn't allow the doors, when properly installed, to slide. I was promised that it would eventually loosen up. If not, it could be fixed. In the meantime, I should leave the right door in place (because it couldn't be moved anyway!) and the left door could swing freely from the top - but don't pull on it lest it smash down on a small crawling child or the like. Easy peasy. Especially since I'm super organized.*

Fast forward several years and 2 kids later and this is what happened every time someone needed something from the closet:

 EVERY SINGLE TIME.

Something had to be done. I decided that I wanted a proper closet door. One that swings on hinges and everything. One that didn't threaten 7 years of bad luck every time it was opened. The Man nixed the idea based on cost and "too much work". We had to work with what we had. Fine. I could do that. I asked my father (he's a construction superintendent) to bring me home an angle grinder with a diamond blade. [That's what google told me to use.] I was going to cut through the tile to make more room for the lower track. How hard could it be? The websites said I only needed that tool and some duct tape. When I explained what I needed to both my father and the Man, I could hear the fear in their responses. Frankly, I was a little put out that they thought I wouldn't be capable of doing this. But I also acknowledged that my plan was working. After all I had to think of the greater good, and this wasn't it:

My father said he would come on Sunday to fix the door. So I got to work with the second phase of my plan. That is, to declutter the front hall closet. I only left the essentials, gave away most of the shoes, boots and coats that could do better in someone else's closet and stored out of season items under the stairs in the basement. There was now even room for guest coats in there! Imagine!

Much to my surprise*, when my father arrived on Sunday, he had brought an actual door for me. He said that he was more concerned that if I broke the tiles that he would have to replace the floor and hanging a door would be much less work, especially since he already had a door that was leftover from a renovation job. He uninstalled the old sliding doors and tracks, put up a frame and some drywall close to the ceiling and installed the [new-to-me] door. The whole process took about 90 minutes. 90 minutes.

I can now open the door and see all the contents of the closet. This is a big deal! I go look at it 6 or 7 times a day and smile. I open and close the door, just because I can. I can't even begin to describe how happy I am about it. That may make some people think I'm crazy.*

*Not really.

WW: The Man

Yes. He's that hot. I'm a lucky lady. :)

Funerals and other fun childhood activities.

Last night, about 20 minutes before pj time, the Girl comes running up to me, practically glowing. She thrusts an ello creation in front of my face and gleefully asks: "Do you like my sculpture, Mama?"

I give the appropriate response of "ooooh... I love it. How, um, colourful!"

"Do you know what it is?!" she asks expectantly.

"Ummm..... it's a... well, obviously it's......"

"It's a funeral home, Mama! See, all the flowers everybody sent are around the coffin and the poor little dead baby has a beautiful little round coffin. Isn't it so cute?"

I tried to mask my horror in the face of her excitement. "Very interesting."

A little back story: In the past 14 months, I've gone to 5 funerals. The kids came to 2 of them, because they were close family members. Yes, I take my kids to funerals of close family members. Yes, I know they are only 6 & 8. They are allowed to approach the coffin, but we've never forced them. We've taken them since they were babies. I was taken to funerals as a child and learned two very valuable lesson which I've tried to pass on to my children:

1. Death is an unavoidable part of life. To live is to die.
2. There is no reason to fear a corpse. The dead can never hurt you - only the living can. 

They've seen us solemnly dress and prepare for funerals. They've seen my husband cry in public. They've seen me sob uncontrollably into my husband's arms. They've seen my husband don the white gloves as a pall bearer. They've seen the sealing of a tomb in a mausoleum. They've helped clean and light candles at the graves of predecessors they've never met. 

In my eyes, all of these are positive experiences. While they should never become routine, they've become familiar and less scary. 

Now though, I have to deal with "funeral home sculptures" and "Mama, do you want us to bury you in the ground or in a wall?" and "let's play funeral" and "look, Mama, I designed the perfect cemetery!". [That last from the Boy, who discovered the delightful combination of graph paper and bird's-eye-view drawing.] I've also had to deal with the Boy suddenly starting to cry at odd moments because he remembers that life is "too short". I've been able to deal with those episodes with open discussion, books like What's Heaven, and emphasizing the beliefs of our faith, but they still happen. 

What are your thoughts? Is there a place for children at a funeral? How do you explain death to children? In what death rituals should children be allowed to participate? Have your children seen you cry?

The Halloween Fairy

Does the Halloween Fairy visit your house? No? Well, maybe she will this year!

On Halloween night, after all the children have gone to bed, the Halloween Fairy may pay a visit. Like her sister, the Tooth Fairy, the Halloween fairy likes a good deal, and is willing to barter. For the small price of a carefully selected bag of candy and other treats, this frugal, tummy-loving fairy will leave a special non-edible treat. At our house she has been known to leave a book or game for each child.

This is how my monsters prepare for her nocturnal visit: after trick-or-treating for an hour or two, my ghouls come home to empty their bags onto the kitchen table to scan and sort their loot. After I take out all the unwrapped, old-looking and otherwise too-nasty treats, the beasties are welcome to pick what they would like to keep. I've never set a limit on how much they can choose. I always say: "Take what you want". For the past two years, they've not kept more than 10-15 pieces each. As for the rest, the happily throw it back into their bags and hang them outside their bedroom doors in anticipation of the morning. They prepare for bed with glee and [I assume] dream of what the dawn will bring. They seem to believe that the "better" the bag, the "cooler" the gift will be. I've done nothing to temper that belief. :)

For the price of a couple dollars per kid, the Halloween Fairy helps them stay away from sugar overload and upset tummies. Hopefully this year, she'll remember to take the price tags off.

Usually the Fairy is kind enough to leave me a small stash of Smarties and other special snacks that can be used as bribes doled out as treats every once in a while to make me look like a hero. I'm sure the rest is composted *whistling innocently* or taken into work by the Fairy's good husband.

Here's a pic of my little freaks last year:

That's Fronk N. Shteen on the left, and Spider Fairy on the right. This year I have to come up with a Jedi master [where am I supposed to find a brown robe to fit such a skinny little dude?!] and a Fairy Witch Princess.

Wish me luck!

Nothing New - Summary

Here's the deal: I don't know if it was a coincidence or if my "Nothing New" month has actually paid off. So, the Man and I were looking into our month-end to see what dollars and cents we have to carry over to October and we were both in awe. Normally we have a positive number, although not by much, and a time or 2 in the last 12 months the number has been in red font - again, not by much. So, we usually break even after bills, food, taxes, gifts, charity and pre-authed saving. Whatever we do have left over goes into the savings and we start again.

My friends, this month was different. Much, much different. I'm not talking a couple hundred. I'm saying over a thousand! WTF? We/I can't possibly have spent that much in crap in months before! Can we/I have?

Not just chump change. 

I thought that maybe I had forgotten some horribly important payment so I went over everything with a magnifying glass. Let's take a look at the rough month:

• Food - check (and within budget! and including the time or two I asked the Man to stop in at the Deli on his way home to pick up something ready-made!)
• Bills - check, check, check, check, check, check, check (I could keep going)
• Mortgage - check
• Property Taxes - check (Curse you, City!)
• Car, insurance, fuel etc. - check
• RRSPs, RSPs, RESPs, Secret Savings ;),  Life Insurance etc - check, checkity, check
• Charities - check
• School lunches - check
• Gym membership - check

On the [paid] credit card (These items come out of our savings anyway because we budget for them monthly even though we pay them out once a year/term):

• Ballet payment for Boy ($$$$) [Trust me when I say you do not want to know that amount!]
• Swim lessons for both ($$$)
• Gymnastics classes for both ($$$)

Extra:

• 2 trips to local thrift shop - $52 total - for gifts etc.

There you have it. EVERYTHING accounted for. I'm trying to think of whether we felt at all denied. I can't say that I did. I don't think my family even noticed. For sure, the Man had no recollection because when I reminded him that September was my "Nothing New" month, I saw the tumbleweed roll across his blank stare. 

He suggested that I try it again for October to see if the theory holds true. However, we have not had an auspicious beginning. The Man needed a winter dress coat. I know that this is a purchase that will last for the next 5 years. He really wanted a new one and I wasn't about to deny him. He had saved a gift card from his birthday (March!) and had earned additional cash at a beer tasting test marketing thingy that he specifically earmarked for a coat. He found a half-off sale and bought a nice, decent, wool coat (reg. $200) for essentially $31.22 of "our" money. Not bad, all things considered. 

We also went out to dinner - at the mall, but hey, beggars can't be choosers - for the first time in forever. It cost us about $25, so not a bank breaker, but still. Had we not gone though, we'd never have this lovely shot of the Girl's first taste of pad thai:

And that, my friends, is a picture worth having. :) 

So, on to Nothing New October. And I will note here that my Nothing New months have been inspired by the lovely Mrs. T over at AThriftyMrs.com. Visit her and stand in awe. 

Is it REALLY the most wonderful time of the year?

School starts in 10 days. 10 DAYS. Thing 1 and Thing 2 will now both be out of the house for hours 6+ hours at a time. The little one is in grade 1 this year and that means full days. I'm not gonna lie: I'm a little terrified. The past 6 years I've defined myself as a stay-at-home [work-at-home?] mom of 2. My house is usually a disaster, but I've had a good excuse, right? Kids are generally small walking disasters and most attempts to keep up with mess are futile.
Now what?!
Surely I can no longer use the "oh, honey, I've-had-such-a-trying-day-with-the-kids-i'll-just-go-ahead-and-order-pizza-and-you-can-wear-the-same-socks-tomorrow-right?" excuse. Can I?
Will I be expected to be waiting at the door of a perfectly tidy house, pearls around my neck, heels strapped to my feet, dinner on the table, the angelic children bathed, calm and prepared to go bed after a perfunctory kiss on their heads from their father? Uh.... no. I don't know what kind of retro-trance I've just come out of, but I don't *think* that will ever happen, nor does my Man expect it of me. [At least, he hasn't yet!]  Although, I would be lying if I said that the idea doesn't appeal to me on some basic level.
Of course, I don't know where I'm supposed to fit in ballet classes, swimming lessons, Sparks, book club, yoga class etc etc etc. Maybe I'll have to tweak my utopian expectations.....