THIS is what we should be doing this weekend - wading knee deep in the ocean. Alas it is not to be. Am seriously considering a move to a warmer climate. Like Alaska.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Now let me preface this by saying that my hair only looks like this after I have actually done something with it (rollers, dryers, etc). Most days, my "mom hair" is pulled back and hidden under a ball cap. The fact that I can't even pee in peace pretty much tells you that total time spent on my lid on a daily basis is about 10 seconds, and about a minute if Nicholas decides he wants to "help". Nicholas' form of help consists of trying to drive a bulldozer on top of my head to move my hair.
When I was younger I obsessed about my hair. Not so much the style, but the length. Everything was about the length. Then I decided to shake things up a bit and got it all cut off. And didn't get a date for years. Got called "Mr." a few times. It was not a fun time for my self-esteem. I look back now and realize that it was a bad look for me - a bad cut and a very unflattering style. I have many friends with short hair and it looks fantastic on them. A few times I have debated getting it cut off again.
I have been "seeing" the same hairdresser for almost 15 years. I LOVE her. And so does half of Vancouver it seems because she books months in advance. Way back when I was younger and single I could book an appointment for a Saturday a few months ahead of time because my Saturdays were pretty much the same - sleep in, have coffee, read the paper, sleep some more, work out, shop, eat, and go out at night. I could easily find a few hours in there to get my hair done. And it really does take about three hours to get my hair done because there is alot of it, and a fair chunk of it is GREY which means continual colouring.
Now of course with kids my weekends revolve around them. I can't remember the last time I sat down and actually read the whole paper or drank a whole cup of coffee before it went cold. There is always something going on and so booking a couple of months in advance is not an option. So when I called her this week to find out when she could get me in her first available slot at any time, she told me she was fully booked until August. So I am now biting the bullet and am going to try someone new.
I phoned another salon, and got in within a week. Tuesday is the big day. I am a bit aprehensive, but nowhere near as freaked out as my sixteen year old self would be. If my hair gets butchered, it isn't the end of the world, and hair grows. There are bigger things in life to fret over, but I am still nervous. Should be interesting!
Thursday, June 19, 2008
"Look mommy - it's a WORM, isn't he HUGE?"
"Look mommy, it's supposed to be freaking summer and I am wearing a polar fleece outside!" (Ok, I made that one up - but hell, it is raining outside, it is June 18th, and I am beginning to think that the tourism industry should brand Vancouver as a place that has the best natural sunblock on earth - and you don't have to pay a dime). I digress....
Fred lived in our old house. His relatives (the bigger version) live in our new house. In the bathroom downstairs where we have to bathe the kids because the main bathroom in the house is out of commission (long story that involves an toilet, a useless wax ring, and the previous owner of this place who probably wanted to save a dime and had the bathroom done on the cheap).
Nicholas got out of the tub last night, and as I was drying him off he started screaming. I thought his whole body was going to erupt into flames. But no. He had a stray strand of my hair ON HIS FOOT. If any strands of hair touch his body that aren't his, he freaks out. The spiders - those are his friends. My hair - the enemy that must be destroyed.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
And now back to your regularly scheduled obligatory cute photo of Renee (note the clothing - she should be in shorts and a t-shirt by now).
Saturday, June 14, 2008
We were out at a park the other day and came across this sign. I instantly thought of our neighbours and how good this sign would look in their front yard. Facing their front door. Of course, they'd have to teach the dog to read it because they obviously don't give a shit where their dog does his.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
I had just been marking assignments downstairs, in the part of the house that Ken referrs to as the "experiment in cryogenics", and even though it is JUNE and we should be enjoying some sun and warmpth, we on the wet coast are still basking in temperatures that have barely reached double digits in the last couple of weeks.
After a couple of hours struggling with papers (and cursing at students who so obviously didn't read the outline or the criteria for the assignment - do you know how hard those are to mark???) my hands are almost blue with cold. I have always had an issue with cold hands, but in this weather in the downstairs of the house it is made exponentially worse.
When I come upstairs to re-fuel on caffine or chip the ice of my digits, I try to find the closest warm body to try to warm up my hands. My kids are my polar opposite as far as temperature is concerned - it could be a snowstorm outside and they will be running around the house in shorts and tee-shirts while I am still wearing my thermals INSIDE. Nicholas in particular is like a little hot water bottle, so as soon as I find him, I pin him down and shove my hands up his shirt. And OMG he FREAKS OUT. Screams non-stop, and giggles all at the same time. As soon as I take my hands out, he asks for more. Weird how that works.
So last night, my darling child comes up to me and cups his hands around my face.
"I love you mommy" he says.
"I love you too sweetie"
"Are my hands cold?"
"No sweetheart, they are nice and warm"
"I warmed them up for you" he says.
"That was nice Nicholas - how did you do that?"
"I had them down my pants".
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Next step in the grand master plan was to find an real estate agent. I knew of one guy we had met in one of the kids music classes and the thing I really liked about him was that he knew we might be looking to sell - and all he did was give us his card, and tell us to call him. No pressure, no annoying follow-up calls, and no mention of houses when we saw him each week. I really liked that about him. So when we did find a house we thought we might like, we called him and asked him to arrange for a showing. He did, and we all clicked.
We learned that he was fairly new to the business and had a marketing background. So he worked his ass off for us when we did finally find the house we eventually bought. Once we bought our new house, we had to list ours. And again, he did a great job. We have referred him to friends and would use him again in a heartbeat.
The one thing he does is keep in touch - so each birthday, anniversary, etc, we get a card. And every single card has a couple of business cards in it. If we saved them all I am sure we would have dozens by now. Mr. Agent sent a card to Ethan last week - and when Ethan opened it he got really excited. He thought that the business cards that were inside were some form of money. Once he realized they weren't, he asked what he should do with them. I told him to do some art, and we would send it back to Mr. Agent. And so he did.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
"I hope you don't mind that we got Ethan a birthday present" one of our neighbours told me today. "It isn't something I'd buy my boys, but I thought he'd like it".
I wasn't too sure what to make of what she said - and for the record, I really really like this lady - we met because her son and Nicholas are in the same preschool class, and as it turns out her older boy and Ethan are the same age too. We get along great and her kids are super.
So when we got home Ethan opened the gift and it was a spiderman web-blaster. Now I know what she meant - it is strictly an outside toy, so Ethan put on his winter jacket, and ventured out into the pouring rain to make a mess of our deck. And he loved every second of it. This stuff is a pain in the ass to clean up as well, so it will be payback time when her son turns six next month.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Six years ago today Ethan was born. Hard to believe how fast time goes and how fast kids grow up.
He has been looking forward to today for awhile - he gets to pick what he wants to eat for lunch and dinner - so he picked sushi and quiche. I have made some really pathetic cupcakes for dessert tonight - thankfully his six year old palate is not too discerning at this point.
So this afternoon I took the kids to the mall in search of some good sushi (and french fries). After a good feed of raw fish and deep fried spuds we were heading over to the car when Ethan asked me if it hurt when he was born. I told him that yes, it hurt, but after it was all done it didn't hurt anymore. He then asked if I said "ouch". Um...yeah....that among some additional colourful phrases. In fact, the first thought I had when I found out I was pregnant with Nicholas was "holy crap - I have to give birth again!". When I found out I was pregnant with Renee I just about fell over in shock, and then remembered how painful the birth of the boys was. I had no way of knowing that her birth was by far the worst on the pain scale (and I thought it got easier).
Alot has changed over the past six years - and if someone told me I'd have three kids and my career pretty much on hold I would have told them they were crazy. One thing that hasn't changed though is that Ethan STILL sucks his fingers. Maybe that is something we should work on for next year.