Don't Pet That Dog

It has been a strange few days.  My favorite  part was when PHD went to pick up the kids from school on Wednesday.  I don't like to go inside the school where principals and teachers tend to grab you to just mention "one small thing" that your child has been doing, probably because you are a terrible parent. PHD's approach is to go right on in and pretend he's back in elementary school minus the ever present threat of expulsion he was under when he actually was a student.  To each his own.  It takes all kinds. He's nutty.  Whatever.  On this day, 

That Should Trick the Robbers

Happy New Year Friends!  

As I like to begin my year filled with hope and optimism,  and spend the second week filled with disappointment and self-loathing, I like to make a long list of generally unachievable  resolutions.  I thought I would try a smaller, simpler list for 2015:

My brain was protecting me from that memory

I had completely forgotten about this. Shortly after we returned from Florida, and I had the first inkling that we might not be the class act I imagine us to be(Redneck), our  front doorknob gave out.  I guess it was old and tired of turning all the time so it quit doing that. Sometimes we couldn't get into the house and sometimes we couldn't get out.  It was a fun little adventure for about a week. Especially the time I was stuck on the front step in -35C weather. PHD finally took out the doorknob and decided it couldn't be fixed. 

Here is yet another example of how differently we handle situations. I thought we should go to Home Depot and get a new doorknob, you know, one that turned, and maybe even locked.  Here was PHD's solution:

When I suggested that a tea towel jammed into the hole in place of an installed doorknob was less than ideal, he looked at me like I was insane, "Are you worried a tiny robber will stick his hand in and unlock the deadbolt?"  I said, "No, I am worried that I need to explain to you why it is ridiculous to use a dish towel as a doorknob."  What I was really worried about was that in that moment, I couldn't think of a single valid reason why we couldn't just use the towel to plug the hole. PHD has broken my common sense.  So I went to bed and had dreams about eyes peeking in the hole, or things slithering in. 

He did put in a doorknob about two days later.  Since then, I have figured out why you can't use a dishtowel as a doorknob.  The missing doorknob is just the beginning.  Next maybe you think the front lawn is a good place to keep a spare toilet, you get a gun rack in your truck, or maybe you get a goat as a pet. It all starts to seem reasonable.

It's a slippery slope people.

I am about 27% sure I am hard of hearing

I don't want influence your opinion but after reading Sunday's post over again, I believe Episodes 2 and 3 support the theory that I am hard of hearing. Episode 1 is just a bad day...So, how do I solve my hearing issues? I do find that if I use my sunglasses to push my hair back behind my ears I hear much better, kind of a DIY hearing aid. Which, now that I think about it, sounds a lot like a manual eyelid lifter, which sounds a lot like mental issues. 

So I the point is, I am still trapped in my circle of uncertainty, I think.

Episode 3

"What is she doing?", you ask?  Check it out here:  Episode 1 and here:  Episode 2. If you know what is going on, you are probably thinking, "Yay!  The final episode is here!" Or you aren't reading this at all.  It's okay, you are probably really busy.

One day I went to Costco to buy muffins and spent about one thousand dollars.  The more interesting part is that the lady that was packing (by packing I meaning pretending my cart was a basketball hoop and every item was a possible 3 pointer) my stuff, grabbed the six pack of blueberry muffins and said, "Can I have a muffin?" I looked at her.  She looked at me.  I thought, "Doesn't Costco let staff eat as many as they want? They should. If not, it does explain why their staff looks about as engaged as  an American DMV worker."  I was about to say, "Sure, if you are hungry, help yourself" when I realized the packer person had asked if I had another package of muffins, not if she could have a muffin.  That made me laugh manically for an uncomfortably long time.  Both clerks and the people behind me were looking at me, frozen, probably thinking they were witnessing a mental breakdown.  Naturally, I had to explain what was so funny and everyone laughed uncomfortably until I pushed my giant cart away.  Awkward.

So, what is the point, you ask?  Well that's what I am asking you - what conclusion do you come to?    Keep up, would you? You may need to read the first line of Episode 1 again. To which conclusion do you come.  Which conclusion do you come to?  Damn it. 

Fine, here's another pretty picture of Las Vegas. Same deal as last time. Free Delivery anywhere in the world with purchase of this print for only $10,000.

Or, maybe you like this one better:  

Or maybe you like both and are thinking, "I can't decide!"  No worries, I am service oriented.  How about buy one, get one half off? Let me know, but don't delay, this deal is hot.

Episode 2

For an explanation of what the hell is going on here, please visit Episode 1.

As we watched a movie trailer about Meryl Streep at a marriage counselor, PHD told me he liked male strippers. My first thought wasn't, "Oh no, my husband is gay, our whole 17 years of marriage has been a lie", it was, "Is he trying to tell me he wants to go to counselling? That seems really time-consuming." I slowly realized he said he liked Meryl Streep, not male strippers. Not the same thing at all.

Episode 2 is very short so here is a pretty picture from the Bellagio Gardens in Vegas. I took the picture all by myself and it is completely unrelated to anything in this series. Sorry. Or, if you like it, you are welcome. If you really like it, a limited edition print is available for $10,000. Personal delivery is included in that price.  

To be continued... (dun, dun, duh)

Episode 1

A few things happened lately that made me wonder: Am I mentally ill, genetically predisposed to quirkiness or just hard of hearing?  I will lay it out for you and see what conclusion you come to.  Or to which conclusion you come.  That sounds weird, too. Do you ever get to the place where none of the words you write seem right?   Too Yup, Me.

Then, as I tried to work out the answer to this question, the post became so long that I decided it was time for something new:  A WEB SERIES!  I can't wait to see what happens.  The series is 3 episodes, unless I feel like making it longer.  

Anyway, first I would like to introduce my Grandma V. (I promise this will all come together at some point.  Actually, promise is a strong word.  I should say, there is an outside chance this post may make sense by the end.)  Grandma's always been a bit, uh, quirky. She has had numerous health challenges over her life and has grown to distrust doctors.  I used to think that was nutty but as I watch doctors get younger over the years, I have more empathy for her viewpoint.  A few years back, she needed cataract surgery in one eye but she didn't trust the doctor to perform the surgery.  I am only guessing but it was likely because he might pop in a hidden camera while he was in there, or steal her good cornea.  You never know. So, clearly, the most reasonable alternative to laser surgery is to lift your eyelid with your fingertips any time you want to see who is talking to you.  Obviously, I am no doctor but I don't understand how the manual eyelid lifting thing helps her cataract.  Would pulling your eyelid up with your index finger make a tiny shade?  I think the cataract would still be there, only it would be darker.  Unless she's trying to use the eyelid as a reflector to get more light in. Okay, that makes sense. 

Now that you have a glimpse of my genetic background, consider the following episodes/incidents:

I ran out to get groceries and when I returned to the house I pushed my sunglasses up on my head to hold my hair back.  Three hours later when I left to pick up the kids, I couldn't find my sunglasses so I pulled out another pair and raced off.  Half an hour later, and many encounters with normal human beings later, I realized I was actually wearing two pairs of sunglasses, one on my eyes and one as a hairband.  And, I am not even sure that was the worst part of my outfit.

End Episode 1 - To be continued...(Insert dramatic music here, sounds kinda like "dund, dun, daaaa" in my head.  I also make piano-playing motions with my hands at the same time but you don't have to do that.  Unless you want to.)

Nightmare, Project Share

Hmmm, I just found this draft post from last June. There is probably something horribly wrong with it but I can't tell what that might be now, so here goes!

Boy 1 told me he had had a nightmare the night before.  Boy 2 asked him, "Which one?" like he had rented a movie, or something. Maybe he thinks everyone has the same nightmares.  I didn't explore this thought further as I was distracted by the conversation we had just had:

Boy 2:  I have to do Project Share tomorrow. 
Me:  You just did it today and you have to go again tomorrow??
Boy 2:  Yup, Last person of the month gets to start the next month.
Me:  Oh.
Boy 1:  I had a nightmare last night.
Boy 2: Which one?

That may be repetitive.  The point is that the Grade 3 class does a show and tell every morning and each student gets a turn once a month. And it is a horror show for the parents.  Well, probably not the good parents, just for me. 

My thought:  "S*!T, now we are going to fight for another hour tonight so we can get up early and freak out for another hour tomorrow getting that done.", triggered a panic attack, and also meant I couldn't invest much energy or curiosity into the nightmare theories of Boy 2.

He was unusually compliant, blew out a Project Share in 15 minutes and went on with his day.  Full of surprises that child.

The next morning the teacher tells me, all proud, "Boy 2 (She actually calls him by his real name, though, in case you were wondering) volunteered to do Project Share today!" 

Hmmmm, did he now?  When we got home I asked him what really happened. He blushed furiously and said, "I didn't hear what she asked so I put my hand up in case it was something good.  It wasn't."

There is probably an important lesson there about attention to detail, accepting the consequence of your actions or something.  What I want to know is: Is it possible everyone has the same nightmares?  That the people that make nightmares are lazy and keep recycling the same dreams over and over?  

That would explain why Project Share is monthly. Nightmares are recycled.

I can't see or Birthday Part 1

I had a BIG birthday on November 5. Let's call it my 30th. That means I got married when I was 14.  Don't think about the math too much.

PHD usually likes to try to surprise me in some way. One year the surprise was that he forgot my birthday entirely.  Usually he does much better than that. It can be a lot of fun for me because I usually figure the surprise out in advance, by some fluke or another. By fluke I mean I keep asking "innocent" questions until someone gives some kind of clue that gives away the surprise, or PHD yells, "Don't tell her that!" which also gives away the surprise. So, he and the boys disappeared for a few hours the Saturday before my birthday.  Boy 2 figured out pretty quickly how to use this to his advantage.  Here's how that went:

Boy 2:  Can we go for frozen yogurt?
PHD: Maybe. 

Boy 2: Well, maybe, I will tell Mom her surprise.

Me to PHD after I stopped laughing:  You are totally screwed for the next week!

No win.  Either he does everything Boy 2 tells him or I find out the surprise.  Boy 2 had his own little puppet for 7 days. 

So, since they wouldn't tell me if they bought me a new camera for my birthday, I went and bought a new camera.  I also may have blinded the children with the flash. 

They are so dramatic.  Vision loss was only temporary.  Just to be safe, I returned the camera.  To be honest, the bigger issue with the camera was that I didn't find the button/control placement intuitive and I missed a big shot.  The boys and I went for a walk one dark evening. As they typically do, the boys started punching each other.  Boy 2 got a good shot in then started sprinting across the park with Boy 1 close behind.  I still don't understand how this is possible, but as he was sprinting, Boy 2 mooned us. And he still managed to keep out of Boy 1's reach. it isn't right that a boy can outrun his older brother at the same time as he is pulling his pants down far enough to show his little white butt sprinting across the park.  Violates some law of nature or physics, or something, I'm sure.  Anyway, because I couldn't find the record video button on the new camera, I missed our chance to become YouTube sensations and appear on the Ellen Degeneres Show. Camera had to be returned.

This post has gotten a bit long, and ADHDish so I am going to stop here and make it Part 1 of a more than 1 part series.   If you want to understand the point of this post, or think "Maybe it will get better if I read more." (That's how I am every time I try corned beef: "Maybe this time I will like it".  Does that make me optimistic or insane?), you can check back and read Part 2 whenever I get around to posting it.  I think I just built suspense there.  Or alienated you completely.  Let me know.

Well Played Boy 2, Well Played

This was the conversation in the backseat of my car after Boy 1 solved his friend L's riddle too quickly for Boy 2 to have a guess. Boy 2 started getting angry and Master Mediator L stepped in:

L:  It's okay, here's another one for you, what flies but doesn't have wings?

Boy 2: A flying lizard!

L: No...well...yes...but that's not it.

Boy 2: (rapid-fire now, no one is getting a word in until he solves this baby) My farts.

L: no...well...maybe but keep guessing. (I love this friend, he is so patient with Boy 2.)

Boy 2: Superman.

L: Umm, yeah(starting to frown) but that's not it either. It starts with a t---

Boy 2: (even faster) pterodactyl-tree-ten-gurgantulolo

L: no, no, no and is that even a word? It starts with t, not g, - It has to do with a clock

Boy 2: A watch with no arms!

L: What?

So, to summarize, a watch with no arms sure flies when you are having fun. And, I think if you can frustrate the riddle teller into quitting, you win, whether you solve the riddle or not.

Gurgantulolo. (let's pretend it means "you win, goodbye")

Parenting Scares for Rookies

I just read this article from Today's Parent magazine:  http://www.todaysparent.com/6 parenting scares .

Hilarious!  In a not intentionally funny way.  All this time I had been thinking I must not handle stress well as I tumble down the wrong side of the nervous breakdown spectrum.  Turns out we are NOT normal. If you don't feel like reading the actual article, according to Today's Parent normal parenting scares are:

1. Baby swallows penny.
2. Toddler eats dog food.
3. Your preschooler writes on the couch with a permanent marker.
4. Your first grader stuck a peanut in his ear.
5. Your eight-year old glues his fingers together with Crazy glue.
6. Your ten year old got gum in her hair.

How it goes down in the MacFuddle house:

1. Toddler swallows six metal marbles from his brother's magnetic building kit.  Intern in the emergency room actually gasps when she views X-Rays.  I suggest she may want to tone down the gasping in shock around the average nervous parents.  Probably okay around damaged, beaten-down parent like me, but you never know. In case you are wondering, as long as the marbles aren't actually magnetic, and they are smaller than a penny, they will pass. And, no, the sitter will not check the diaper and keep a running tally of the marbles.
2. ?? I don't get it.  Was there not enough food left over for the dog? That is a pet owner issue, not a parenting scare.
3. At the MacFuddle house, most items, including walls, clothes, furniture, are "labeled". My advice is to let them turn the drawing into a mural to show their classmates.  It will seem like homework and they will quit doing it.  True Story. But, again, not a true parenting scare.
4. Eighteen month old sticks so many unpopped popcorn kernels into his left nostril that kernels start coming out his mouth.  I worry that he could actually be touching his brain with popcorn kernels so I rush him to the emergency room.  They still have our file out from discharging us only hours before.  (Probably need a whole post to describe that incident.)  Doctors have really long tweezers. They say no big deal, but I would still like to see a CT scan of the child's brain to check for popcorn.  To this day I don't let him get overheated.  Think about it.
5. Today's Parent, are you spying on us?  This just happened last week.  Boy 2 glued his fingers together out on the deck so that it looked like he was giving the A-okay sign.  I didn't want him in the house until I was sure the glue was dry so I kept saying how are you doing out there?  And he would give me the A-okay sign.  Oh, and if it is a large amount of glue, nail polish remover will take that right off.  Don't even worry about that.  Unless they have glued a piece of their body that shouldn't have nail polish remover on it.  Then you have a real problem. Call somebody.
6. You guys aren't even trying now.  Gum in kid's hair is called Saturday.  Gum in hair is likely to happen anytime you have gum and a child in the same home.  Isn't it?  Don't you just use the kitchen scissors to chop it out and get on with your day?  Maybe that's just when you have boys.

In the last 24 hours alone I heard in my house: "Here goes nothing!" and "Hey Mom, look I am on the roof!" I was wishing for crazy glue and gum. But, weirdly, I feel better. It's them, not me. 

Puke Day

Boy 2 has been complaining of a tummy ache ever since school started.  It started on the first day of school, but almost everyone in our house vomited, so I wasn't really concerned.  First the dog barfed in the middle of the kitchen floor.  We all noticed at the same time as he ran away in doggie shame. PDH yelled "Gross" and ran down the stairs.  I said, "Could be worse, this is only dog food. We should just leave it until he cleans it up himself.  I know a dog that eats cat poop then pukes on the front mat."  Boy 1 turned green and ran away and I could hear gagging from down the stairs in PHD's direction.  I had to clean up the dog barf but the good news is I got a few minutes of quiet to read the paper when I was done. 

That same day Boy 2 threw up on the bus on the way home, just before they reached our house.  I wasn't sure of the protocol, maybe someone can enlighten me.  The bus parked in front of our house for quite some time after the boys came in the house.  I wondered if Mrs. Bus Driver was waiting for me to come clean it.  So I waited a few more minutes then went out and offered to help as Mrs. Bus Driver was finishing up.  She said she had it under control but she noted,  "It looks like he was eating apples."  She seemed offended by the apples more than the puke. Odd. I didn't think she would appreciate my "could be worse it could be regurgitated cat poop" philosophy so I kept it to myself. 

Anyway, two weeks later, Boy 2 is still complaining off and on about a tummy ache.  Finally I take him to see the doctor.  Boy 1 tried to negotiate me leaving him at home with the iPhone. When that didn't fly, he agreed to come along but be angry about it.  It all came to a head in the examining room just before the doctor came in.  Boy 1 gave Boy 2 a shove, Boy 2 tried simultaneously tattling and punching Boy 1 in the gonads.

Boy 1, "Stop it, you're such an idiot."
Boy 2, "Whaaaat?  I can't hear you."
Boy 1, "I said, Sto---"
Boy 2, "Whaaaat?  I can't hear you."
Boy 1, "STOP---"
Boy 2: "Whaaat?? Still can't hear you. Are you still talking?"
Boy 1, "WELL MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP EATING ACORNS OFF THE GROUND AND YOU WOULDN'T HAVE A STOMACHE-ACHE."
Boy 2:  "They weren't acorns, they were hazelnuts, I looked them up in a book in the library. 
Me:  "You were eating acorns?  Off the ground?"
Boy 2: "NOT acorns, hazelnuts."  Like I am the dummy.

I tried to explain to him that he shouldn't eat things off the ground at school, it could be making him sick, he doesn't know what it is, etc.  There was no talking him out of it.  He looked them up in a library book, so it's all good.  

The doctor then came in the room and confirmed that there are hazelnuts growing in the city.  So I guess Boy 2 has the all-clear to eat more acorns or hazelnuts off the ground. 

Now I have a tummy ache...

Mouse Update

Last week we met Fuzzy McSmally McCheezy . Everyone keeps asking, "How's the mouse?" so a brief update is in order.

When PHD came home to meet the mouse that night, it was agreed that Fuzzy should be released into the wild where he would live a happy mouse existence away from my house.  I also was worried about what would happen to the child's psyche when the mouse met his inevitable demise.  So, Boy 2 fed Fuzzy some grated cheese to sustain him on his journey and took him to the park.  Our conversation upon his return went like this:

Me:  Did you let him go?

Boy 2:  Yup.  I think he was half dead anyway.

Me (surprised): Oh!  Why do you think that?

Boy 2 (annoyed with Fuzzy):  Well when he got off the merry-go-around he layed on his back for a while then just ran into the bushes.

Poor Dizzy Fuzzy...

KISS the Sister Wife

PHD said, "I made a collage in my office.  Well, it's only 3 pictures, not really a collage.  You should go look."  I played it cool, freaking out on the inside.  The last time he hung something on the office wall it was a framed poster of KISS.  For those of you under 40, here is what members of the band KISS looked like:

Framed.  I thought he was joking so I hung a picture of the cast of Twilight over it to prove I got the joke and I could do one funnier.  Only he was serious.  He really likes KISS.  I haven't seen the Twilight poster or the KISS masterpiece since.  Now any wall hanging by PHD concerns me.  So what I did find wasn't so bad:

Not so bad, if you like to see yourself in three 8 1/2 x 11 photos. I don't really. Especially three photos that I had previously rejected as too hideous for even a teeny facebook profile picture.

I told him, "You don't need to stalk me, I live with you."  He said, "I liked those pictures and now I can pretend you are triplets...or, Sister Wives!!"  He kept looking at me as though he wanted me to freak out.  I don't want to be triplets but Sister Wives I can get into...We could divide up all the jobs I don't like, I could leave the house by myself on those days that the kids hate me and I would always have someone to talk to. Someone who wouldn't wait until I finish a sentence and say, "I don't think I was listening to one word of that", then laugh like (s)he just told the best joke ever. 

I should probably check Kijiji. Is that where you get a sister wife?  Kijiji may or may not provide the best quality of sister wives.   Probably a sister wife that looks like this:

  

Note: A whole week ago, I had a(n) (is it a or an? I think it's an. maybe not. H is confusing.) hysterically funny ending planned for this post.  It tied together all the pieces of this post, related to the title and was so surprising that you would have spit your milk on your keyboard. If you were drinking milk.  Only PHD started reading it over my shoulder as I was typing and then I couldn't remember my ending.  The ending that was hysterically funny.  Gone. I waited a whole week and it hasn't come back.  PHD actually erased all the creative thoughts in my head by reading my unfinished post over my shoulder. Jerk. 

Instead, here is a funny sentence from Tina Fey's book "Bossypants":

"This made no sense to me, probably because I speak English and have never had a head injury."

This sentence is very useful because in addition to being funny, it can be applied to this post, this blog and 90% of the things that come out of my mouth.  Thanks Tina.

Just because it's close to your tongue doesn't mean you should lick it

Two weekends ago we went to my sister's house for my other sister's birthday.  I didn't have any boxes laying around to wrap the present so I recycled a cupcake box I had been hoarding.  I wrote all over it, things like, "Recyled box = save the earth = me good person" and "Look, leftover icing".  I gave it to Boy 2 to hold while we drove to the party.  I glanced in the back seat to see his little tongue darting out to lick just below the "Look, leftover icing" lettering. I told him to stop it so he gave the box to Boy 1 who also gave it a good lick.  Hmm, is it wrong to give your sister a box of saliva for her birthday?  What if I didn't tell her, is that better?  Or, what if I did tell her the next day when I asked her to take a picture of the box for my blog?  She said she had already thrown out the box so my reader(s) would have to take my word for it. I asked her to just take a picture of herself  in a dramatic representation of the box. She still hasn't sent it.  Maybe it's still coming.  Or, maybe she didn't like my little box 'o bacteria. That makes more sense.

Last weekend PHD and I went to Vancouver.  We do this thing when we get on an airplane.  "Do you want the window seat?" "No, it's okay, you have it."  "Are you sure?"  until I get impatient and take the window seat.  Then he spends all of takeoff and landing leaning way too far into my personal space to look out the window.   As we were landing in Vancouver, it occured to me that he might not like spit, either.  So I waited until he leaned way too far into my personal space bubble and I stuck out my tongue which banged into his eyebrow. I can't take full credit for the idea, I read it in a blog on what to do in awkward social situations. This suggestion captured my fancy.  My thought was sticking out your tongue could be like a personal space meter.  If you are so close to me that you get nailed when I stick out my tongue, you are too close.  Reasonable, right?  Except he thought it was funny so he kept leaning in and back going, "Whoo, whoo".  Not at all weird. Also very disappointing as he was still in (and out of and back in) my personal space as well as giving me a bit of motion sickness. (As background, he had just minutes before adopted a t-shirt slogan as his new personal mission statement: "Fighting always works". It was probably a UFC shirt but I suspect PHD's interpretation of it will affect our marriage in many ways, none good.)

To recap, I prepared a little check-list for your reference:

I hope you will this reference material useful. You can also print it off and use it to test your own personal space boundaries/tongue reach.  Fun and useful.  Enjoy.

The Perfect Race

So, it was a really long winter and we got a bit loopy at the MacFuddle house. 

WARNING! If this post begins to seem strange/obsessive or plain boring, feel free to skip. As background, you should know that I belong to the best running group, possibly in the world, but definitely in this city, called "I Beg Your Garmin".  There are six of us with what I mentally call "Gold Status" as we have been running together consistently for almost two years, now. I use the term running loosely because as much as we run together we also gab together, travel together, do girly stuff together, etc.  I haven't cleared the "Gold Status" concept with the group so it is subject to heated debate, and change, if we don't get distracted by something else shinier.  We have other, newer members of "I Beg Your Garmin" who are terrific, too, and I promise to make something special for them when they reach "Gold Status". (Some of these ladies successfully completed another either 5K or half-marathon last Saturday and deserve some recognition so here you go: woot woot!)  For now, to the special "Gold Status" members of "I Beg Your Garmin", this post will eventually, unbelievably, circle back to you. There is a possibility you will be glad you suffered through. Everyone else has my permission to pretend to not see this post and I will never mention it again. 

So, the day PHD and I launched into a diorama discussion (Yes that is a TV in my hallway) and I had to Google dioramas to show him, I started obsessing over dioramas and minatures.   Not old-guy-creating-trainsets type minatures, these are cute ones! I have seen them called them "Art Boxes".  I think that is a better description and it doesn't seem so silly if I call them Art.  I created a display of Art Boxes in my hallway:

I had to crop the photo tightly so you couldn't see all the fingerprints all over my walls...

The Art Box in the centre is called "Magnets" to represent this post: I wouldn't lick that if i were you .  It may be hard to tell from this picture but the little guy is leaning against the monkey bars, with his tongue.

I call the bottom Art Box "Terry Fox" to represent the post QCM Race Report:

Meanwhile, Boy 2 was entertaining himself by building a square turtle on a pile of rocks,



 trying to determine how many shirts he can wear at once.



The answer is 5

 and catching a few rays.

Yes, that is snow in the background

PHD and Boy 1 went a different way...

Can you tell what they are trying to do?  Can you tell me?

While they were doing whatever that was, I made the Art Box on the top of the collection.  Here is the part where it may (or may not) get interesting for my running friends. The art box on the top of my collection (in the bad picture at the beginning of this post) is called "The Perfect Race". 

The picture doesn't do it justice but each one of the little people looks like one of the ladies in our group, Michelle, me, Maryann, Cindy, Margaret and Leanne.  I imagine the little members of "I Beg Your Garmin" running their perfect little race saying things like, "Training Works!",  "Surely she sees that pylon", "I'm not cold, do you think I have too many layers on?", "What a beautiful day!", "Can we go farther?" and "I didn't cry once!!". Then after at least one of them gets a medal, doesn't matter who, they all stop to talk and laugh.  See? The Perfect Race. 

So, we have learned two things today - spring needs to stay or I am in danger of losing my mind and I need a new camera along with some photography lessons, quickly!

Art Day at the House of Insanity

Sunday was Art Day at our house.  Boy 2 got really excited telling me, "Remember the time I got my hair cut and I kept the hair in an envelope?  I'm going to use that to make a pool. Can I use one of your frames?"   I told him he was wonderfully creative then  forgot about it, thinking it was chatter in the same category as, "What if we pooped out party hats then wore them?" or "What if the yard was made of cake?  Would we say, 'Yuck that tastes like cake'?"   

Next thing I know, Boy 2 comes into the kitchen with his bangs missing.  He wanted more hair, for his pool, I guess, I didn't think to ask. (As I type this, it strikes me that this may be a bit weird.  Do other kids cut off their own hair for art projects?)  Anywho, when I realized his bangs were missing, naturally, I said,  "What scissors did you use?"  Not sure why that was important, just making conversation, I guess.  He said he used the nail scissors in the bathroom closet.  So I told him, "Dad uses those to cut his nose hairs, you know." PHD got really offended, "I do not!" So I told PHD, in my best stage whisper, as though the child lost his hearing along with his bangs, "Shh, I am trying to gross him out.  I don't want him doing that anymore."  That's all I got.  I have nothing else in my parenting bag of tricks to try to keep my child from cutting his own hair off.  

I think Boy 2 sensed he had beaten me to the point of utter insanity and felt sorry for me so he made this for me:

I said, "Oh, I love it! It's like the little man is falling in love!"  Boy 1 said, "That's very symbolic."  Yes, it is symbolic.  I don't think I understood the concept of symbolism until my first year of university.  They are both geniuses!! Sometimes brilliance looks a bit crazy...Maybe it is a house of genius, not insanity!

Yes, that is a TV in my hallway

"Hello, Dr. Zazio." That will be what I say the next time I answer the door, if we don't do some serious cleaning soon. If you don't know who Dr. Zazio is, you need to go watch Hoaders immediately.  This has been in my hallway since Boxing Day when we bought a new TV:

We can't decide what to do with it so it waits patiently for us.  PHD wanted to give it away.  I didn't think anyone would take it.  I wanted to turn it into a night table with a diorama inside. He wanted to know what a diorama was.  That distracted me as we launched into a "All the weird things you don't learn growing up in Nova Scotia" discussion. Once we sorted out what a diorama was, PHD started looking at me like I was cracked, and shaking his head sadly.  The TV waited in the hall.

Lately Boy 2 has been obsessed with trying to scare me.  He is rarely successful, I think because I am always half expecting someone to jump out at me, throw something at me or  yell randomly at any moment.  One night boy 2 woke up while I was in the bathroom.  (Think 2 am, dark hallway)  He quickly recognized the excellent scare opportunity and ducked behind the TV in the hallway.  Luckily for me, I noticed him ducking down just as I came out of the bathroom so that when he jumped out at me I threw out a nonchalant, "Hey" and went to my room.  Must have been very disappointing for him.  He keeps trying though.  Give him determination points, for sure.  One night I returned the favor by ** dropping out of sight under the kitchen table and popping up when he wasn't expecting it.  He was so scared he jumped, knocked a picture off the wall and started crying.  He promptly announced he loved Dad more.  I of course felt bad and spent the rest of the night bribing him to love me again. In my defense, he started this whole "scaring is funny" thing, I am just playing along...

**as I was typing this Boy 2 crept up on me and tapped me on the shoulder.  I heard the dog coming and was ready for him.  For the record, he thinks it would be really funny if I put 'bat" in front of dropping.  I am putting that out there, you can decide if that's funny or not! 

PHD, however, has advanced scaring skills.  For example, last Friday night we went to the mall.  (Error - retreat!!) Anyway, Boy 2 wanted to get the parking ticket so PHD pulled the car up a bit farther and opened the back window.  Boy 2 leaned out the window and grabbed the ticket but instead of getting back into the car and giving the ticket to me, he leaned further out and tried to give it to PHD, outside the car.  PHD meanwhile, thinks the child is in the car and that the gate is going to close on the car if he doesn't advance immediately.  He starts driving, I start screaming, "STOP he's not in!"  He stopped the car probably a foot later, not going far enough to actually endanger the child,  just long enough to skyrocket my blood pressure.  I guess he was a little flustered, too, because after we are all settled in the car, he tried to drive into the parkade via the exit ramp.  I start screaming, again, "STOP, wrong way!".  Do you think he's toying with me?  Maybe Boy 2 is in cahoots with him and is therefore more successful, and far more advanced at scaring me than I think!  Does that sound paranoid??

Oh, Dr. Zazio, can you please come over right away??  I/we have many issues to discuss!!!