Clean-up, Clean-up, Everybody Do Your Share

(Is it bad to start your Monday mornings off with a song by the big purple dinosaur that you'll now have running relentlessly through your head? Sorry.)

I love fall clean-up. Well, I don't love the actual cleaning part of it - it felt like we bagged somewhere around 89 bags of leaves yesterday. But I do love that feeling of "battening down the hatches" because winter's coming. I always think of Ma Ingalls in Little House on the Prairie, stockpiling her root veggies and making preserves and hanging hams from the ceiling in order to get ready for winter's isolation. (And I always wondered - doesn't it smell to have hams hanging from the ceiling?)

Fortunately, there's little actual clean-up for us to do as we have no garden and a postage-stamp-sized lawn; once the leaves are done, we're pretty much good to go. And then we can turn our thoughts to that all-important fall task: carving pumpkins.

This is about as close as she actually got to touching the inside.

(No, there's nothing wrong with his eyes. He's just in that "fake smile" stage where kids don't seem to realize that the idea is to look realistic when someone says "say cheese!")

The Husband's labour of love.

Yesterday was one of those beautiful fall days where the air is a bit crisp but still warm and the sky is that rich blue one only sees in October. We took a scenic walk around downtown:

Stone Arch Bridge

Taking a break from throwing stones.

In the "hmm, that's odd" category for the day, there was a knock at my door right after I returned from dropping The Girl off at school. A man showed me a very official-looking badge and explained he was doing a background check on my next-door neighbour and wanted to ask me some questions about her. I got off easy with my patented "I just moved here" excuse, so he continued down the street, presumably looking for juicier stories. Which begs all sorts of questions: for what purpose does he want this information? Was his badge legit? (If it wasn't, then his Dockers certainly bespoke bureaucratic officialdom.) What sort of things has my neighbour been up to? Is the blue minivan intended to blend in or are there departmental budgetary constraints that provoke all sorts of frustration?

So many questions.

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Bigfoot Sighting

Is it just me or are The Boy's new shoes awfully similar in size to his mother's (which is no small *ahem* feat, given that she was frequently compared to Chewbacca in high school)?


No complaints from me about his size, of course. I do worry that the truant officer will show up at my door one of these days following up an anonymous tip from someone who has seen this child who looks to be school-aged yet sits at home all day.

(Speaking of which, The Boy has decided that he no longer wants to attend daycare or school. This is partly due to the fact that he has been told that he cannot attend them if he does not get the rest of his immunizations, so non-attendance leads the way to a needle-free existence. Upon hearing this, I reminded him that he had a fairly un-exciting life right now filled mostly with television and downloading Pokemon colouring pages. His response was that those are the things he likes to do, so all is quite fine in his world.)

I love Fridays. They're better when one is a cog in some individuality-crushing-bureaucratic-machine, of course, but second to that feeling when one is given a 48-hour pass from one's cubicle is the feeling when one's loved ones are sprung from the joint. Friday nights are typically movie-watching nights at our house, so I suspect a walk to our local purveyor of movies will be in order tonight. And we're having Ethiopian, mmm. Nothing says TGIF like eating without utensils.

Halloween is H-U-G-E down here. It's a bit disconcerting for The Girl, who struggles somewhat with the blurry boundary between reality and fantasy and is a bit frightened by all the ghoulish decor around us. But the bonus is numerous community parties. The first one was held last night in a local school:

She throws like her mother. Poor girl.

Oh, please, no. Not hockey. I *cannot* do 5 am ice times.

Have a fabulous weekend everyone!

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Ghosts of Peanuts Past

Anybody remember the Peanuts comic strip where Sally is seen beaming and hugging a prize to her chest? The caption reads: "Happiness is a new library card."

*I* remember that comic. I remember it because it was taped to the circulation desk at our local public library when I was growing up. I remember it because I stared at it when I was waiting impatiently for the staff to check out my stack of newly-chosen books. And, given that I was at the library about twice a week in those good ol' days, I had many opportunities to burn its image into my retinas.

I was reminded of said strip yesterday because I finally obtained the most important piece of documentation I require in any new city - a public library card. It always takes awhile to get because one needs to provide proof of residence and it is always the card that makes me the most gleeful. Driver's license? Pssht. Bank card? A necessary evil. Even my American credit card did not produce the same sense of well-being.

Our local library definitely lived up to my high expectations, too. Its selection is minimal, but in this age of computer-based library catalogues and inter-library delivery, finding the books I want is easy. But it's a lovely old building, with big windows, a fireplace and lots of dark wood. The children's section (complete with its own children's librarian) is really great, too.

At least, I'm hoping my kids will find it great. Like any parent with a passion, I fear that my children will be indifferent (or worse, downright hostile) to reading. I cringe a little every time they choose yet another viewing of Scooby-Doo over my offer to read them the book of their choice (even if that means a Transformers chapter book). Yet I also know that a true love of anything *must* be the result of self-discovery - I cannot force, only inspire.

I also wonder how The Girl's learning-to-read experience will be different from mine. In her old school, they taught reading in English in grade one to build a linguistic foundation and then only moved on to French reading in grade two. Her current school has the entirely opposite approach: learn how to read in French and then introduce English language arts in the second grade.

It is unbelievably gratifying (and terribly cute) to hear her sound out words in French. (Her favourite is "attention!" which she likes to yell.) And she sounds out English words, too. But how does a child who is learning to read both languages concurrently sort out which is which? I know children in bilingual families all manage it somehow, but I'm curious to know how it will all work. And, given that she is a mini-me and sometimes when I look at her all I see is myself at age 6, I am anxious that her experience be mind-opening and expanding and not limiting.

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It Takes So Little

So little to make me happy, that is. A sunny day, $7.99 pillow covers from IKEA, a hot cup of Dunn Bros. and the promise of a later trip to the new SuperTarget and I'm blissful and blithe. I mean, honestly, one would think the bar should be raised a *bit* higher. But I suppose the upside to being an emotional yo-yo who is sent plummeting into the depths of despair by the odd car accident (*ahem* - "wreck") is that it takes equally little to send me soaring to the heights of happiness.

(This is why it is good I am married to a cool-as-a-cucumber engineer. There is a balance - I provide the drama and he mops up the mess.)

The big news in our house is that The Girl has a head start on her Christmas list:

"All I Want for Christmas..." etc. etc.

Her top front teeth have been so loose for so long that they were pretty much flapping in the wind. She re-fyoooosed to help them along, so we had to suffer in silence and watch them dangle. The first one came out in school yesterday; she flashed me a proud, toothless grin when I picked her up and handed me a balled-up bloody Kleenex with a present for the Tooth Fairy. Later on the playground, I got to witness more tugging and tongue gymnastics as she got it so it was hanging by a sinewy thread. (How can such cuteness be preceded by such tremendous grossness?!) One accidental bump by the back of her hand and the other one flew out as well.

So Abigail, the Tooth Fairy, paid us a visit last night. Now although Santa and the Easter Bunny do not exist at our house, the Tooth Fairy does, primarily because I received so very much grief from my coworkers about ruining both Christmas and Easter for my child when I answered her honest question about their existence with an honest answer. She also exists because when I was pressed by my daughter to tell the truth "for *real*, Mom!" and I intimated that there was not, in fact, an actual Tooth Fairy, she began to cry. It seemed that one girl in her class had woken up in the night and had actually seen the TF and had received a sticker.

Well. Fantastical characters who inexplicably hand out money for used dental equipment are an all or nothing deal - either everybody gets them or nobody gets them. There was *no* way that my daughter was going to feel left out, particularly from a non-existent experience. So I back-pedalled and mumbled something about parental subterfuge and found myself typing a letter from "Abigail" to slip under The Girl's pillow to prove her existence. Said letter was excitedly pronounced authentic the next day because "the typing isn't the same as *our* computer's!" (Thank goodness for different fonts.)

So, much to my chagrin, I find myself guilty of lying to my child. But if that is the only way in which I have scarred her and destined her for intense therapy sessions to aid recovery, then I will count myself fortunate.

(For those wondering, the TF shells out the same amount per tooth that she did back in Canada - $1. However, The Girl would have been better off if she'd worked a bit harder to get them out last week on Canadian soil what with the exchange rate and all.)

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Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity-Jig

It is so very odd to cross the American border and think that I'm now "home." Particularly when I'm in the immediate stages of withdrawal from "the-country-formerly-known-as-home."

But we had a fabulous time back in Canada - thanks to all who made it so lovely. And apologies to those with whom we were not able to connect; we'll catch you next time.

Our trip home was uneventful once I had fixed the tire that was rapidly flattening thanks to the nail embedded in it. Fortunately, my dad noticed its lacklustre swelling while the car was parked on his driveway and I was able to deal with it before I became one of those unfortunate souls stranded on the side of a highway that is just busy enough that people breeze by and assure themselves that someone else will be the Good Samaritan this time.

(A short digression: am I the only one who struggles this much with all things vehicular? I feel like I walk around with a "kick me" sign on my back when it comes to maintaining a roadworthy car.)

As nice as it was to return to our current residence, it underscored our current sense of being in limbo. We are officially between, in transition, experiencing change, etc. We are the visitors, not the visited. Life moves on for those back home (and thank goodness for it!) and slowly the hole we left behind begins to close over. But that's moving away, right?

We spent our weekend re-setting our house and our kids. Grandma's house is a fabulous place where treats abound and rules are relaxed. That's as it should be, of course, but it's always a bit of a shock (for all of us) when the kids come back to reality. Saturday was sunny (finally - what happened to all that Manitoba sunshine!?) and we went to the "other" zoo - the one that is smaller and less exciting, but also free.

The decades-old carousel we rode


If you kiss him, he'd probably just turn into a Ninja Turtle

Checking out the koi

Yesterday it was The Husband's turn to be the church-sampler. He tried churches number 3 and 4. Number 3 was a Mennonite church whose odd lack of Internet presence was explained when he got there and found a building, one car and no people - guess they folded. He got home in time to get to Number 4, which was a very small church (30 people). He was told that about half the congregation was missing for some reason and to come back in November. But, he was warned, there has been a fair amount of conflict recently (hence the lower numbers) and they are looking for a pastor. Apparently there is a severe pastor shortage around here - almost every church is in the interim-pastor phase.

So we continue our search for fertile ground into which we can plant some roots. And I continue my job search. I lack patience and follow-through (if you hadn't already realized that), so it's quite depressing to me that I don't have a job after 7 days of searching and 3 resumes sent out. Ah well, that just means more stay-at-home fun with The Boy. We're off to IKEA today and to the new Super Target that just opened - nothing says comfort like retail therapy!

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My Car Is Now Worth About $1.87. Including GST.

Somewhere along the line I must have deeply offended the gods of all things automotive.

It may have been in high school, when my friend Schellenboink and I followed each other through town, each driving our parents' somewhat "older" vehicles. Hers was a Chevy Caprice, I think, and mine was a 1978 Oldsmobile Omega lovingly dubbed "The Blue Hippo." We would travel along at idling speeds (passing many other drivers as we did) and laugh uproariously when the lead driver would signal a turn and then shock everyone at the intersection by turning the *opposite* way.

Or it may have been when we locked said Schellenboink in the trunk of a different car and played "guess where we are based on the movement of the vehicle."

(Why, yes, I grew up in a small town.)

Whatever the egregious offense, I am now paying for it. Repeatedly. I was involved in yet another car accident yesterday.

This one was totally and completely not my fault. (Sigh, they never are. Yet they keep happening.) I was not even in the car at the time; I was with my brood in the West Acres mall in Fargo, taking a quick playplace break. We came out to the car and I thought, "hmm, I think I know most of the dents in my car - and there are a number - but I don't think I've ever seen *those* ones." The piece lying on the ground beside my car also looked suspiciously familiar.

I called the police officer who had kindly left a note on my windshield and he informed me that a witness had reported a hit and run and they were looking for the perpetrator, but they weren't sure if the license plate number they had would turn anyone up. He also took my name and address; since I just got my new plates last week, my number isn't even in the system.

Fortunately the car sustained only surface damage, so we continued on our way. Less fortunately, The Boy decided that it was a perfect time to decorate the interior by putting a constellation on the ceiling. In marker.

It is enough to make one's equilibrium dip ever so slightly.

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A Hunting We Will Go, A Hunting We Will Go...

I wish we could find a doppelganger church. Or, if not *exactly* the same in an eerie yet comforting way, one that was almost the same but not quite. Like on The Simpsons when Bort and Liza save Krusty the Klown. It would be called Port Merrie EMC and would be ably helmed by one Claiton Gleeson.

Like our old church, it would be a diverse community of believers held together by a common love of God and each other. It would strive to manifest that diversity in its worship (hymns one week, Hillsong the next), its ministries (cradle roll for the newbies and senior lunches for the seasoned) and its leadership (all ages, both sexes). Best of all, it would be a place where all views and backgrounds were respected (even if respectfully disagreed with).

Sigh. Or, if we couldn't find the doppelganger church, I wish our *other* church wasn't quite so great (well, not really, but it would be easier to leave if we were storming out in a huff because no one consulted *us* on the plum-coloured back wall).

But, as we believe that a church community is important for so many reasons, we're hunting for one that has an Our Heroine/The Husband/The Girl/The Boy-sized hole in it. We're surrounded by Lutheran and United churches in our area; certainly potential places of community, but there are a few doctrinal issues that make us a bit hesitant.

The Husband tried a Mennonite church last week - yes, there really are Mennonites everywhere you look! It was an extremely welcoming church, but quite traditional in its worship and not a lot of children. I tried an Evangelical Free yesterday. Not the most welcoming (but to be fair, I was always terrible at welcoming new people), but it certainly had potential.

But how does one define "potential"? If we can't have everything, then what is settle-able and what is a must? Geographical distance? Surmountable, but makes connecting mid-week difficult. "Meat-y" sermons? Can do without if necessary, but it sure is nice to feel fed and not just loved each Sunday. Children's programming? Very important to us, but not necessarily a part of every church. Musical worship style? We like a bit of everything, but can we handle a church with only one set style?

Unfortunately, our other church (I can't say "former." It's still "home" to me) has left some awfully big shoes to fill. Ronald McDonald-sized if you will. The result is that I've become a bit of a church snob. I turned my nose up yesterday at the pastor who quoted Chuck Swindoll as his main source and then mispronounced "unanimity." And then I felt convicted for turning up my nose - fortunately I was in a good place to feel convincted.

(As petty as that reaction is, it does beg a question: can I/we feel comfortable at a church with sermons that seem watered-down?)

Ah well, no one said it would be easy and no one can expect to find the perfect church home on the first try. Well, our church back home was the first one we tried. But lightning doesn't strike twice.

Yesterday was dreary again, so we headed off to the Science Museum. It's like Touch the Universe. Except it hasn't been neglected since 1985 (or whatever year the funding ran out), so it's still cool.

The Boy with the Triceratops. Wearing his dinosaur shirt, of course.

The Girl playing some sort of game.

$35 on tickets and the highlight is colouring.

I liked some of it. It was awfully, oh I don't know, "science-ey." I was flashbacking to Grade 12 Physics with Mr. Hennessy. He was an exchange teacher from Tasmania and he called us "naughty sausages." And tried to teach us trigonometry in one day (for some reason, Grade 12 Math was scheduled concurrently, not as a prerequisite, so we lacked the necessary skills). SOHCAHTOA, baby!

Well, the kids are eating breakfast and the laundry's just about done, so we're almost ready to pack up and head out of here. Back to the True North for the three of us! Looking forward to loonies and twoonies (my wallet gets so fat from all these one-dollar bills) and knowing that it goes without saying that "guns are banned on these premises" in public buildings.

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(A Quick Note About Formatting)

For all of you who read my posts with raised eyebrows (particularly former coworkers) and question my chosen profession when you see the wonky formatting (yes, that is the technical term) of my posts, please be advised that I am aware of it but am incapable of fixing the problem.

(By "incapable" I mean too lazy to go through the Blogger help archives to try to find a solution.)

Anyone who can tell me why the internal spacing between the lines is fine until I put in a picture (after which picture it suddenly goes to eye-test-worthy single spacing) will get a gold star and will undoubtedly save my faithful readers a prescription change on their next optometrist visit.

If there is no ocular saviour out there, we will all just have to live with this. But it's been bothering me since I started and I just needed you to know that it has not escaped my attention.

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"I am but mad north-northwest...

...when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw."

Sometimes I'm embarrassed by how much of an emotional weathervane I am. My outlook on life often seems entirely shaped by external circumstances; those proverbial sunny days that keep those clouds away make me happy and anything else makes me...very much not happy.

Not enough sleep? I'm surly all day. Miss one of my daily constitutionals? Watch out, kids. Hit all of the red lights on the way to school? Don't even bother asking for assistance with your colouring.

I'm working on being more anchored, more stable, more "be still and know that I am God"-ish. In the meantime, I'm grateful (as is my family) for nice, sunny days like today.

The day began with coffee and a walk around the lake - just like every day should. No sooner had I got home than the doorbell rang.

"Hi, I'm your next door neighbour. I'm a sophomore in high school, and I noticed you had kids; I just wanted to let you know that if you ever need a babysitter, I'm available - here's my phone number."

(Of course, said children were in full Saturday AM cartoon mode - see previous post on the new member of the family - and for some reason they were not wearing clothes, so I didn't introduce her to her proposed charges.)

Then, after a sturdy brunch of homemade waffles and hashbrown casserole (my arteries feel like I went to Cracker Barrel - yum), we walked down to the lake to play at the park and take the trolley.

Standing outside the trolley. The Girl is clearly excited.
Riding on the trolley. The excitement is palpable.
Now *that's* more like it! (You can see the bandstand and the lake in the distance behind her)

We broke up the long walk home with a stop into the most incredible children's bookstore I've ever seen. There is a dedicated door just for kids, animals wandering throughout the store (a chicken and two cats usually have the run of the place, and I've seen a chinchilla take a spin around in one of those balls) and the walls are lined with books.

Finally, home in time to rake some leaves:

(You will notice, of course, that the leaves are *maple* leaves - we're even patriotic when we do our fall cleaning.)

So today was a sunny day. Good timing, as the forecast here calls for rain for the next four days. Fortunately, the kids and I are headed back to Canada next week for a few days, so hopefully I (and therefore, they) can escape the full brunt of this flighty rooster atop her weathervane.

P.S. 10 points to the first commenter who can identify the source of today's post title - without the use of a computer.

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Another Job I Could Never Do

I could never be a headhunter. You know, those people from staffing agencies who circle prospective applicants like sharks circling the lone occupant of a dinghy in the middle of the Atlantic.

Yup, the job search is officially underway and I thought I'd speed up the process by posting my resume on a job site. It was akin to the dinghy-occupant getting a huge paper cut (you know - those ones from file folders where you think "how on earth did I slice myself open with *that*?!" and then wonder where the nearest urgent care centre is) and then languidly trailing her hand into the shark-infested waters. Three calls in less than twenty-four hours - fresh meat!

Now don't get me wrong, I'm quite happy to let someone else do the looking for me. But one cannot be choosey as to which someone else is doing the looking. My first call yesterday was from someone who was, shall we say, quite enthusiastic that I apply for the position he was looking to fill. Unfortunately, his enthusiasm did not help me to understand his heavily-accented-English-as-a-second-language. In fact, it made it a bit worse, as he tried desperately to convince me to apply for a contract position and that it was not, in fact, too far from my house as he was typing the address into GoogleMaps as we spoke.

(At least, I think that's what he said.)

Now I know that he is only doing his job. And I know that those jobs are cut-throat and that he likely has tremendous pressure to meet targets. His mother loves him very much and he is, after all, made in the image of God.

This does not change the fact that I understood only 10% of the conversation and, while I thought that my resume would only be sent on once I had confirmed I wanted the job by email, his reply to my email to him indicating that I do not wish to apply for a contract position was to tell me that he had indeed sent on my application based on our prior conversation.

So now I'm screening my calls for over-zealous headhunters and I can cross "staffing agency" off of any possible career lists!

In other news, we have a new member of the family. Behold the "before" and "after":

Before - notice The Girl doing her best to mimic the "big screen" experience with a 12" screen
After - no need to pretend - *that's* a really big screen!

Yes, The Husband's "Congratulations to me for getting a new job" present arrived a couple of days ago. I spoke previously of my battle with avoiding the seductive blue glow of the Idiot Box (is it still a "box" if it's a flat screen? Perhaps it's an Idiot Panel?); I have now raised the white flag of surrender and declared the entire war lost.

Finally, your daily dose of sweetness. Yesterday on the way back from the park, The Girl told me a very long and intricate story about (I think) various animals and some garbage cans. 1/3 was told using various French words, 1/3 was in "Frenchified" English words (apparently you can just throw a Parisian accent into the mix and call it another language - kind of like the Star Trek Universal Translator) and 1/3 was pantomime. The pantomime came because she was trying not to use English and instead shouted "regarde! regarde!" so I could guess which kind of animal she was being. Very sweet. And my pride suddenly made me a tad less begrudging about the cheque we write each month to her school.

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A Painful Day

Sigh. You know the SuperDogs? Those highly-trained, super-fast dogs that do stupendous feats for the crowds at stampedes and exhibitions? They always do these obstacle courses - run through the tunnel, zig zag past the poles, race up and down the see-saw and, for the grande finale, jump over the bars like a show horse. Of course, with every pass through the course the crowd is whipped up into a greater frenzy by the announcer who thunders, "Who thinks that Laddie can do One. More. BAR?!" And so another bar is put on and Laddie keeps going through the course until finally, spent beyond his Kibbles and Bits, Laddie catches the highest bar with his back paw and they all (bars and barker) come tumbling down. But everyone cheers for Laddie anyway, who takes a good-natured turn around the arena before heading back to his kennel for some well-deserved treats.

I feel like Laddie today.

First, the DMV. As an out-of-country resident, I am required to prove my understanding of the rules of the road and have to take the knowledge test. (Better than those poor suckers from outside of North America - they have to take a road test, too. I'd never pass.)

Having pored over the Minnesota Driver's Manual, I headed over to the DMV and waited my turn to take the knowlege test. I had The Boy with me, but I also had the DVD player. Score one for me, I thought. But then there were all those signs - no electronic devices, no talking, no smuggled-in copies of the manual (guess they've got problems with cheating on the test). I was informed The Boy could not sit beside me with his DVD player.

So I took the test. With The Boy on my lap. Barely reading the questions before hurriedly logging the answers, whispering threats, and praying that I would not be overheard and given an automatic fail for cheating.

(For the record, I passed. I got one wrong - I guessed that you need to stop 50 feet behind a schoolbus with flashing signal lights. Apparently those little devils only need a 20-foot margin of safety. And while I'm okay with my 97%, I'm a bit bummed. Made me ask myself, "what happened to the other 3%?" Old habits die hard.)

Having passed my test, I waited again to be called to the window. Once there, the nice man behind the counter looked at my passport and said, "Um, I don't think this is you." This move has given me a few gray hairs, but nothing along the line of The Husband's all-over-distinguishedness. Yup, I'd brought the wrong passport.

So The Boy and I went home for a lunchbreak and a passport swap.

Back to the DMV. Back to another line-up. The next part - getting my license and registering my vehicle - was deceptively easy. Cleared that bar with inches to spare. I had thought, hmm, maybe I can go ahead and register/get plates at the same place - might as well bring my documentation and save myself a trip. Gotta say a kind word for Xauvier - a nicer public official I have yet to meet. In and out in an hour with a provisional driver's license and new plates for my car.

Off to the next obstacle. Immunizations.

The Girl requires the final rounds of Hep B. Or she "could jeopardize her ability to be admitted into/continue on in school." The Boy also has his share of required vaccinations, so off we went to the doctor's office after school. Weighing the pros and cons of giving her some warning vs. springing the ordeal on her, I opted to tell The Girl this morning. Yeah. Won't do that again.

Despite promises of a Target run to get some much-coveted items, The Girl was close to panic when we got there. The Boy, not remembering his last one at 18 months of age, was less upset. We got in the room and the physician's assistant said, "okay, so we're doing two for The Girl and six for The Boy."

Um, no.

I explained that all I wanted was Hep B for The Girl and whichever two were the next up for The Boy. She gave me an impatient look and tossed five of the eight pre-filled needles into the garbage. I volunteered The Girl to go first as the anxiety and anticipation were working her into a frenzy. I held her top half down and the assistant held her bottom half down and rammed the needle into her thigh. The Boy, confronted with the reality of the heretorefore abstract concept of "a needle," proceeded to panic and run around the office screaming, "NO NEEDLE! NO NEEDLE!" So repeat the above (times two) with the added pleasure of a six-year-old incoherently screaming next to me.

(I think the assistant was glad we had opted for only three after all.)

So I hustled two sobbing, limping children into the car and headed for Target with declarations of "the needles in my leg are hurting!" and "I can feel the sickness going through my body!" hurrying us along. But the pain was forgotten (well, mostly) once we got through the check-out.

Got home, checked my email, and found that the husband of the woman who rear-ended me (remember that obstacle from long ago?) has decided that the estimate we have provided is essentially an attempt to scam him (based on the expert opinions of his wife and pre-teen sons who determined at the scene that there was little damage, if any) and is capping the amount he will pay without involving the insurance company at just less than our estimate. He goes on to note that this is a "windfall" for us, but it's our call if we want to go to our insurance company.

(Okay, one more time Laddie. One. More. BAR!)

The Husband came home and I related the day's events.

"You registered your car? We don't have insurance down here yet - you know that you're not insured by Autopac anymore now, right?"

(And the bar crashes to the ground.)

Weary and bewildered but not beaten, I now take my well-earned lap around the arena to all of your wild and kind applause. No doggy treats for me, but the glass of wine is certainly helping. Although it could explain why I fell down the stairs ten minutes ago.

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Happy Tofurkey Day!

Everyone enjoy their morsels of turkey remains? Did you get your fill of gravy? Was there enough stuffing? And did you have your "just one more piece" of pumpkin pie?

Ah, Thanksgiving. That annual ode to gluttony. Felt very odd to be surrounded by non-celebrants. Nevertheless, we had our own family dinner: meatless "chicken" patties, vegetarian "chicken" gravy, mashed potatoes, veggies, stuffing from the box and a "home-baked" pumpkin pie (thanks Sara Lee!). Yup, Thanksgiving - Peitricia-style. For the record, we were all quite happy with it, particularly those on dish duty.

In honour of the day, a few of my favourite things (nope, no raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens) for which I am truly thankful:

- Coffee

- George Eliot

- High-speed internet

- My new favourite walking route around the lake

- Semi-colons

- Clorox bleach pens

- CBC Radio 2

- Gutenberg and his nifty press

- Philadelphia chip dip (dill pickle flavour) and Old Dutch ripple chips

(Not the biggies, of course, but these sure make life much sweeter and more bearable.)

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"...this Fruit Divine, / Fair to the Eye, inviting to the Taste / Of vertue to make wise"

Today was apple picking day! There is an orchard about half an hour away from us where they have u-pick apples, a corn maze, a petting zoo and all the apple-related-over-priced products you might wish to purchase.

Petting the bunnies from a safe distance

Just waiting to leap on someone's head to demonstrate gravity in action

The fruit of our labours

We've had lots of rain lately and today's record high of 30 degrees made for a muggy, sticky and irritable day. So hot, in fact, that the apple I had for dessert tonight was still warm from baking in the sun all day!

The Girl was terrified in the petting zoo - somewhere along the line she has decided that anything furry and bigger than a breadbox requires barbed wire and chains to rule out the risk of imminent attack. Scratch that - anything bigger than a tennis ball (I've seen her panic at a chihuahua-on-a-leash sighting). You can see her unease with the bunnies above. Those bunnies...you just never know. The goats had her clawing her way up The Husband to get to higher ground.

But they both loved picking apples, so all in all, a worthwhile outing.

In other news, The Husband is home - hooray! With a ratio of one parent for each child, we stand a fighting chance again.

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Doing Double Duty

Feels a bit more like triple or quadruple, actually. The Husband is away on business again (there was an overnight trip last week and this week's is four days) which means I'm the sole point of contact for pretty much everything right about now.

We're managing, mostly because my expectations for myself and my actual abilities are completely in line with one another - the three of us are alive, safe and fed. Fortunately, The Girl's favourite supper is macaroni and cheese "from the box." No homemade ooey-gooey goodness for her - she demands the finest in cardboard noodles and orange powder. She does have a slightly discriminating palate; she won't eat store brand - it's gotta be KD.

At the end of the day, if the above three criteria are met, I reward myself with some self-soothing chips and dip and some mindless television before heading off to bed to prepare for the next day's chauffeuring, cleaning, cooking and colouring of Pokemon pages duties.

Had my first experience with the US healthcare system today. The level of choice is overwhelming; back in Canada, one phoned around desperately looking for *anyone* taking new patients. Yet yesterday I nixed one pediatrician simply because she was a full 20-minute drive away and my local clinic is only about 8.

Today's visit was mostly successful; the receptionist yesterday neglected to tell me that today's doctor was only filling in and usually sees patients in the 20-minute-away location, so I'm not sure if we'll stick with this particular doctor. But he was quite kind and hid any annoyance he might have had towards my kids who were wild, flatulent monkeys in his office; hopefully his on-site colleagues have similar levels of tolerance.

It's a beautiful fall day out there, so I think this afternoon will be spent biking around the lake with The Boy and then we'll try to get some more park time after we pick up The Girl. Gotta run these monkeys hard if there's to be any hope of a good night's sleep!

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A Very Merry Unbirthday

Yesterday was The Girl's "half birthday" - she's halfway to 7. We decided to celebrate with a little party:

Decorating the cupcakes

Blowing out 6 1/2 candles

(Where on earth did she learn to pose like that? The camera came out, and instinctively her hand went under her chin Walmart-style, her head was cocked winsomely and her brightest fake smile was plastered on...)

Today I had my first wave of homesickness (not bad, considering I've been a resident for a month already). Well, not exactly "homesickness" - more like "routinesickness." I got up early to go for a walk and suddenly I missed our old morning routine - up early, get the kids ready, bring them to school/daycare and then enjoy a pleasant walk over to my much-loved job. I don't miss the actual events so much as I miss their predictability. I like to have a default setting and, while I know shaking up my routine (some might call it a "rut") is good for me now and again, it is wearying having to negotiate essentially every aspect of life for the first time.

One takes for granted the little things - knowing the layout of the supermarket aisles so a grocery list can be made accordingly; having travelled your daily route to school so frequently that there is no thought put into route numbers or directions; accepting without really thinking about it that you will be in *this* church on Sunday and that you will likely see *these* friends.

I know that the solution to most of my unease is a job with its routine and rhythm. Stay-at-home mom is far too unscheduled a career for me; I get antsy with all this pseudo-freedom (totally unstructured days yet the inability to actually structure anything that does not accommodate a 4-year-old).

And with that, off to search the want ads!

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Tagged!

One of my bestest girls "tagged" me last week. New to the world of blogging, I had to ask what that means. Apparently, I now write out 8 things about myself that you likely didn't know. (I think I'm also supposed to "tag" 3 other people, but since I only read two other blogs and they've both been tagged, I think I'm off the hook....)

In no particular order:

#1 - I am terrified of meteor showers. It all goes back to Grade 9 and "The Day of the Triffids" by John Wyndham - a book that I read for bonus marks for Mr. Gandhi. (Perhaps what is more terrifying is that it was only one of 30 books I read that year for extra marks. Bwa-ha-ha - my geekdom knows no bounds!) I refuse to watch meteor showers to this day. You may laugh, but someday when you're all blind the day after you watch a particularly fantastic meteor shower and you are stumbling around in terror and I have to come save you from the now-mobile-man-eating plants - you won't be laughing.

#2 - I ate two McChickens after officially declaring my vegetarianism. I blame The Girl - I was pregnant and she insisted that I do so from her recently-occupied womb-room.

#3 - My 15 minutes of fame are up. In Grade 4, I wrote a riveting and multi-layered story about an understudy acrobat who gets her triumphant moment in the sun for a Shrine Circus contest. I won a bike and got to parade that bike proudly around one of the three rings at the circus, dodging elephant poop. Even more exciting, I got to read my story on the Uncle Bob Show. Put *that* in your smoke and pipe it, Brangelina!

#4 - The semi-colon is my favourite piece of punctuation. (That may not count - I think that's fairly well-known.)

#5 - I cannot eat oranges. They make me retch. Apparently I had no problem with them when I was very little, but I cannot remember ever liking them. Even the smell makes my eyes water and I can smell them a lunchroom away. Or worse - smelling them on someone's hands right after lunch. I have worked my way up to mandarin oranges from the can. But somehow grapefruits - which used to be on the "okay" list - have made their way onto the "I think I'm gonna barf" list, so I guess it's a trade-off.

#6 - The first movie I ever saw in the theatre was "Back to the Future III." I went with my bestest friend in Grade 7 and had to cajole and beg and plead to get permission from my parents, who were unsure whether a deacon's daughter should be seen entering a movie theatre. (This tidbit links up quite funnily to when our family got our first VCR. Our parents rented "Sleeping Beauty" for us kids, and then spirited away both TV and VCR to their bedroom for a private showing of a "grown-up movie." The movie not suitable for young eyes? "Back to the Future.")

#7 - I have been wearing the same black belt since Grade 8. It is a black leather belt that was purchased from the sale rack at Rieger's clothing and doesn't even look right because it was cut off on one end and extra nail holes put in on the other given that it was originally for a man with a waist of 42". Now *that's* cheap!

#8 - I am adamant that used underwear be washed before it goes in the garbage. To my mind, the only thing to do with underwear that is past its prime is to throw it out - who really wants it when the elastic is all stretched and Victoria's Secret ain't so secret anymore. But it must be washed and dried before sent to its final resting place at the dump.

So there you have it - eight things about me you possibly never knew and now wish you didn't!

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Monday, Monday

Hey all - I'm still here! Sorry for being so absent lately; our internet was intermittent last week and every time I sat down to blog, it was in its "let's mess with Peitricia's head" mode. I unplugged cables, plugged in other cables, removed the router, reset things etc. etc. We finally called the cable company and they came down on Saturday to fix the original installation, so methinks we're really good to go now.

Well, I haven't heard from The Husband so either he made it to work safely on his bike or is lying in a ditch somewhere, feebly calling my name. It's iffy - last week he managed to break two bikes in two days. The first happened when we were on a family bike ride to a park and "something" broke on his bike (that's about as technical as I can be about it). We coasted/walked our bikes to the park, just barely ahead of the threatening downpour that was quickly overtaking us. I promptly turned around to head for home (stupid, stupid - why did we send the weakest link?!) and made sure to bring back the car with the bike racks. No playtime while the family was waiting - they spent the time huddled under a shelter getting soaking wet.

Then the next day he was going down a hill (on his commuter bike this time) and it was wet and his brakes locked up and then he was flying over the handlebars.... Nothing broken, thank goodness, and he flew *onto* the bridge instead of *off* of it. We're not sure if his tumble is related to the migraine he got a few hours later, but I headed off with the car with the bike racks to go pick him up fairly shortly after he got to work.

(I'm supposed to tell you at this point that he nevertheless rode 30 miles on Saturday AM with some coworkers on his fancy bike - must give him athletic credit where it is due.)

Bit of a lazy weekend. Fairly rainy, so other than a few very wet walks around the lake for me, we spent the time inside. And at IKEA - bought The Girl a new bed that will also double as the guest bed.

An update on The Girl: I spoke with her teacher last week and explained that we were getting the sense that The Girl was not understanding what was going on. The Teacher said that yes, she had *just* figured that out. The Girl is quite subdued and shy when she is nervous, and as she wasn't saying anything and was following the other children, it took awhile for her teacher to realize just how little The Girl actually understood. So The Teacher is now making more of an effort to check in with The Girl and we've taught The Girl how to say "je ne comprends pas" and I think we're on a better track. Thanks for praying, everyone!

In other news, phase 2 of the move has begun: I sent out a resume yesterday. There are lots of jobs out there for which I'm qualified, but I'm narrowing my search by geographic distance and by expected pay, so the number drops a bit. Oh, I can't wait to be part of the working world again - unreasonable deadlines, boring meetings, punctuation debates - I miss it all so much!

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