Public Notice

Please be advised that the author of this blog is currently experiencing some technical difficulties, namely a massively-increased workload at her place of business.

Said increase has resulted in an inability to post regularly or to return any non-time-sensitive emails sent by well-wishers and fans.

We apologize for this inconvenience and will return to our regularly-scheduled programming as soon as the storm that is the "to-do list" passes.

Sincerely,

The Management

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May Long 2.0

Coffee's on, kids are watching Wishbone (a show with terrible production values, and I'm not sure how well it works to have a dog play Romeo in Romeo and Juliet, but I have to respect a show that tries to translate classic stories so that kids can understand them), and The Husband is still snoozing.

A quiet weekend on all accounts. My mom's email this morning alerted me to the tornado yesterday - yikes! We didn't even know about it; at one point in the afternoon the sky darkened and it got pretty windy, but it passed over us about ten minutes later. So no worries about these displaced Canadians.

Today promises to be equally tranquil. Once the coffee pot's drained, we'll think about lunch and maybe the park. We've promised The Girl we'll take her to the new Narnia movie, so popcorn here we come!

Ooo, Saddle Club's on now....

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Horrid Henry

Before there was Pokemon, there was Horrid Henry.

It used to be that the only thing The Boy got excited about was reading "Horrid Henry" every night - a book about a particularly naughty young boy. It was the first book he memorized and he giggled his way through the entire rendition of HH's unsuccessful attempts to get rid of his new and particularly unwelcome sibling.

Although we've left the book behind lately in favour of Pikachu et. al., there are times when The Boy's inner HH definitely surfaces.

Feels like one of those days today. There's been a ban on Pokemon cards at school since several weeks of increasing frustration on the teachers' parts due to children huddled over cards during lessons finally culminated in a vicious physical attack prompted by a deal gone bad.

(That my son was the victim of this attack is beside the point, but nonetheless we were glad when the cards were banned.)

At least, they're supposed to be banned. Today I picked up The Boy and his teacher handed me a set of purloined cards, liberated from The Boy's clutches earlier in the day. Initially I assumed he'd been given them by an older child, but a long interrogation session on the car ride home revealed that he had surreptitiously snuck them along at the prompting of another child.

Well. We've had a number of discussions on this topic. The Boy knows full well that he is *not* supposed to bring them to school.

(He also knows he is not supposed to throw rocks - see previous Audi- and limousine-related posts - yet I was still required to make good on my threat to take away forever two of his precious cards after *yesterday's* rock-throwing incident. But I digress.)

So, he was informed that by proving himself untrustworthy where Pokemon cards are concerned, said forbidden fruit would be placed atop the refrigerator until after Memorial Day.

The usual hysterics ensued, with several items being thrown from the backseat. I answered his "I hate you, stupid Mom!" with "Good thing I loooooove you enough for both of us" but reminded him that throwing things at the driver is distracting and can lead to an accident.

But when the toque came flying to the front, I had had enough. I stopped the car (2 blocks from home) and said, "since you are not interested in riding safely in this car, you will now walk home." So I followed a sobbing boy at .25 miles an hour down the back lane.

Being a good mom, I soothed with chocolate milk and a snuggle. But today makes me very glad we don't have another baby on the way - if *my* little Horrid Henry had a chance, that baby would be successfully "lost" for sure.

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An Open Letter to the Bus Driver of Route 663

Dear Sir:

When I shut my computer off at 3:00 and race out the door in order to catch the only bus that will get me to the school on time, it is not only knowing the workday is over that prompts my smile. No, my grin is also elicited by the knowledge that within minutes I will be catching a glimpse of the proud conveyor of humanity that you commandeer so faithfully every day.

I admire your assertive, yet gentle, manner of approaching the curb - waiting patiently yet silently demanding the attention of the would-be jaywalkers who quickly move aside to let you pass.

Your kindness and respect towards those who ride your serpentine chariot is unparallelled. The particular care you show towards disabled persons is inspiring; you never make those in wheelchairs feel hurried and always lend gracious assistance. I remember well the day you watched the visually-impaired man waiting at the stop with some concern until finally you left your seat, went to him, and made sure that it was not your bus for which he waited.

And you extend that respect to the rest of us. The rowdiest, loudest entrants are greeted with the same "how do you do" as the weary office-workers. You never fail to announce "our next assigned stop is the Louisiana Avenue Transit Station" with the pomp and circumstance such a pronouncement deserves.

(Yet there's nevertheless some submerged cheek. Although your stately carriage is reminiscent of Morgan Freeman, that saucy ponytail suggests there is more than meets the eye.)

Anonymous bus driver, you bring to me daily a renewed belief in the goodness of humanity. The solemn "Thank you, ma'am" that wishes me well as I leave your haven of order and kindness never fails to remind me that decency, kindness and courtesy are amiable partners on any journey.

Hail to the bus driver, indeed. Hail to the bus driver, bus driver man.

Yours sincerely,

PM

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Vendredi V - Oh Baby, I'm So Tired Edition

One of the crappy things about living in America is that when all your Canadian friends are gleefully looking forward to and enjoying Canuck-only holidays, you're stuck at work with nary a celebratory drink in sight.

Well, no sitting mournfully at my desk for this girl on May Long - we're taking the day off and going away for the weekend like proper Canadians! (Which, of course, has the delightful effect of giving us *two* long weekends in a row.)

And boy, do I need a weekend away. I realize entirely that my petty problems pale in comparison to those of much of the world, particularly those living in Burma and China right now. Nevertheless, it does feel as though this break has been a long time coming:

Top 5 Reasons I Am Glad for My Upcoming Weekend Retreat

1. We're still down to one car. The Husband has solved the problem (we think) and the requisite part arrived today. After a less-than-successful siphoning attempt which led to no actual fuel transfer and a mouthful of diesel for him, he thinks he now knows how to go about Le Grande Fix-it. But it hasn't been easy as our lifestyle is definitely of the "two-car-family" variety.

2. I am very, very tired. The result of having only one car means a logistical juggle in which I must be AT the bus stop (not running towards it) at 5:30 am. Add one or two somewhat late nights in a row and I have to work to keep my eyes open. In fact, I was so tired that last night I dreamed that Victoria Beckham moved in next door and we were chatting about how she was hungry all the time and that our kids had lots in common and should play together.

3. Work is getting crazy busy. There's the usual plus an annual event that has me scrambling right now with no real end in sight as once the big stuff is done my boss goes on mat leave and I get to fend for myself for three months.

4. The Husband travelled this week. Just overnight, but we allll know that even one short trip sends the house (and its occupants) plummeting into chaos.

5. I'm the mother of *that* child. You know, the one who throws stones at cars (again!). The one who gets into a fight at school (in his defense, he did nothing to provoke the maniacal attack). The one whose fight over Pokemon cards at school has led to a preschool-wide ban on the coveted cards. The one who has a behaviour chart at his before-school program. You know - *that* one.

Sigh. Hotel hot tub, here I come!

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Mother, Not Mother

Sometimes when we're out for a walk in the evening, The Girl will look up at the stars and ask me to tell her again the story about how she is my wishing star baby. And so I tell her, "before you were born, Mommy and Daddy were waiting a very long time for you. We were very sad because we wanted a baby very badly. One night I saw a shooting star, and I wished that I would have a baby. A few weeks later, we found out that you were growing inside me - you were my wish come true!"

The Girl loves this story. But honestly, it's not my favourite. It reminds me of how desperate we were to have children - so desperate that my longing for a baby swam just beneath the surface and emerged at the slightest provocation. Of how frustrated we were that things were not working according to plan. Of how painful the journey to parenthood can be.

Infertility is nasty business. It renders one totally helpless in the face of "natural" processes that refuse to work the way they're supposed to, despite nightly knocking-up of seemingly far-less-deserving teenagers in the backseats of Chevys. It elicits anger against God, the universe, and all other pregnant women proudly displaying their effortless fecundity. It sucks the joy out of sex and reduces miracle to mechanics and spontaneity to obsessive calendar-counting.

Our journey through infertility was short and ultimately ended with a couple of fabulous bio-kids. But not everyone's journey ends that way. Some end after years of waiting helped along with medical intervention. Some end with adoption. Others end with a decision to remain childless. Few end without tears shed along the way.

Those tears make me question the usefulness of a manufactured Hallmark holiday celebrating motherhood. I know of few women whose journeys towards motherhood have not involved copious tears, whether they be over yet another period that dashes the dream that *this* is the month, over the doctor's final diagnosis that biological children will not be in the cards, over the rocky road towards adoption. Or worse, over the graves, whether they be physical ones surrounded by fellow mourners, or unmarked, psychological ones known only to the grieving parents.

And so today, while I'm achingly grateful for the misshapen, glue-covered, clumsy-yet-beautiful works of art that proclaimed "Happy Mother's Day" to me, my heart bleeds for all the mothers around me:

For the mothers whose babies were (or continue to be) long in coming.

For the mothers whose babies were here for far, far too short a time.

For the mothers who never dreamed they'd be raising their babies without a partner.

For the mothers whose babies brought, through no fault of their own, debilitating depression.

For the mothers whose sweet dreams of what motherhood would be like bore so little resemblance to what became difficult reality.

You forgotten mothers are in my thoughts and prayers today. May it be a day of comfort and peace for you; if not possible, then may it be over quickly.

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Vendredi V - Blame Canada Edition

I was grocery shopping last night, and as I got to the produce section, the familiar strains of one Ms. Twain greeted my ears. I concentrated heavily on the bell peppers and tried to drown out the pride of Timmins, Ontario by calculating just how much pepper I was getting for my penny.

Then, over in the canned vegetables, tortured violins and a plaintive melody heralded the arrival of none other than Celine Dion. And I wondered whether CanCon rules stretched this far, cuz that's a lot of Canadian divas in a short period of time.

Which got me thinking: there are definitely some things from back home for which I am not heartsick. So I give you:

Top 5 Things I Do Not Miss About Canada:

1. The weather. This has to be said, although I do try not to rub it in too much, for fear of someone in Bali reading this and giving me my comeuppance. Even though we live in the "Icebox of the Nation," it's been (relatively speaking, of course) downright balmy this winter.

2. An anemic left wing. Dion who? It's been pretty exciting watching the showdown between Obama and Clinton - if I'm excited, how much more so are the people who can actually vote in this contest? No Liberal or NDP leadership race that I can remember ever received the equivalent attention. And without attention-getters at its helm, the left wing in Canada will remain doomed to its current position: silent observers (along with most of the rest of Canada) of Stephen.

3. The roads. Freeways are awesome. And people (gasp!) actually let you in when you indicate that you would like to merge.

4. GST. Theoretically, the GST made sense. Practically, it made no noticeable difference in the lives of most Canadians, other than to reduce their already-meager after-tax buying power. I'm all for paying for government services, but one expects some level of service for one's 7%-then-6%-then-5% or wherever the darn tax is by now.

5. Book prices. Oh yeah. I don't have to look at the back of a book anymore, notice the 20% difference between the Canadian and US prices, sigh, and reach for my mouse to click over to amazon.com.

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Jetta Down!

So I was just getting into my work day, oatmeal and apple finished, second cup of coffee started, when the phone rang.

"Hey, how's it going."

"Not good. I'm stranded on the side of the road."

Yup, The Husband's car conked out en route to school. Being the good wife (and occasional knight errant) I am, I shut down the computer, asked a coworker to give my regards to my boss, and rushed to his aid.

(I would like to take this opportunity to point out that it was the acceleration-challenged-somewhat-dented-allergic-to-summer-tires-smoke-belching *older* Jetta that came to the rescue of the fancy-schmancy-so-low-to-the-ground-I-can't-do-an-automatic-carwash-I'm-so-cool-cuz-my-cupholders-aren't-broken *younger* model. We're a bit crustier, but we get the job done!)

But you know, through all of it, all I could think was "thank you."

Thank you that it happened on a side street and not on the highway.

Thank you that it was a beautiful, sunny day with not a raincloud in sight.

Thank you that no one was hurt.

Thank you that the kids were just fine through it all (although they did try The Husband's patience just a bit with complaints of how booooooring it was).

Thank you that I just made the bus out of downtown and got there in record time so the kids were on time for school and The Boy could go on his field trip.

Thank you that the car broke down 6 blocks from the Volkswagen dealership.

Thank you that we now know of a local tow truck company (Schmit Towing - unbelievably appropriate for a couple of Mennonites who take their VWs to a dealership called Luther Volkswagen).

Thank you that I have such a flexible job that I could just leave for two hours and then elect to work the rest of the day at home.

So really, it's not so bad. The car is still at the dealership and we're waiting to find out if they find anything. The Husband actually got it started and drove himself to the shop, so we're kinda hoping it was just some bad diesel (the sputtering/stalling cycle sounded a bit familiar...). A bit nerve-wracking, since I'm fairly certain we drive the only TDIs in the entire Twin Cities, and I don't trust dealerships at the best of times. I'm sure they'll charge us an arm and a leg, but fortuitously our Autopac refund cheques came yesterday.

Perhaps there will be enough left over to treat my dear car with some new cupholders, just for being *so* brave.

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A Perfect Day

The Husband teases me sometimes about how much I love Church. And it's true - I do love me some church-ifying. But it's not just about singing the songs or listening to the preacher. When people get together to worship corporately and love one another expansively, you can feel the shift from small-c, location-specific, particular-denomination "church" to capital-C, universal, all-encompassing "Church."

(There's also, of course, the safety net factor. A good church will provide a soft landing when you fall [as I know first-hand - you know who you are]. Although you hope never to require their services, it's still nice to know you've got "folks" who are looking out for you.)

More and more, our new church is taking on some of those Church-ish features. Take today. Upon arriving, we were informed by one of the parents behind whom we always sit that he and his wife weren't quite finished their prep for the morning but that their kids were already in the sanctuary and had been informed that we would be watching them. Seems inconsequential, but it's HUGE to me that a) it was expected we would come to church and sit in the same pew we always do; b) we were entrusted with someone's children; and c) someone knew us well enough to feel confident in asking that favour of us.

I received three (count'em, three!) hugs from church members today. And chatted with so many people who genuinely cared about how things were going.

Then we had some church people over for lunch. Always a bit nerve-wracking, but everything fell perfectly into place. The oven timer worked properly, so lunch was bubbling when we got home (Chickpea Stuffed Shells from The Cookbook - thanks AF!). The kids behaved dreamily, and ran out into the backyard with their friends right after the meal so the adults could chat. I've always felt that Sunday lunch is a natural extension of the grace of God shared in the sanctuary on Sunday morning, and today was no exception.

After our guests left, the day just kept on being amazing. We took a family bike ride to the lake, and the kids played on the beach until we set off for home with another stop at a park along the way. It was a beautiful day, so we had supper outside:

Finally, I went for a sunset walk around the lake - the water was calm, the trees were budding, and spring was really in the air.

To make this day completely perfect and truly magical, I not only saw a person riding a unicycle, but I also saw someone wearing spats. You know, those white leather shoe-cover thing-eys. And he was not in costume. For reals.

Doesn't get much better than this.

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Vendredi V - Coulda Shoulda Woulda Edition

So I've been a blogger slacker this week. Not for lack of time, inclination, or even ideas. I sat down at the computer and...it just kinda didn't happen.

But, if I had somehow been able to get past the writer's block:

Top 5 Blog Posts I Thought About Writing this Week

1. Adding Insult to Injury. Watching people fall is horrible. Watching a woman be hurled out of her wheelchair when its wheel gets caught in road construction right in front of you is about as bad as it gets. Standing frozen and frantically wondering if it could do any possible good to offer her my weak-armed assistance while unintentionally staring at her - I still feel terrible.

2. In Praise of the Semi-Colon. I read a fabulous article on this, my favourite piece of punctuation. I think I'll save my thoughts though - keep watching this space for what will no doubt be an amusing and thought-provoking article about this elegant yet sassy symbol.

3. Taking the Plunge. I've invited people from church over for lunch this coming Sunday. And I'm very nervous. One's first Sunday lunch invite at a new church is *always* momentous.

4. Parent-Teacher Conferences. Last week we were told that one of our children is sweet but has trouble following the rules while the other, although exhibiting unbelievably neat cursive writing, nonetheless puts too much pressure on the pencil. Any guesses as to which child is which?

5. Winter - the Gift that Keeps on Giving. So much for moving south. They're calling for snow tomorrow, of all things.

Who knows, maybe each one of these things will stay in my mind long enough to warrant its own post. Or something crazy will happen in the next while which will supplant their positions of prominence. Like today - I accidentally hit the alarm bell in the elevator and then, panicked, I hit the "Fire Call Cancel" button because it said "cancel." I told the security guard who wearily answered the first one that I hit the button by accident, but do you think I inadvertently called the fire department, too? And forced the evacuation of the tallest building in Minneapolis? On a very rainy Friday afternoon? You'd think some sort of alarm would've sounded....sigh.

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