I'm here...

...Reputedly the coldest capital city in the world, in comparison with which Moscow is merely chilly, it is preparing at the end of the year for its annual ferocious assault on the endurance, good nature, and ingenuity of its inhabitants..."

(Robertson Davies may have been talking about Ottawa, but not too hard to substitute "Minneapolis" these days.)

Apologies for the absence. My soul went into hibernation a few weeks ago and I haven't seen her since. I'm doing everything "right" - good eating, decent sleeping, lots of exercise, as much fresh air/sunshine as I can. But it's basically like PMS - it helps to know the cause and to be kind to yourself while you wait it out, but ultimately you just need to wait until spring.

Still, I can manage a quick roundup:

- Christmas was good. Short, but sweet.

- School is school. Although tonight's waterworks reminded me that it's been awhile since we've enforced homework properly.

- The Boy (to the shock of us all) has turned into a reader. He sets his alarm for 5:30 am so he can read for an hour and a half before he has to get up. He has smashed through The Magic Treehouse series and is deep into anything remotely mythological. Know any other eight-year-olds who roll their eyes at the randiness of Jupiter? Or who say "reading is like video games. Except way better."

- He is also in chess club now. Loves it. Beats me half the time.

- The Girl fell in love with Judy Garland the other day when we watched Meet Me in St. Louis. Yep, she's mine.

- The Husband is almost done his crazy workout program. Ask him to show you his ripped-ness. He likes that.

- I am doing a modified version of the crazy workout program (and by "modified" I mean "I fast forward through anything I don't like. Plus any bonus rounds. Plus all the hard stuff." So don't ask me about my ripped-ness anytime soon). The goal is to burn off the malaise. It is not working, but my pants fit a bit better, so baby steps.

- The big news this week is that The Boy turned eight. When spring comes and my brain wakes up, I hope to be able to wrap my head around this fact.

Sigh. Have I pulled you down into the Slough of Despair with me yet? Never fear, brave Christian, this shall render ye free:

(The Boy's birthday party was to take his BFF to a Wild game. Good times indeed.)

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I'm Dreaming of a Not-Quite-So-White Christmas

Dear Old Man Winter,

It has come to my attention that you seem to have misread the date on your invitation to this year's festivities. My calendar quite clearly indicates that your arrival is scheduled for tomorrow.

However, it has not escaped my notice that you have descended upon this part of the world somewhat earlier than requested. In point of fact, sir, your eagerness to join us has gone beyond an innocent knock at the door five minutes before the appointed time (causing quiet consternation on the part of the hostess who rushes to put away the vacuum, smooth her hair, and pretend she is not huffing and puffing when she throws open the door and welcomes you heartily) but has, instead, turned what was to be an enjoyable visit into a prolonged seige.

You are perhaps unaware of the difficulties posed by your unlooked-for coming, and so I feel an obligation to point out to you the following statistics:

- 2.5: additional hours it took to drive to Manitoba three weeks ago
- 2: number of church services cancelled this month due to too much snow
- 5: amount (in pounds) of extra bean casserole the PM family was forced to consume after missing the church potluck due to one formerly mentioned church cancellation
- 45x2x3: number (in minutes) added to my commute due to snow-filled parking lanes that forced cars to park (where else) in the driving lanes
- 1: collapsed Metrodome roof
- 2: useless Vikings/Giants tickets

I do apologize if some of the preparations I made for your coming (namely, washing parkas in August, buying mittens in September, loading up with root vegetables in October, and buying two sets of winter tires, kids skis, outdoor running gear, and a new parka in November) may have suggested that I was anxious for you to arrive. In truth, this was more "ant vs. grasshopper" than it was "let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."

In closing, please consider that your actions of late have not only pushed our cities' snow removal equipment beyond capacity but that you have also brought about a premature return of my annual bout of seasonal affective disorder.

We are out of hot chocolate, the Christmas tree lights are burning out, and the bus stops are merely snow drifts with signs stuck in them.

In short, I request that you cease and desist.

Sincerely yours,

PM

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The Origin of Sweetness

"Where I'm From"

I am from delicious taco Fridays, from the loud coffee maker, and homemade hummus.

I am from sweet Vancouver and Winnipeg.

I am from strolling on the wandered trails of the bush and fresh-picked raspberries.

I am from ice cream cake on my birthday and blue eyes, from H to Emster, Peters and Kroeker.

I am from the rainy day read-a-thons and sleeping in till eleven o'clock.

From "wait a second, I'm almost done" to "if I could have any little girl in the world, I would choose you."

I am from Mennonites.

I'm from Peter's mistake, the kryptonite, and my dad's gray hair.

I am from pranksters and tricksters.

I'm from a kiss on the cheek and the sound of my nighttime radio.

~ by The Girl

(Edited - I didn't know we had a multi-media version, so you can hear the poetess yourself!)

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Guess We Won't Be Needing Those

Sigh.

Poor The Boy. He and The Husband were supposed to go to the game yesterday as a (very) belated birthday present. They'd been planning it for months. We made arrangements for The Girl to stay at a friend's place weeks ago. The Boy was counting down the days until Sunday. The Husband juggled his travel arrangements to make sure he only flew out after the game.

Sigh.

Quite the dumping of snow we got over the weekend. I missed the majority of the fun, having beat it out of town early Friday afternoon up to a fabulous weekend away with some BFFs in extra-fabulous Fargo. By the time I got back, the interstates were mostly clear, and even the side streets I needed were okay.

Fairly serious snow mountains at every corner. We even drove past the dome yesterday - so strange to have no roof.

Not so strange is that I'm playing both Mr. and Mrs. Mom roles again this week. Not that I minded today, as it gave me an excuse to work from home, avoid venturing out into the deep freeze, and listening to Christmas music.

Oh, the weather outside is frightful, indeed.

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You Can't Possibly Anticipate This Kind of Thing

Me: What's this on the floor? It looks like...red dye....

The Boy: Oh. That's from that paper I brought home from school. The bright red one, you know? And how it got wet when I dropped it in the snow?

Me: (furiously scrubbing) This is really bright dye - I don't know if I'm going to be able to get this out.

The Boy: Oh. Then you probably don't want to see my wall.

Me: (dumbfounded) ....

[Two minutes later]

Me: (furiously scrubbing yet again, dizzy from inhaling fumes from undiluted Mr. Clean). Okay, seriously. What on earth possessed you to wipe it on the wall? I get that it was wet and you wanted to wipe it off, but that's what TOWELS are for. Why THE WALL?!

[This "Parenting: Sometimes You Don't Even Stand a Chance" moment was brought to you by the fine folks at my kids' school who thought it was a good idea to encase the school directory in the brightest, bleedingest cardstock available and then send it home with the youngest child in the family on a snowy day.]

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Like Mother, Like Daughter

(This morning...whispers at the church piano...)

Me: Remember, if you make a mistake, it's just fine...

The Girl: ...because everybody here loves me.

So, so, so much pride. This morning, The Girl played piano for a non-parent/non-grandparent audience for the first time! She was darling - she's been working on The First Noel for a couple of weeks, and her book includes an accompaniment, so this morning during the offertory I motioned her over and she marched proudly up to the piano and she played it just perfectly.

And it was the perfect venue, too. A first performance should be all about excitement and no fear. I can't think of a better place than with a church filled with smiling faces, all ready to come up to her during refreshment time and tell her what a great job she did.

Funnily enough, I know exactly how she feels. Because I had my "first" performance today, too. Well, first time being the solo pianist for the entire morning. Ever since that fateful day that we got a piano and I started fumbling my way through praise band songs, I've been working up to this. No back-up band, no safe and easy chords, no loosey-goosey praise songs. Just me and the piano and way too many sharps.

Worse was the "Children's Christmas Choice" on the morning's agenda - I worried about that one all week. I knew one of those gremlins would pick It Came Upon a Midnight Clear with its semitone craziness. But, lovely girl that she is, The Girl shouted out Hark the Herald Angels Sing - ha! It's in G! And I rocked it!

(The Husband thinks I planted her. Totally not guilty.)

Was I amazing? No, not really. Did I play every note. Heck no - I tried to play three at a time (sorry tenors) and aimed for a 75 percent accuracy rate.

And was it just fine and did people thank me for playing anyway?

Yup. Because everyone there loves me.

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