A Pavlovian Response to the Disrespect Button

Much the same as the dog wagging her tail when *Steve* punches out and comes home from work, *Mila* has her own special response to the button pushing. "Beep Beep" and ...

*Mila*: "Waaahhhh! I said it's the water's fault for me choking and it forced me to swallow it down the wrong pipe Mom!"
Me: "*Mila*, you cannot breathe in when you put your face in the water!"
*Mila*: "I SAID IT'S THE WATER'S FAULT. DIDN'T YOU HEAR ME?"
Me: "*Steve*, she's all yours!"

Then I was approached by the mini-bully in the kitchen when she placed her three-year old hands on her three-year old hips and told me how it was again! I think her heard her utter something like this: "It is SO party night. And you can't be mad at me. It's your fault and you have to stop getting so mad at me! I didn't do anything and now I'm having party night...stomp! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!..."

When does this end? If she's doing this to me now, what will happen when she's 16? "I am SO taking the car! I don't care if I don't know how to drive and have a boyfriend who is 21. I am taking your car and I won't be home until Wednesday! MOM!" Gasp*! I'm going to pass out and will not be regaining any consciousness until 2059.

On a brighter note, she did ask me how to spell "RYE". I guess all that 'Trailer Park Boys' is finally kicking in! All that hard work I did when she was in the womb, cussing like Ricky, mispronouncing like Ricky, holding cat circuses like Bubbles, driving with mixed drinks like Julian. It paid off...be sure to click on the Etsy personifications of the TPBs.

signed, the willow

Please? For Nadia?

I am visited by the memories of my childhood gymnastics hero: Nadia Comaneci. She's going to be on Donald Trump's Apprentice: Celebrity Edition. From her pointed toes and her stark white leotard with the stripes down the side. I lived to be like Nadia. Sadly, I grew up in a small town where gymnastics was merely recreational at the time. My mother was one of the original founders of the club and she was there to coach me and hold my hand when somebody hurt my feelings or looked at me the wrong way. Now, I seem to have that task. In case someone gives direction that is not warranted in art class. I have to stay there to pass *Mila* her teddy bear.

Where was I?

Nadia! Yes, a couple years ago I was fortunate enough to convince *Mila* into going to gymnastics. She was young and I think only 18 months old at the time. I think she even wore a pull-up diaper at the time. Occasionally wearing panties to a lesson or two. The coach and owner was on the same Romanian Olympic Gymnastics team as Nadia. As you entered the gym she had this larger than life dry-mounted photo of her Olympic team. I think her husband was a member as well. Then there was a large autographed photo of Nadia. I used to stare at the poster and pretend that I wasn't interested. But I couldn't help it. I was under Nadia's spell again. Since *Mila* was not too interested in gymnastics, she chose to not go back. I think I have asked her every day...."Do you want to go to gymnastics again?"

And the answer is always a resounding "no".

signed, the willow

Dooce, you did it again!

There is this girl who lives my life in another dimension. Okay, so she's not a girl and neither am I. We are women, mothers, wives...bloggers-extraordinaire. Well, she is. The last thing I mentioned. I could only dream to be half the blogger she is. It would now seem that dooce reads my mind and blogs my experiences in this parallel dimension exactly 24 to 48 hours before me.

I had this great story to tell about the lesson to be learned from "Absent Customer Service" and I go online and click on my blogger, then I open up my flickr. Next thing I know I am clicking on dooce.com as well. Why? I guess I hadn't read her most recent post for a few days. And there it was. Black and white and blogged all over. Okay, not my experience. Pretty darn close though. Dooce had a bad night at the grocery store with bad customer care and called it "outsourced". She was bang on. These new self serve cash registers are horrid. But, I'm wondering...is the real thing any better?

So, yesterday we go to Canadian Tire to get the long awaited plastic food. *Mila* saved up her Canadian Tire Reward Money for her big purchase and I chalked it up to a good lesson about the value of money. We got to the store and she clambered into the cart, since snow boots are heavy to walk in and it saved me the agony of "Do you want to get into a cart? Get in the cart. Just get in the cart. No, you can't sit up in the baby seat. Because your boots are too big and you'll get stuck in the cart. Never mind." I was told that the first thing we must check out is the food. On the way over to the meager amount of toys that are in the tire store, we pass by the Christmas decorations and now we have to reroute ourselves around our first obstacle. Yes, meet Ms. Oblivious. She is unloading new lights and Christmas decor. I'm sure she's the supervisor of this section based on how she completely ignored us and in no way budged her 4 boxes that lay in the aisle. Good thing we didn't need any LED lights this year. She wasn't moving until next Spring. Picture a skinny aisle and a lady with a cart, with a three year old with giant snow boots on, backing up in this part of the store. Yeah, it's me. Again, we turn the corner. We are met by Mrs. Busy-Shopper. Note the hyphenated last name. She is busy. She's not on her cell phone this time because she just doesn't have the time to dial and her arms are overloaded with all her recent purchases from Marks WorkWearhouse. I apologize and she doesn't acknowledge our existence because she is Mrs. Oblivious' first cousin. I find the toy aisle. It's 4 feet wide and 10 feet long. Where is the damn (don't say damn!) plastic food. Aaah, there it is. Put it in the cart and now listen to the oohs and aahhs over the recycled water bottles that are now formed into a pretend product.

"There's asparagus and french fries and potato chips and Nibs cookies and this blobby thing and there's a carrot and a brownie and a piece of chocolate cake and some green peas and green grapes and purple grapes and soup and Cheerios and...."

I'm giggling as I listen to her and now here comes Mr. Don't-Have-A-Clue. He's had more than his fair share of stepfathers and bears many hyphens as a result. He stands between me and the product shelf. No word of a lie. And the aisle is give or take 2 inches wider than the space he and I both occupy. What is he doing, you ask? He is writing on green painter's tape the price of the product and sticking it to the shelf. Brand new store and they are back to using the green painter's tape to let you know what the price is. We still have our price gun from our grocery store if you need to borrow it, Canadian Tire Don't-Have-A-Clue dude?!?!? Let's get out of here. I find the bath accessories and we now look over at the only 2 cash registers open. It's lunchtime and everyone in town is here trying to get their washers for their leaky taps and magic erasers before they have to clean their crayon marked walls tonight. We pick a line, who cares which one. We pick the one that has the lady who is going to contest the price of something. I am getting further and further away from *Mila* using her reward dollars to pay for her treat. She brought $14 with her. Bear in mind that this $14 has taken her parents their entire married life to spend their hard earned Mastercard dollars at Canadian Tire. All for something no one ever uses. It's an on-going Canadian joke. I saw some American kids on YouTube using some at Tim Hortons which got accepted?? Our turn is finally here. Ok, meet Miss Apathetic. She is not dating a lot lately. Her washed out complexion tells me she has not seen daylight since she started this job. She offers us no greeting. No niceties. No "Hi, how are you?" Nor "Did you find everything you were looking for?"Aas if anyone really cares if you did or not. I've said "no" to that question before and received a giggle in return. So, I pull out the wad of $14. Which by the way, I have pared down. I brought in only the $2 bills, $1 bills, 50 cent bills and 25 cent bills. And she takes it so unenthusiastically that I am ready to explode. All the time that she is counting it (like she's practicing to be a bank teller at the slower than slow bank), I am looking at this cart that has magically appeared in front of us and is now blocking my cart in. We can't escape and my panic mode sets in. I get red-faced and start to tap my feet and pace when this occurs. Maybe it's claustrophobia or my hyper-sensitive disorder. Miss Apathetic is counting it one by one, denomination by denomination. I am tapping as the line up is getting longer and I watch 4 employees of the store (not another store) pass by the cart with more important things on their mind than this cart that they have to maneuver around. After I pay (Oh and of course we wouldn't expect Miss Apathetic to say "That will be $39 PLEASE?") I'm stuck. Miss Apathetic just looks at me with this dull look in her eyes saying "What now lady? Like, just go already. Like, I'm having a really busy day and I hate everyone. So, if you could just, like, leave the store." A guy comes along and rescues me from the odious cart. I mutter under my breath, "Finally somehow has a clue. Thank you. Four employees went past the cart and not one moved it for me and it was obvious I was trying to get by." He replies "You're welcome" cheerily as if I'm the very first person to say "Thank you" to him at his store EVER. And that's mostly because Miss Apathetic doesn't know the words herself. I get home and look over my bill and notice that Miss Apathetic screwed up her Canadian Tire Reward Money counting abilities and cheaped me out of $3.60! Ok, I don't need the $3.60, but neither does she. If all the other crappy things (now I know why they call it 'Crappy Tire') not happened while we were in the store, I would have dropped it. But I can't. I was trying to teach *Mila* about the value of money and all she learned was that customer service is non-existent. Maybe the robot that served dooce
wasn't so bad after all. I wrote a big long munchy email to their corporate office that they can chew on and digest for a while. Hey, I like the store, what they have to offer and the fact that they are located in my backyard helps too. But, if they can't deliver the service, then I can take my Canadian Tire money to Timmy's.

signed, the willow

The Green Team sucks

Hey, I didn't say that. I've been watching the Grey Cup tonight just to catch a glimpse of Lenny Kravitz. It was a conversation overheard just now between *Steve* and *Mila*. It's been fun watching the last names that pass by the screen: Canada (who is an American playing for a Canadian team), Dinwiddie, Bean, Osterhuis, Malborough, Flick, Chick. *Steve* and I have shared a good laugh reminiscing about the day that Troy Westwood (the kicker for the Bombers) came cruising for chicks (??) behind our work, driving his Fiero blasting his rock tunes...what a good belly laugh that was.

*Steve* is telling me how the cheerleading outfits are not very fashionable for the Saskatchewan team. "I think they sewed them themselves", said with a teeth suckage. I didn't realize men were allowed to criticize the rival team's cheerleading outfits.

It's cold, so I made some vegan chili and then had to add ground turkey once I was done with it for *Steve*. I'm a little confused by this. But I don't deny anyone any meat around here. Especially if they share with the dog and eat the low fat, no preservative variety.

I love Emma

I keep meaning to write about Emma. She's this bear that *Mila* has been toting around with her where ever she goes since birth. Emma came to us from *Steve's* old employer in a gift basket for *Mila* when she was born. Emma has endured many machine washings and was once torn to pieces by the agitator in our washer. Therefore, she was stitched up and I have to admit my poor sewing skills here & now. She doesn't bear the chenille finish she once did. And Emma has been most commonly been mistaken by just about everyone for a pig. I think I thought she was a pig for the first 2 years and it was *Mila* who corrected me. "Emma's a bearrrrrr" with a growl at the end of that sentence.

There is a full moon. I've had a darling new haircut and I think it resembles that of Katie Holmes. I'm pretty sure that Posh Spice "owned" the hairdo first, but TomKat took it over and branded it under their marketing strategy. So, the Beckhams lost out. I think I went in with the mind to have a pixie cut all over again, but the girl cutting my hair seemed to want to try her hand at the "Katie". So, I went for it, and I can dig it. Now we are off to the parade. Here's the do.

signed, the willow

November snow

It hasn't snowed on my birthday for the past four years that we have lived in Southern Ontario and I miss the November snow.

*Mila* made me a heart out of her toast crusts this morning. Her gift to me. Later in the afternoon, she fixed us a snack. Here it is.

She comes up with the niftiest ideas. I was lucky enough to receive flowers from *Steve* and my mom & dad. Niceties. Not expected, but very well received.

*Mila* has been happy since Gramma sent her a helium balloon along with the flowers. It's kept her happy in the bathroom for 40 minutes while she read the Golden Book "Words" and batted it around until she couldn't multitask any longer and tied it to the door handle.

signed, the willow

The Wawa Goose likes it

I'm always afraid to put myself out there. So, this blog is my baby step #1. Then I set up my flickr.com account. Next, is my Etsy store. I need to fill it up with merchandise. This is my first stab. I'm going to paint a series of canvasses in the like of what the Wawa goose is pointing at....


signed, the willow

Subliminal Advertising

Just as I thought "Bob the Builder" is sending subliminal messages through this 27 inch tube TV. Farmer Pickles said something to the effect of "DRINK RED BULL AND EAT MANY SUGARY ITEMS, THEN JUMP AROUND LIKE THIS AND TOSS, TOSS, TOSS YOURSELF ONTO THE FLOOR. THUD! THUMP!" Or maybe it was Dora?

There was a yoga mat out today and it became an instant attraction to put on a leotard and a larger than life tutu. See, we wear tutus in our house when we do yoga. No lululemon for us, we use ballet wear.

I found yet another unfinished project and I use it for inspiration. It's posted above my computer and it is meant to inspire me. But it's not finished. It has pencil lines and missing brush strokes. Somehow, it speaks to me and I love it. Blue is usually the dead giveaway. If the shade and tone of the blue are to my liking, it will be something I will never part with.



signed, the willow

it's a fiery, fiery place

november 19

I'm too lazy to do the date today and it's too late to worry about it. This is *Mila* updating my profile on Facebook. Yes, I let her do some things for me on Facebook, like decorate an Xmas tree or a snowman. She's better at it than me and Polly Pocket was too boring for her today.

So, we had to have a few little talks today, *Mila* and I. It turns out she thinks she is my parent. Sitting around waiting for her this morning drove me insane. There was an excuse to goof around at every corner of the day. At one point, I lost my cool and stormed around the house.

Willow: "Get your shoes on so we can go, ALREADY!"
*Mila*: "Ha ha. Are you getting mad? I still love you mom."
Willow: "You still love me? What did I do? Did I just have a flounce?" (see below for description)
*Mila*: "Ha ha, yes mom. You had a flounce. But I still love you."

Turns out, I am still having flounces. Yes, I can admit it. And I am admitting it here to my mother on this blog. I had a little moment in my life where I just can't get it together and I storm around irritated by everything. It's called a flounce!

Later in the day:

Willow: "Because I had a flounce, I guess I'm going to hell?"
*Mila*: "Ha ha. Yes, you are going there. And it's a fiery, fiery place!"

What? Is she really three? Did we just miss an entire lifetime? What planet am I on? Is there a parallel universe? Why does my three year old laugh at me and give me advice about Hell? How does she know it's a fiery, fiery place? Really. How does she know that? Was it a Gary Larsen cartoon?

signed, the willow

Stuffed

Today in history Mickey Mouse debuted. It was 1928.

We had a little party tonight in our basement watching 'Shrek the Third' eating snacks. I feel like Mr. Creosote, due to explode at any second. I'm absolutely stuffed now and just too lazy to turn the channel, resulting in a Celine Dion dance-off on the AMA. Why does she try to be serious? Celine, please stop the dance moves. I can't mock her singing, because she can sing and doesn't miss a beat. No lip synching there. Just stop dancing, Celine, you're going to make me crack a rib or explode or something. Age must have kicked in too, because I keep looking for LL Cool J, and he never shows up on these shows. I don't know the rappers anymore. Do they call them rappers still?



This is *Steve* telling me how to operate my camera.


This is *Mila* not responding to being told what to do.


Me listening to the camera instructions....YOU TAKE A PICTURE THEN MR.SMARTIE PANTS...with *Mila* showing us the trauma her Kinder Egg Surprise endured in the fridge.

signed, the willow

Where is my personal obstacle course?

I really have enjoyed walking along the creek with the dog. Today, things changed for me and I realized that my personal obstacle course has been de-challenged. You see, for the past three years that we have lived here we've hopped over rocks, leaped over puddles and swatted mosquitoes (all 3 of them) down by the creek on our walks. Today, I noticed what the trail had become. It has become a trail. Groomed. Landscaped, even. And professionally landscaped I might add. Now, I don't want to discredit the landscapers and I don't want to offend the physically challenged people that need the ease of a smooth walkway. Don't get me wrong here. They will even appreciate that the fun is taken out of everything these days. We leave no obstacle courses, no challenges, nothing to the imagination, no "take the stairs" options. We just pave it over and call it a drive-thru. It's really not right. I liked those bumps. The puddles that were created in the carved out limestone were used by *Mila* for jumping in and drinking for Suma the dog. I liked running free down there and picking up the predictable pieces of garbage. It was my personal challenge. Where now? I had to ask myself this. Where will I take my challenge now? I love the trails and love them being groomed. For me, it's too late. I have had my turn at pushing a baby stroller down there while handling a dog. Now, there is an even slope, all smoothly surfaced. Maybe "Land Rover Mommy" will take her gourmet dog of the week down there with her $9000 stroller now. They've poisoned us with their poison apple AGAIN!

signed, the willow

You are what you drive

Classifying people based on the car they drive is easy and not a new concept. It has become a nasty habit of mine lately. I find myself commenting on "Land Rover Mommy" or "Minivan Mom" or my all time fave, "Volvo Power Struggle Mom". We take on a different persona based on our vehicle, don't we? I think if I drove a 1/2 tonne truck I'd wear blue jeans every day and my sweatshirts would come out of hiding and make it downtown on a weekday. If I drove that snazzy BMW that *Steve* wants so badly, my hair would be plastered much closer to my head, my teeth would sparkle and I would say "Now now dear" to *Mila*. What if I drove a station wagon? Just what if? I'd wear the occasional jean, I'd try hard to plaster my hair down , but it would fly away, I'd layer sweater after sweater on both me and my child and my dog would slobber on the window. And that would be me, "Ford Focus Wagon Cool Dude Mom". I still think I'd be the envy of all other mothers if I had a Mazda CX-7, but I can't chat on my cell and drive. In fact, my "cell-o-phone" is part of *Mila's* dress up box when she pretends to be "Land Rover Mommy". She also wears her yoga wear and says "I have to go" an awful lot. I'm very bad, I know.

signed, the willow

You left a trail of what?

Unlike my usual blogs, I am dateless today. I shoved my camera in my pocket and crash, it broke for the 8th time. Now I'm kicked off my computer and it seems as though I should have done this in the morning instead of tonight. Lessons learned and now I'm on a serious hunt for a new camera, not just a daydream anymore.

We had a successful day and school was not a challenge or chore for *Mila*. She met a new task at her own pace and under her own guidelines. I'm proud of her that she decided when she was ready to meet her goals. When she wants to handle things maturely, she can handle them better them most 39 year-olds. I wish we could all learn something from her. Her new expression has become "No way!?" I love it, because I finally have someone I can answer to with "Way!" Not since 'Wayne's World' has that happened. After a successful class, we went to pick up some silicone at the new home improvement store. The store looks great and we also picked up some ribbons and a few acrylic paints for our art room. As we left the store, I heard a series of puttering which was followed immediately by a big giggle and "Mom! I left a trail of turds behind me!" Turds? You left a trail of turds? Are you a dog?

After that, I was still proud of her.

There is a snoring dog at my feet, time for bed.

signed, the willow

After this life what will I be?

I had to explain today about life after death. How can I explain that? I've no experience. Or have I? And if I have, it's obvious that the Haitian from 'Heroes' has come to erase my entire memory of it. OK, so the reason that I write of this is because I heard a lady say she wanted to be a dog in her next life. What a life! A dog? Don't get me wrong. I love dogs. I mean LOVE dogs. I just don't think it's an ideal life. Someone whips you around by the neck with a collar and leash. You are forced to eat toenails and chicken beaks (I've seen these strange hairs sticking out of the treats and they are nasty!). Why a dog?

What is this little collection? A rock and of course a pine cone. I find pine cones everywhere. We have two coniferous trees out back, none with cones. Or rather, cones that are not picked or even noticed. We have pine cones from Northwestern Ontario, Lake Superior, Muskoka, Southern Ontario. Every where we go, *Mila* finds a pine cone, stashes it in her pocket for like four hours and then stores it in the oddest of places. I found under her bed an entire shoe box full of rocks, leaves and pine cones. Instead of tossing it, I labeled it "Treasures" and I put it back where I found it. After all, when I "come back" as a dog, I might need to gnaw on one of those pine cones to pluck the toenails from my teeth.

signed, the willow.

Did you get the TV?

*Steve*: "I went to Best Buy today and got a new 55" TV."
Me: "Gulp. What?"
*Steve*: "Do you believe me?"
Me: "Not when you ask me if I believe you."
*Steve*: "Did you buy it for me?"
Me: "No, I put it in my cart and then removed it."



Today we found ourselves yet again in the mall. This time they had the wildest and loudest music on in every store. JT was blasting "Bring Sexy Back" in Dollarama. And I think it was Elvis that sparked *Mila* to start shaking her bootie and doing the cutest little hand movements and head twitches in Zellers. This woman walked up behind us and stood in front of the Polly Pocket section and we were forced out. I was almost ready to pull out my social justice card and start telling her "We were here looking at the Polly Pockets first so back off and let the little girl look". That's when I noticed *Mila* grooving out to Elvis and twitching away with all these moves. I don't know where they came from. She wasn't the least bit bothered that we were in a department store and people were watching her. Dance as though no one is watching. Fortunately, the Polly Pocket hog was amused and she started to giggle with delight at *Mila*. It was priceless. Like the moment in the car last week when *Mila* asked us "Do you want to see me roll my eyes?" We said sure and hoped for the best. It was the cutest thing. She sat there all strapped in and gave us a blank stare. Then her eyes moved to the left and then to the right. Not a roll. A glare, then a glance. We burst into laughter and *Mila* was not the least bit impressed with us. She burst into tears. We hurt her tender feelings. She really thought she had accomplished it and we mocked her. Her Dad and I deserved a good punishment after that one. So, *Steve*, I'm sorry, there will be no TV. And I passed by that new sweater at the mall today.

signed, the willow.

Some things are just meant to be

Before I begin, I need to say a sweet Remembrance to my great uncle, Bert and my great-grandfather, Joc. I never had the fortune of meeting either of them. Bert was shot down over Germany in WWII and Joc died well after serving in the Boer War with the *AHEM* Lord Strathcona's Horse Regiment (brownie points for me from Granny D for that one!). Thank you for allowing us the freedom. It was your bravery and courage that has allowed us to live in the country of Canada and be free to have experiences like the one I am going to tell you about today.



We drove downtown Burlington this morning at around 11 am. As we drove along everyone had their own purpose in mind. I still haven't figured out what mine was. But I am sure I had one. *Mila* was daydreaming about a small white milk from Tim Hortons. I sure it's the cream they put in the milk to beef it up to a full 2% that she craves fort-nightly. As for me, I was thinking about the usual "double double".

Contrary to the beliefs of some dumb Americans, no Timmy does not put nicotine in the coffee! It's the 35% cream, you idiots. Nice try though. And nice try trying to force Dunkin' Donuts on us. We don't eat 'donuts' in Canada, despite the fact that there is a Tim Hortons on every corner and they all stock 'donuts'. While we're at it, it is doughnuts, not 'donuts'. In Canada, we prefer to add more letters to challenge Americans. It's true.

So, where was I? Oh yeah. *Steve* was fantasizing about a 50+ inch TV for the basement. When isn't he fantasizing about that? All day long he dreams about large TVs! Usually I have the remote, so why does he care? As *Mila* would say, "Why? Why? Why?" So, there we were driving past the Burlington Mall, observing a moment of silence for all the poor souls who sacrificed their lives to give us the freedom to choose what we want to put in our coffee, or the size of TV we want to have in our house. Suddenly a large semi-trailer passes by our window with a load full of pigs. They were making eye contact with me and I burst into tears. 'Sobbing over pigs?' you say. Yes! I'm hoping that you put down your Bacon sandwich right now and think about those poor pigs. Shoved into a corner with their bare, fat rears poking through the sharp metal holes of the truck's trailer. What are they thinking?

Edna: "I hope we're going somewhere fun, Homer."
Homer: "Yeah, like another farm!"
Pete: "Maybe, Edna, just maybe this is the end?!"
Edna & Homer simultaneously: "Nah, I don't think so!"
Pete: "Farmer Miller WOULD SO sell us down the river, Homer!"
Homer: "It just can't end like this Pete"

Now, do you want to eat something like that? Those pigs have feelings and are carrying on conversations in the truck before they get there to be slaughtered. It's not as if they are waiting a nice meal and a cigarette afterwards. I'm sure I don't want to know and if I do PETA will have a few videos I can watch when I'm not so tender.

There I am crying about pigs and soldiers and there we are in front of the TV store of the month. *Mila* is in the back seat complaining about "Where's my milk? I thought we were going to Tim Hortons? This is not Tim Hortons DAD!" Picture this: she's wearing a touque perched on top of her head resting well above her ears and a parka. It was +12 degrees Celsius! She has on a nightie substituting in for a shirt and a pair of jeans under them in typical Pik style! She is freaking out because this was supposed to be a run for milk, not 50" TVs. We back track to the nearest Timmy's (which wasn't far, it never is) and I run in to get the milk and 2 large double doubles. The guy (this is where my confusion begins. ?questionable guy?) serving me takes my order and proceeds to stand there and look at me in a dull way, not a cold way, just dull.

This is very odd, he pulls out a small Pepsi bottle from his pocket or something and says:
"Have you ever seen anything like this before?"
"No", I answer. What is he talking about? This small Pepsi bottle? Where is my damn coffees? The boy beside him is stirring and stirring. Are they adding nicotine to my coffee? Is this why I keep dreaming about buying cigarettes and smoking them behind the fence?
"It's very unusual, don't you think?" he asks me. "Yes it is", I say quickly. Thinking to myself, give me the damn coffee and YOU are the unusual thing. YOU, I say! YOU!
"My cousin gave it to me. It's lip balm. Don't you think it's unusual?", he asks me, as if we are girlfriends exchanging makeup techniques.
"Yes and so is your eyeliner! It's unusual for a boy your age too. And just because I have mascara rolling down my damn cheeks because I saw pigs piled on top of one another to go get their throats cut, and then I have to be reminded on Remembrance Day that men and women sacrificed their lives in the wars so we could have freedom and you are worried about your damn lip balm!?!?!? I really don't care about your lip balm being shaped like a Pepsi bottle!" At least that is what I imagined myself responding instead of what I really said, which was "Thank you and have a nice day", since I try to teach the young staff at Tim-bo's new manners like the words "Please" and this new one I heard the other day called "Thank you".

We leave and now we are off to the TV store again. We go into what reminded me of some small town store. Whatever. The TV that *Steve* wants is advertised on their website for like $700 off or something. So, I just go for the ride. The usual chit-chat occurs and *Mila* bounces on and off *Steve's* shoulders since she's bored. And why shouldn't she be? It's an electronics store and she's 3! I daydream about the skinny shiny black TV and *Steve* finds himself in a dark black room with 61 massive inches of liquid crystal display. Is it a guy thing? They need to hide in dark rooms with large stereos and big TVs. Is it so we can't see the beer they spill on the chesterfield (how Canadian is that for you?) or the 10 year's supply of petrified snack foods under the above stated chesterfield? I bet that's it. Then they crank the TV through the stereo so loud, that no wife with 'hyper-sensitive hearing disorder' (or HSHD as I like to call it) will be able to tolerate it, thereby, sound-proofing the basement and sealing it tighter than Old Fort William. It turns out that this is the third time he's tried to find and purchase the TV and each time we go for the "most excellent deal of all time", there is no TV. It's like the Polkaroo. He only appears when the guy on the Polkadot Door goes to the washroom. I get it now, so, it's the same with the TV. They tell you have the TV, but it goes to the washroom when the store opens the doors and the guys come in? So, this TV would only be visible to women and children then? I get it now, I really, really do! Of course, no sane wife would allow this monstrosity into her house. As a result, the men are forced into buying smaller, skinnier and sexier TVs! Oh and cheaper ones too!

signed, the willow

He makes holes. Many, many holes.

Now I want to know...*Steve* what on earth did you do above the bookcase in *Mila's* room?


We have a stud finder. Did you use it? Do you know where it is? Because I'm just guessing, but I bet you'll find it under our bed in the toolbox. We have a toolbox under our bed for the sole purpose of trying to disprove all common sense Feng Shui. I'm sure that if you looked up the love and marriage corner in any Feng Shui book, it would be there in black and white:

"Do not place any sharp tools under your bed to promote an auspicious marriage corner. Unless of course you want to defy this and many other Feng Shui textbooks, then go ahead!"

I'm not sure how I should proceed in trying to cover it up. Have to add it to my list of many other things I am trying to cover up and hide. Like the gaping 3'x 1.5' hole in our living room that the late Mr. Ken Danby was kind enough to paint 'Morning Tide' and autograph a print so I could eventually use it to hide that hole! It was shortly after my placing the print there that poor Ken passed away paddling his canoe in Algonquin Park. I sure hope that this string of bad Feng Shui is not going to jump up and nip anyone in the bum in the middle of the night for placing vice grips under the bed!

signed, the willow

She comes by it honestly

Waking up to the pitter patter of feet is one thing. In my house, I heard the tip, tap, clunk clatter of dress-up heels. When you are 3, you get out of bed, grab your teddy bear, blankies (notice the plural here) and don your latest heels. I wouldn't dare walk down two levels of this house in heels. Especially on the crooked and slanted wood stairs to the basement. Brave, that's what I call it.

Now, this is the part where I have to give my little girl a pseudo-blog-alias. She's got the same name as a port city of Nova Scotia and Australia, blonde hair and blue eyes like Cinderella, wears heels throughout the entire day, loves the colours pink and purple in all shades and tones, and I could go on. After all this, she told me she wants to have the name "Lassie". She keeps insisting that it is a little girl's name and not a dog's name.

Me: How about a different name?
Her: I would choose "Lassie".
Me: But sweetheart, there are so many names. Lassie?
Her: No. "LASSIE!"
Me: How about if I use the name Mila for you?
Her: NO! "LASSIEEEE!!!"

CBC Kids has a new show based on the Richard Scarry books and characters. Who didn't love Richard Scarry books as a kid? All those great animal characters. Everything was so neatly labeled in his books. I love labeled things. I should make labels and but them on everything in this house. Brings me back to my grocery store childhood. My second home was the grocery store my parents owned and operated. We used to ride the conveyor belt up and down to the haunted basement. There was a strange rectangular shaped hunk of concrete that had been placed in the basement floor as if someone or thing were buried under it. Everyone who was in that basement felt watched from behind the old freezer down there. Anyhow, back to Richard Scarry. This show is only 15 minutes long and as *Mila* tells me "Oh, I just LOVE it", hear that expressed as a 55 year old cosmopolitan NY'er would say it. Seriously.

After that show, on comes Cory Bowles from the "Trailer Park Boys" narrating for the kids' show "Poko". Yes, Cory as in 'Cory & Trevor' fame. And if you've ever watched the "Trailer Park Boys" you know that imagining Cory on a kids' show is absurd. Now, I'm craving a good Conky episode. If you are unfortunate enough to be living in the U.S. with a weak dollar and a lack of "Trailer Park Boys", I hope this will cheer you up. Ladies & Gentlemen, Trailer Park Trash, I present to you The "Trailer Park Boys". TA DA!
I need to get this jersey for my brother. It's too bad that they don't sell the 'Season 5 Ricky Hounds tooth button-up shirt' or I'd be all over that like Lucy.

I'll end it here.

signed, the willow

Where Vegetarians store their cookies

When you are through with storing, marinating and eating the rotting flesh of an animal, there are things you must do with the associated Tupperware. So, I store my cookies in them.



And what better way to get rid of some old candy corn than with cookies. I have to divulge here and now that I had to phone my mom and check it out with her. "Hi Mom. Me again. Have you ever made cookies with candy corn? No? Okay. Yes. Alright. Okay. I'll try that." I should have asked her about cherry licorice Nibs as well. Too late. So, I used my tried and tested chocolate chip recipe. Some with candy corn, some with Nibs, some with chocolate chips and candy corn together. And guess what? They are good. Not exceptionally good. Not better than the chocolate chip. But an adequate way of removing something from the junk cupboard without having to chuck it into the green bin.

My new recipe:
CANDY CORN COOKIES
1/2 cup margarine (I use Becel with olive oil omega3 and I always add more)
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt (or less)
1 cup flour
about 2 doz. candy corn OR
1 cup chocolate chips (1/2 milk chocolate & 1/2 white chocolate)

Just plop the candy corns on top (I did 2 per cookie) and bake the darn things in your oven at 350 for about 10-12.

We did a little day trip to my brother's and enjoyed the company of his dog. The dog is really sweet, don't get me wrong. But *Steve* put it really well like this "I bet we could walk in here, take the dog and he'd just go on with life with us, without skipping a beat." I bet he would. But, who could resist his big slobbering tongue, his odorific rear end, and his extra appendage that keeps popping out.

I won't have anything to write about tomorrow if this keeps up. This was our craft today. Three clown ladies, one mad lady and a sad one. Look at the bloody fangs and evil eyes. How about the tears pouring down the cheeks of the sad lady? Classic expressions if you ask me.

signed, the willow

Big Dogs and Little Dogs

You will find yourself on the corner, waiting. Turning and waiting. No one will come and you'll still be waiting. Why? I don't understand it either and I won't bother to try. You'll drive halfway down the street and your hatch will fly open. No one will honk (this time). Although, they would like to. You'll stop. See a guy mulling over some garbage along the side of the road where the Canadian Tire once was. Now what is that he's found? A lovely flat dehydrated and squished grey squirrel. "Pick it up". Nah, I think he found a loonie.

signed, the willow

It's in the cup

We went for our usual journey to IKEA. I cannot tell you how much I love IKEA. What I don't love are some of the people who decide to venture there. It is understandable to have no idea what is going on on your first visit, or even your second (if this is a foreign IKEA to you). But, don't come to IKEA to put a tent in my daughter's eyeball. And don't walk into my 99 cent frozen yogurt cone, or bowl me over in the living room display section. And the worst part is, you were the same guy! *Steve* calls me "hyper-sensitive" or "overly sensitive". I don't care what my "problem" is, some people are jerks and don't deserve to be on this planet. That includes the pushy, rude and arrogant. Anyhow, we went for a Strippa shelf and ended up leaving with a mattress pad and these great IKEA +365 cups and saucers:

As for Mr. Pushy Rude Dude, follow my rules of IKEA!

I woke up to a big red puffy eyelid and I think there is something in the eye, but I can't find it. *Steve* is afraid of having his own eyes touched, so he won't dare lift my lid and peer in. I know it. So, I will have to struggle all day/week with a big puffy eye. I hate it. I feel like a creature. Now I know how "Simon Birch" was made to feel - being different. If only God had a plan for me in this life, like Simon. We were up until 2 a.m. watching that moving last night and I was bawling all over the place, so that in all likelihood didn't help the left lid. My parents had been out in Lunenburg, N.S. when it was being filmed as a Disney production with a working title of "A Small Miracle". Apparently, Elora, Ontario was another location that they filmed in. Which is making perfect sense to me now since Elora is close to our home. Go out in your jammies and rent this one. It's a story where everyone can identify a piece of themselves within the plot.

My chicken ways

Might as well get some feathers and tar them in my butt. Yet again, I said we'd go try and meet a famous Canadian decorator in our backyard. We got there too early and the store started to fill up. I got antsy and had to leave. We purchased our low watt CFC light bulbs and we went on to our next adventure. I hate myself for not withstanding being around a bunch of pushy people. I'll never approach Ms. Travis. I'll never ask her a question. I'll never shake her hand, nor pay her a compliment. Because I AM A CHICKEN. Here they are:




Dog before her walk



Dog after her walk


signed, the willow

Your word for the day is TENT

"Mom, do you know what T-E-N-T spells?"

Um, okay. This is usually the spot where I have to spell it out loud again to make sure it is in fact a word or count vowels in my head to see if it is even worth trying to recite the word of the day.

"No honey, what does it spell?"

"It spells 'tent'. I learned it on 'Word World' this morning."

Inside my head I am composing myself before I can say a word. Something like this:

Ahem! Excuse me. You are learning to spell from TV? How is that humanly possible? Especially when large headed creatures like Dora are yelling at you in broken Spanish? Sure, I learned how to count to 10 in Spanish thanks to you learning from that girl who hangs out with that cleptomaniac fox that she's constantly rescuing from the evil grips of some elf trapped inside a bottle. Why bother saving the clepto fox? He's constantly ripping Dora off. Ok, that's another story.

"That's fabulous! You learned that T-E-N-T spells tent. I am so proud of you."

After all, you wanted a happy ending. Don't we all?

signed, the willow