Cat from the Ping Pong Rama Lama Ding Dong Dynasty

Really now. Don't you think it's time we stop allowing the Chinese to make cats for us to sell in our Dollar Stores?

signed, the willow

She said she doesn't like your girlfriend

We have the winter blahs and so to beat off the sensation to curl up like a cat and sleep in the sunshine, we held our own Hawaiian party. *Mila* sent out some invitations to Elly the purple elephant and Jack the puppy that lives in a cage. Note: the vacuum is on the couch again to keep the dog off. What I love is how *Mila* is pretending to be Avril Lavigne so enthusiastically, then snaps out of it and gives her bracelet a quick snap. "That's it and we're back in the room."

signed, the willow

Meet the Boys

The Leprechaun

The Pieman (oddly enough I could not invert him. So, sadly his chocolate starfish is bared to the world)

Finally. Now read the sign.

signed, the willow

The Pieman

This is a sinister topic for the day. See, we do all have a dark side. Britney manifests her's in the form of a British accent (and a bad one at that). I've tried to do dark art, but in it still lurks petals, leaves and polkadots. Let me talk here about a pieman. He's wafting the fresh aroma of a pie in front of someone's face right now. It's really ticking me off to say the least. I've tried to let this little demon bugger off, but he won't. He keeps finding his way back inside my head tormenting me. I'm worrying about the hungry Simple Simon who wants the pie. I think Simon's appetite is fading and it is my psyche that is now hungry.

When things get out of hand like this, I find myself resorting to Feng Shui. An ancient art of harmonious placement. I once stuck a Go Train pass in *Steve's* work shirt, framed the shirt and put it in the "career corner". No word of a lie, within a month or less, *Steve* was out of his dead end job and on to bigger and better things in Toronto, taking the train everyday. Be careful what you wish for!

On a more sinister note, I will now construct a voodoo doll of the Pieman. While I'm at it, I've got a little leprechaun doll to make too. The Leprechaun is not going to get off as easy as the Pieman. Mick O'Dick is going to get the short end of the stick. He's not going to like where I shove it either.

Coming tomorrow, pictures of the Pieman and the Leprechaun.

signed, the willow

My pick of the week

This appeals to my generation. We grew up on all that was good about "Super Friends" and later we tried to emulate our love lifes to be like that of Rachel and Ross or Rachel and Joey. Personally, I feel like Rachel and I ended up with ugly naked guy???? Nah, I mean Joey!

Friends meet Super Friends

signed, the willow

Global "Warning"

When I am asked to explain something to *Mila*, I don't hesitate to consult my higher sources. These would be Google and my University textbooks that are botany collections and entomology experiments all rolled into one. Just because they've been hanging around so long that the spiders have moved in. Oh, never mind.

Today the question was "What is Global Warming?" Okay. Lucky for me, I spent 7 years at University trying to get a 3 year degree. I can rhyme two processes off my tongue pretty well still. One is photosynthesis and the other is, ahem, global warming. Remember, I am a dinosaur and studied global warming before it was actually happening. Or at least before they admitted it was happening. Where we are with our planet right now, textbooks, computer models and University professors did not anticipate this current stage until around 2030 or so. Like Mr. Gore tells us, this whole global warming thing is accelerating, rapido!

What's funny is how a 4 year-old can get other things involved into the whole scenario. Take for example the main culprit of global warming, my brother's beloved dog. I guess the whole idea came to her when we talked about cows contributing to global warming with their release of methane. I had to make it funny for her. Sunny has a bit of a reputation for stinking up a room. Don't worry, her tree solution will solve it.

signed, the willow

Gaslight

Do you know the movie 'Gaslight'? Essentially, I don't either. But I do know that it is a joke in my family. One spouse tries to fool the other spouse into believing they are from Crazytown. Speaking of Crazytown....vacuum cleaner on the couch? For self-help see Quirks.

We just sat down in front of the TV this evening (and the Cable company just reprogrammed the cable box in front of our eyes) with a big ginormous bowl of organic locally grown popcorn. I took a bite and bit into a metal washer. What the? *Steve* was shaving his head in the laundry room, a Sunday night tradition, when *Mila* burst in. "DAD! EXCUSE ME DAD! Mom was eating popcorn and all of a sudden she had a metal ring in her mouth." *Mila* came back out and explained that while Dad was cooking the popcorn the lid fell apart and he couldn't find all the parts to the lid, so he decided to leave it to our fate as the girls of the house to bite into it.

Earlier in the day my mother had commented on how thin my face looked and wondered if I had lost a ton of weight. For a moment there I thought Did I? Did my arse just slide off when I was on the treadmill this week? Unfortunately not. My arse is still there and so are my giant Icelandic gams. Viking legs, if you will. I had to ask *Steve* what his opinion was on the new hairdo.

Me: My mom thinks I look skinnier with the new hairdo and she's worrying that I lost 10 pounds overnight or something. I know I haven't lost any weight.

*Steve*: No. You didn't lose any weight.

-uncomfortable silence goes here-

*Steve*: It's definitely the hairdo. Yeah, it's just the hairdo. You didn't lose any weight.

Me: What were you saying earlier about how you were going to scrub the toilets? Uh huh!

signed, the willow

I love her even when she kicks me in the shins

We went to visit some friends tonight and have dinner. The kids ran around like kids do and *Mila* did a lot of screaming and squealing. Sometimes I wonder how she is genetically related to me. Was I abducted by aliens before my pregnancy? I knew it was time for us to go, as all mothers know and then it happened. She flipped out on me. Yeah, in some way it was my fault that she was over tired and cranky. It was time to go. I think I understood why other mothers before me had done it, pulled the plug. "TIME TO GO!" I announced it just like that. We got our coats and boots on by the door while *Mila* kicked me in the shins. Luckily, our friends are friends and understand that while I wanted to scream and boot her back, I had to refrain from my true nature and politely say "Stop that now *Mila*. Why are you kicking Mommy?" Meanwhile my fists were clenched while I imagined locking her up in a high tower and throwing away the key. Poor Rapunzel, my butt. We all know who locked her in that tower. It was her parents. She probably threw a major fit over a hairbrush or some conditioner and that was the last straw.

I am letting go of the guilt that I had earlier today for treating myself to a new hairdo and new clothes. Gone. I knew that being kicked in the shins was going to be the price I'd have to pay. A couple bruises for some new jeans. A few more for the hairdo. Ah, that's it. Please kick my left leg too for the new blouse. Good girl. Now, Dad will see the bruises and feel so sorry for me, he'll forget that I just dropped his hard earned dough on new duds. Oh, Joe Fresh is affordable at least. We'll remind him of that too.

Now, the parents are all exhausted and the 3.9 year old is wide awake and playing Pixel Chick. When she loves you back and says the sweetest things, you forget about the bruises on your shins, or the fact that she put a wad of gum in your hair, scribbled on your walls, spit on your new jeans, or screamed "UGH UGH UGH" even though she has spoken in perfect sentences since she was 8 months old. She's a doll. I love her even when she kicks me in the shins. Good times, eh *Steve*?


signed, the willow

The Case of the Purple Panties

The purple panties have been recovered. No longer do I have to dread my husband going to work only to find my panties falling out from his pant leg. Nor do I have to face my brother and ask "Did you happen to see my panties in your house from our last visit?" To which he would answer, "Oh those ones. I was wondering why Britney Spears was here leaving her panties behind. Not to worry, the dog ate them eventually." So, I've decided that since the purple panties have resurfaced, I would use them to harness a discman to my body whilst I do my vacuuming. Just a thought.

signed, the willow

Billy Blanks punched my TV

Billy Blanks was in my living room punching the air inside my tv. *Mila* wanted to do yoga. As I watched her jump and wriggle I knew that trying to sit quietly and stretch my gluteus maximus in downward facing dog while she lay underneath me kicking my uterus was not a good idea. I don't need the uterus or anything. I just don't get a lot out of yoga with someone kicking me. Rodney Yee doesn't kick me. So, I stuck in a Billy Blanks video. Jump. Punch. Kick. Hop. Tae Bo yourself to bits, girl! *Mila* became more frustrated than a first time adult watching Billy Blanks. I started to think that sun salutations would have been easier for her. She didn't get anything out of Tae Bo other than "it's okay to punch and kick the air". Her energy level has not diminished. In fact it wound her up like a ball of energy. So she found a chopstick in the drawer and is now a maestro conducting her orchestra. Suma and I are the orchestra and I'm not sure what we are supposed to do. I think that its amusing when I jump around and dance, Suma jumps up on her wimpy legs and dances with me. When *Mila* does it, Suma's eyes roll to the back of her head and she sleeps the whole thing off. That's what I'd like to do today, roll my eyes towards the back of my head and repeat the chant Om Mani Ped Ne Hum until I sleep for 12 continuous hours. Somehow, I could only picture a chopstick piercing through my skull as I started the first Om. Next time, I'm going to leash the entire family up to the treadmill and force everyone to run 10 K.

signed, the willow.

Customer Service is Going, Going, Gone

I think I could write a book, or volumes of books on what I expect to receive as a customer service experience. Spurts of good customer service are followed by non-existent customer service and ultimately, bad customer service.

We bought our won grocery bags and bins from a particular grocery chain. Funny, because the competing chain dropped a free reusable bag on everyone's doorstep? I'm not a super hero and I don't expect my good Samaritan sticker each time I go in to get my groceries. With the way that teenagers pack groceries, I figure I save at least 50 bags a week. I bring my bags elsewhere and even Zellers has given us free bags. So, we use them. But there is a problem with these bins and bags. Suddenly, the staff that once packed 2 items in each plastic bag, do not know how to pack in bins or reusable nylon bags. Now I have reverted back to packing groceries.

Remember, I come from grocery stock. I was not born in the produce section, but I grew up in my parent's grocery store. I played in the butcher shop, the stock room, the office, even the haunted basement. Anyone who was anyone played on that conveyor belt that rode up and down to the basement. My dad would shove them in a box built for a Costco-pack of diapers and we'd push the green button. On the odd occasion, a wriggly kid would bust through the box or knock it over and fly down the conveyor into 100 boxes of canned beans. Yeah, good times. No, really good times. No sarcasm there. That store still haunts me in my dreams. In its dismantled state, in my childhood eye state, and the haunted basement state. That basement was haunted.

I just don't understand what trying to save the environment has to do with cashiers eliminating some of their job description. Well, to the girl who didn't pack for me yesterday or so thank you or smile....the nice young man in the parking lot who gathers carts gave me the best customer service experience and surely, he's not a University graduate. In fact when I sat down to read my email last night a friend had forwarded this movie to me. Not my exact experience, because I didn't mention how my entire bin slid off the bottom of the cart and emptied into the crosswalk of the parking lot. Immediately following this, a woman in minivan narrowly backed over top of me and *Mila* bouncing in the cart! This movie made me feel like "Yeah. It is a really genuine basic quality, a naivety to be nice. And it is going, going gone."

signed, the willow

Dutch Artists

I guess you now know that *Mila* took an art lesson this morning about van Gogh and this is her interpretation of "Starry Night". Um, I was allowed to sit in the hallway this class and so I was pretty surprised to see her understanding was very literal.

One of the best websites out there for kids (and adults) is the National Gallery of Art's Art Zone for kids. By all means, go and play. There are all sorts of applications you can try your hand at. *Mila* likes the Dutch house and drags a snorting pig thru the courtyard 100 times.

signed, the willow

Nancy Drew, poo-poo! I have a GEEK badge.

Brownies is long over for me. I really didn't collect a lot of badges. In fact, there are about 6 that remain sadly baste-stitched to the Inspector Gadget-like uniform.

I don't care anymore! Why? Because I just earned my GEEK badge. That's right. We lost 42 GB on our hard drive. No one could figure it out. The only thing in this life I have not given up is research. I love to research mysteries. Not murder mysteries that are cryptic and involve anatomical diagrams and multiple characters. I love to look at money laundering maps, solve mutual fund mysteries when clients get phantom deposits of over $8 million dollars, and missing gigabytes. I did it and I really learned a lot from these techy forums with words like BIOS and OS and Oompa Loompa. I'll teach you a trick too about Windows XP. Are you ready?

Cleaning up your hard drive is one thing. But, what if you are missing massive amounts of information that has gradually dwindled day by day? Yeah! Well, that was me. We got to the point that we had to remove all our documents, photos, music, movies, and files that I figured caused no harm! Windows XP regularly does a system restore. In the language of the non-geek, that means the "system" backs itself up and stores this information on the hard drive, over and over and over and over! All of these system restores are there in the event that something really bad happens and you have to restore your system. But it takes so many snapshots over time. Most systems are set to do the restore using the maximum amount of disk space allowed. This maximum is set at 12% of your hard disk space for a system restore. Each time! So, if you had a 100 GB hard drive, each system restore could potentially store up to 12 GB. This is where our hard drive was being vacuumed up. Our 60GB was set at 12% for system restores which equals about 7 GB. So, what to do? First, set your system restore disk space usage lower. This is how.

Click on Start
Click on Control Panel
Click on System (under Performance & in Category view)
Click on the System Restore tab
See the little sliding bar. Well slide it over to the left. I slid ours to 1%

What if you are missing 40 GB like me? I don't recommend that you do this. But I did it. In that same System Restore window, you'll see a ticky box that says "Turn Off System Restore". I clicked it and then I clicked apply. It took a few minutes because it freed up 42 GB to be exact. I went back in and turned it back on (remove the checkmark in the ticky box "Turn off System Restore", click apply again!). Voila! There it was. I had 46 GB free. Free GB. Not 4.6 GB. No, no, no! I have 46 glorious gigabytes free on my hard drive. I actually went into my daughter's room and woke up my husband who was trying to get her to sleep. *Steve* was snoring and *Mila* was reading him a Grimm Brothers' fairy tale. I woke him up and we had a geek family high-five. Is that how geek families celebrate? I'm going to make gigabyte cupcakes tomorrow, I'm so giddy with mommy-geek gigabytes.

signed, the willow

Voting and Celebrities

First of all, if you haven't done so already, please vote on Steve's blog. He's taking a poll on which movie you prefer. Just go and vote. I don't care if you haven't seen the movies. Just pick one that sounds good. If you do know the movies and you hated both to choose from. Whatever. Just take a dart and throw it at your computer screen until you finally hit one of the movies and then click on it. Or let your dog pick for you.

Heath Ledger was found dead in a NY apartment. I won't speculate. I liked Heath Ledger. He reminded me so much of someone that was once in my life and left. That little boy charm that made you just smile when you saw him.

That's all I have for today. I have to go and tell *Steve* to pick up Brokeback Mountain (see Heath's movie-ography above) on his way home.

signed, the willow

Overheard

Please note my husband is making a ninja star out of popsicle sticks in this picture. That's right. I was sick all weekend and I still had to carry out my chores while he made ninja stars from popsicle sticks which he then doodled all over and left for me to clean up on the dining table along with his new Hot Wheels purchase that we aren't allowed to remove from the box.

Overheard by me this morning, singing in the room next to me was this little chocolate-faced Avril Lavigne fan. I could hear this chitter chatter and singing. When I peered my head around the corner, there she was with mardi gras beads wrapped around her, dancing to her own singing:

" Hey Hey You You! I don't like your girlfriend". Followed by the next K-Tel hit of the week, "My hump, my hump. My lovely lady hump. You should get some lady humps. Everyone needs a lady hump. Do you want some lady humps? I have some lady humps."

I guess Fergie's definition of a lady hump and *Mila's* are different. She refers her shoulder blades as her lady humps. Frankly, I don't want to know what a lady hump is, nor how to get one. *Mila* buys her's at a store, apparently.

Tragically overheard by *Steve* in Tim Hortons on the weekend:

"Is there such a thing as a double double?"

If you want to overhear some more conversations, check out this site: Overheard Everywhere. If you want to read some secrets, check out Post Secret.

signed, the willow

Let me entertain you

Where the heck is *Steve*? I have used up every box of Kleenex in this house to sop up my nose excretions. *Mila* recovered within 12 hours of a 24-hour flu and I've had it for a week. If this was a "man-cold" there would be constant care and an endless supply of cough syrup and tissues. I get sick, we run out of tissues, and *Steve* picks up a bottle of Buckleys for me. Have you tried it? The commercials claim it work. Maybe. If you don't have a "sensitive gag reflex". I have tried and more Buckleys has landed itself in the flushes of Lake Ontario than it has in my digestive tract. I cannot take it. It looks like snot and tastes like I don't know what. Where is my ACTIFED?????!!!!! For those of you who do not know, Actifed was also referred to as "I CAN'T SLEEP!!! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU IF YOU DON'T TURN OFF THAT T.V." sleepy night time medicine. That was before T.V. had stereo sound, a remote control, and channels past 13. Here I go again, talking about my Hyper-Sensitive Disorder (HSD). I can hear my neighbour walk over and turn on his T.V. and tune into his channel. No, our walls are not paper thin. I can probably hear what the employees at the local Canadian Tire are talking about right now if the "Magic School Bus" wasn't so loud. It's like having rabbit ears on top of my head.

Hence, my dilemma of the day. I am sick and I am still having to dig out paints, large sheets of paper, make puppets from vegetables, you name it. If this was a "man-cold", I would be allowed to stay in bed, not vacuum, not cook, not have to share the couch/bed with a dog, nor have to watch the "Magic School Bus".

signed, the willow

Rear view of turtle

Who in their right mind in 1960 illustrated this book? Believe me, we were grasping at straws for things to do and I found this book. Something tells me it was my brother's before it was mine.


My favourite, the rear view of turtle. That's right, shove it!


Look at how you can make veggies into puppets. A whole chapter dedicated to this!


I'm not sure I could categorize a rubber ball in the vegetable section, nor the produce section. I'm not quite sure I could balance a cucumber on my middle finger with a carrot stuck in it for a nose either. It was the 60s, I guess. Rubber comes from a plant, I suppose you could try and eat it.

signed, the willow
(time for recovery and to become less dependent on cough syrup)

Style File

This summer our neighbours had a garage sale and of course I lost my husband and daughter to the smell of musty books and painter's tape marked with jiffy markers. This kiddy rocker was one thing that they brought home. It was a neighbour's when he was a small boy and I'm not sure what the connection is to the Ontario Department of Lands & Forests. I assume that this is now the Ministry of Natural Resources. Originally I had planned on painting it a shade of vanilla milkshake or spider's web. But I couldn't live with myself covering up these stickers on the back. The neighbour claims they were always there and I'm only guessing at their vintage dating back to the '50s. I'm not a candidate for the next Canadian Antiques Roadshow.

Why were farms needing trees and more trees, but there were plenty of trees for fuelwood?

signed, the willow

Murphy Bed mania

I really believe that we can make a murphy bed. My mom wants one for us to sleep on and we want one for her to sleep on. But the idea of the architectural detail involved astounds us. I want something we can take with us if we move and it has to hold a double IKEA foam mattress. The Ikea Hacker blog had this option, but I don't have the wallspace for that. And then there is this from TreeHugger.com.

still searching

signed, the willow

An Obit for Brit?

It would seem that Brit, aka Ms. Spears, aka ex-Mrs. Federline, aka ex-Mrs. Jason Alexander (not Costanza!) has an obituary written about her and she's not dead. The Associated Press wrote her obituary and it is ready to go if they need it. Can you imagine why Britney is going crazy? I'm not a Brit fan, nor do I buy the National Enquirer (although *Steve* picked it up for me for Christmas thinking it was the gossip rag I was referring to), but I am starting to feel sorry for her. I went to TMZ's website yesterday and watched the paparazzi bombard her. She's even taken to dating one of the photog's that harassed her. Fame comes with a cost and the crazier you get, the crazier they make you. But, reading your own obituary? Or even finding out that someone wrote yours? They're putting her over the edge. Leave her alone and let's all focus on something far more important like this: Mark Malkoff living in IKEA.

signed, the willow

Quirks

Everyone has quirks. My family seems to have been blessed by the quirk fairy. *Mila* has a few. I think sometimes her's fester into OCD. My personal fave of *Mila's* is the eating of frozen foods. When she was a baby I used to let her teethe on a frozen facecloth. I learned this special little trick from a friend of mine who teethed his Labradors that way. The frozen facecloths soon were discarded and she moved onto real food. French fries were her all time favourite and soon it was frozen peas, frozen carrots, frozen baby corn. In fact, I went to visit my brother in Muskoka and we had 4 employees at the local big box grocery store searching high and low for frozen baby corn as she couldn't eat the kind from a can! Good lord, no! All barfing aside, I forced everyone outside for fresh air and exercise today and when we returned I snuck a mug of warm stale coffee upstairs and *Mila*? She chose a nice cold bowl of frozen peas and carrots while she donned her tanktop and skirt (bare legs and all). Hello! This is still Canada girl. No matter how mild these Southern Ontario winters are, it is still winter and you, young lady, barfed all over the couch, staircase, powder room, the dog and your mother just last night. Yes, you!

Now, the dog's quirk is how she HAS to sleep on cushions. Not like any ordinary dog would. She refuses to sleep on her Zellers bed that I searched for at 3 different Zellers stores during their sale event on pet products. So that I didn't have to pay $100 at the local Pet-o-Rama-Llama, only to find out it was stuffed with dead puppies. Uggh! Michael Vick deserves a smack for laughing at that. Suma finds herself on top of cushions. Piles of cushions. Today, I found her seated smartly beside the vacuum cleaner (the one she despises the most) on top of 3 pillows. All nice black pillows that instantly are attracted to her white belly hairs. EEEK! Get off the pillows. I had the vacuum plugged in to freak her out even more. It's like I spend all this time decorating and cleaning only to have a kid drop frozen peas on the floor and a dog deposit hair on the pillows. Which leads us into my quirk...

You guessed it, the placement of large scary objects on the furniture to deter the canine from co-habitating with us like a human. That's what *Mila* specifically told her the day before yesterday when germs did not prevent her mouth from its usual diarrhea. "Suma, get off the couch. Don't you know that the furniture is for humans? And you are not a human!" Yes, my quirk is to place chairs, tables, vacuums, and including, but not limited to baskets of Barbies. Really, anything large I can find on top of soft furniture items.

And now for *Steve*. His crime? Well, it's right here. More explicitly, this would be his affinity for becoming addicted very quickly to new collections. Not a bad thing at all. But we have boxes of Sci-Fi books that rival that of TomKat all for the purpose of being an online collector and purveyor of Sci-Fi sequels. I guess geekville is on the internet, so he's got the right venue. Now, he's decided to collectively put together ideas to romanticize the world with a Sentimental Gesture Revolution. Which leads us to Quirk #2. When do I get to receive these sentimental gestures?

signed, the willow

It Never Happened

This is great...So, after a day of *Mila* being deathly ill, *Steve* not believing her and chalking it up to her aspiring Hollywood career, this is what transpires. *Mila* sleeps almost the whole day. Waking up only to take one sip of gingerale and gaze starry-eyed at the ceiling for 5 minutes. *Mila* wakes up and decides that she feels better. So we head down to her favourite spot in front of the 55" tv and she commands the shows, a bowl of crinkly Lays, and 40 oz. of gingerale. I remind her to take little sips and I stick my supper in the oven. I come back downstairs, take a long sigh and whammo! There it is kid barf everywhere. She nailed the couch, the dog, my sweater, my pants. We are still in the basement. "Get upstairs, kiddo", I remind her calmly that it is okay and "Don't look at your jammies!" Yes, I was calm. Me. Calm. She continued to splatter the stairs and we lost the dog. She burped and blat! "Get into the bathroom." Why do kids scream and cry when they throw-up? Why? Stop crying! After all was said and done, I used some eau de lysol on everything and away we go upstairs for a bath. Now she's screaming because the bathtub is going to overflow. In 2009, maybe! I do the laundry, get her tucked into her bed and play with her Strawberry Shortcake dolls. All the while, Tempra takes over and off she goes to la-la land. Me? I'm still playing with Tea Blossom and 2 Strawberry Shortcakes. I call *Steve* to say he better take a cab from the GO station as she's in no shape to drive down to get him. Time elapses from 6 to 7. She awakens after her little nap. She's revived and 100% better. Seriously. No fever, no barf, no snot. Just like normal and with that comes that chitter chatter blibber blabber. No! Stay sick! Please, just 5 more minutes. *Steve* walks into the door after the miracle child has recovered and she dashes down the stairs as if it were just another Wednesday night. OMG! All day long, sick like sick. And her Dad comes home and she's better. It's like it never happened.

signed, the willow

Germ Infestation equals free time to blog

which one is the real sick one?

Yesterday I was bombarded by some virus and found myself on the couch for 4 hours in the afternoon. Usually I have bounced around this house, seen the pool at the YMCA, ran 5 miles and justified making 4 lunches for *Mila*. We go to pick up *Steve* from the train in Burlington instead because he wants to go get some gigabytes on the way home from the local big box electronics store. After getting fed up with *Mila* and her distaste for grilled cheese sandwiches, which is all I can make at this point in the day. I had had enough. I dropped the cheese drawer out of the fridge, narrowly escaping my toes and said "Let's go to McDonalds". After all, isn't that why they put fast food drive thrus on the planet? For people like me? At that moment in my life? I had an epiphany there, sorry. We get to the GO station, and I have to admit that I slurped the last centimetre of chocolate milkshake from her cup, to hear the first of many announcements that the train will be delayed by 20 minutes. This is soon to be followed by a delay of 25 minutes or more. So, we sat for 30 minutes. I could barely see the dash from my blur of germs and yet I had to entertain *Mila* with stories about my friend, *Gina*. The story she enjoyed most was hearing how her parents met. My version did not directly correlate to her dad's version. Mine involved how *Steve* gave Gina & I a ride home from the bar that night and her dad's story was how cute my bum was. Yes, it was cute....then. When *Steve's* train pulled in and he got into the car he started to tell us how the train car he was on had an explosion on it and all the passengers had to move to a new train, that luckily came rolling along! Good golly, Miss Molly. I can hardly process his information at this stage as I am ready to die. My throat is closing in on itself and I have not yet had supper or McDonalds and it is 8 pm!

neo Citran goes here.

This morning we awoke to "I have a headache, can I go to the Y to swim today or do I have to go to school?" Today was a school day for her. She takes one lesson a week in Art and it gives her a taste of what the real world is like out there. It also reminds me. I'm a bit rusty in that department. It is amazing how quickly you forget what it feels like to get up at 6 a.m. and have a quick shower before facing the day.

We drove *Steve* to the train and hoped that he wouldn't explode today. All the way down the hill I noticed that *Mila* did not drink her milk, would not open her eyes and had skin that looked like the colour of my appliances (which are not stainless steel, they're plain ordinary white). She was sick. Really, truly sick. I had to get groceries and plunked her in the cart to do a quick shop. "Just stick to your list", I told myself. We made it through produce, onto the bakery when I heard the burp. You know the burp? The "going-to-barf-right-this-second-burp"? Yeah, that one. I just rolled into the deli section and WAAAHHHH! There is bile and spew all over her. Luckily, there was a deli dude beside me who offered his assistance and gave me some paper towel followed by soft napkins. I take it he had puked before too. A fellow customer heard the wail and abandoned her cart to see what was the matter. Not something that happens everyday. But greatly appreciated. When I went to pay for the groceries, there it was. I had placed the grocery bin directly under *Mila* and the spew was on the mango, the apples and all over the bin. Lucky for me, the cashier-who-refuses-to-pack (CWRTP) was my only option. Today was it. It was redemption day. I politely asked her to put the barfy towel in her garbage. Yay! Score 1 for me and 0 for CWRTP. Next I passed her the bin with the remains of bile and some barf that I covered up with a napkin. She now looked at me as if to say "Really, do you expect me to pack this?" I just rubbed *Mila's* forehead and said "oh, poor baby" and then CWRTP rolled her eyes slightly (I notice the slight roll being Highly Sensitive Woman) and began to place each item gingerly in the bin. Score 2 for me and -2 for her! I did it. I am even with CWRTP for all the times she's made me pack my own groceries while I've had more important things to do like pay and calm down my screaming child.

*Mila* has slept ever since. It is 2 in the afternoon and she's sleeping this whole thing off. The best thing for her, I suppose. All in all, sometimes germs are good. You can get revenge with people like CWRTP, have some peace & quiet to blog, run a few miles here and there. Avoid multiple meal preparations. God Bless Germs and the daycare centres who spread them around our world. Namaste.

signed, the willow

This just in - "Willow Of The Wood" Retraction

I have been warned or told by my mother to retract my comments about the "Marble Brats". She tells me and I quote: "When the marble brats were born, they were merely mischievous kids, trashing the house when their mommy went shopping...Grandmothers do NOT teach their grandkids racism." Real moms don't have 35 kids that they roll down to 7-11 for Slurpees either.

I do apologize to the readers and to Gramma for the fact that the marble brats game may be perceived by some to be a racist game. It is not. I simply have OCD and sort anything I can find based on shape, size, colour, or any other commonality. So it is fact my disorder that has caused *Mila* to play with them based on their colours. It was combination of the colour sorting and the brats game that got out of hand, blogged and then misconstrued. I should just delete this entry and the last one and no one would know. No one does know, since no one is reading this darn thing anyhow. Don't worry Gramma, I think that Britney Spears' mother has more to worry about than you do. I wonder if she plays marble brats with her grandchildren and that is why Britney locked herself in the bathroom for 3 hours with her son. I locked myself in the bathroom for 3 hours once to study for an exam and get some peace and quiet in my apartment. But no one knew I was in there. How did they know that Britney went into the bathroom and was there for 3 hours? Are there people timing her from afar? "Oh wait, she's going into the bathroom." Time elapses. "Boy, that girl has been in there for a long time, we should call more paparazzi and the ambulance!" Maybe they should have checked themselves into the psych ward too. Not that I'm a Brit fan. Nor, is there anything wrong with being a fan of hers. Next time, I'll talk to you about more politically correct things that *Mila* teaches me. Until then.

signed, the willow

Marble Brats

My playful mother invented this game that she plays with *Mila* when they see each other. Which isn't very often, not by any choice other than distance. *Mila* categorizes them into groups and the orange ones are bad. They are led by the larger marbles, the marble moms. I call them the mafia marble moms. These babes lead their giant entourage of like coloured marbles around to intimidate other packs of different coloured marbles. Generally the blue ones are good. Although they have their mischievious moments as well. Then the part their separate ways and meet back at 7-11 for Slurpees (I added this part of the story line in for her so I can pay homage to all the Slurpee slurping *Steve* and I did on hot summer nights in Winnipeg - yes Winnipeg has summer!). Are we doing *Mila* a disfavour by teaching her how to bully marbles of other colours? Uh oh. And she fits the part of an Arian dictator on most occasions too. She's just leading us into her Nazi ways when she gets us to play 'marble brats' with her. Sometimes she scares me and most days, I just scare myself.

signed, the willow

The names don't change

Questions from an almost-4-year-old: "How do you say 'Suma' in French?...How do you say 'Hello' in Spanish? ... How do you say 'How are you?' in Spanish?... How do you say 'Goodbye' in Spanish?"

Now she asks me all these questions? Yesterday we visited a playground that we drove to for a little adventure out of the cul-de-sac. This is where *Mila* befriended a little girl who was about a year older and from Mexico. Can you imagine coming from Mexico to Canada in January? I think the mother said they were here for a year, but I could be wrong. *Mila* and this little girl ran around and played quite happily. All the while, I couldn't help but think that when you are 4, you just don't care if someone lives in another country. You are having fun for the moment and that is all that matters.

signed, the willow

Spa Night

Last night was a spa night. Girls only. We had soy burgers and spicy fries. We soaked our feet in my new foot spa and treated ourselves to some polish. Glamour girls for sure. I feel like I could pull out my old Madonna albums from 1984 and dance around.

As for poor little Suma, she mooched some President's Choice Meatless Soy burger and then resigned herself to the fact that she would not be receiving a pedicure. So her and "Sheepy" have been cuddled up ever since.

signed, the willow

Were the Gladiators Vegetarians?

Last night I caught the tail end of a show on History Television called "Gladiator Graveyards". Nothing I would ever turn on for myself, something *Steve* would watch. I care more for the useless banter on "reality" shows that make me dumb and dumber. What was amazing was how these archaeologists found the remains of several (68 to be exact) Gladiators. Exenius was the Gladiator who stuck out. He must have been a trainer they figure since he was at least 50 at the time of his death, while the other remains were of men around the age of 30. Now, scientists and the average person believe that these strong men would have to eat a primarily high protein diet consisting mostly of meat, right? Wrong. They studied their bones and checked for strontium levels. The higher the levels of strontium, the more the accumulation of vegetables in their diet and concluding the absence of meat. It turns out that these guys were running around fighting each other for entertainment in front of live audiences (not much has changed there) and they were almost completely, if not completely, vegetarians. Vinegar and ash drinks mixed with barley and beans would substitute for their pre-show Gatorade. Get it? Prior to a big fight night they'd be allowed to feast on some protein (i.e. meat). But up until that night, their diets were void of meat. These dudes were vegetarians. This interesting fact about strontium has led scientists to now research its effects on osteoporosis and the absence of calcium in the diet. Can you imagine if we eat our veggies like our mothers tell us to, we can avoid osteoporosis better then those who listen to their mothers who say "drink your milk"? Very interesting. Because we could hook a tap up to a cow in the backyard for someone in our family! And me, I'll take my veggies over milk any day of the week. Go Gladiators! You can read more about it here on bbc.

signed, the willow

I have a "crush" on David Suzuki

Not like that. No. Like this: He's made an impression on everyone in this house. This week, *Mila* confronted me about wasting electricity by leaving the light on in the bathroom. Not really sure that I actually did this. But my lecture was something like this: "Were you using this bathroom this morning? Because you left the light on and you realize that you are wasting electricity by leaving the lights on? If you waste electricity, then the ice will melt and all the polar bears with die!" Yes, she is not quite 4 and Mr. Suzuki has taught her well. I grew up watching him on the "Nature of Things" on CBC. While at times it was boring and I opted for reality shows later in life to escape the real reality that exists outside of my warm and cozy house, it is important to our survival on this planet. I'm not going to get all granola on you and tell you that need to eat tofu, wear sandals in the winter with socks (what does that have to do with being a hippie?), or turn off all your lights for 16 hours a day in the sub-arctic. No, just this. Take the David Suzuki Nature Challenge. It will do you no harm. Okay, and replace 2 light bulbs this month with compact fluorescents. Oh and increase your meatless meals by 2 this week. Don't forget to turn off your lights when you leave the room. Lastly, make sure you sign up for Earth Hour. Leonardo DiCaprio is depending on you!

signed, the willow

And on the fifth frame

For some god-forsaken reason *Steve* thought it would be a great and wonderful idea to go bowling. So he prepped *Mila* and she ran upstairs brushed her teeth, put on her "bowling outfit" (which included a shirt that fit her cousin when she was 6 or 7) and then the waiting game began. *Steve* got her all ready and excited for something we couldn't enter into until after 3 pm. Off we went, I got dragged along and the next thing I know we are standing in line for twenty minutes waiting for some hundred year old shoes that reek of smelly feet and fungal creatures. First off, the boy working doesn't know if there are any lanes open. Although we see about 15 lanes open. "Do you have a reservation?" Um, no. But there is an entire empty bowling alley. All the while helper-dude-where's-my-car-dude enters bowler's names into his very secret computer around the corner. We pay and we get our shoes. *Mila* has to don the ugliest ones in the history of bowling. We sit down and now they can't put the gutter guards up on our lane. Helper-dude-where's-my-car-dude comes by with a giant eye hook and looks at the guards and says to us "I guess he doesn't want anyone to use them since they're locked". *Steve* gets flustered and *Mila* hits a couple balls and soon is beating me. And on the fifth frame she files them all under "G" for gutter balls. Not bad. It took 5 frames for this to happen. I was not so successful.

We left with *Mila* in tears of disappointment and now I'm home, first listening to Kevin Bacon sing while the dog consumes most of the couch. It's time to hide the remote from *Steve* as Rick Springfield is now rocking out on my television and 40-something year old women are still having crushes on him. The front row at his concert looks like a Curves commercial and while it is real it has dated me. Now these women are holding up giant emoticons. What is that all about? Rick has me on the edge of my seat in total discomfort. He's humiliating himself with his 1983 suit and when he starts singing "Jesse's Girl" or one of his many K-Tel distributed hits, I'm out.

signed, the willow

Flags of the World

We have been teaching *Mila* the flags of the world. I asked her if she knew that provinces had flags as well. She decided to draw a flag for Nova Scotia. How she knew that Nova Scotia was a province? I'm not sure she's even aware of what province she lives in...but she knows that Gramma and Grampa live in it. I ran downstairs while she drew it so I could let our heartless, inconsiderate mutt inside and there she was trying to write out Nova Scotia. I didn't write it in for her until afterwards. "N-O-F-A". Pretty close. We're still wondering if that is an upside down F or not. Clever, to say the very least.

Here is the second flag:

This time I described the B.C. flag for her. "It has a sun on it with rays coming out". She realizes that she wrote BC backwards. Just her way of getting all the letters on the page. Backwards or not. I just love how she gave the sun sunglasses and pink hair.


Last, but not least is Korea. Why Korea? I'm not sure. I was drawing Madagascar at the time for her.






signed, the willow

Did Edison really invent anything?

Part of me will laugh and the other part of me wants to cry. Who the heck did Edison think he was? First off, he did not invent the light bulb. That's right America! Invented in Canada (glorious singing goes here) and your national bird resides year round in Canada too...so suck on that. Yes, Misters Henry Woodward and Matthew Evans of Toronto invented the light bulb. But like many other Canadians of the day and of today, had to sell off the patent to their invention to Americans. These Torontards sold theirs to none other than Mr. Thomas Edison. Yeah. So, what did he do? Here is what he did. Check this out. Since yesterday was the 105th anniversary of his electrocution of Topsy the elephant. And for what reason you ask? To demonstrate that Tesla's alternating current was unsafe and Edison's direct current was perfectly fine. First of all, did Edison really invent it? Or simply snatch up the patent from a starving Canadian. I won't forget to mention that the poor elephant was fed cyanide flavoured carrots to make her unruly. Why didn't he stick his finger in his own light socket? So, Mr. Edison you get a complete round of thumbs down! boingboing.net has it here.

signed, the willow

Sentimental Gestures are coming my way on Friday

*Steve* blogs now. http://sentimentalgestures.blogspot.com He seems to be addicted. I'm just so glad that he's not on Facebook or Crackbook. And probably the same reason he won't buy me a Wii. Addiction issues with electronic mediums. So, here is his new blog. And we're all allowed to read it, click on his ads so he can pay for my flowers, or chosen sentimental gestures. I just hope he's willing to be sentimental first and blog it after so I can have some surprises. Or will he actually use me as his guinea pig? It could just be past events that occured when he tried to woo me because he thought I was rich! Right. That's what we let him believe.

Ah, yes. Here is the caped blogger now, hard at work:

signed, the willow