"...Um, I am going to be a princess, but don't tell anyone"

I spend one morning a week volunteering in *Mila*'s classroom. I am growing to really love these kids in her class. They are a really nice group and I honestly thought I would be praising the abilities of my daughter and comparing her to her immature counterparts. But no, I am pleasantly surprised with this group. They compliment each other very nicely and they will hopefully form the same class for the next 8 years or more.

The class has been discussing their costumes and I love the stark contrast between the boys and girls at this age. *Mila* and her new girl friends have made their announcements about which princess or Barbie character they will be. "I am going to be a princess, but don't tell anyone", each of the girls told me. Okay, I won't tell anyone, just the entire INTERNET that "Surprise! Yet another 4-year-old girl will be wearing a princess costume." And the boys? Well, one said Spiderman, another was planning on Batman, and the sweetest, youngest and cutest boy in the class? Well, he's going to be "A GUY WITH A BUNCH OF KNIVES AND SWORDS AND STUFF".

Me? I'm going to be Britney Spears buying a trashy magazine from a gas station.

signed, the willow

Somedays, I miss you Winnipeg

When it is cold and I have to wear a winter coat, I think about those -40 degree days in Winnipeg. Parking was outdoors. Or if it wasn't, it may as well have been since the walls were open and the elements were welcomed in.

When I think of you, Winnipeg, I think of the times (the many times) that you were the murder capital of Canada.

When I think of you, Winnipeg, I think of the Eatons Building. That you tore down to make a hockey rink. I know, blame the Eaton family.








When I think of you, Winnipeg, I think of the cash that poured in on those garage sales! Whoa Nellie. Nobody spends money on a garage sale, quite like a Winnipegger. And they have them in their garages, they take their cars out of the garage and host them inside the garage! Yes, Toronto, they park their cars in their garages!

When I think of you, Winnipeg, I think of my little cutie house that I once owned and so loved. If you are ever in Winnipeg, please drive by the BDI and tell me if it still is these same colours.

When I think of you, Winnipeg, I think of Icelanders. Yes, Winnipeg, you know what an Icelander is. Someone from Iceland. Like, the World's Strongest Man? Sure! And heck, we're all related, us Vikings, that is.

When I think of you, Winnipeg, I think of the Forks and all the great times we had there. Remember, Winnipeg when *Steve* came down with his horse that day and pretended to have long braids? Good Times Winnipeg, good times.
signed, the willow

Hey America, you can do it VOTE!

To our American friends to the South of us (and North, in the case of Ms. Palin) VOTE dammit.

Avaaz has a lovely video to look at that will make you feel all cozy inside (don't forget to sign their petition. Hey, maybe being an American isn't so bad after all. Even that dude in Iran says he likes you. But I think if he had to choose between helping a tourist with a flat tire, the maple leaf blazed backpack would get his help first. Can't help teasing you America, I AM CANADIAN.

Disclaimer: In no ways is this blog entry meant to offend my gran who is one of the biggest George W. Bush promoters ever to walk on the entire face of this earth. "W" can't run for another election, anyhow. We just want the Americans to smarten the hell up, get with the bloody program and stop dictating to the rest of the world what we are all doing wrong and then "tanking" our economies.

signed, the red, white & willow

Five....Five Dollar....Five Dollar Foot Malones

Remember misinterpreting the words to your favourite 80s Rock song? For *Steve* it was "ROCK OR DIE". When in fact the words are "One more time" by Streetheart. *Steve* actually felt that he was going to die if he didn't rock hard enough while sporting his headband and Kenora Dinner Jacket at a Winnipeg Arena Concert.

For me, I was sure that the words from the ELO song was "Don't bring me down, Bruce". Apparently it was "Don't bring me down, grrrroooss". Really? Grrrroooss? What the hell is Grrroooss? Wouldn't it make more sense if Bruce didn't bring him down?

And for *Mila*, well remember this is Canada and in Canada we learn the metric system. So what is a footlong? Not much to a 4-year-old in 2008. Overheard in the car (to the tune of the Subway commercial): "Five....Five Dollar....Five Dollar Foot-Malones". Who are the Foot Malones?

signed, the willow

I have died and gone to kitchen. Well, not yet!

This is the BEFORE picture of my kitchen in its most natural state...perpetual mess. That's right, you heard it here first (unless you're on Facebook): Miss Willow gets new IKEA kitchen.

Doooo-dooo-dooo-dooo-doooo-doooo-doooo-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-dum-dum. to the tune of the Jeopardy theme song.

So, I have been sitting on my hands waiting for them to call so I can pick up my flatpacks.

signed, the willow

A faint reminder

What was I reminding myself of here? That's all I've been doing for the past 5 years of my life. Observing and feeling. That and cleaning up messes.

signed, the willow

If you give a dog a wig

I swear she had a great time being a blonde! Don't you think she's been around the block a few too many times?

signed, the willow

Popsicle Park

If there is one thing we can be sure of, it's the fact that *Mila* names every park we have ever been to. There is Dinosaur Park, Panda Bear Park, Alligator Park, Birdie Park, and let's not forget Popsicle Park. Popsicle Park does not have a playground, but it has Popsicles. And then there is "one close to Daddy's work". Um, would that be downtown Toronto? I don't know that one. Well, it turns out that *Mila* is under the impression that her Dad goes underground every morning and works in a hole under the train tracks with his shirt and tie. Yep. That's where all good office workers go. We send them down underground into a cold dark hole to fester with their Blackberries and laptops. We've been through it a hundred and ninety seven times this month: "Dad works in Toronto. Not at the GO station." Is that why when the train pulls up she's all "Where's Dad? There he is." The first bald guy out of the station is ALWAYS her Dad! Next time let's make sure Daddy pays attention to us too and doesn't get in an identical car with a middle-aged man again.

signed, the willow

All of my ideas, gone, stolen! ARRRGH!

I have to tell you that I have had so many ideas. So many. And I never act on them in time. Instead, I tell my ideas to my confidantes, who then in turn relay them to their confidantes, and so on....until some of these confidantes turn out to be spies for Hollywood! I could have co-written the screenplay for Mean Girls with Tina Fey. And now there is this show called "The Ex List". It's got such a sappy plot, I mean really. This girl goes to a fortune teller who tells her that she will get married within the year or she'll never ever get married. When she asks the seer who it is she'll marry, she's told it is someone she already had a relationship with. So she starts wracking her brain to figure out WHICH ex-boyfriend it will be. This is clearly a girl who loves to rattle off names of old beaus and their faults. But she reacquaints with them and finds some spark all over again. Could HE be the one? Or what about HIM? Um, okay. This is totally something I should have written!!! What is the matter with me? This was clearly my creative outlet to talk about each ex-boyfriend of mine and all their rattle-trap cars, their hair-brained schemes, and overall their general lack of etiquette. Since *Steve*, my husband, is clearly sick of all these stories - would he have watched my show if he was sipping a mai tai in the pool I bought him with my Hollywood dollars? I bet he would.

signed, the willow (someone's ex-girlfriend)

P.S. Check out what this creative artist decided to do with her Jerkface Collection

Guilty as Charged

This is *Steve* on the ferry. It has nothing to do with this blog post at all. I just felt like giving him the photo opp.

Why is it that we are quick to pick up the phone when there is a problem with a bill?

No one ever calls Mastercard and says "Thank you so much for sending me my bill on time! And I love the pretty colours you choose to print with your premium ink on my mega-weight paper bill! Yippeee!"

Or, on the flip side, we are quick to give someone a dirty look if they slow down and allow construction workers to finish their job so they don't have to back out of the way of traffic and get the slow-sign-waving-dude over to wave his sign STOP at the cars. Really now, buddy? Did you honestly think for one second that I had a momentary lapse of womanhood and couldn't understand what to do on the road when it was all like gravel and stuff and the yellow lines were all, like, missing and such? Or did you think that I might be trying to save your life in case that backhoe drove over your toe? Gimme some credit, I'm from the bush where the roads are gravel and lines don't exist. But we do actually stop our cars when mighty machines back out into traffic in front of us as a courtesy. Look it up, it is a word of ancient English: pronounced (Cur-ta-see).

sighed, the willow