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