Generation Exhausted

Overheard while selling Girl Guide cookies...

With the sellers being five-year-old girls.

It's my turn to ring the bell.

No, it's MY turn.

Sparkle, it's my turn, right?

****

Look, there's a snail. Ewww.

I see TWO snails.

I see FOUR snails!

Would someone knock on the door?

****

Sweetie, put the stick down.

Honey, it's not polite to knock on someone's door and then sit on their porch swing while you wait for an answer.

Garden gnomes are not toys.

****

Maybe they're sleeping. Maybe they're not home. Maybe they didn't hear the bell. Forget it, no one's home.

Maybe it takes them more than five seconds to get to the door.

****

We would like to sell you some cookies. The lady next door is allergic. And that house said they already had some. MY daddy bought five boxes. They cost five dollars a box, I mean four dollars.

****

Are we done yet? Can I carry the umbrella? Can I carry the cookies? Is it snack time now?

****

One wonders, in a mosaic culture such as ours, how those newer to the country view this phenomenon of dressing small children in matching t-shirts and sending them out to beg for cash. What a country!

And I won't even let them have a puppy

A couple of days ago, I caught sight of a headline about a stray lion. Before clicking over, I figured the animal had escaped from a zoo or something like that. You know, the kind of place you'd expect to find a lion in Canada.

But no. Boomer the lion, it seems, was someone's pet. Which just led me to wonder all sorts of things.

First of all, where would one FIND a lion to keep as a pet? I mean, kittens are a dime a dozen. Cheaper, even. Someone's always got kittens they need to find homes for.

Puppies are a little tougher. And when I was going through my "I want a garter snake" it took FOREVER to find one. Toads were plentiful in the ditch by the tracks, but those suckers were hard to catch. Harder still to convince mom that they needed a good home.

And what does one feed a pet lion? Annoying neighbourhood children?

What do you DO with a lion? Disney would have us believe that cubs would be content to hang out with warthogs and meerkats, singing Hakuna Matata all the live long day. I suspect the non-animated version would have other interests.

Even the garter snake was a little boring. Oh sure, I could wig people out by letting it crawl up my arm, and watching the shedding process was pretty cool, but beyond that...I mean, could you play fetch with a lion? Wouldn't you worry that instead of bringing back the frisbee it would bring back a puppy?

And maintenance...I can only imagine. Pooper scooping would take on a whole new dimension. You'd need, like, a snow shovel or bulldozer or something.

I really did have a garter snake when I was younger. It shed, and it grew, and eventually the aquarium I kept it in started to smell so bad my mom - who'd been a pretty good sport about the whole thing - made me let it go in the park. I think a lion would have been pushing my luck.

Life moves pretty fast...

It cannot possibly be early May already. I still have Christmas presents I haven't put away!

We seemed to have sailed from winter to almost-summer in a heartbeat. No jacket weather here; we've gone right from snowpants to capris with nary a pause. This is good, in a way. For some reason, the past few winters have seemed successively longer. It may be just me, and my moods, but there it is.

The dandelions outside my office window have turned into fluff, ready to scatter across the lawn and make more dandelions. At some point, I will have to think about getting out there and doing some yard work. And then once I'm done thinking about it, I'll actually have to do it.

Perhaps that's why I'm avoiding thinking about it.

This bodes well for the week to come

Lots to do in the next ten days before I can start packing for the great Florida journey. I woke up spontaneously at 6:30 this morning (I KNOW!) and couldn't go back to sleep, so up I got and to work I went. I also made eggs for the childrens before they went to school.

It's always interesting to watch how the kids react to this sort of thing. On the one hand, they're pleased - mornings are not my job around here, Dad does a great job. On the other hand, mornings are not my job, and while they're tucking away their hot breakfast you can tell it makes them nervous. Mommy's up, what's wrong? Mommy's cooking, what's REALLY wrong?

Keep 'em on their toes, that's what I always say. They can take it up with their therapist or Oprah at some point in the future.

So. I have cooked, I have worked, I have even washed the dishes. Now it's that awful lull before 9 when I'm waiting for the REST of the world to be at their desks and answering the phone.

And I fully anticipate that I will completely crash by noon.

Listen, and repeat

I've added Spanish lessons to my podcast list. I started with "Useful expressions." It should have been titled "Phrases for moms." This is a sampling of the expressions featured:

"Listen to me."

"Come here."

"Get outta here."

"Quickly."

"Wait for me."

After listening to the same podcast three times, so far all I've mastered is the instructor's "Listen and repeat" and "Very good."

But eventually, I'll be able to nag my kids in a whole 'nother language. Lifelong learning - it's a good thing.

There will be boys

It's 8 a.m. and the washing machine is already running. Aren't you so darn proud of me?

Linda is encountering a new phase of life with teenaged girls in the house, and my instinctive reaction is...

Hahahahahaha.

Sorry, as the mother of girls, I just couldn't resist. But truly, I sympathize. I feel your pain. Other than sympathy, however, I can offer little else. Because where there are teenaged girls, there are teenaged boys. It's a given, kind of like the fact that where there's a McDonalds, there'll be a Burger King not too far away. There's no escaping it.

The benefit of hindsight has taught me several things, and these bits of wisdom I offer to Linda and others. There will be boys you like, and boys you don't. There will be boys you like at first and then grow less fond of, and vice versa. There will be boys that leave you with a little niggling feeling at the back of your head that says "Alert!" and boys that will leave you wondering, "What the h**l is she thinking?" And just wait until the break-up that breaks YOUR heart as well as hers.

No specifics - my children would kill me. But trust me on this. The hardest part is knowing when to keep your mouth shut. I don't always do so good with that one.

In my most humble opinion, the presence of boys plural, at the age of 14, is better than the presence of one-boy-to-the-exclusion-of-all-others. Hell, that'd be my preference at 18, but we can't always get what we want. Today it's boys - tomorrow it's relationships. Now THAT's scary.

But if you've got girls who seem confident and secure in who they are and where they're going, regardless of how many boys are lurking around, then it's probably going to be okay. And realizing that Mommy's got a telephoto lens and knows how to use it may just keep them on their best behaviour.

Talk about performance anxiety

A comment from a reader led me to do a little digging, and lo and behold! The good folks over at Island Parent have this little ole blog listed in a sidebar in their current issue. Guess I better make sure there's something fresh for folks to read then, huh?

~~>gulp

So, May 1. Where did April go? It went where it usually goes...a couple of birthdays, a brief flirtation with housecleaning, pondering the dandelions. Racing like mad to get out the magazine. An article assignment. Laundry.

Oh, the laundry. It's quite possible that when God comes to call me home to the kingdom of heaven, I may be heard to say, "Wait! Just let me throw a load of whites in before I go!"

I fought the laundry, a brave and valiant fight, lo these many years, and I'm afraid that, this winter, the laundry finally won. It never ends. Never will end. And I'm afraid I've all but stopped trying.

Which isn't good. Children who can't find clean socks (no matching required) are ornery little creatures. Hubbies without clean underwear are not happy campers. And since I don't fold laundry (nor do dishes, nor cook meals), putting it in the washer and dryer is my job and I haven't been doing it very well. They are reasonably irritated.

May First Resolution: Win the laundry battle.

May First Resolution #2: Blog more.

The other evening I found myself wandering along a nature trail holding hands with a five-year-old. I was responsible for four little girls that evening, as part of the volunteer work I do. None of my kids were present - it was just me and somebody else's kids. My little buddy chatted away, telling me about her sisters, and what songs they liked to sing, and who had gotten sent to the quiet chair at school that day. The girls were all giggling and doing that half-run half-walk that kids that age tend to do when there's lots to see and hear and investigate.

And I realized that I'm really, really glad I went back to this volunteer position this year. I'd "retired" from it - and all other volunteer work - three or four years ago, and then last fall, partly as a way to reconnect with my own grown-up daughter, I got involved again.

It's not as time-consuming as I remember it, and in spite of the minor chaos it adds to my Wednesdays, it's been very...settling.

Almost everything I've ever read about having a balanced, happy life insists that volunteer work is a necessary component. There is something about giving back to your community - however you may define that community - that lightens the heart, quiets the mind and adds purpose to your days. I knew that. And now I know it even more. It wasn't until just recently that I realized how necessary it is for me to have something that isn't based on earning, or taking care of my family, or even taking care of me.

Slowly, but surely, I'm getting back in balance. And that's a good thing. It will leave me in a better frame of mind to win the Laundry Wars.

In five...four...three...two...

You're on the air!

Ok, you're not, really, and neither am I. But a lot of people are. Except, I guess it's not "on the air" so much as "on the Web", or, more commonly, "on my iPod".

Since the New Year, there are two new elements to my life:

1) the cutest little iPod you ever did see, that my Big Girl bought for me (note: children with jobs and credit cards buy nice presents for their mommies. At least until they have mortgage payments of their own)

2) A fixed amount of time each week - approximately 4-6 hours-  where i get to listen to my Cutest Ever iPod uninterrupted and undistracted by anything else.

So once I'd mastered adding all my favourite songs to my playlist, and listened to them over and over - and over - again, I started looking for some of these newfangled podcast things I'd been hearing about for a while.

I don't know quite what I expected, but it turns out I lurrve them! They're just like radio shows of old (by which I mean before my time) and I'm in awe of the effort that goes into the ones I've found. They're very entertaining, as well as informative, and I'm once again, madly envious of the talent involved.

When I was about 9 or so, I went through this fascination with the family cassette player. We kids would gather and create what we called the Quick Divnich Radio Show (the other kids' name was Quick) Four of us would experiment with creating sound effects using household items, tell a few jokes, sing a song or two, fake a newscast and then segue to a 15 minute rendition of our version of the Dukes of Hazzard TV show.

Yes, the Dukes of Hazzard part is a little sad, but it was 1980. What can I say? Other kids were running the streets- we were playing with a cassette recorder and Matchbox cars. Which is worse?

And it was fun. And now here we are, 25 28 years later, and people make their own, albeit much better planned and produced, little audio shows.

And now I'm thinking I want to podcast. After all, I love to talk (and talk and talk) and writing, for me, is often like talking to paper. Podcasting would be like writing out loud! So, I'll put that on the list of things I might do eventually, (only no Dukes of Hazzard) and give it some serious thought.

Old Luv Thang pal Lani's Will Write for Wine has quickly become a favourite listen. Make sure you check it out!

Showing up, the Sequel

Does it count as blogging two days in a row if I technically blogged less than 24 hours ago? Why yes, yes it does. Blogging Statute Number 23,468, Article 93, Subsection (iii). Look it up.

I'm running out of room on my walls. It may be time to do some sorting soon.

When the basement office was built, I specifically asked that the drywall not be finished. That smooth expanse was a ready-made bulletin board, and I didn't want to be consumed with guilt every time I jammed a thumbtack into a taped, sanded, primed and painted wall. So, bare walls, as bare as you can get and still have a wall. And I promptly commenced tacking.

So now, 7 years and a bit later, I've given whole new meaning to the term wall-paper. I have deadline sheets, important letters that I would have lost if they hadn't been posted right in front of my face, drawings that the little one made for me, certificates, accolades, a four-year-old one-line fax praising my efforts on a particular issue of the magazine. I have jury-rigged inboxes made from file folders that I stuffed to the point of falling off the wall and then found somewhere else to stuff my stuff. Special copies of the magazine.

I have a few squares of corkboard, which are rather redundant, as they too are tacked to the wall. A white board, a calendar, thumbtacks posing as hooks from which hang lanyards with ID cards and conference passes. My "I'm Going To Write If It Kills Me And It Probably Will" award from Momwriters in 2001.

And in January, I bought a whiteboard/calendar/corkboard combo to hang on the wall. I finally got around to putting it up last week.

Darn thing wouldn't be thumbtacked or push-pinned At. All. I had to use screws and anchors. And couldn't find a screwdriver, or a drill.

But, like all women know, a good nail, a butter knife and a decent hammer (or heavy shoe) are all the tools a girl really needs. Hubby came down to see what the noise was about, shook his head and went back upstairs. Drywall abuse disturbs him.

But it hasn't fallen down yet. So there.

Jericho finale tonight, as it has in fact been cancelled once and for all. The show might have had a chance if they hadn't gone with the stupidest time slot known to man - 10 p.m. on a Tuesday. I mean, 10 p.m. is the time when us creative types are usually gearing up to rearrange the stuff on the wall.

What, you mean I have to show up once in a while?

I celebrated Easter weekend by re-reading Lamb, The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal. Sadly, since reading it the first two times, I have been unable to sit through a church service without recalling certain passages from the book. Who knew my spiritual state was so susceptible to influences like these?

It occurred to me that it must be hard to be Christopher Moore. Or any incredibly talented author who is so obviously smart and wise at the same time. To be able to - or perhaps unable to avoid - seperating yourself from your surroundings enough to indulge your imagination and create such fanatastic, entertaining stories. Am I in awe, or am I envious?

It's hard to tell. Maybe a bit of both. Finishing the book, I'm struck, like I so often am, by the thought, "How does he DO that?"

Maybe a little less Facebook time and a little more keyboard time? Maybe a committed effort to put butt-in-chair, hands-on-keyboard, Word-document-open-on-the-screen?

Or maybe it's the indulgence of an unavoidable need to just write-the-damn-thing-before-it-drives-him-crazy.

Note to self: A serious point to ponder.