Generation Exhausted

Don't put off until tomorrow that which should have been done last week

I'm starting to see the inherent danger in procrastination. You put things off, knowing that there will be a certain time when you must get something done, but then, the time comes, and unexpected barriers get in your way. And you can't whine about it to anyone because, well, it's your own damn fault and it should have been done two weeks ago!

In lieu of whining, I'll fret a little bit, and sleep a little less. I can survive the sleeping less - in fact, I'm betting that this is Karma's way of reminding me that I did get some lovely naps in during the early part of February, and probably should have doing what needed to be done, instead of snoozing.

I discovered today that while I'm incredibly happy that my children are all literate, it does have its drawbacks. Such as when you arrive at the grocery store and realize that someone whose handwriting looks like a seven-year-old's has added Gummy Worms to the grocery list all by her own self.

Business banking tomorrow, and then I send the printer a big fat cheque. Got my own big fat cheque today, and I'm holding a trip to the mall out as a reward to myself for getting done what I need to get done.

Which isn't done yet, so I'm off to go do it, since it should have been done last week.

There are how many hours in a day?

I've noticed something terribly odd lately - the earlier I get up and get going in the morning, the faster the day seems to pass. I don't understand this phenomenon. Technically, I'm spending more hours at my desk, but seem to be accomplishing less.

Significant irony here lately. There is a tree in our backyard that has been dying for several years. Every so often, in a mighty wind, branches fall, and hang perilously from the hydro wires, or worse. Two years ago, a large limb came down on top of the swing set. We haven't had the tree removed, because we're pretty sure we can't afford it.

I say pretty sure because no tree removal company has even been willing to quote the job. I call them, they come out and look up, up, up at the tree, and then go away shaking their heads. They don't want the job.

So we've let Mother Nature take care of the task, gradually, and with much hope that Mother Nature will not decide to bring the whole thing down at once. Several weeks ago, as winter made its last gasp, there was a mighty wind, and down came a branch onto the wires.

I called Hydro, and they came to take the branch off the power and phone lines. They were nice guys, and offered to cut a little more while they were up there. So I told them to go to town with it, and cut as much as they felt like - we'd worry about cleaning it up later.

Later came this weekend, and the chain saws were a-buzzing. And then yesterday, I paid a guy to come and haul it all away.

Here comes the irony...

The guy will take it to the city yard waste lot, where it will be shredded and turned into wood chips.

In approximately six weeks, I'll pay another guy to come and deliver a few square yards of wood chips so I can do my spring landscaping.

Go figure.

Oh, puh-leeze

Since Rebecca Eckler has been strangely absent from the Post these last weeks (and possibly longer, I'm not sure - my home subscription only kicked in three weeks ago, and before that I simply was not willing to fork over the change to read it online), I've been relying on the Globe and Mail for my weekly dose of "God, this columnist irritates me." That, of course, comes in the form of Canada's other Journalist Barbie, Miss Leah Mclaren, she of the column Generation Why?, which I often translate to Why Do I Read This Again?

Her column this week centres around poor Barbie's reduced financial straits, which in the world she lives in translates to "Poor me, I can't afford my cleaning lady and a masseuse!"

Hear Leah whine:

Unlike many of my peers, I graduated from university without a debt, and I've never taken a loan I can't repay. I have my own apartment, my own car and a good salary that easily pays the bills (when I'm receiving it, that is). And yet, I often feel poor.

The poor thing is on an unpaid book leave, and has spent part of her advance on a car, leaving her unable to buy shoes, though I doubt she's going barefoot. While Miss McLaren moans about forgoing hardcover novels, children in this country are going hungry, and people are living in the street in the same city where she visits those chi-chi restaurants.

There is poor, and there is poor, and I know the difference. I am not poor. The wolf, while it may snarl and claw at the door every now and then, is kept at bay. There is a roof over our heads, and contrary to my children's opinion, a lack of Frosted Flake Cereal Bars in the cupboard does not mean that we are starving.

Miss Leah should be ashamed of herself. Her sad tale belongs right up there with that of Whiny Jane Doe over at Salon. Sorry Leah, no pity from this reader, only absolute, unequivocal disgust at your total detachment from reality.

It's done

Ohmydog, Generation Xhausted goes to the printer tomorrow. I can't believe how real everything seems all of a sudden. Isn't that weird?

A sense of justice

Was listening to the older daughters tell a family friend last night what they've learned about smart shopping.

"The $80 running shoes wore out as fast as the $14 running shoes," said the older one. "So we might as well keep buying the $14 pairs."

My heart swelled with pride at the knowledge that, at the tender age of 14, she already sees the sense in that.

"Yeah, but at least they bought you the $80 shoes once," said the middle one. "I never got $80 shoes."

I started to stammer out a response, something about how, having learned our lesson with the older one, there was no need to purchase another pair of $80 running shoes. My explanation was lost as she continued to lament the blatant favouritism shown toward her sister in this case.

"Yeah, but you get to have fish," the older one retorted.

Wha?

Apparently, the children really are keeping a running total in their heads about who gets what when. They seem to believe that our approach to child-rearing involves trading one item from column A for two items from column B. Ere go, the fact that one has tropical fish somehow compensates for the fact that she wears hand-me-down jeans.

My only challenge now is to figure out how much mileage I can get out of this. If the teenager gets highlights in her hair, can I balance that by buying the other one a new book?

In other news, had a lovely weekend with lots of fresh air. Hubby and friend cut up the dead tree that was laying in the backyard while I hovered anxiously, anticipating a loss of limbs (people, not tree) from the new chain saw. Then enjoyed burgers from friend's BBQ. The book goes to the printer this week, and all are excited about it.

No way, no how, absolutely not...well, maybe

Little one came home from school yesterday. "D" in her class has a cat. And the cat had babies. And all I have to do is write my name and phone number on a piece of paper, and little one will give it to "D' who will give it to his mother, and voila! We will have a cat.

Uh uh. Nope. Not a chance in he...

But middle daughter has fish and itsjustnotfair.

Pointing out that a cat will not sit quietly in a glass box on the table does not seem to make a difference. Nor does pointing out that the tiny little "this big" kitten will quickly grow into a full grown cat. And the middle one's allergies? Well, no problem Mom, middle one can stay in her room and we just won't let the cat in there.

Absolutely positively not. No way.

Butitsjustnotfair...

I said no...we'll talk about it tomorrow...

A Tale of Tim Horton's

It occurred to me that I never blogged my Tim Horton's Tale of Woe. It was one of those things that, while it was happening, I thought to myself "Self, you need to blog about this," but I didn't. So I will now.

It was a few weeks ago, one of those nice mild days. I had been "on the road" all morning, and was heading home. It was lunch time. I thought to myself, "Self, they're having Roll Up The Rim over there at Tim's. And it's lunch time. Wouldn't a chicken salad sandwich be nice? And you could bring something home for the hubby too."

Now, you have to understand - Tim Horton's chicken salad sandwiches are wonderful. A marvel. I luf them. Once I've got Tim's chicken salad on the brain I. Must. Have. One. Now.

So, checking the clock and realizing I had just enough time to beat the lunch rush, I headed to the nearest Tim's. There was no line at the drive-thru, a pleasant surprise. As I pulled up to the speaker, an employee called out from the back door, "We have no coffee."

Wha?

No coffee. No hot drinks at all, in fact. Something was broken.

Since I wanted coffee as well as a sandwich, I decided to try another Tim's. This one being a smaller store, and located right across from the high school (at lunch time), the drive thru was backed up, and they were lined up six deep at the counter. I decided to go in.

I waited patiently in line. I didn't even freak when two teenagers cut in front of me. I knew they were pressed for time, lunch hour being short, and I was feeling generous.

Finally, it was my turn. "I'll have a chicken salad sandwich and a turkey sandwich and two large black coffees."

"I'm sorry ma'am, we don't have any chicken salad."
Wha?

Seems the store is too small to carry everything (although it's large enough to post a full menu board). And I'd spent fifteen minutes in line to get something they did not have.

I was miffed. I was unhappy. I told them so. I threw a small (very small, honest) fit. I demanded the regional manager's phone #. And I ordered two turkey sandwiches. They gave me Big Baguettes for the price of small ones, but I think it was only because they were also out of small ones and didn't dare tell me so.

Long story short - the regional manager and I had a lovely telephone conversation later that day, he having been alerted to the crazy woman (me) by his staff. He apologized profusely and sent me gift certificates in the mail.

Don't get between a Canadian and their Tim Horton's.

However, in what I'm sure is an odd twist of karma, I have since bought at least a dozen Tim's coffees and have yet to win so much as a muffin on Roll Up The Rim.

Remembering to remember so I don't forget

I swear, if I keep storing information in my brain, instead of on paper or my hard drive, my head may explode. I'm convinced that, were you to flip open the top of my skull (rather like a ktichen garbage can) you'd see a little hamster running 'round and 'round on a wheel, muttering to itself
"movethosefilescheckspellingchangefontsfollowupwitheditorx
buybaseballgloves..."

You'd think I'd learn my lesson. The last time I tried to remember this much stuff without writing it down, I found myself exiting stores and not being able to remember where I parked my car. Oh sure, I can remember to pick this up, drop this off, call that important guy, send that email, but please don't quiz me on the children's names, because when there's that much in your head, something's bound to fall by the wayside.

Speaking of parking the car. Neighbour called this afternoon. "You were out early this morning."

Um, no. No, I wasn't. I was sleeping early this morning, to make up for the fact that I wasn't sleeping late last night. And, in fact, I have not been out. At all.

"Well, where's the van? I saw it was gone and thought you must have been up and out early."

Where's the van? Wheresthevan???

Van was right where I'd left it of course, neighbour just hadn't gone that far down the street. But I did experience some momentary panic as I wondered if A) I'd suddenly developed a habit of going out and not remembering or B) the Minivan Fairy had come by and exchanged the 11 year old Aerostar for a shiny new Freestar.

Alas.

I'm off to make a to-do list before my head goes "boom".

I believe in miracles

They happen they really do. Proof positive is the fact that I went to WalMart today to buy new running shoes for all three girls. Here's the miracle...wait for it...

I was in and out of the store in 30 minutes, and bought only running shoes.

Ok, I also bought a bedroom lamp, but really, I needed that lamp, had been meaning to pick up the lamp, and bam! there I was, and I was thinking, "lamp." I also got a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, but they were so conveniently located right there at the checkout...

It was a close call though. Bug was visiting from WilsonWorld, and I'd forgotten how much fun it is to shop for an adorable 3 year old girl. She very nearly came out of that trip with a new sundress, but I resisted. She did however, score the most adorable pair of little pink running shoes, which I'm sure she didn't need, but will go with so much of what she already has.

The running shoe outing helped lessen the guilt I was feeling over my Old Navy escapade yesterday. I spent money on me, about $200 bucks, and at the time, I didn't feel guilty at all.

But then I did. Feel guilty. What kind of a mother am I, that I could bypass all those cute outfits that would look perfect on my children, and focus only on me for a day? It's amazing how I can carry that with me, it really is. It's not like they're going without Oreos and Frosted Mini Wheats so that Mommy can buy a new shirt, but still.

At about 6:30 this morning, there was a boom of thunder - it was the strangest thing. There must have been a hum in the air beforehand - hubby and I were both awake, but just. And then it hit - the loudest crashing boom I've ever heard. The house shook, the windows rattled, and it seemed to last forever.

I was sure something had been blown up - Detroit, perhaps. This is it, I thought - they've bombed the RenCen, or blown up the bridge. It wasn't until we heard the thunder roll away into the distance that we realized it was just that- thunder. My heart was pounding, and even hubby was shaking.

These are the scars of 9/11. We're more than 1000 miles away from NYC, but we know where we live. Most of the time, we can shove that thought to the back of our minds, and move through each day as though it simply weren't possible that something could happen here. And then a crash in the early morning hours brings it all back, the feeling of vulnerability, the realization that we're at the mercy of something that probably cannot be predicted.

Our city was mentioned by Cellucci the other day. It made people angry, but I think they're angry because he's reminded them of what they've tried so hard to forget. Of what we all know to be true. Of the fact that we simply won't know what might happen until it already has.

The early morning downpour gave way, by noon, to a mild day, and there was this big yellow thing shining up there in the sky. I'm almost positive it was the sun, and I hope it reappears again tomorrow.

What are the chances?

The planets must be aligning or something. For once, pay day, and the day the sale starts at Old Navy are the same day! So I'm going shopping in the mornin'. I just hope I can sleep long enough that I don't have dark circles under my eyes for the pictures, though I'm sure Visage will take care of that.