Generation Exhausted

It's going to be a LONG long weekend

Is it possible that Labour Day is actually when you are supposed to reminisce about the LABOUR involved in bringing children into this world, so by the day AFTER Labour Day you're more than happy to send the little darlings off to school and get them out of your house?

I don't know if it's my own state of mind, or if it's some kind of bounce-back reaction after not really having all three kids home at the same time all summer, or maybe it's just that I'm getting old, but I'm starting to realize that having three kids? Can make one a little weary.

I took two of them - just two! - the oldest and the youngest, shopping for school supplies a few days ago at Staples. Just inside the door was a whole bin full of those EASY buttons, and I pushed and pushed, every button in the bin, but my children were not magically transformed into being ready for school. Not even a little bit. Who knew that everything you see on TV is not always true?

Something shiny: I actually bought an EASY button. Last Christmas, because it was just one of those things. When you ask yourself, "Who, WHO would actually pay five bucks for something so pointless?" you can answer yourself, "Shelley would. That's who." Now I can't find it anywhere, but oh well, apparently they don't work anyway.

Back to Staples. I've never found it so hard to think in my life. First of all, anywhere I stood, I was in someone's way, because the aisles are lined with bins full of school supplies and there's no room for more than a single cart between them. So a child would say, "I need that," and I would stop and attempt to rationally discuss whether that was an actual NEED as opposed to a WANT, because I'm not convinced that something like, say, a laptop is a NEED for a nine-year-old. And during this rational discussion someone would bump into me with their cart, or a small child would crash into me, and I would have to move into an adjacent row to avoid experiencing physical harm.

And then the other one would say, "Hey look at this," and I would, and promptly forget about the rational discussion I'd just been engaged in, and I'd start another rational discussion about why a kid needs highlighters when you get penalized for defacing high school textbooks.

And then I'd try to figure out whether or not we couldn't buy a multi-pack of glue sticks and meet EVERYONE's glue stick needs at the same time.

It's hard to explain to a child that the backpack they think is Just Perfect is only just perfect if they're carrying nothing more than a muffin and a pad of Post-It notes, and not Just Perfect if it won't even hold the binder they just picked out or the lunch box they think is Absolutely Darling. Harder still if you're trying to explain that while simultaneously adding up the number of math sets you've purchased over the years. (what is about math sets and the fact that they don't last longer than six months?)

Let's just say it made me tired. And of course, the Middle One still needs her school supplies, and I can only imagine what the stores are going to look like tomorrow.

Maybe I'll go look a little harder for that EASY button and see if hitting it with a hammer achieves the desired result.

Another week, another road trip

Until ten days ago, I'd been to Grand Bend exactly twice in my life (unless my parents took me there when I was little and I forgot)

In the last ten days, I've been to the Grand Bend Tim Hortons five times. I've been to the Grand Bend Tim Hortons more times in the last ten days than the Tim Hortons that's six blocks from my house.

The Grand Bend Tim Hortons actually has better service, but that's not the point.

Went to fetch the Middle from summer camp. I was very worried going to get her - she'd been gone for ten days, you see, and that's a very long time. I was very concerned that she'd be...different. I was worried that she might have discovered, some time in the last ten days, that I don't really know everything. I was worried that she might have turned into one of those disdainful, mouthy teenagers you tend to meet. I was worried that she might just have gotten so hungry that she'd started eating vegetables.

I was worried that, realizing she could go far away from home for ten days, she might decide that some day in the future she could go further, longer.

And I'm just not ready for that.

No worries, however; she had a wonderful time, but when she saw me she flung herself at me so hard she nearly knocked me off my feet, and she cried because she was happy to see me. Am I a bad mother because seeing my child cry made me feel better?

And she didn't eat a single carrot at supper time tonight.

So - I'm exhausted, but all my chickens are now home to roost. Bring on the school year!

Shouldn't they have said "pretty please"?

Say what you want about Canadians - that we are passive, that we are complacent, that, gosh darn it, we're NICE. Whatever you say, be sure to mention that we are polite.

There is a joke, reiterated in Will Ferguson and Ian Ferguson's How To Be A Canadian, that runs along these lines:

Q: How do you get 30 Canadians out of the swimming pool?

A: You say, "Please get out of the swimming pool."

It was with this joke in mind that I knew I had to take a picture of the sign below, found at a highway service centre during my travels last week.

Because, you know, the No Parking sign all by itself might be considered rude and unduly harsh. Or something.

Speaking of pictures (because we were, right?) it occurs to me that the advent of digital cameras has had its impact. Without the concern of "wasting film" everything has become fodder for the camera.

I've got a smallish memory card and an older 2.0 mp camera. I can take about 75 pictures on the card.  As long as I've got battery power (which is a whole 'nother issue) I can take pictures whenever, wherever, and of whatever I choose. This is great for recording our moments and memories for posterity with total abandon.

And if it fills up, I can simply delete the pictures that turn out not to be so important, or the ones that got screwed up, or the ones I took because there was nothing better to do.

Or I can dump them onto my hard drive and post them on my blog. Like this one of my feet, that, sadly, does not show off the pretty pink polish on my toes.

Rest assured, however, that I did not spend my days away taking pictures of my feet. For a whole fifteen minutes, I contemplated my future, while gazing at this:

So there you have it - how I spent my summer vacation. Pondering the preposterousness of parking signs, taking pictures of my toes and staring at the sky and the sand. Who says I don't know how to relax?

Does this mean they'll have to update the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy?

What a week! In this, the LONGEST, most BORING week of the whole year (seriously, isn't it just DRAGGING? Ten days 'til school starts!) strange things are afoot.

On Tuesday, there were nine planets in our solar system. Yesterday, rumor had it that we'd been wrong all along- there were twelve. And now today's news says we WERE wrong - there are only eight planets.

So, how much is THAT going to cost in updating all those Grade Five science textbooks? Does this mean that the project my brother did on the solar system in Grade Six is now worth something on Ebay? And why are there no planets named Rupert?

Seriously, eight planets. And it's not just textbooks - learning materials, Trivial Pursuit Games, build-your-own-solar-system kits - they'll all have to be revised and edited. This demotion of poor Pluto is going to spawn a whole new industry.

Home is where the toothpaste is

Three weeks ago, we ran away from home for a few days, and, in addition to some of us not having enough clean clothes for the unexpected additional day, we also did not have toothpaste.

See, there are five of us - and in spite of the fact that I've purchased any number of travel-sized tubes of toothpaste over the years, I had decided that to do so when All Five Of us were travelling together would be financial folly. We would, I reckoned, just bring one of the two tubes that resides in a holder above the bathroom sink.

And we arrived in Frankenmuth and had no toothpaste. Luckily, Middle Daughter had purchased a cute little set of Burts Bees products in one of the cute little stores we'd visited, and it included a cute little tube of toothpaste. Very Expensive Toothpaste. We forced her to share with us, and all our teeth were clean.

Two days ago, we drove Middle Daughter to summer camp. The plan was to drop Middle Daughter off, then travel partway back home and spend two nights camping with Youngest Daughter and Niece. I didn't mention it before hand, because although I always leave my empty house guarded by vicious dogs and alarms in our absence, I don't feel comfortable telling The Internets when we'll be away.

So. The car was packed, the dogs were let loose, and The Family were all in their assigned seats in the minivan waiting for me to drive them to their destiny. Before I closed the door behind me, I shouted out to the waiting passengers:

I know this is a silly question, but did anyone pack toothpaste?

And a voice from the minivan said: I did.

Off we went. We delivered the Middle to camp, and then went to our own destination. At bedtime, I took Youngest and Niece down to the campground washroom for evening ablutions.

Whereupon I discovered that the voice that said "I did," had been delivered to summer camp several hours prior. With the toothpaste.

Fear not - I prevailed upon Niece to share her Bubblegum Colgate, but I think I'll be in charge of toothpaste from now on.

Other than brushing our teeth, we had a good two days relaxing, swimming, visiting the beach, sitting around the campfire, and reading. I read, cover to cover, Goodnight Nobody by Jennifer Weiner, and it was very good. I heartily recommend it - it was funny in all the right spots, just suspenseful enough, and her characters were believeable.

Now we're back, and I might even post some pictures I took at the beach. Of my feet. On purpose. What did people do for fun before there were digital cameras?

Club 35

Lovely readers, help me to send best wishes to Linda Sherwood upon her entrance into "Club 35." Go on over and say "HAPPY BIRTHDAY".

Linda was my first-ever Internet friend, and she quickly became a real-life friend back in the lazy, hazy days of Spring 2000. She blogs as sporadically as I do these days, but I sure am glad she's there.

Meme? Who me?

Yup, 'cause it looked like fun. Got it from Kim, who got it from Keri, who got it somewhere else. (that's the way these things work)

TECH-OLOGY:
Number of contacts in your cell phone? I don't know - one of the kids put them all in, and I never use it. Maybe 10?

Number of contacts in your email address book? I have to count them? More than 100.

What is the wallpaper on your computer? A picture of a tropical island, with blue, blue water surrounding it.

What is your screensaver on your computer? A blue screen with the words "Write Now" scrolling across

Are there naked pictures saved on your computer? There better not be!

How many landline phones do you have in your home? Two

How many televisions are in your home? Three

What kitchen appliance do you use the least? What's a kitchen?

What is the format of the radio station you listen to most? Country music in the car

BI-OLOGY:
What do you consider to be your best physical attribute? Eyes

Are you right handed or left handed? Right Handed

Have you had anything removed from your body? Three babies and a gall bladder. Or did you mean something like an arm?

Would you like to? Can you do something about my acne?

Which of your five senses do you think is keenest? Hearing.

When was the last time you had a cavity? Last year

What is the heaviest item you lift regularly? My own sense of responsibility for those around me.

MISC-OLOGY:

If it were possible, would you like to know the day you're going to die?

No
If you could change your first name, what would you change it to? Dani. Not Danielle. Dani.

How do you express your artistic side? I write

What color do you think you look best in? Blue

How long do you think you could last in a medium security prison? It would take about five minutes for me to piss someone off and get my head beat in

Have you ever swallowed a non-food item by mistake? A quarter once. That's all I know of.

If we weren't bound by society's conventions, do you have a relative you would make a pass at? NO

How often do you go to church? Once a month on average

Have you ever saved someone's life? Not that I know of

Has someone ever saved yours? Yes

DARE-OLOGY:

For this last section, if you would do it for less or more money, indicate how much.

Would you walk naked for a half mile down a public street for $100,000?

How far is half a mile?

Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100? Yes.

Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000? NO

Would you never blog again for $50,000? No

Would you pose naked in a magazine for $250,000? No.

Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000?

I really don't know what hot sauce tastes like, so I don't know

Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for $1,000,000? No

Would you shave your head and get your entire body waxed for $5,000? Make it 10k and we'll talk

Would you give up watching television for a year for $25,000? It would take more than that, but I'd consider it.

My hard drive keeps me on the right road

Shakespeare didn't have a word processor. Neither did Jane Austen, Dickens, Hemmingway, or any of those other writers whose names get thrown out as examples whenever someone says, "You don't need a computer to be a writer. Pens and pencils are cheap."

Well, maybe they didn't, and good for them, but I realized tonight, I do.

While I have, as mentioned here before, always been a writer, it was only with the arrival of our first computer that I really became a Writer. And then, with the second computer, (and the Internets. Oh, the Internets! I heart the Internets!) I became a WRITER.

The problem with pen and paper isn't the actual mechanics of writing - anyone can do it, it's true. The problem  - or at least my problem - is keeping the pieces of paper. I have a problem keeping track of pieces of paper, or at least the right pieces of paper. If I'd scratched out the opening lines to Harry Potter on a coffee shop napkin, the world would never have known what a Muggle was. Hard as it is to believe, I throw things out - really, I do. And too often, I throw the wrong things out.

Two years ago, I typed two paragraphs to an essay into my beloved computer, and then stopped, not sure where to go next. Tonight, needing an essay in a hurry, I pulled up the two paragraphs, and forty minutes later had a full-blown finished essay. That would never have happened if I'd scribbled on a piece of paper.

My hard drive is full of the technological equivelant of pieces of paper and coffee shop napkins. A thought here, a supposition there, maybe nothing more than one good line that came to me one day. It's all in there, seeds of things yet to be tended and cultivated. They're just waiting for some attention so they can bloom.

And thanks to my hard drive, and modern technology, I know just where they're buried when the time comes.

I heart my hard drive!

The population has grown

Heath-er had a bay-bee, Heath-er had a bay-bee....

I'm sure she'll be posting details soon - meanwhile, why not go over and congrats her on the arrival of her little darling?

Directionally challenged

I have been lost exactly twice in my life - once when I was about 3, and once when I was 13.

The time when I was three has ever after been known as The Day My Mother Realized My Purpose In Life Was To Make Her Nutty And Accelerate Her Aging Process. I wandered away from home - in so much as a child can walk away on purpose and still be said to be wandering - intent on reaching the corner store for some candy. I was BORED, and there was no one to play with - God had not, after all, invented the Internets and Bookworm yet, and I hadn't learned how to write either - so off to the store I went.

Upon reaching the store, and discovering that money was a pre-requisite to candy-buying, I continued to wander, searching for a store that had FREE candy. I was at another store that had candy that required MONEY, asking customers to chip in, when two children decided that perhaps I was a little young to be panhandling and took me home with them.

My sense of distance being what it is, my best guess is that I was about half a mile from my house and my no-doubt-hysterical-by-now mother.

They took me to their home, whereupon I refused to give their mother my name, phone number or address, as I'd been dutifully taught not to talk to strangers. Apparently, I didn't equate "going home with strangers" with "talking to strangers".

Eventually, I was convinced to PRINT my phone number on their kitchen blackboard, whereby they called my mother, who arrived shortly thereafter, torn between frantic relief and total exasperation in the way that only parents can be.

That's what I remember. That, and the strangers had a dog, and I got sent to bed early that night. Undoubtedly, my mother's version will differ slightly, but Mom? Maybe your own blog wouldn't be unthinkable? Talk to me, I'll set you up.

The second time, I was in a town that I wasn't familiar with, where the streets all ran in circles, and the houses all looked the same. That's understandable, and the stuff that nightmares are made of. But I eventually found my way to where I needed to be.

Ask anyone. I could be a cab driver, I'm so good at finding my way around. In my teens, I managed to find my way to wherever I wanted to go (and that was not always a good thing) I covered the streets of our fair city on foot, by bicycle and bus. (when the city is essentially laid out on a grid, that's not so hard)

Armed with a map, I'm even better, and thank you fourth-grade teacher Miss Outinen who taught me how to read one. In fact, running into construction on the highway one summer, my kids were heard to complain "Why do you keep turning around, are we lost?" We weren't lost, I knew exactly where I was, the roads just kept ending abruptly in farmers' fields. When we missed the exit to the Zoo the first time I ever drove in Detroit, the kids got all worried, but I found my way back.

So why is it that my kids, who live in the same city, don't know from one minute to the next where they are, or how to get where they're going? We've joked that if we ever wanted to get rid of them, we could just drive out in the country and drop them by the side of the road.

Their geographical challenges do ensure that they have to keep me connected and involved in their lives, so that I can give them detailed directions on how to get from Point A to B. Or drive them there, which is their preferred solution. I wouldn't want them to get lost and end up printing their phone number on some stranger's bulletin board.

Although I'm fairly certain they could probably always find their way home. After all, it's where we keep the fridge, and they have no problem finding THAT. They visit it twelve times a day, you know.