I think it’s time.

Very interesting stories coming soon.

Sugar Steals!

I have decided to write about a really horrid experience I had with a company I “Pimped” out.  All I can say is I am sorry, I should have seen this coming this is the type of people they are and it took me way to long to realize it.  To save you all from this sordid 45 min story here is the Reader’s Digest version.

In December I bought a gift card from Sugar Salon for use at Sugar Salon for the price of $130.00.  The card could be used on service or product totaling that amount at a later date.  Sugar closed it’s doors in very early March  before the card could be used, (there was a appointment to use it the following week.)

I received a e-mail from one of the owners stating that they were selling the product that was left at Sugar.  This to me seemed a perfect opportunity for me to use my gift card – it was not.    I was told by Jody that they, the Salon could not afford to “give away” product.

This seriously irritated me because they had no problem taking my “donation/money,”  to use how they say fit.  To have the absolute audacity to state they would be “giving away” product makes me livid.  Not only that, after attempting to argue my “case” with them.  I was barraged with nasty e-mail’s that I would not even read in a outhouse.  The language was so filthy and derogatory one could only attribute the knowledge of such drivel to someone who has spent most of there time with the slum of the earth.

Angry!  Yes, I am!  I am angry I was taken advantage of and angry that there is nothing I can do about it.  I can state that no matter what stealing is stealing and they have thieved from many and will have to live with that…….maybe one day they will quite being mad at everyone else and realize that they are the ones with the problem.

Invisible Mother

I did not write this and do not know who did, but when I read it it touched me in a way that few things have…….I guess I got it.  Love Leah

*Invisible Mother……
>
> It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of
> response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while
> I’m on the phone and ask me a question.
>  Inside I’m thinking, ‘Can’t you see I’m on the phone?’
> Obviously, not.
>
> No one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the
> floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one
> can see me at all.
>
> I’m invisible.  The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a
> pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this?  Can you tie
> this? Can you open this?
>
> Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being.
> I’m a clock to ask, ‘What time is it?’ I’m a satellite guide to
> answer, ‘What number is the Disney Channel?’ I’m a car to order,
> ‘Right around 5:30, please.’
>
> I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and
> the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated sum a
> cum laude – but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter,
> never to be seen again.  She’s going; she’s going; she is gone!
>
> One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the
> return of a friend from England ..
>  Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she
> was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in.
>  I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put
> together so
> well.   It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for
> myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned
> to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, ‘I brought
> you this.’
>
> It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe .
> I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d given it to me until I read her
> inscription:
> ‘To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you
> are building when no one sees.’
>
> In the days ahead I would read – no, devour – the book.
> And I would discover what would become for me, four life-
> changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
>  No one can say who built the great cathedrals – we have no
> record of their names.
>  These builders gave their whole lives for a work they
> would never see finished.
> They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
> The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the
> eyes of God saw everything.
>
> A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to
> visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a
> workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was
> puzzled and asked the man, ‘Why are you spending so much time
> carving that bird into a beam that will be
> covered by the roof?   No one will ever see it.’
>
> And the workman replied, ‘Because God sees.’
>
> I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.
>
> It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, ‘I see you. I
> see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around
> you does. No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn
> on, no cupcake you’ve baked, is too small for me to notice and
> smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t
> see right now what it will become.’
>
> At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is
> not a
> disease that is erasing my life.   It is the cure for
> the disease of my
> own self-centeredness.   It is the antidote to my
> strong, stubborn
> pride.
>
> I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great
> builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they
> will never see finished , to work on something that their name
> will never be on.
>
> The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals
> could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few
> people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
>
> When I really think about it, I don’t want my son to tell the
> friend he’s bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, ‘My Mom
> gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then
> she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the
> linens for the table.’  That would mean I’d built a shrine
> or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come
> home.  And then, if there is anything more to say to his
>
> friend, to add , ‘you’re gonna love it there.’
>
> As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen
> if we’re doing it right.
>
> And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not
> only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been
> added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
>
> Great Job, MOM!
> Share this with all the Invisible Moms you know…*I just did.*
>
>   Hope this encourages you when the going gets tough as it
> sometimesdoes.   We never know what our finished
> products will turn out to be
> because of our perseverance.

Adult Jazz Class Recital for Dance Tech

Thought you all might find some entertainment in this. It’s Dance Tech’s year end recital. Many of the mom’s as you can see get together every Wednesday night with the Jazz teacher and come up with a dance for year end. We have a lot of fun, sometimes eat and have a few drinks. In all I’d say we have a absolute hoot! Not to mention the kids go crazy when they see their mommy’s on stage making a “ass” of themselves.

a Adult Jazz 2008

Wanna little SUGAR?

Just recently a girlfriend of mine and her husband, (Jody and Mclean Swift) had a dream to open a hair salon. As we all know lots and lots of hair dressers do this, some succeed and some do not we have all watched salons come and go. This salon is different and that is a promise. I know that we will be hearing much more of them and that they are going to be leaders in this industry, (at least locally) not to mention how much other business can learn from them.

204 – 14 Crystal Ridge Drive Okotoks, Alberta

Phone: 403-995-0692

www.sugarsalon.ca

To start with there are a few things that set this salon apart. The first being that the owners are not hair dressers. Jody is a teacher on Maternity leave and Mclean is a designer. Now husband and wife teams are not so uncommon but these two together have come up with a few ideas that are stellar. Jody is one of those people who is always thinking and re-thinking scenarios, (it may be the drama background) and as a mom who also works can relate as well to how hard it can be to make life “fit”. Sugar has come up with something called ……drum roll please!

Mommy Mondays
On Mondays, Sugar provides child care in the salon! In a room created for children! FREE OF CHARGE! Did you get that ladies! FREE OF CHARGE! Obviously Mondays book up quickly so knowing what you need and when you need it is a good thing!

Secondly they have something called seat sales.

Seat Sales

Seat sales are almost better than Mommy Mondays, and if you have kids in school or no kids at all then this is up your alley. Sugar has a website, www.sugarsalon.ca and if you go in this website and click on Seat Sales it will show you all the stylists that are avaliable for the next day. So for example: Let’s say it is Tuesday night you are all of a sudden having a hair panic – or whatever – and want to get yo hair done on Wednesday. All you have to do is go on the Sugar website, www.sugarsalon.ca click on Seat Sales and up will come a list of the stylists available for Wednesday, and what they are avaliable for. The best part of this is that if you call and make a appointment first thing Wednesday morning and if you get in you will get 25% off you’re service! And that is a beautiful thing. (Of course if you do not have time to do the checking or maybe wait a day or two to get into you’re stylist then you are beat……..but not to worry Sugar does a great job with different promotions, but you have to watch for them and check the website or watch the paper if you are local to Okotoks.)

Some other things I like about the Sugar is that the space is beautiful and has been well thought out, (it by no means looks like a IKEA catalog, which I find many salons do.) The stylists are professional and very experienced. The cuts and colours that I have seen done are fantastic! I have not had a Manni or Peddi yet, but I will get there, (they are also apart of the Seat Sales.)

Sleeping Beauty 2008

<a href=”
May 2008 Sleeping Beauty“>

Here are some pictures of Viv in her Sleeping Beauty costume for her ballet recital. I think she looks fantastic, but then again I did make her.

I’m over it.

I am sorry to say that I have been more than pathetic when it comes to writing for my blog. I am not sure what happened except that it just seemed as though I always had other things to do…….Perhaps it was that now that my reno’s are complete, I just have more cleaning. Or maybe it is that I changed Alex’s school and he now goes three days a week. More likely it is that I joined the gym and worked out madly so that when I went to Florida I would look half decent in a swim suit. Then again I could be just lying to myself and everyone else and it is none of the above, which of course is more likely

Truth be told this last year has been an interesting one for me in that I have become acquainted with a half brother and sister that I have. My bio-father died a number of years ago so I did not get a chance to meet him but I have been able to get to know his wife. Now there is nothing wrong with any of this and it has all been a very positive experience but I have struggled with my writing and the candor in which I do it. I come from the school of thought that when you first meet someone you are better off not spilling all the beans at once and that is exactaly how I think I have felt the last few months. Typically I am very open with my family and friends, there are no boundaries. Not to mention that I am lulled in to a false sense of security because I am “relatively” anonymous here.

Slowly I am working through this and intend to once again write.

The Secret World of Paris?

The kids have been having so much fun going to the mail box everyday to check for post cards from traveling family. I think soon we will have to notify Ripley’s Believe it or Not, for having the most post cards sent in one year!
Now here is something I think anybody could be proud of. I was informed the other day by one Vivian Grace Leadbeater that her and I needed to go to Paris, France so that we could speak French to everyone. You are probably thinking ooooooohh, how clever that a 5 year old would have ambition like this and I have to admit that that is what I thought as well.
Viv was given a huge puzzle map and every morning and every evening when we are in her room she asks me what places are what, I have to say that along with France, Germany and Denmark (we talked about Italy and it’s boot shape yesterday,) she is really starting to remember where places are. I said to Glenn the other day that she will probably be the only kid in grade 1 next year that can name all the country’s in Africa. I am not kidding, I can not say thank-you enough because I am certain this map is by far one of the best gifts Viv has ever received.
Now back to France and my oh-so-clever child. So I says to Vivian, (very cheeky, like)
“We will have to wait till after grade 5, because that is when immersion starts in the Catholic school out here.”
Vivian’s reply to me was that she already knew French because she learned it on Dora. All she has to do when she gets to Paris is make sure she is wearing a hat and scarf and say…………drum roll please…………bonjour!
Last winter I read the children’s classic The Secret World of Og, by Pierre Burton. I know that this book may or may not have had any barring on the “Paris talk” as it were. But I think she believes that much like the little green men in Burton’s book that only say one word. “Og.” So to the French. Yes it would be funny to say it was just the French but it would be my guess that she thinks all country’s with different languages only speak one word. Except of course Mexico, because that is where Dora comes from and everyone knows that Dora knows more than one word!

For the sake of beauty!

Now I have to say I did not wright this and I do not know who did, but it was e-mailed to me the other day and I had to put it here because is was so funny I almost peed myself.

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of
easy, painless removal – The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and
now…the wax.

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner,
play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully
in
my mind for the next few hours: “Maybe I should pull the waxing kit
out
of the medicine cabinet.” So I headed to the site of my demise: the
bathroom. It was one of those “cold wax” kits.

No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in
your
hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg
(or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss.
How hard can it be? I mean, I’m not a genius, but I am mechanically
inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!)

So I pull one of the thin strips out. It’s two strips facing each
other
stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in
so
I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. (“Cold wax,”
yeah…right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around
it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn’t the best feeling, but
it
wasn’t too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me!

I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth
skin
extraordinaire. With my next wax strip, I move north. After checking
on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair
fighting
championship.

I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same
procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini
line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching down to the
inside of my butt cheek. Yes, it was a long strip. I inhale deeply
and
brace myself………RRRRIIIPPP!!!!

I’m blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!…. OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!

Vision returning, I notice that I’ve only managed to pull off half the
strip. CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is
swirly
and spotted. I think I may pass out………..must stay
conscious…Do
I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe…OK, back to normal. I
want
to see my trophy – a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so
much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the
glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip!

There’s no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???
Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see
the
hair…. the hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am
touching
wax. CRAP!

I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now
covered in cold wax and matted hair.

Then I make the next BIG mistake…….remember my foot is still
propped
up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot
down. DAMN!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. Vagina?
Sealed
shut! Butt?? Sealed shut!

I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and
think to myself “Please don’t let me get the urge to poop. My head may
pop off!” What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts
wax!!
I’ll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in,
immerse
the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it
off, right???

WRONG!!!!!!! I get in the tub – the water is slightly hotter than
that
used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment. I
sit.
Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued
together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom
of
the tub…in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn’t melt cold
wax.

So, now I’m stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had
cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!! Thank God I brought my cell
phone with me in the bathroom!!!!!

I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some
secret of how to get me undone. It’s a very good conversation starter
–

“So, my butt and who-ha are glue together to the bottom of the tub!”

There is a slight pause. She doesn’t know any secret tricks for
removal
but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know
exactly where the wax is located, “Are we talking cheeks or hole or
who-ha?” She’s laughing out loud by now…..I can hear her.

I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side
of
the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else’s
night. While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping
the
wax off with a razor . Nothing feels better then to have your girlie
goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot
water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!! By now the brain is
not
working, dignity has taken a major hike and I’m pretty sure I’m going
to
need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.

My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving
grace….the oil they give you to remove the excess wax.

What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and “OH MY
GOD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens
out
of my friend. It’s sooo painful, but I really don’t care. “IT
WORKS!!
I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up.

I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my
grief and despair….THE HAIR IS STILL THERE…….ALL OF
IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I’m numb by now.
Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I’m going to try hair color……

I’m a crappy mom! (Just last week)

So here is my story the good and the bad. As many of you may know I am developing my basement. It has mostly been a lot of fun probably due to the fact that our contractor is a really nice guy and well lets just say kinda cute. Sort of like Holmes on Homes but different, ( and if one of you pretends you do not have a serious crush on the Holmes on Homes guy, I will not believe you for a second.)

All my problems started one morning a couple weeks ago when I dropped Alex off at school. On my way home I had realized I had done nothing to make his start of school special. I might add that for every first day of school that Viv has had (3,) that I have taken pictures from the time she got dressed all the way to school and then on the way home. It became obvious to me that I had been seriously remiss when it came to my number one son. I devised a plan, on Thursday his next school day I would dress him up and take pictures of him like I was Japanese. I thought that he definitely wont remember in 10 years and it was entirely possible I would not either. So either way it was win win for both of us. With these thoughts in my head I made my way home happy in the that I was only going to look like a bad parent for a very short period of time.

Once home, (about 10:00am) I did what most moms do. Clean up after breakfast, get ready for lunch chat on the phone ex cetera. Around 10:45 my contractor came upstairs to ask me a few questions, I naturally was more than happy to accommodate. Soon we were chatting about kids, family and such, in between my phone ringing. Now, this should not be a big deal who cares if your phone rings…..not me, and I rarely answer my phone if I have guest over. Either way here in lay my disaster.

After our conversation is over, my phone rings again, (I have a snooper phone) so I look at the number and it is unfamiliar, so the battle in my head starts. “To answer or not to answer.” For another fraction of a second I am content in my life, knowing that all is right in the world, that my only problem is, should I answer the phone…….bliss. Then, WHACK! You realize you are a idiot. Well, this is me. Holding the phone in my hand, I look up at the clock and read the time. It’s 11:45am and Alex was done school at 11:30am. The phone had stopped ringing and I now have this feeling of sickness in my heart as I recognize the number from Alex’s school.

Most normal moms would call back and say they were on their way. Not me, I wanted the teacher to think I was caught up in traffic or something. I run out the door, speed all the way to the school, (it’s only 6min away, so I made it in 3.) During my three minute car ride I devise a story about how my bathroom set was being delivered and I didn’t want to leave these “undesirables” in my home unattended.

I should have be chastised, condemned, my child kicked out of this “prestigious” private nursery school. Nooooooooo, that is not what happened. The teacher told me it was not all bad because she wanted to talk with me privatively. She wanted to know if I would sub for her whenever she was sick or had a appointment. Shock of shocks! I said. “Susan, how can you trust me, I can’t even make it on time to pick up my own kid, and you think I should be teaching your class.” Her response was. “Well why not.”

Susan of course did not realize I was late because I was chatting up my contractor and then lied about it so as not to look like some kind of brazen hussy. While my precious little boy who I forgot to take pictures of on his first day and had contrived to fix by “pretending” to have another “first”day was also forgotten at school. Wow, I suck!

A woman I love.

The montage below are just some picks from our mom and daughter travels this summer. The first few are from the party the others are of a trip to Edmonton and the Saxby cake factory as well as Viv with her uncle Gilles and grandma Lauriette.

Cinderella 1
I was really lucky the other day because I had the chance to spend the day with Vivian – just us girls. She had a princess birthday party to go to in the afternoon so we got her all dressed up as Cinderella and went for lunch. It was so nice, to spend time alone with my daughter and it gave me a chance to appreciate what a great kid she is. For her it was a chance to spend alone time with mommy and to not worry about the boys always “pestering” us.

While we were having lunch at a very swanky “hot spot” here in town, (Smitty’s), I noticed a lady sitting alone, who was shortly joined by another woman and her two daughters. Very quickly I became engrossed in what I was watching. The two women were sitting on one side of the booth and the two girls were sitting on the other. Soon as the young girls sat down, (they were 12ish) they started talking to the woman.

I could not hear what they were saying but the look on everyones faces was easy to read. The girls were talking a blue streak and the friend was listening intently adding comments here and there and the mother seemed happy to be out with her girls.

All this people watching made me a little nostalgic for one of the friends my mom had when I was a child. I remembered my moms very best friend from the time they were just little girls, Linda. Though Linda was no relation to me, we called her auntie. Anyway she truly spent more time with us than any other family we had that was related. I think I would be hard pressed to recall a time she was not a part of our lives when we were small. If my mom was there Linda would be too. They were always together and if auntie Linda was around you knew you would have fun.

The one thing you always remember about auntie Linda was her laugh. I would be hard pressed to find anyone with a more infectious laugh than her, and of course her smile, she had the most lovely smile that made you feel as though you were the most special person in the world. When Linda talked to you, you always felt that she gave you here undivided attention, as a kid and pre-teen, we are often brushed off by adults so even a small amount of time made you feel very special. Well, this was Linda.

I had the privilege of chatting with auntie Linda the other day and even on the phone I could feel her smile and naturally hear her laugh, and it gave me the warm fuzzies. I was thinking that even though we often do not know we are making a difference in a child’s life, it is important to take time with them and enjoy, because you never no how you will make a difference.

Thank-you auntie Linda for loving me, 34 years later I can still feel it.

Warm Muffin.

Once a month or so my girlfriend Tracy and I go for Sushi, this is our time to get out with out the kids and have some adult time, (though she workes and gets a significant more of it than me.) On these evenings I sometimes get dressed up, (remember this is mommy dress up, not to be confused with hootchie dress up which is what I use to do.)

I figured I was dressed quite nice, I had put a little extra effort into my appearance that night and it looked like it was paying off. I had started to notice I was getting a number of appreciative stares from the men and jealous ones from the women. I was wearing my favorite heeled black boots a nice pair of dark blue jeans, a black sweater, and my favorite, a lovely super long brown scarf, wrapped around my neck in the way that was most fashionable that winter.

Of course me being me, I was quite please with how cute I looked and impressed that in my old age, (33) and even with a “little” extra weight I still had “it”. Now if you know me then you might realize that this attention as it were would put a little more swing in my hips, pop my chest out a bit and inch my head up a little higher. (In my brain I am imagining my glory days when men would fall at my feet and offer to marry me. When I was hard pressed to find a girl hotter than me. I was quite certain the only reason I had not been discovered was because I am practically a midget at 5 foot 4.)

These are the things I am doing and thinking as I walk through the mall. As we get closer to the restaurant I start to feel quite warm. Warm in a way I have never felt before….. warm down below…… you know down south…… so warm in fact that I have almost forgot how cute I was and am thinking about how one gets quite so, ummmm cozy in that area. Soon we reach the restaurant and as I unload my shopping onto the near by chair I realize that both ends of my scarf had got caught up between my legs. The wool scarf itself is wrapped around my neck, cutting down between my boobs only to be tucked in quite firmly between my legs and the tails and are splayed around the back of my bum like a great giant hairy brown spider coming out for a peek.

Gone are all my dreams of being a femme fatal. I am going to have to live with the fact that all I have is a really warm muffin.

I can tell someones personality by the way they sound when they screw!

Oooooooooooooooooh, I knew that would get your attention!

The other night I was lying in bed and I had a thought. I did not like my electrician, (the one doing my basement development.) From the moment he came into my house he was rude. I tried a little small talk, then coffee, finally I offered him homemade cookies… And if you know me at all you know I make a kick ass cookie! Nothing made him happy. Then for the next three days I had to listen to him drill holes, pound nails and hammer. Each time feeling as though this man should not be in my house – I don’t like him. But I needed a job done so instead of listening to his rude screwing we packed up the kids everyday and left my house.

The bad screw

Any way I digress, back to the screwing. Here are my thoughts. I knew very shortly after our “electrician”, started his job that he was a ass. Now you might want to ask me how. Well, I will tell you and it is because of the way he screws! NOT ME, I AM HAPPILY MARRIED. But the way he drives a screw into the framing, and the way he hammers and the way he drilled a hole or maybe the way he skulked around my basement like some misery chick, with black nail polish and a bad dye job!

The happy screw

Soon I began to think of Cory and his dad Gord Marshmann our General Contractor and how I enjoyed having them in my home. It is not uncommon to hear them whistling while they work, (yes I know) or talking amongst themselves or to others on the phone trying to get people in in a courteous and timely manner. I do not mind having the Marshmann’s here. They are so respectful and obviously love what they do, I am certain I would be hard pressed to find another contractor who was better. Not to mention their “screwing” does not bother me one bit, each drive of the screw driver sounds nice and their hammering does not sound angry.

So as lie in bed I realize everyone has a different way in which they “screw” and I started to think about the people I had heard “screw.”

The purposeful screw

This would be my Glenny (he will choke when he read this I am sure) , absolutely everything Glenn does is for a reason and has a purpose, he rarely meanders about with out a reason and is very particular about jobs he would tie his name to. When I have heard him “screw”, (that is so funny, I can’t stand it). He does not mess around, he is there to get a job done and you can hear it. In all I would say it is very much how he runs his life.

The I don’t want to hurt you screw (a.k.a. the mercy screw – only because I have to)

This is often me, when I hold a drill, or a hammer and have to do some “blue job”. I am always scared of wrecking something, (which is not uncommon) or hurting my self or someone else. (I am the girl who use to kick rocks home from school then feel bad because I had taken them away from there “rock families”, so had to make a new family’s for them with the “other” rocks I had kicked home at various points in the year.) Sooooo, my “screwing” is always a little hesitant before I find my groove.

The pressure screw, not.

This is my neighbor who I love dearly and who also seems to me to be able to any job in the world that she sets her mind to. But…… she can not “screw”, when ever Glenn and I listen to her it is almost painful. She starts quite forcefully then loses pressure and you hear a du, du, du, du, du, du, du, du……….. as the bit is slowly worn off because of lack of pressure.

Last but not least

The I don’t give a fuck screw

This is a person who shall remain nameless, but this person will “screw” anything because it is his, (oooop’s) God given right to do as he pleases. This person does not really care about the work that they do or how it looks when they are done, they are only concerned with banging out the job. This persons “screw” sounds random and the pressure is inconsistent, not to mention the relatively sloppy work that they do.

So there in a nutshell is “screwing as I hear it”, I am sure if you think about it you could think of a few personalities too. If you do let me know, I’d been keen to hear.

Holiday Reno’s

Well we had a fantastic holiday, lots of warm weather out at the Shuswap and lots of books were read. The kids had a fantastic time and I even Kayaked out to Copper Island a few times. But – and there is always a but, we had to come home early because our basement is being developed and the contractors were way ahead of schedule. (Marshmann Contracting, out of High River is amazing.)

The plan was to go on holidays for the whole month of August while our basement and stairs were being developed and switched out. I know this may sound a little extravagant but, I like a long holiday – who does not, plus my little girl is asthmatic and we did not think she could handle all of the dust that comes with Reno’s. Soooooo…… we had to come back early, the Electrician was coming in and Glenn needed to be here for reasons only he is sure of, but I do know that he needs special plug ins in special places to accommodate his soon to be music room and every other room because he has a old radio fetish.

Thus here we are in a very dusty house that no matter what I do helps to keep the dust down and a little girl who is on sneezee street. School starts this week and I am not sure if I should let Vivian start school or just go out to the farm for a few days. Then again the drywalling has not even started yet so the worst is definitely yet to come.

September

I am going to try to write every once and a while but I will mostly be goon till September.

Everyone, have a great summer!