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, (tong in cheek)
“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!

Glenny - Appreciating My Husband.

Glenn and I

Glenn and Vivian Glenn and Alex

My husbands name in Glenn and I mostly call him my Glenny, occasionally I might call him an ass, but it is not because I am mad at him, it is because he is being a smart ass, (not to be confused with a dumb ass because they are very different.) My Glenny is a pretty fantastic guy if I do say so myself and undoubtedly the best father I have ever seen in action, not to mention what a stellar husband he is.

I would have to say that he is definitely a hands on kinda dad, that always helps out with the kids and around the house. He can fix most anything, making him a pretty handy guy to have. Not only do I love him immensely and all he does for our family, I am quite partial to the lovely paycheck he brings home to me.

I could do a little list of the wonderful things he does for our family but I think he deserves a bit more than that, so if you are inclined bare with me and read about my husband and what a great guy he is.

This morning I woke up to my husband giving me a kiss good by before he left for work, (he has done this most everyday of our married life - 8 years.) Then as with everyday he goes to work to earn his pay. I know there are many days when he would love to stay at home, to be with us, to play, to love and to watch his children grow. He, maybe more that most laments about how much he is missing with the kids and how quickly they grow. I see it, and appreciate what he is saying but because I experience their lives with them everyday their growing up does not seem quite so - oh, I can’t find the right word, um mm…….imminent!

I love

I love how Glenn loves his family, his children and of course me. I love the time and effort he puts into all of his thoughts actions and deeds. I love how every night he comes home and everybody stops what they are doing to say hello and to give hugs and kisses. I love that Glenn always gives me a hour after he gets home to just do nothing but watch the three of them enjoy each other. I love how we talk every night about our days - what worked and what didn’t. I love that our solutions are ones we come up with together.

I appreciate

I appreciate his mother, Lois and his father Walter, who raised him to be such a fantastic man. I appreciate, the life Glenn works so hard to give me and our children. I appreciate how hard it is to be a man in the world today, where often if something makes you feel good it must be right and making the choice to do different can be a hard one.

I am thankful

I am thankful Glenn is not greedy or selfish, that he puts his family first always. I am thankful that he is conscious of how deeply he is needed, wanted and loved. I am thankful he is so loving back and so protective of his family.

We love you Glenn (Daddy)

Frog cake

frog cake

To see all four pictures click on the link.

This cake worked great! I liked him so much I named him Fredrick Frog.

Queen of Cake!

Cakes

These are some of the cakes that have worked!

I love to bake, I love the praise that comes with what I bake, I love that people usually express great satisfaction over the effort I put into my projects and how everything tastes. Rarely do I have disasters and when I do it is typically something I can fix. This was not the case this week! I say week because it seemed everything I touched when bad. It started with banana bread then moved on to almond brittle, why I thought I could bake a children’s birthday cake is beyond me, but I did.

Last night I baked 6 - 9 inch round cakes, 3 chocolate fudge and 3 vanilla confetti along with one square cake and 6 large cup cakes and 4 small cupcakes. I do realize that all this baking seems a bit exorbitant but I bake cakes on the side for “pin money”, as my grandma use to call it. One cake is frog cake commissioned to me by a friend and the other was for Alex’s 3rd birthday party. This cake was going to be my crowning glory, better than any cake I had made before! The party theme was Pirates, and what Pirate party is complete with out a Pirate Ship Cake! So I put my plan into action I baked and baked and baked till finally all the cakes were done. I then threw them in the freezer to make them easier to work with. I whipped up my famous chocolate butter cream frosting and was ready to start first thing in the morning.

First thing in the morning I pulled my cakes out of the freezer and softened the icing, then slowly started to cut ice and glue my cake together. It was going perfect and looked amazing and took about 3 hours to ice. Here is where it all started to go bad. No sooner had I pipped on my last bit of icing than I hear a plop. I look down to see the back third of my cake lying on the floor! As I stood there dumbfounded I then watched the front third of my cake detach from the hull. I can not express the anger I felt/ feel at all this work going to waste.

As I stand there staring at my disembodied ship in great big chocolate heaps, I start to cry and then I scream! Alex and Evan come running into the kitchen to see what is wrong and start to laugh.

This is what I hear.

Alex: Oooooooooh mommmmmmmy, that is so funny, you got a brokent ship, you had better keen it up!

Mommy: I know that Alex and I will.

Alex: Mommy did you wreck my birthday party?

Mommy: You boys need to go away, I need a time out.

Thankfully they left and I sat down at the computer to write about it. The cake is still sitting on my floor yet to be cleaned up one hour later. I guess I’d better go do that now and get started again.

P.S. Alex started crying inconsolably about a hour later because he thought I wrecked his birthday, thankfully he liked the new cake idea and jumped on board!

I hate clowns!

 

 

 

 

I Hate Clowns

Big, round red noses and floppy, floppy shoes; orange fright wigs and all that garish makeup. Pretending to be something you know they are not - HAPPY! How can they be they usually look like a 60 year old miscreant drunk! You just know they can’t be up to any good.
There’s an actual name for the condition of being terrified by clowns. It’s called coulrophobia.
But let’s not stop, or even linger thoughtfully, at the phobia stage; let’s take it straight to the next level of detestation and loathing. Still with me? Good. You’re home.

I do not know how or when this “thing” with clowns started but local lore, (my mother) states that it was about the age of 2-3, they took me to the Shrine Circus, where a clown came up to me and I screamed like someone took away my favorite lolly, (which happens to be blue raspberry) and have had problems ever since. I might add I also am not so keen on marshmallows and Jello - but I think that is a texture thing. Anyway I digress, back to the God hatin clowns.

Yes, it is true I don’t like these creatures and why so many women have these heads of clowns hanging on there walls, truly befuddles me (it is so creepy, I can not express my distrust of people who love and hang these things up I always think they are hiding something) and am not at all sure why it could be considered “Art”.

Tell me please if you hate clowns or maybe just about that thing you hate!

 

 

Saying good-by when I have hardly said hello.

Friends/Stampede/Gull Lake/Hail

For those who do not know I have had the opportunity to connect with family that I had never met before. I say met because I always knew about them…… sort of, but because of circumstances being what they were a meeting would not happen for years. A couple months ago I had the opportunity and honor to met my half-sister Michelle and her husband Rob along with, my half-brother Gilles and their mom Annette. Very soon after we all met I found out Michelle and Rob were leaving on a one year trip, how exciting for them but leaving us with very little time to get to know each other before they leave. God Bless Annette in all this because she has facilitated all of our get-togethers and helped to make what little time we have fantastic!

These past two days were amazingly orchestrated and the whole weekend was a going away party for Michelle and Rob out at their family cottage! What a exciting weekend we all had! Friday we all went for a late night swim and Saturday was filled with so much stuff to do that I did not even have time to take a picture, though I do have pictures to post that were taken by Annette.

It all started with pancakes cooked over the fire for breakfast, with fresh fruit (yummy) and then off to the beach we went. I wish I had a picture, (I do now) because I can not do justice to what happened next. Shortly before noon I saw a boat pulling what looked like some sort of…….well I do not know what to call it but what it was is a dock of sorts or a island that is pulled out into the middle of the lake and left there for the day. This is done so that instead of having to go back to the marina or to find a dock to load people from for water skiing, biscuting or jet skiing you can simply stay right in the middle of the lake. It is also big enough that you can just hang out on it with probably about 7 people comfortably - more if they are in the water lounging about on turtles, blow up boats, floating beds, noodles ex cetera. The idea is so ingenious that as funny as it looked I can not believe more people do not do this. It was just so convenient.

Later that night a blind one man band came to play at the cottage and though I use to think I was a fantastic two-stepper, I had to admit to myself that I suck and definitely need more practice since it has been close to 10 years since I spent any amount of time at the Ranchman’s. So I promise I will be better next year and will practice all winter so I can out dance Gilles next summer - or whenever. lol

So this was the kids and my Saturday and Sunday, we had a blast. I know that more great times are to come but in the in-term I am going to miss Michelle and Rob, wish them the best in the year to come and God Speed on their way home.

P.S. For anyone who missed the hail storm check out this video and pic’s they are amazing and yes one of the hail stones is almost 3 inches! Walking around our neighborhood today you could probably count about every 5-6 car with shattered windshields!

Je ne sais pas, why everything has to be so complicated!

Je ne sais pas if it is genetic or if it is some innate thing in my personality, but more often than not I make things way to complicated. I can turn the simplest thing in to quite the production, (it is not so much that I am a drama queen because I’m really not.) It is more along the lines of wanting everything to be perfect/magical. At first this often drives people nuts about me simply because I can not settle with the mundane or the plain, everything needs to have meaning and be the best or most perfect that it can be. Now, everyone often makes fun of me and “Leah’s magical moments”, I don’t really mind because it suits who I am and who I want to be. But I do have to admit that “we” do get a lot of mileage out of it.

I like to put most of this down to being the first born and my parents need to over compensate for my somewhat dubious entrance into the world, (I may or may not go into this at a later date, needless to say it is not a “new” story, but it is mine.) Anyway, I have this need to be first - so I always walk really fast so I can be in front. Viv and I will actually be walking down our hall and both of us will be running by the end of it so we can get to the kitchen first! Truthfully I even tripped her once so I could win! I hate losing and since having kids I have had to really work on my piss poor attitude, (just so you know I am failing miserably because Vivian is very much like me in this and Alex is a close second.) Glenn…..well he is not competitive, which is probably why we get along so well, it is most probably the reason we very rarely argue, what would I argue with him about? It just does not matter to him if he does not win. Yes, crazy I know.

I also like to be the best mommy. I’d like to say on the block but what I really mean is of everyone I know. I want the cleanest house the happiest kids, the shiniest windows and do not get me started on my car……oh dear! I do realize that I am a psychologist’s dream and have thought about this a lot, talked about it a lot, been made fun of a lot and have decided that I do not care because I like me…….. so there!

Marshmallow guns who knew!

Last weekend we went to gull lake to visit some family and what a fantastic time we had. We made some new friends and had a lot of fun. While we were there Annette, happened to show my kids some “marshmallow guns”. What you do is drop a mini marshmallow in to a chamber then blow, and out comes this flying little marshmallow. Fun was had by all and as you will see when you watch the video Alex ate most of them!

I know you want to see what we were up to, so click on the link below!

Gull Lake June 07