Survival of the Fittest

I went to my Twins Club playgroup yesterday and came face to face with one of those playground dilemmas that parents often face.

Ava was playing with this little stuffed Barney toy and another little girl younger than Ava came along and basically grabbed it out of her hands and walked away. I was watching. I saw it so when Ava came to me crying I knew exactly what happened. I gave her a little cuddle and then we walked over to the little thief and I got down on my knees and said (very kindly I might add) "Ava was playing with Barney first so why don't you give it back and we'll go find you another toy to play with okay?"

No response. Unless you call staring me down a response. I tried again a little more firmly. "You need to give that toy back to Ava. She was playing with it first." She stared a moment longer and then walked away. By nature I am not a very confrontational person. Whenever I have issues that need dealing with I always try to get my sister Jane or my friend Michelle to do it for me. So far it hasn't really worked out for me because they keep saying no.

When the little girl walked away I had no idea what to do. Do I just grab it out of her hands and give it back to Ava? Not really my style. Do I tell the girls mom that her daughter took my daughters toy? Do I just tell Ava to find another toy? I never know how to deal with these playground things. What would you/do you do in these situations?

Just a random question

So you know when you want to leave a comment on someone's blog and they have the comment moderator turned on and you have to type all the letters exactly as they appear?

Why is there a wheelchair symbol next to that line?

The Arrival of the Peanut Gallery

When you have small children you tend to talk as if they don't understand anything you say. Sure you edit out the swear words but essentially you have normal adult conversation certain that their unformed minds are blissfully unaware of the content of your conversation.

And then one day you realize they are actually people and not just tiny balls of matter sent to make your life one long diaper change, one endless meal and one repetetive conversation. Don't do that. Please don't do that. I said don't do that. I SAID DON'T DO THAT! And you realize their minds are not quite as unformed as you had previously thought and/or counted on.

For example. The other day we loaded up the kids and headed to the grocery store making a brief detour through the Starbucks drive through. We were at the pick up/pay window waiting for our drinks when we were greeted by a very perky employee. Copious amounts of consumed espresso really does equal happiness! This wild/bright-eyed young girl kindly asked if we would be interested in some "free samples in the way of edible items!" We were just working our way through her sentence when from behind us Ava yells "YES!" And Tristan, ever so polite, shouts, "THANK YOU!"

Could you possibly at 2 1/2 have understood what the word edible meant? Or were you simply making your dad proud and reacting to the word free? Either way I know I drove away frantically running over every conversation I have had in front of my kids over the last few months. Let's just say I see therapy in their future.

Cue the Hallelujah Chorus

Had an ultrasound today....

IT'S JUST ONE BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Since we can't break out the bubbly to celebrate we're ordering in Chinese. And any night I don't have to cook is a celebration indeed.

The process of self discovery

I always have these great aspirations of being an artiste and I'm always looking for the perfect artistic outlet. I've tried lots of things over the years.

I went through a beading phase and spent a hundred or so dollars on beads and supplies to make a whole crapload of necklaces that I never wore or wore only once. Well that didn't satisfy the itch so I moved on to knitting and 5 years ago started to knit a sweater while my friend Simone was pregnant with her first baby, to be a gift for said baby if the baby was a girl. Simone actually has 3 daughters now and the dang sweater still isn't finished. Then I got this really fantastic, super-great idea that I was going to scrapbook. I spent several hundred dollars on supplies, did 3 pages of a scrapbook and well....scrapped it. Then I decided that I wanted to do pottery and was actually looking at prices of kilns and imagining how my pottery would make me rich, because of course it would be so amazing, when I realized I didn't know clay from glaze and the nights the beginners class was offered didn't work for me.

Now this is not a story of how I start lots of things and don't finish...although it could be. Because I really do that alot. It's kind of one of my pet peeves about myself. No, it is not that kind of story. This is a story of self discovery.

See, I have finally figured out what it is I want to do. After much careful thought and earnest deliberation I have settled on being an incredibly famous painter whose work sells for zillions of dollars. I will have my apartment in Paris and my house in Provence or Tuscany plus my little cottage on the Cape. Any Cape. I will be a chef extroadinaire and live on pasta, fruit, cheeses, breads, olives, and red wine. In this life I imagine somehow I am thinner than in reality despite all the carbs I will apparently be eating. I walk around my gorgeous gardens in barefeet and wear simple flowing linen clothing. Except when I'm painting and then I'll wear jeans with holes in the knee and simple cotton t-shirts. My hair will be pulled back in a messy yet becoming ponytail which strangely enough has become curly. It must be all the salty sea air...Anyway. All of this will provide me with wonderful inspiration for my world famous paintings and keep me in the lifestyle which I am accustomed too. Or would be accustomed to if I had zillions of dollars.

This life is so close to being mine. I just have one itsy bitsy, teeny tiny problem. I don't know how to paint. Or draw. Which is why I signed up for this drawing class. I did six 3 hour classes. 3 classes of pencil, one of ink, one of pastel, and one of pencil crayons. I hadn't done any kind of art or drawing course since oh Grade 8 I think so I really learned alot and it was very beneficial. And I think I'm that much closer to the life (and weight) of my dreams. I just have one itsy bitsy, teeny tiny problem.

I don't really like to draw. It takes so bloody long to do anything!!! I do not have the time or the patience to sit for hours and hours trying to get the shading, the shadows, the lines just right. I want to whip it off in 20 minutes and move on. I found I got so irritated and agitated by the process that I spent alot of time doing neck and shoulder rolls. I would have preferred screaming. The "twitchiness" I felt made me approach the whole thing with a sort of "good enough" attitude. Then after each exercise we'd walk around and look at everyone's work and I'd sigh about mine. If only I could shade like her. If only my texture was as nice as his. If only I cared more about making that stupid bloody orange rind look right.

Unfortunately, I just don't care. Sadly, that ideal life (and weight) is slipping away. I need a new plan to be rich and famous. Maybe I should try abstract art instead...Yes. I can see it now. I'll have a studio apartment in New York in the Village. I'll eat organic food and only drink fair trade coffee. I'll wear ballet flats and black smocks with skinny jeans...

A little story about a dad, a barbeque, and potentially pyro children

The night before we left Salmon Arm we had a barbeque. My dad had a meeting so Hugh was manning the barby while the kids played on the deck. Now maybe it's because it was the first barbeque of the season. Or perhaps it's because it was an unfamiliar barbeque. Or then again maybe it was the distraction of watching the kids that Hugh hadn't seen for 2 months so he just couldn't take his eyes off them. Yes I'm pretty sure that's why the ribs went up in flames.

Now I don't just mean those little flares that result in those delightful little crispy/carcinogenic bits. (I say cancer-causing, Hugh says flavour.) This was a fire that leapt up into the atmosphere and actually made that "whooshing" sound like when you pour gas on wooden pallets and drop a match. Hugh manfully battled the blaze while the kids stared transfixed. They had know idea their dad was also a fire-fighting hero.

Once the fire was nothing more than smouldering embers Tristan dared to break the awe-inspired silence with an excited, "More fire daddy!"

And Ava piped up, "Good idea!"

well, well, well, what have we here?

Well I'm back.

I'm back home in Medicine Hat. My husband is done school and I'm almost done my first trimester. I have been shamefully absent from the blogosphere in the last 2 months and I'd like to apologize to all 8 of my readers. I'm sure you've been desolate without me but things can always get worse can't they? And we musn't feel sorry for ourselves must we?

You've probably given up on even checking my blog by now to see if I've written anything new but now that I'm back and sane (sort of) and less nauseous (marginally) my goal is to get back into blogging and catch up on all your blogs. I hope you've been blogging about some interesting things.