Brain status: melted.

I almost fell asleep at the computer desk earlier today. I guess that’s what happens when: a) you get up at 5 am each morning, and are at your desk no later than 6:30 am (ok, it was 7 on Friday), and b) it’s motherfucking hot.

I was up early again today – damn internal clock! – and kicked my day off right: cleaning the house, with a side of recycling all the crap in the garage. Woo. Now I just have to get rid of the empty milk jugs, and it’ll look semi-decent. I even unpacked D’s movies, found the DVD remote, hooked up his bedside lamp & clock, and did some laundry.

Add in temps topping 30C (inside & out), and it comes as no surprise that I needed a nap at 2:30. Too bad my kids can’t leave me alone.

When I grocery shopped on Monday, I had grand plans to actually cook. My MIL inspires me a little bit – she manages to cook dinner nightly. Seems simple, but I can’t usually manage it. Of course, with the heat, I was not up for most of said grand plans. I froze one of the two whole chickens I bought, and marinated the other for….um….two days. And then, at 4:30 today, I attempted the “beer can up the butt” bbq chicken recipe.

It did not go as planned.

I really should have taken a photo of the blackened bird. I have now learned that when the directions say “medium to high” heat, our bbq is plenty hot at low/med. I managed to salvage some fairly tasty bits, enough to feed the four of us. However, it’s probably best that the other chicken didn’t see what I did to his brother.

It’s like roadkill. You can’t help but look.

I made the colossal mistake of flipping the TV to TLC tonight. During that train wreck of a show with toddlers. And tiaras.

O. M. G.

I’ve caught bits & pieces before. Hell, I’ve watched entire episodes. And I can’t help but shake my head at the pageant moms, some of whom seem normal(ish), and some of whom seem like creatures from another planet. Tonight included a mom who was entering her sons: a 7 yr old budding magician/comic, and her 2-week old baby. Yes, he was TWO weeks old. He was basically Jello with eyes*. What is the point, exactly?

Then there was the mom with 5 daughters, the oldest of whom were fraternal twins. Throughout the show, she continually talked up her outgoing twin, saying how she was prettier than her sister (“she looks like Mommy!”), and how she was a more natural performer. She cheered loudly for this child. Her other child? Not so much. She mentioned that she has a “bigger nose” than her sister, and that her performances are forced. She gave the poor kid shit for ripping her pageant dress, and in the next breath mentioned the new dress that was on the way….for her sister (she never did fix the dress, either!). I chuckled when the “better” twin showed her bratty side, and her dad pulled her from the final competition. And, after she was out of the picture, her sister won a huge trophy for being the pageant director’s favourite. I was totally cheering on that little girl. Her mom was flabbergasted that she won anything. Why the fuck does she enter the kid, then? She doesn’t seem to enjoy the process, what with Mommy Dearest going on & on about how great her sister is all the damn time.

Maybe it’s because I’m not from the Southern US. Or because I’m not a girly-girl in the least. I don’t know. Whatever the reason(s), I fail to understand the pageant thing. These shows make me want to reach through the tv and slap those mothers silly. What four year old needs to wear a miniature showgirl costume and prance around a stage? ICK.

*shamelessly stolen from my Kiwi friend, Kate. SO true about newborns!

Dear Woman in the Seat in Front of My younger son.

I know, I know. He “kicked” your seat. He was using the back of your seat to push himself back in his seat. This is because he’s 7. His legs don’t yet reach the floor. I asked him repeatedly to not use the back of your seat to push his butt backwards, but I cannot rag on the kid for the entire 5 hours of our flight. I am a bitch, but even that is beyond my abilities.

I know, I know. I was less than sympathetic to your “please don’t let him kick my seat” request. You know, the one that occurred within 5 minutes of us sitting down. Really, lady, he wasn’t kicking your seat. I hadn’t even seen him put his feet up, and there you were, in my face about my kicking child, tacking on a commiseration about how you know air travel can be difficult with kids*. How about I trade you for the kid behind me? The one whose “touch screen” was treated like a “stab it until you get what you want screen?” I would have gladly traded. I, however, didn’t ask him to stop, nor did I shit on his mother. I may have bounced my seat a couple of times to get the message across (it worked).

I know, I know. You made the effort to turn around yet again and ask him directly to not kick your seat. I was watching. He hardly put his feet on your seat – I was on him, reminding him to keep his feet down. Yes, my explanation to him was a bit loud, and yes, that was for your benefit. He was a little confused, having never ONCE actually kicked your seat. Not in that swinging-legs kind of way at least. So, I clearly told him that I knew he didn’t “kick” the seat, but he should stop using it to push his butt backwards, because he was making you unhappy.

I know, I know. You were so put off by the whole situation that you requested to be moved, and you ended up in the 35th row. I do hope you managed to rest and that nobody in the 36th row was there to kick you in the ass. I know my son didn’t miss your damn seat in full recline. And I didn’t miss having to watch where his feet were every second of the flight. So, thank you for that.

*If I ever complain about my children as travelers, feel free to bitch-slap me. They are GREAT kids on planes. Seriously. Since 2005, we have flown on 14 separate commercial flights, and not once has anyone complained about their behaviour. This includes any supposed seat-kicking incidents. They don’t cry, they don’t whine (except to me), they’re polite with the flight attendants, and they don’t run around like maniacs.

1000 Pictures.

It turns out I really love my new camera. Between the day I bought it and yesterday, I’ve taken in the neighbourhood of 1000 photos. My poor computer is going to keel over when I upload them. I promise to share some soon….not all 1000.

I have completely neglected this blog, and I need to get back into posting regularly. I don’t know if anyone reads my blather, but it’s mostly for me anyway. So many thoughts pinging around my head these days!

Yesterday, we returned from a two-week vacation with the outlaws. D was with us for the first 9 days, and then it was just me, the boys, and my inlaws. It’s good I like them! Strangely, the weather was not it’s normal hot/humid Ontariario self. I spent time in long pants AND a jacket. In July. Weird. Also? I am full up on Family Time. Oy. By last Tuesday, my ILs little annoying habits were starting to wear (as were mine on them, of that I am sure), and I was feeling the pull of home. We’ll go again next year, although I’ll try & pay attention to the flights I book. Especially the return ones. It turns out that a 6 am flight (the first of 3) that gets you back to BC by 11:30 am is REALLY fucking early. 4 am in Ontariario = 1 am in BC. You’d think I’d understand this simple time relationship. But no. I am an idiot. Sure, we were in BC and only 2 hours from home (by car) at 11:30 am, but that meant that our day was already 10 hours old. Add to that the gate-to-gate sprint through Toronto (a surprisingly busy place at 7:00 am), a quick Costco trip before coming home, two children who aren’t sure what time or day it is, and traffic/drivers from hell on a Sunday afternoon, and I’m lucky I made it home alive.

I am not working today, since my brain is still mushy and we have no food. Gah. Grocery shopping is evil. I did stop by the office, and my mail pile is about twice as high as I expected. I foresee some early days this week. Sigh. Happily, I will be on a high from watching the newest HP movie tonight. I only have to take one kid, which is freaking awesome.

Must go. Grocery store awaits. Bleh.