What I really want for Mother's Day

May 2010


Hi guys;

I know I haven't written but I've managed to break myself again! This is so bloody embarrassing because I did it in such a mundane boring way--getting in the tub; soap was involved; you get the picture.

The Mountain Man has bought me a laptop so that I will stay in bed and prop my foot up instead of sitting at the computer trying to do gymnastics to get it on the desk. I don’t dare try to put my foot on a stool since my leg then becomes an instant dog, cat, or kid and hubby magnet.

I’ve just watched, "the Proposal" with Sandra Bullock because Breyan told me that two of the characters reminded him of me and Aunt Yvonne, (which I'm really hoping is the mom and the Gamma because if he’s saying I remind him of the anal Sandra Bullock character, I'm gonna hit him with my crutch!)

Anyway, it gave me an insight into how my son views me as a Mom; most likely to take over someone’s life, fake a heart attack to get someone to talk to his son like a grown up and remake a wedding dress in one night. All right, well he’s not far off the mark on that one.

This got me to thinking about how lucky I am to have two, pretty great kids who managed to turn into normal, healthy, happy, kind of adjusted people.

That got me to thinking about Mothers Days and I had an epiphany!I don't really like Mother's Day.

No, I don’t hate Mothers Day, what I should have said was, I don’t enjoy the traditional Mother’s Day.

Yes, I love the sappy homemade 'I luv Mummy," cards.  The morning cuddle and the hugs.  It's the rest of the day I usually just don't have the energy for.

I kind of wish I had the courage at some point to tell my kids and hubby what I really wanted my Mother’s Day to be like.

Traditionally, my mother's day will start with me being woken up far too early for it to be considered, "day," convinced that the house is on fire due to the alarming smell of burnt toast.  Then I will hear a crash, the Mountain Man's rumbling at the kids, and the kids frantic promises, "to clean it up right away."

Next, they will all troop into the bedroom with a homemade, cholesterol/fat/sugar laden breakfast on a tray while I sit there thinking, “Crap, I just cleaned the kitchen."

I will paste on my, "surprised Mum," smile as they troop in as I am frantically trying to signal the dog to come into the room so I can accidently drop most of it on the floor.

When I’ve finished every bit of food on the tray and my family is convinced I enjoyed every bite, they will announce they are letting me take a bath all on my own. They solemnly promise they are not going to interrupt. "I can take all the time I need."
Yeah right!

 This sounds like heaven to every Mom, except Dad has been in there twenty minutes before doing his "man" routine involving a newspaper and Caitlin has been in doing her part to create holes in the ozone layer with her hair products and Breyan has been lathering on the aftershave.  If only I could bottle that smell I would RULE the germ warfare market!

After my bath, in which there have only been three knocks on the door, one emergency and one, "Are you going to be much longer, I have to go pee!"  I will come downstairs to open my lovely gifts.

They are very thoughtful gifts but how many bathsalts, housecoats and skin creams can one mom use? I mean really. I don't have enough room in my drawers and if I dare try re-gifting one of the baskets for a wedding or baby shower, sure enough, one of my kids will pop up with, "But Mom I thought you loved that perfume? That‘s why we bought it for you," right in the middle of me passing the canapés.

 Next, Hubby and kids will have planned a family outing. Where do we go? Somewhere that promises 'Good, Clean, Family Fun!" In the car I will have to settle at least two, “He’s touching me,” arguments.  I will dream of the days when the kids were little and we used to sing songs in the car.  Nowadays my kids will spend the entire trip answering their text messages and have their earphones jammed in their ears so tight I have to know gorilla sign language just to ask if they need to go to the bathroom.

 Throughout the day, the kids will consume large amounts of fat, carbohydrate laden, creamy, heart-buster food that they will promptly puke up on one of those clean family fun rides.

Need I go on?

Mother’s Day is just too much work for mothers. So then I thought, "What would be my perfect Mother's Day?"

The day before, everybody would get together and spring clean the house without arguing, nagging or negotiating, so that when Mom wakes up on Mother Day, there is no laundry, dishes, vacuuming etc...

Dad will run out to the bakery and get bagels, (preferably Kettlemens because they rock even without toasting,) cream cheese and fresh fruit already chopped and ready to serve. He will buy the expensive fresh squeezed orange juice, (not the kind in a can that you buy by the dozen since the kids go through the stuff like dope heads in a crack house.)

The next morning Mom will wake up when she wants, to a Martha Stewart designed tray with fresh flowers, a continental breakfast and possibly chocolate. Six cups of coffee will be lined and waiting to be refilled. All presents and cards will wait until Mom has taken her hour long, uninterrupted bath.

Dad will have used the bathroom at the bakery.

Dad will then tell Mom that he has called three of her closest friends (fly them in if you have to,) and made a deal with their partners to chauffeur the women downtown for lunch at which he has paid ahead of time for many, many Marguerita’s. There will be no children, no husbands, and no curfews.

The kids will present the homemade macaroni card and a gift thoughtfully chosen from the three page list Mom gave Dad weeks ago.  Dad will then let her know that his own gift, a gift card, comes from the place that only sells women's lingerie--not the kind that hookers wear.

 There will be no possibility that mom will go to the store and come home with new jeans and socks for the kids.  You see this is the problem with gift cards. If you buy a mom a gift card for a department store, she will buy something for her kids. She will feel guilty if she buys herself new sexy underwear when she knows her kids will outgrow their winter boots and she hasn’t gotten around to buying them a new pair. Usually a mom will save a gift card for "when we really need something."

Moms don't often get a chance to buy underwear that she really hopes she'll never get in an accident wearing, (because, "what would people think?") Moms also do not want Dads picking out their underwear because most mens taste run along the lines of "two pieces of floss held up by a rubber band."  Moms want matching, comfortable, 'put it back where it was 20 years ago' underwear.  I don't care if Mom is now 250 lbs and you have to find a naughty store for six foot cross dressers, that store is where you buy the gift card!

That afternoon, the Dad's will take turns chauffeuring the women; but not all at once. Each Dad will take turns so only one wife at a time will worry; that hubby will get jealous of the mom's giggling at the waiters tight pants, or worry that Dad will say something stupid to the other women or give her the "HOW MUCH DID THAT COST? " look.

Once the Mom's are truly giddy and girly they will retire to the house with the biggest TV, preferably HD and the men will have vacated to one of the other mom's house with the kids, leaving mom to a night of wine, giggling, chocolate and a "Colin Firth in a wet shirt" movie.

No one may call mom to ask; where they left their backpack, is it okay to feed the dog the leftover fruit because they ran out of dog food, how to bake anything.

You may call her ONCE to tell her you love her and make sure she's having a ball. Make sure her friends hear you say you love her.

At the end of the night the Dad's will collect their respective Mom's-- having fed the kids and given them their baths.  The children may stay up long enough to say goodnight and let mom read them a bedtime story. Mom will collect one more "I love you, Mommy, kisses and hugs."

This is the Mothers Day I dream of and am too guilty and afraid of hurting our kid’s feelings to ask for.  I'm sure I'm not the only Mom that would love a day like this.  Is it really too much to ask?

Ah well.  I should be thankful I have a loving, caring family willing to burn toast for me.  As for the rest, I guess I can live without it.  However, don't you dare forget the homemade, handcrafted 'I LUV MUMMY.' card or I will cry and you will be in for a life of hell for at least a year or until Mom's birthday when you may have a chance to get it right.

Kimberley

PS, The Gamma in the movie is my grandmother in disguise--not me. I am a Nona!

What is a Slut?: He Says vs She Says

So every once in a while Hubby will get bored and just throw a question out into the air to see my reaction.  The other day he came up and asked me, "How do you define a 'slut?"

Of course, my first reaction was, "Uh?  What have you been smoking?" 

It evolved eventually into each of us describing what defined a "slut?"  Now historically the word is based on 'slattern; a woman who is a messy housekeeper.'  We were arguing on it's modern usage.  Since Hubby is a man, his answer was very simple: "a woman who has had 'x' number of men, usually dresses really cheap."  (He couldn't settle on a definitive number, probably in an attempt to spare me from having to kill him.)

Herding Jellyfish and Pressure Cookers

*letter dated November 2010

Hi family;  How is everyone getting set up for the holidays?  Got your Xmas cards out?  I know I had at least fifty left over from last year but for the life of me I can't find them.

Aunt E asked us for family pictures for Gramma's birthday and I am really trying to get one for her. Since the last family picture we have was done was when Caitlin was 12 and she's now 20, I decided it was time, especially since we have new family members. Yep, that was a bad idea.

Letter to Ottawa General patient relations dated August 31 2008

This is part of a letter I sent to the Minister of Health but it has some key issues your hospital might like to address.

Recently my daughter appeared on CTV news as a survivor of swine flu, the H1N1 virus.  Thanks to the cutbacks and issue with doctors, she almost was not a "survivor."  She was almost a fatality.  If it wasn't for the fact that I have a very loud voice and a very big husband and son I'm sure we would have lost her.
Let me explain.
On May 26 my daughter woke up with headache, fever and a bad cough.  She went to see her doctor who was unavailable so waited three hours at a walk in clinic to see a doctor.  She saw the doctor on call, who told her she had a bit of a bug and she should rest, take some cough medicine and get some sleep. 

Later that night around 7:30 she told me she felt like she couldn't breathe and her chest hurt.  I took her to the emergency at the Ottawa General Hospital as the walk in was closed and I was worried about asthma.  I brought her to the Emergency room around 8pm and asked a triage nurse to listen to her lungs.
Their reply was "Give us her health card and take a seat."  They didn't even look at her.  They didn't triage her and they certainly didn't look at her lungs. 

My daughter and I waited patiently for someone to call her but after watching SIX patients come in after we got there and be triage'd, I lost my patience and demanded someone look at her. 

"Someone already has." I was told.

 "No they haven't."  I replied,

Their answer........?  "But we have her health card here on file.   Ooops" 

They then said they would get someone to look at her in a minute.
Another hour went by and my daughter began losing consciousness, vomiting and starting to faint. I am not kidding you....a nurse still didn't have time to look at her but the PATIENTS in the waiting room grabbed her blankets and kidney basins to throw up in.  Many even offered to let her take their place.  (Believe me this gives me a great love of my community and reaffirms my faith in human nature.  People with broken arms are getting up and getting buckets?  There is good in all.)

I almost took her home because she was so uncomfortable and in so much pain that she was having a hard time managing.  I was going to call a personal friend to come listen to her lungs but then I decided that making a fuss might just be worth it so I went and raised my voice at the nurse who was very annoyed with me but decided to come take a look. She wasn't annoyed long, she was worried-- Caitlin's heart rate was extremely high  Caitlin  was in Xray .

They then put her in a side room and waited for a doctor.  It was midnight before we saw someone who said, "Let's put in an IV see how it goes..."

Shortly after this, my daughter began panting and losing consciousness, until my husband and my son  called the nurse who said she would "get there to take a look when she had time."  I had had enough.

My husband and son waited another twenty minutes and began to roam the halls.  They got a doctor.  I still believe the doctor only came with them to avoid a scene.  (They are quiet but BIG men.) The doctor took one look at her and she was in Critical care.

Six hours to have someone recognize that my daughter had double pneumonia that developed from mild to critical under three hours?  Later we found out it was H1N1 and when we went to visit her on the respiratory floor we had to wait two hours before anyone could go in the room because they had such a shortage of face masks; they had to wait for some to be brought from the Civic Hospital across the city. 

I went on in my letter to the Minister to beg for more tax breaks or benefits for doctors and funding for hospitals for basic supplies and personnel but the issues I would like you to address which I did not feel the Minister could address are;

When Caitlin finally was able to come out of Intensive Care, we thought , "She's joking, she's eating, she is on the Fifth floor, she is getting better, we can go home and take a nap.  Two hours later, we were called from home by the nurse to come back to the hospital because, the nurse explained, my daughter  was getting "unmanageable," and wanted us to come back {their words when they called, not mine.}

We came in to find there was again, not enough masks so no one could enter the room to find that my daughter was in extreme pain, they had put a diaper on her and she was coughing up blood, her buzzes to the nurses were not being answered.  Her condition had deteriorated so badly we again felt we could not leave the hospital until she came home.  So why was she calling the nurse and bothering them?  Not rocket science. Yet I felt this was their attitude--  "Nothing we can do for her until we find more masks."  You have to understand I was scared and furious.  This set Caitlin's health back so much that she had to be transferred to the Respiratory Care floor.

This is my daughters experience in your hospital.

It gets better.  While she was on the fifth floor, and we had been advised that Caitlin did actually have the H1N1 virus, we had contacted the friends she had gone on a trip with that Saturday, Sunday and advised if they had any symptoms they should get to medical care. 

Her friend Cassie has developed symptoms.  She comes to the Ottawa General Hospital Emergency and tells them she is Caitlin's friend and she is showing H1N1 symptoms.  Where do they tell her to sit?  In the Waiting Room!  [This was before you implemented the mask/antibacterial policy I am thrilled to see you had brought in by the time we left hospital.]

It was not until my husband had the Public Health Nurse speak to one of your nursing staff on the phone that they thought it might be a good idea to isolate her.

Cassie is seen, kept overnight and it is decided that she can go home.  Now her mother, who is a single mom on Welfare, who used her rent money to get her daughter to hospital asks if she can see a Social Worker to find out if Welfare will give her a taxi chit to get her still ill and likely contagious daughter home.  What is she told by the nurse?  "We don't have time, [the social services people] are really busy, you can take the bus."

Her mother came to us in the Critical Care waiting room in tears.  The nurse finally calls the Social Services when I go downstairs and tag a nurse and beg her to call Welfare.  They finally called and it was decided that just maybe it would be better to send them home in a taxi. 

What I would like to ask you as the Hospital is why was Caitlin parked on the fifth floor with not enough medical equipment for someone to enter the room?  Why would a nurse say my daughter was becoming, "unmanageable" when she was asking for help because she was coughing up blood?  Why did I have to raise my voice to the nurse on the fifth floor to demand she get a doctor immediately so Catie could get pain management?  Why do they respond to Diva voices and not to simple, polite requests as this is how I requested help first?  How does an emergency room get so busy that they take her health card and don't look at the patient?

  As you can see in my letter to the Minister I recognize that there are some serious shortages in funding but these mistakes are at the Care level.

The people in the Critical Care ward and on the seventh floor were amazing, supportive, dedicated at not only taking care of the health of the patient but the emotional level as well.  Can they have a chat with the fifth floor?  Because I have to tell you the staff of these units is above and beyond at their work and I have no doubt they give are the reason that Canada is considered the top medical system of North America.  I firmly believe that they did Everything in their power to make Caitlin's stay and recovery as painless as possible.  I honestly credit the nursing staff of these floors to her survival.  Yes the doctors did their part but the nursing staff did the work. 

Please understand, I am not trying to criticize your hospital.  I am sincerely worried that this will happen with much far more serious consequences to other patients.  I say prayers everyday for the care Caitlin received at the Critical Care and 7th floor.  Twenty years ago I lost a child to SIDS so I know what it's like to lose a child and I would never want another parent to experience this.

 I will be eternally grateful for the dedication of your staff but these mistakes could have led to us losing our daughter and I am deeply disturbed that they happened.

Note:  The hospital implemented an entire new system of Emergency Care and now screen coughs and flu like systems, as well as isolating potential cases. 

misogreen: Laundry Service.

misogreen: Laundry Service.: "I read, on another blog, recently about the hidden toxicities of fabric softener. I came away feeling a little proud of myself, because I do..."

Creative Swearing

*From a variety of letters home to Gramma 2005-10

There is a rule in this house against swearing.  I don't care if TV, games and even six year old's shows use curse words nowadays.  I don't like them and I won't accept them. Yes there are times when I swear.  It usually means, "Run for the Hills!!!!," because I can't take it anymore and I am so angry or frustrated I can't think coherently.

Hubby thinks it's hilarious that I am a grownup who blushes when talking about certain body parts or acts but is more than willing to do it.

"Swearwords are for people who have no vocabulary!" was the rule my kids were brought up by.  I just don't find swearing a respectful way of speaking.  I really dislike that the "F" word is in common usage and I have to say I lose respect for people who use it in their everyday language.  I really disrespect people that use what my Gramma would call, "Sailor talk" in front of their kids. 

To me, nothing marks the difference between "low income" and "trailer trash" than language and cursing.

I hate swearing, (If you ever hear me swear you know I'm past anger and into livid.   I won't allow my kids to swear or say mean things to each other; in answer, the family has come up with some creative ways to insult each other;

My Verbal Bullying Protection Spell

*expanded from a letter to my friend Sarah when her daughter was being bullied.-2008

Verbal Bullying, in my mind is the most vicious bullying a child can go through.  It leaves the deepest scars, the pain lasts longer and does more destruction than any other abuse I've experienced.  I once had an entire town call me, "witch" when it wasn't trendy.  Kids crossed the street or threw stones, old ladies made signs against evil when I walked by.  One girl even told her friends I put a "spell" on her when  I touched her shoulder and she felt faint.
(I'm such a nerd.  I was showing a friend the "Vulcan Mind Meld.")

Name calling, labelling and outright cat-calling to me is one of the most evil things one person can do to another.  I would rather someone punch me than curse at me.  It's not much use telling your kids to, "just ignore it and it will stop," because often it doesn't or it feels so intense that a child cannot imagine a future without it. 

Ask any guy and he will tell you, 12 year old girls are probably one of the most vicious animals on the planet.  I still have nightmares of a group of farm girls that would surround me in the bathroom.  They never laid a finger on me but the damage they've done would have carried through my whole life if I let it.  I've seen these 12 year girls old rip a boy to emotional shreds in seconds.  Pirahna could take lessons from them.

I got my best babysitter thanks to bullying.  The Mafia Mothers were outside in the park in their morning coffee klatch.  A young girl in our neighbourhood Jenny walked by wearing a teeny tiny top and skirt.  Blonde, beautiful and 6' in heels she was a knockout.  (I sometimes think the expression, "Va-Va-Voom" was created for her.)

My stomach turned when the Mommy Mafiosa's started with the whispering and sneers.  Jenny has severe eczema.  She needs to tan.  I stood up and as I walked away I snapped back at them, "If I had a body like that,  I would want to show it off.  Heck, I'd be walking around naked!"  Then I went to Jenny and asked if she babysat.  To this day she is the best sitter I've ever had and is still so close to my kids, my son has asked her to be a Godparent at his daughters baptism!

 (Mom's --protect your babysitter list like it's a National Secret!  Women think nothing of pinching the good ones until you end up Friday night and everyone on the list is sitting for your friends.)

When a friend asked for help for her young daughter who was being teased and bullied for being built like an Italian Grandmother, I gave her a copy of my "Verbal Protection Spell."  Whether you think of it as a spell or as a mental exercise, I have found it to be a great tool for healing the damage bullying can do.  

My kids friends usually found it easier to think of it as a "spell" because they know I'm a neo-pagan and they all seem to be fascinated with the occult at some point in their lives.

Kids at home on their own

* letter from 2008 after spending the weekend at my brother's country house.  Caitlin was 18 and it was the first time we left her in charge of the house while we went away.

Thank you for having us over the weekend. The house isn't totally destroyed. Caitlin had a spaghetti party for seven friends. (But only one slept over, Mom!!!)

I have spaghetti stains on the wall, neighbours report that one kid was hanging off the balcony but seeing as there was no alcohol missing, no cops called and no ambulance I guess we won't kill her.

 However she popped her kneecap off. She was complaining her knee hurt and it was just slightly dislocated. She is fine and running around now.

We bought the movie for B. We will ship this weekend.
We got M a t-shirt but we haven't shopped for the other boys yet.

At work I'm arranging the bake sale. It's alot of work, especially when there is no communication. I can't get answers unless I track people down and jump on them. It's an hour until we start selling and I still don't know who's got the change kitty. Nice eh?

Making meringues with teenagers is definitely a challenge. I thought asking Caitlin and her friends to help would make my load lighter?!!
18 year olds with mixmasters, egg whites......nope not a good idea!
I've got meringue all over the walls in the dining room, possibly in the living room.

Then someone got the bright idea that you can clean the blades by running the handmixer plugged in and dipping the blades in the dish water.

These are not rocket scientists!

However my walls are a little cleaner.

Well we made 16 dozen meringue and we had them on the counter cooling when we found that I had run out of evaporated milk for fudge.

Caitlin and her friends were going to Opening Night of a play they were involved in so we dropped them off at the bus station, went to the grocery store, drove home......
And discovered that Evil Kitty had pushed all the meringue onto the floor for the dog and the kitchen floor was covered in half gobbered meringue!!!!!

I made fudge.

On the way out the door this morning I realized I had removed my nails so none would get in the baking and I needed to get them back on. So I grabbed the crazy glue and put them on while I had a coffee. Then I spilled coffee on my chin........I licked it up with my tongue.....wasn't coffee.

I GLUED MY TONGUE TO MY LIP!!!!!!!

Will write later, talking maybe not so much.

Big Hugs,
Kimberley

Dangerous 5 MInute cake recipe

From my friend Yvonne;
Chocolate Lovers  here we go!!!
From:.To.Subject: 5 minutes & dangerous

 
      
  THE  5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE CAKE FOR ONE PERSON.......HOW NEAT 
  
5  MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE
4  tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons  cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3  tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)
A small splash of  vanilla extract
1 large coffee mug (MicroSafe)
Add  dry ingredients to mug, and mix well.
  Add the egg  and mix thoroughly.
 Pour in the milk and oil and mix  well..
Add the chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla  extract, and mix again.
 Put your mug in the  microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts.
The cake  will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed! 
Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if  desired.
EAT ! (this can serve 2 if you want to feel  slightly more virtuous).
And  why is this the most dangerous cake recipe in the  world? 
Because now we are all only 5 minutes away from  chocolate cake at any time of the day or night!

Today's thoughts

Oh my god, when did I turn into my mother?  I hate those moments when I say something and end up looking over my shoulder for my mother because I've just said it in the exact same tone and used the exact same words she used to me.  Crap, now I have to consider the idea that I'm a grownup,  When did I go into the dark side?

Eg;  Breyan complaining that scrubbing dishes by hand was too hard and we needed a dishwasher.
      Me:  Elbow Grease is non-allergenic.

"Goodness I have got to get Hubby a new fishing buddy.  Ever since Joe moved away he's been fretting and driving me crazy making me go to fishing stores, watch fishing stores etc....
So I finally made a deal with him.  I will go fishing once or twice this summer if he promises to go to the next opera or play I have tickets to.

He's silent now.  Of course I don't want him to come to the opera.  He snores."

"Why do they call it losing weight when it's never lost.  It seems to be sneaking up and waiting to jump back on if I blink?"

"Why do people seem to think that being "girly" lowers my IQ?"

Laughing at Hubby.  A Quebec woman jumped out of her car and started yelling at hubby because the driver of his work vehicle was not driving to her satisfaction.  All in French.  Hubby listened for a few minutes and said, "I'm sorry I don't speak French,"  She told him to FU in English.
Later his partner asked why he didn't just walk away.
Hubby's answer?  "One thing my wife taught me.  Never turn your back on an irate woman!"

Multiculturism, There's a fun idea. (Or Victims of Violence: Heroes of Today)

"Multiculturalism is the appreciation, acceptance or promotion of multiple ethnic cultures, applied to the demographic make-up of a specific place, usually at the organizational level, e.g. schools, businesses, neighborhoods, cities or nations"--wikipedia.org

Note:  Some names changed to protect privacy

While I am fully behind Canada's multi-cultural ideals; like any political ideal it has it's challenges.  My family has to live within the issues by living in Ottawa.  (My friend told me the other day she received a, "Welcome to the country," call from her daughter's pre-school.  Her family has lived in Canada for 150 years.)  Yet it has harmed my children and goes a long way in explaining why Caitlin once told us.  "My friends think you guys are the coolest parents---the strictest---but the coolest."

When I think of a multi-cultural society; I often think that it's like a parent trying to raise three different types of kids and they all will take their ball and go home if they don't get their way.

In our own personal family we have experienced prejudice, violence and been victims of this social ideal.  I know it's harder for the police to do their job fairly and safely and that they are doing their best but how much can we reasonably expect the law to do without overstepping citizens civil rights? 

You don't think a white, English Canadian family with two kids could have suffered that much prejudice in Canada today?  Here are some examples; 

When my kids were little they were playing in the park.  My son called for help.  Not for him but for a little girl named Sonya, 7.  Sonya had been playing on the swing and a boy named Mohammad, 6 wanted it.  So he told her to get off.  She refused.  He pulled her off by her hair.  His mother just sat and watched.  When the other kids appealed to her to make him stop she said, "she is just a girl, she should have listened to him." 

The adults could not put a hand on Mohammed because another mother had been charged with assault the week before just for pulling Mohammed and his brother off of her son.

Another boy Robert, 9 had enough of that.  He picked up Mohammad off of the swing and told him to get out of the playground.  Mohammed's mother then jumped up and said she was going to call the police.  The other mother's told her, try it. 

The police were called but unfortunately they couldn't do anything for Mohammed's mother because amazingly, all the other adult's didn't happen to see a thing.

I've always been proud of my daughter.  She doesn't back down from a fight.  Threatening her is no use.  One year when she was six, Dad made her and Breyan a backyard skate rink.  Our backyard is open to traffic walking by.  One day Breyan, Caitlin and their friends are outside playing hockey.  Caitlin was about 6 and Breyan and his friends about 10.  A group of Somalian teens came along and told my kids to get off the ice, it was their turn.  They threatened Breyan and his friends with a machete!  Breyan ran into the house for help from his dad.  I grabbed a baseball bat, ran outside to find my daughter holding up her hockey stick and telling five or six Somalian boys, "C'mon, I'll take you all on!!  My daddy built this for me and you can't have it!"

(Two weeks later, Mountain Man's co-worker that lives down the street was mugged by four Somalian men with machete's.)

Vandalism is huge in this neighbourhood.  Someone even stole our lawnmower cord!  Not the lawnmower, just the cord!

One day Mohammed and his friends went too far in threatening Breyan and I had enough.  Mohammed chased Breyan into the house with a stick, Breyan made it in the front door and locked it.  Mohammed was at my front door kicking it.  I went out the back door and was crossing the park with the intention of talking to Mo's parents when the other mothers told me it was a waste of time?!  They said Mo's mother had no control over him because in their religion boys over seven were considered, "Men" and father wouldn't do anything as he saw his son's behaviour as normal and tough.  One smarmy- assed hippie freak even tried to stop me by explaining the family  came from a war-torn country.  I just had to understand that they didn't know any better. (I know for a fact that Mohammed and his brothers were born here, in Canada.) 
 I knew that calling the cops was useless.  Children's Aid and the police knew this boy by name.  So the inner Yenta in me came out.  I ran to Mohammed's house and started crying to his father.  "Please, please come help me.  I am just a woman and your son scares me so much!!  My husband is not home, I don't know what to do?"  I pleaded with him. "Come help me please." 

Well he got his shoes and he marched to my house and grabbed his son by the scruff of the neck.  He dragged him back to his own house and made him apologize for scaring a woman. 
(I got silent applause from the other mothers in the playground.)

My son has just graduated Police Services with honours.  Can he apply in the local city units?  Yes.  Are his chances better if he is a woman or a visible minority?  You bet. 

I was called a "war mongerer" for having a "We Support Our Troops" poster on my front balcony and ordered to take it down by a couple of neighbours.  It's still proudly flying.

I've been looking in the help wanted section of the newspapers for six months and see dozens of jobs I am fully qualified for; but I cannot apply because I am not fully bilingual in French and English.  I have a French learning disability.  I've taken written, oral and vocabulary classes and still can't ask for poutine in Quebec because the waitresses' keep laughing and thinking I'm asking for a hooker!

I've had people in Quebec beg me to speak English.

The worst experience for our family came when Breyan was in Grade 7.  He was playing soccer with the other boys and accidentally hit another boy in the nose with the soccer ball, giving him a bloody nose.  (This was right after 9/11.)  The boy for some reason told his friends on his way into school that Breyan punched him for being Arabic.  THIRTY boys swarmed my son.  They held him down, kicked him, and punched him until a teacher interfered. 

I flew to the school when I found out.  I came in, made sure Breyan was mobile and I told him to get into the car.  On the car ride over, my son told me what happened but had no idea why it happened???  Some of those boys were his friends!

  The doctor discovered Breyan had a fractured rib, a bruised spleen and multiple bruising and scrapes.  My own doctor is Arabic.  He was disgusted.

I took Breyan home, put him to bed and went back to the school to find out what they were doing and when I could expect the cops to call at the house for a statement.  Only to be told by the school that it was not their responsibility to call the authorities!!!!  Worse, there was an Imam there defending the thugs. He said to me; "the boys were only standing up for their rights as Muslims."  How dare he?!  I was so mad I put my hand on his arm and said, "Buddy it just might be my menstrual cramps talking but I'm telling you this. In this country we do not solve our issues with violence.  You want to do that, you go back to wherever you came from.  I'll buy you a ticket!  And you are their spiritual leader????"  (Ps yes I know that a woman who is menstruating cannot touch a man in their religion,  They have to go through a five day cleansing ceremony.  I do have theology as one of my interests.  But I didn't use violence.  Sue me!)

Yes that is prejudice but someone just swarmed my son and I was in full, nine-inch nail mode.  The principal tried to calm us down. I called the cops and this was the upshot of their results. 

1.  That the one boy who had told the other kids Breyan hit him for being Muslim would be sent to counseling for three weeks.  (the police officer did mention to me quietly that she informed the other twenty-nine it was a lie that Breyan hit him for being Muslim.)

2.  Because they could not state which of the thirty kids landed any certain punch no other child would be suspended or charged. (the officer then told me quietly I might want to get my son a pair of steel toed boots.)

3.The two boys that held him down would also be put in counseling.

4.  The police could charge no one as the children were all under 12 due to the 'Young Offenders Act.'

5.  The school referred to the incident as "regrettable."


Two weeks later another boy was swarmed by the same children.  He was placed in an Ottawa Mental Care Facility.  His mother took the proper steps to raise awareness by going directly to the news and the school board.  Since the bullies caught the boy off school property and the school already had a "zero tolerance" policy in place--nothings changed.

This all took place in a Catholic School.

I tried to make Breyan stay home after the doctors visit but he kept insisting that I drive him right back to school.  "Mom," he told me, "If I don't go right back then those kids will think I'm a sucker.  I have to go back, I have to face them. You taught me that I'm too big to use my fists as weapons, (Breyan was 5'9" in grade 5.) but you also told me to stand up for myself and use my words.  I have to do this, don't you see?" 

I did see but being overprotective I told him he could go back the next day after he had some rest and I could drive him.  Breyan agreed and I had to laugh when he added, "Um, Mum.  Please don't wear your bunny slippers?"

You would think all of this would have left my family bitter and angry and prejudice against Somalians and Arabic's but it didn't due to what happened the morning after my son was swarmed.

There was knock on our door as we were getting ready to leave for school. Outside my door were about twenty kids; white, black, Arabic, eastern kids.  It looked like a mini-UN. 

"What do you want? I demanded ready to grab the bat.

One Chinese girl spoke up. "We are here to walk Breyan to school.  We don't like what happened yesterday and we are going to make sure it doesn't happen again."

I spent the rest of my day in tears.  Who knew children could be so wise?  Maybe this multi-cultural thing can work out?

Note: Thanks to the efforts of a group, Victims of Violence the chances of things like this happening again are being greatly reduced.  Take the time to get to know them, send them money if you can or consider them for your volunteer hours.  Their link is on the side.  If you are not in Ottawa, any local law inforcement agency will have information on similar groups putting in their efforts.  These guys are one of my heroes.

Early Warning Signs that my Issues have put my kids in therapy for the rest of their lives.

I know that I give my parenting advice as if I’ve all the confidence in the world in my parental skills. I don’t. I think we’ve done some things right, otherwise how could we have raised such beautiful, confident, smart, amazing kids? Yet I know there have been challenges for our children by having Hubby and I as parents.

In kindergarten, the teacher gathered the children into a circle for story time. She was reading them a Christmas book. She would hold it up and ask the children, “Johnny, Who is this?” Excitedly the child would call out, “Santa?” That’s good. ’David can you tell me what this is?” David answered, “A Christmas Tree?” When she held up a picture of Rudolph and asked Catie, “Do you know what this is?” My daughter answered firmly and confidently, “A target!”

Teacher: When Daddy wants to go on vacation, where does he like to go?
Breyan: “He goes and gets a hug from my mom.”

Teacher: Can anyone name any of the four major food groups?
Catie raises her hand: “Oh!  I know this one---Cheese and Chocolate.”

Yvonne: What do you want for snack?
Breyan: “Aunt Yvonne, Can I have some liverwurst, Please, Please, please?”

Catie: Yes I know the difference between Christmas and Hanukah; one is where you light a whole bunch of candles and they spread out the presents and the other is about the guy on a stick!

Teacher: How many boys and how many girls are in your family.
Breyan: We have one boy in our family, one girl and one dead girl.

Catie was banned from showing her show and tell pictures because they showed her with a gun. (She was showing off her target shooting skills.)

Local store manager: Could you please come down to my store? I’m sorry to inform you, you’re son has been shoplifting.
Me: (Horrified) Are you sure it was my son?
Merchant: He shoplifted cheese.
I’ll be right there.

At various points
My Dad has been attacked by sharks, my mom was bombed by a B52 warplane. I was in an avalanche, we were run over by a garbage truck,

Breyan knocking on people’s doors, “please can I have a cigarette for my mommy, she’s being crazy.

Catie: (on noticing a woman driving with a man in the passenger seat of a camero.) Daddy why is that woman driving that man’s car?

Catie: After watching a 1940’s musical with cancan the next day informed her grandfather. “I’m going to be a table dancer when I grow up.”

Breyan snuck out of the house to the backyard after his bath when he was two;
Little girl next door knocks on the door.
Jenny: “Can you please stop Breyan from bothering us girls,
Me: Oh, I’m sorry honey, I’ll bring him in. He just wants your attention,
Jenny: He’s got all the little girls attention, he’s naked.

Breyan's friend. "Your house is so much fun!"
Breyan:  Yep I guess so~If you can afford the therapy.

Caitlin once asked a city bus driver to write her a note that the bus broke down to explain why she was five minutes late for curfew.
He did.

I think my kids are trying to kill me.

_{*a excerpt from a letter to Jim from 1997}

I think my kids are trying to kill me.  I swear, there must be a plot.  They are punishing me for sneaking away to write you a letter when they both feel they should have my undivided 100% attention.  Both kids are home today from school.  They’ve come down with a nasty flu.  They’ve been home for three days.  They are throwing up, have fevers but being my kids that doesn’t mean they are lying groaning in their beds. They aren’t exhausted, I am.

You are just going to have to excuse the spelling and grammar in this letter.  I’ve had a total of six hours sleep in the last three days.  

Is it child abuse to want to offer Charles Manson the chance to babysit just so I can have five minutes in the shower?

Why is it the only thing siblings will happily share with each other are cold bugs and lice?  They didn’t get sick at the same time of course.  First Breyan got it and then he shared with his sister.  You can’t blame me for wondering if they have an “illness” baton and they are playing relay.

  Breyan woke me up a couple of nights ago with, “Mummy, I puked in my bed.  Can I have some more grape juice?” Caitlin came down with it yesterday.

The Mountain Man is useless when the kids get sick.  I’m not saying he doesn’t help I’m just saying I can’t ask him to clean anything up because he sees one kid barf and next thing I know---he’s on his knees right beside them. And Goddess Forbid they should bleed!!!  How is it a man that can hunt Bambi’s, try to pry the door off a burning truck with his bare hands to save someone in an accident and can bench press 375lbs will turn into a statue of a deer in the headlights when he sees a drop of the kids blood?  He’s tried to explain that it’s because it’s our blood but I just don’t get it.

So I’ve now got two kids parked in the living room in front of the Nintendo whatever and I’ve stolen away to the dining room for a cup of tea where I can hear them if they need me.  So why do I think they are trying to kill me?  Because these are some of the comments coming out of the living room;

Caitlin:  Bet you I can puke farther than you can.

Breyan:  No you can’t, put the bucket back there and I’ll prove it.

Caitlin:  You’re cheating.

Breyan:  I’m not, I’m just better than you.  Ow!!! What was that for?

Caitlin:  Now you’ll have to play with one hand.  That should even the odds.

Caitlin:  Why do I have a little bird and you have a big one?

Breyan:  (sigh) First of all Caitlin, they are not little birds.  They are Chocobo’s.  They grow through the game.

Caitlin:  They look like baby chickens.

Breyan:  No, baby chickens are fuzzy little yellow birds that grow up to be chicken nuggets.

Caitlin:  If you don’t stop cheating I’m gonna make sure you never hear from that girl you like again!

Breyan:  (sarcastically) You can’t stop my friends from talking to me Caitlin. 

Caitlin:  Yes I can!  When they call, I’ll just tell them you’re dead.

Breyan:  What colour’s your snot?

Man, my kids are weird!!  If I survive this I promise to write more.  As it is I may just need it for proof of sanity when the men with the little white jackets show up.

Kimberley

The Danger of Dating My Daughter

*from a letter to Katie January 2007

[You need to know that we live in a split level house.  When you come in the front door, you go up six steps to the dining room/kitchen, another six steps to the living room, six more to our bedroom and another six to the kids room and bathroom.  This also explains how I keep my weight down,]

Now even I have to admit that Hubby is a tad overprotective of his daughter.  I’m the one that has to argue with him every time we go to a weapons store that he cannot buy his daughter a tazer.

He’s scared so many boys off that there is one I only know from the MySpace pictures. 

You have to give Keagan props for braving the gauntlet he ran to have his [now, five year relationship] with the Mountain Man’s daughter.  He’s been patient, brave and I am thankful she has someone like him. He has no problem when Hubby orders them to leave the door open.  He makes sure she calls when they are going to be late and he never had a problem when early in their relationship he was threatened life and limb with a selection of weapons if he hurt our daughter.

Since Hubby feels more comfortable with Keagan sleeping over in the house when he knows that Keagan will have to get past our room and we have really squeaky floors; some mornings we will find Keagan asleep on our uncomfortable couch.

I’m sure Caitlin tried to prepare Keagan for life in our nuthouse but I don’t think anything could have prepared him for last night.

So it starts with the fact that Mountain Man made chili for dinner.  Being a courteous hubby he leaves the room to drop a gas bomb.  He also sleeps in the buff.

You see where this is going?

Middle of the night and Hubby jumps out of bed, hops outside, aims away from the bedroom door and lets it rip.

He was almost back to bed when we hear from the living room, “Oh My God!!  What the hell is that?”

Did you know men can blush with their whole bodies? 

When I grow up, I'm gonna be my Gramma

I love my Gramma and she loves me.  This is one of the truths of my universe that has allowed me to overcome some of the worst experiences a person can have.  In fact I still tell people that when I grow up, I want to be my Gramma.

So how am I going to be her?  Well I already own a brown betty teapot.

  Of course it also taught me that if you want to know if it’s going to rain today…..stick your head down the toilet!  (The water acts as a natural barometer but I like her description better.)

Physically Gramma may seem small and petite---she once described herself as “four foot, both ways! --- But I remember bringing my hubby home to meet my Gramma and Grandpa for the first time.  I warned him. 
“Grampa may seem like the big scary one but its Gramma you’ve got to impress.  She may seem like a cute and cuddly little doll but don’t let that fool you--- she’s sharp as a tack.” 

Like my cousins, my son may be six foot four but I tell you when Gramma says ‘jump’, he’ll jump!  To this day no one in this family would ever dare to disrespect this woman. 

How can this little tiny cherub faced woman hold so much power?  Because she is an astute judge of character, a strong disciplinarian, has an endless supply of patience, owns a huge sense of humour and is fascinated by the people and the world around her.  How can you not love and respect that?

Most people who know me, know that I was one of the “wild child” children of the family, the black sheep, the one they often had to speak of in whispers and they will tell you that they fully expected to see my face on the “10 Most Wanted.”   I admit that I was definitely lost as a teenager.  Then Gramma found me. 

Until I went to live with her and Grampa for awhile, I thought of people as being temporary in my life.  From the circumstances of the way I grew up, I never believed that anyone would or could love you, “no matter what.”  Gramma and Grampa proved me wrong.

Hubby laughs at me today when I consider doing something that may seem sketchy and I hear Grammas’ voice in my head sighing, “Kimberley.  Do you really think that’s the right thing to do?”  Then I do the right thing because I can’t stand the idea that I might disappoint Gramma. 

 This summer I was out helping hubby in his parent’s garden and time flew backwards.  The sun on my back as I weeded, the smell of fresh snapped peas reminded me so strongly of working in my uncle’s garden in C'wood with Gramma.  I could see my great-uncle Ken sitting on the back porch and Gramma with her sun hat and flowered, garden gloves.  It gave me such a sense of peace and contentment. 

Now I talk a mile a minute, often and loudly.  When I worked in the garden with Gramma, it was the one place I felt so secure, so calm that I actually had no need for words.  (Hubby still doesn’t believe that there is a time when I can keep quiet.  He’s offered to drive me and Gramma to C'wood to sneak into whoever owns the house’s garden now just to see it.)

When my own grandgirls come over I find myself giving them lots of hugs and then I head right to the kitchen.  In fact just the other day I made my eldest granddaughter deliriously happy by letting her have “little girl’s tea.” 

 Where does that come from?  In any emergency you will find Gramma putting the tea on.  Getting a divorce?  She’ll just put the tea on.  Had a car crash?  She’ll put the tea on?  Broke your leg---hold on, she’s putting the tea on.  I remember the first time Gramma let my own daughter have “little girl’s tea.”  My daughter told me she felt so grown up and ladylike. 

I still tell Gramma that since we cremated Grandpa and buried him in his beer stein, we are going to have to bury her in a brown betty teapot.

Gramma taught me how to jam, how to make relish, how to bake, how to cook.  I thank her for that though maybe hubby’s waistline doesn’t.

When my own children were little they would call hubby’s parents, ‘the good-for-you food Grandparents’ and they would call my Gramma and Grandpa, the ‘junk food Gramma and Grandpa.’

  Just the other day, my daughter was telling her friends about the time we visited Gramma when she was a teenager.  Gramma had this couch with a storage space underneath the seat.  She would keep chips and cookies in it.  Gramma offered my kids ‘Cheezies” that Gramma and Grandpa had in there; the orange corn puffs were so old that the “Cheezie” guy didn’t even have sunglasses!  (For those of you who don’t know, they put sunglasses on the cheetah logo a decade or so ago.)  My daughter’s friends were shocked.  “You ate them?” one of the boys was astounded.  “Not me but my brother did.  He’ll eat anything.”  The woman doesn't throw anything out unless she has to.  She even has a drawer of underwear elastic.  When underwear wears out, she takes off the elastic, just in case....

My fascination for folk remedies and folklore come from Gramma specifically.  It was from her that I learned; give my kids mint tea and ginger cookies when their stomachs were upset, “red sky at night sailor’s delight, red sky in morning, sailor’s warning” and that if you want to know if it’s going to rain, check the water level in the toilet, a natural barometer.

She is also a natural secret keeper.  If she ever decided to get into blackmail, she’d be rich.  It won’t happen though; the woman will take her secrets to the grave. 
Her compassion and strength have gotten me through some of the worst experiences in my life. 

I remember when Deanna died from SIDS.  The first person I wanted to call was Gramma.  I needed her to tell me that it was going to be okay, that I could survive this.  She did.  She did more than that.  She said, “Oh Kimberley, what a horrible thing to happen and I’m so sorry it happened to you.”  Do you have any idea how much that meant?  It meant that I was able to overcome one of the worst nightmares a parent can have and she made me realize that it wasn’t my fault. 

The best advice of my life came from her.  We live in a world in which bad things happen not because you deserve them but because they simply do.  You need to pick yourself up and get on with it.  There isn’t another choice. 

She taught me that there are five rules everyone has to live by;

1. Do not hurt yourself.
2. Do not hurt other people.
3. Do not hurt animals.
4. Do not hurt your environment.
5. Any action you take is going to come back at you three times so you'd better choose the good side.

Mind you, the downside of the last one is it leaves you wondering what you did to deserve some of the things that happen. 

I once had a friend ask me, “Kim, with all the things you’ve gone through, how come you don’t just get in the car and drive into a brick wall?”

The answer is simple.  No matter what bad things happen, no matter how dark life gets, I have people who love me, care about me and need me.  Love is a gift where you give people yourself and you want to give gifts that are worthy of giving. So don’t focus on the bad things; find the humour, love, and laughter and those minutes of your life that become the good memories that you can draw on for strength.  Hold them close to your heart.  There is no use holding onto hatred, guilt and bitterness, they will poison you and those around you. 

This is what I learned from my Gramma.  This is what I hope to teach my children and my grandchildren and I learned it from one of the most caring, smart and strong women I know---my Gramma. 

Get your helmet honey!!!!

Warning, this post is R rated. If you're not 18 or you are one of my children or you never needed to know this much information, skip it.

At our age and with our lifestyles, sometimes keeping the magic in the bedroom is not only a challenge, it’s exhausting.  Yet I believe that a healthy sex life is not only good for a marriage but great for a woman’s self-confidence. 

One of the most common complaints I hear from my friends my age is “he’s just not that interested anymore.”  From younger friends it’s, “It’s hard with two kids.”  I’ve never had that complaint.  Probably because of whom I am and who I married.  One of my friends asked me the other day, how I keep my guy chasing me all over the house after 24 years of marriage?  I answered her, “Barring physical issues such as impotence and illness and trust issues you can keep the magic in the bedroom, whether you want to or not—that is another story.”

This will break your heart

A beautiful, magical girl of 22 lost the battle to cancer today.  God I hate this disease.  I hate that I can't take the pain and grief from my daughter and her friends!!!!!!!!  What is wrong with this world that we spend billions of dollars fighting wars and going to the moon and we can't beat the dying of our children???????? The world is a wrong place right now.

The Crazy Mother's Club

I have a friend who has chosen to be childless, or in her words, “I just don’t see any reason to spawn.” This is a valid lifestyle choice.  I’m happy because she’s always been there at a moment’s notice when I call her to babysit, watch one child while I take the other to the hospital or just to listen to me rant so I don’t end up in tomorrow’s headlines.  Her mother on the other hand, does not feel this way.

Every time my friend has to go to visit her mother, she and her husband make a bet on how many times her mother will mention the word “baby.”  Extra points are awarded if her mom pulls out pictures of her cousin’s, friends, brothers or sisters babies and sighs that she will never have grandchildren.  If my friend’s mum mentions the word, ‘baby’ over 25 times, hubby has to do the dishes; if it’s under, my friend has to do them.  It’s just one way she copes with the stress of having a crazy mother.

 She is a card carrying member of the Crazy Mother’s Club.  To be a member of the Crazy Mother’s club you have to be the daughter of a crazy mother.  The level of serious of the crazy doesn’t matter, there are crazy mothers out there who are not alcoholics, drug addicts, depressives etc… but if you are a daughter of a seriously crazy mother, we are the women you want to talk to. 

All our members sympathize and fully understand that as a daughter, you can love, respect and care for your mum while you duck her phone calls, find you need a drink after you talk to her or turn off the light and hide behind the couch when she shows up on your doorstep.

The point of the Crazy Mother’s Club is just to have someone to talk to who says, “Poor Baby,” and runs for the vodka when you sigh, “I’ve just talked to my mother.”  It’s the code word for, “Would you consider breaking my legs and putting me in hospital?” when you tell them you have to go home for the holidays. 

You have to be over 18 to be in the Crazy Mother’s club because every teen girl has moments when she thinks her mother is a Nutjob!~  But unfortunately, some of them are right.
Society puts the idea of motherhood on a pedestal.  We are bombarded with images of Madonna’s, Earth Mothers, and June Cleaver’s in every aspect of our lives.  A mother is; in the everyday world, considered an angel of nurturing, love support and caring.  She is your best friend and is a font of patience, empathy, love and support.

In reality, a mother is a person who passed the practical. 

So we end up with people who are considered mother’s that I wouldn’t trust to babysit my goldfish.

The average member of the Crazy Mother’s club though, just has a mother that gets on their nerves so bad that they go into a sweat when they have to call her on Mother’s Day.

My kids, of course were issued their cards at birth.  I know that they consider me a crazy mother and I secretly fear they are right!  Every mother does.  If you find you think to yourself, “I’m the perfect mother!” Run; do not walk to a therapist!  Do not pass go, do not collect $200.00.

The pedestal is just too high and wobbly for anyone to stay on it.  It’s an ideal, not a place in this dimension.  The only person I’ve ever even heard of who met that ideal was Mother Teresa and she didn’t have children.

When your kids are growing up being a crazy mother can definitely be an important weapon in your guerilla urban mom-fare kit.

  I remember my four foot Gramma, getting up on a chair, grabbing my 6’ 4” cousin’s ear and telling him that if he spoke back to her again in that tone of voice, she was gonna’ jump!

I know men and women over the age of forty who still flinch at a flash of wooden spoon, or if they are Italian, the slipper! 

Caitlin once begged a teacher, not to tell she didn’t do her homework, “because my Mom will ‘chat’ at me.”

Being a crazy mother instills a sense of awe in your children so that when they are twelve and the threat of turning them over your knee is laughable, they will still respect you. 

Sometimes you just have to be a “Crazy Mother” to keep discipline. 
Unfortunately there are some mothers who take it too far.  I haven’t even spoken to my mother outside of family occasions for about ten years.  Not because she hurt me, I can take a lot, but because she hurt my kids.
I admit I’m over protective of my kids.  I even had a police officer advise me that I didn’t have to be so overprotective; I just had to get my son some steel toed boots.  (But that’s another story.) 

However, if I think someone is going to hurt someone I love, I can’t help it, my eyes turn stoplight green and my claws start growing.  Yet this was an asset to my kids growing up because some school bullies were terrified that if they messed with my son or daughter, they were going to have to deal with me!

I’ve discovered that the average “crazy mother” is someone who can’t convince herself that her children are grown ups and doesn’t realize that her children have discovered she’s human.

As children grow up the relationship to their parents change.  It’s only natural.  There has to come a point when the power percentage shifts as sons and daughters recognize that their parent is a “person in their own right.”  You will either become friends on an adult level or you will sign up for Crazy Mother’s Club cards.

And it’s hard on both sides to reach this point.  As an outsider who grew up without her biological mother in her life I can stand back and see this.
For sons or daughters letting go of that Madonna-like image is terrifying, it’s letting go of a safety net.  Mum stops being omnipotent and you have to start weighing her advice and ideas and making your own judgments and decisions, consequences and all.

For mothers, well they’ve spent 20 odd years having an appendage that walks, talks and cries all on its own and you just feel naked going outside the house without a child attached.  It leaves you with a sense of something lost or forgotten, like leaving the iron on.

You just pray that when the time comes you can recognize that your children can or must take the consequences of their decisions.  You do your best to raise them to be strong, responsible adults.  You hope that in the end you not only have a daughter or son---you have a friend.

If your mother hasn't discovered this yet, if you are one of those daughters that got call display just to see if it was your mum calling, come on down and sign on up!

Meet My Mountain Man AKA Hubby

When I first decided to do this blog, I wanted to just back up my letter collection.  Almost all of these posts are letters from the past or present that I have sent to friends and family. 

When I write my letters, I kind of imagine it's a one way girl’s night.  That's the night that the girls all come over, whoever’s available, (and Jean but he's an ‘honorary’) and we just chat about anything that comes into our heads, no holds barred women's talk.  In fact, most of my letters are stuff I've already discussed with them.

Then Caitlin pointed out that strangers coming here might not know the characters because my Mountain Man is afraid that some of the subjects I write about might get back to his friends and he's an extremely private, (read paranoid) person.  For security's sake, he's agreed I can make my blog public if I don't use anyone's last name, especially his. 

Caitlin and Breyan don't have any issues with me using their names--- I asked them--- because they are grown confident people who know their Mum is overproud of them and has probably told everyone of their friends, family and every person I've met on the bus the same stories.

Point is, I was writing as if the readers had all met and known Hubby for years.  So I want to give some background on the Mountain Man; my rock, my support and my best friend.

The man I married 24 years ago is not the man I married today.  He had a good start with a mother who brought him up to be respectful to women, do housework and gave him a sense of worth.  I have just refined those aspects.

So who is the Mountain Man and where did this name come from?

My guy has five brothers and one sister, (which, of course explains why he can cook and clean.)  His family is well respected professionals in a small Ontario town that I describe as where, "Men are Men, Sheep are Nervous and Goats hide in the cupboard at night."

I won my Mountain Man on a bet.  We were working in the same place and both had too much time on our hands.  I would sit with the girls and play the "Do you think he's cute?" game.  One night my guy walked in and I was floored.  He was slim, gorgeous, blonde, tall, high cheekbones; a Mr. Roger's version of Billy Idol. 

My friend said, "Bet you five bucks you won't ask him out."

I needed five bucks so I did.

This was the first time I saw the "Oh God, what do I do, what do I say now?" panic look.  I've seen it many times since. 

I pounced on him when he was getting some candy from the machine.  "Are those Skittles, I love Skittles, can I have some?"

"Um okay," he answered nervously and proffered his hand like a little kid at the farm worried the cow is going bite their hands off.

"So I heard you guys won some tickets to a movie?  Are you taking your girlfriend?"

"Um, I don't have a girlfriend."

"Great, you're taking me. Here's my number." I announced.

...and the rest is history.

Nowadays?  Well there is no way you can compare him to Billy Idol.  Start by imagining Grizzly Adams with a crew cut.  My guy was definitely born out of his time.  He loves to hunt, fish, shoot and of course he's Canadian, Hockey!  One of the first pictures we have of him with his new granddaughter is of her wearing the Senators jersey he bought her and watching the game.  She was 11 days old. 

He is never happier than dropped in the deep woods with a knife and some fishing line, living off the land.  (Mind you the knife and fishing line might be because we can't afford the high tech stuff.)    He’s the kind of man that you have to explain very patiently to that clean jeans and a sweatshirt are not "dress up" clothes.

I remember early in our marriage when I wanted to recover the couch and I had to explain that cammo’ is not an option for decorating in the house!  Now he interferes with every redecorating decision and even has ideas of his own.  (He is still not allowed to hang any part of a dead animal in the house.  They give me the willies.)

He's the kind of man who was over the moon when he found out duct tape comes in colours!

It would be easy to write him off as “just a redneck.”  One day he came home from fishing and he had forgotten the sunscreen.  Mountain Man was emptying his truck after Sunday fishing, when one of our neighbors, a little Jamaican boy, stopped hubby and asked, "Hey [MM], Do you know what a redneck is?"  His mother was horrified. 

My guy just squared his shoulders, grinned and stated very proudly, "Yep, Me!"

He refuses to use any of the cologne, styling, bath products I've given him over the years. His daily routine includes soap, shampoo, toothpaste and maybe a touch of Dippity Doo gel.  Anything after that is "poufy."

But what he says and what he does are two different things. 

I have mentioned he's highly homophobic---to the point that he refuses to watch Rent with me.  (This may have something to do with his strict Catholic upbringing or the trip to Greece when he was 14 that he still shivers about.)  Yet here is where we see the "what I say and what I do," difference.  

Mountain Man's favourite cousin is in a same sex relationship.  She's happier than she ever was when she was with a man.  He adores her.  (We just have to make sure when I mention someone is a Lesbian he doesn't come out with, "Can I watch?" ) If anyone says anything derogatory about her, they'd better duck because he will defend his cousin and her choices to his death.

A few years ago, I had a friend Gary, (name changed) who was in an abusive relationship with his partner.  I made the mistake of telling my hubby I was really worried about Gary.
  Hubby nodded, got his keys, walked out the door, got into the truck and drove to Gary's house.  He walked in and confronted the partner, telling him Gary was coming to our house for a few days and if the guy wanted to come after Gary then he would have to go through him!  The guy didn't.

We drove Gary to our house; I got him a cup of tea and gave him a chance to talk to us.  (By “us” I mean “me,” Hubby can't take the details.)  Hubby came up from the basement, handed Gary a baseball bat and told him, "If you even think he's going to hit you, you get this, you look him straight in the eye and you say, 'Buddy you gotta’ sleep sometime.'  Find someone who appreciates you, it can't be that hard even for you guys."  Then my guy told me to take it from there. 

He definitely has a double standard when it comes to his daughter and his wife.  He may be all hands when he's cuddling me but he made all the boys so scared of dating Caitlin that she had asked me “Don’t let Daddy start cleaning his guns,” when she wanted to bring her first prospective boyfriend home. 

I don't ask him to go to the store for a bag of milk unless I know I won't need it for a few hours because he will spend so much time gossiping with the clerks and neighbours. 

(Mind you this works to our advantage, since most of them have added themselves to our spy network over the years.) 

He makes a point to notice if the regular cashier at the drugstore has changed her hair but I have to hit him with a baseball bat to say he's noticed mine.

Anyone who has met him for five minutes knows that Caitlin is always going to be Hubby's baby girl.  It drives her nuts, makes me laugh and I really believe that underneath it all she loves him just for that.  Even our daughter-in-law Sarah, simply on the grounds that she is female can wrap my guy around her little finger.  He's a woman's man.  He's a shameless flirt and tease but if any woman ever seriously tried to take it a step further they'd be looking at his dust trail.

Yet this same man that believes women should grow their hair long, opens doors and treats me like a princess, is the one that taught his daughter to shoot, box and play hockey. 

His proudest moment came when we got a call from the school that they were going to suspend Caitlin for violence.  (We were both in shock.)  We jumped in the car, got to the school in three minutes, forty seconds. 

The principal explained that Caitlin had turned around in class and cold-cocked the boy behind her. Then she gave the boy a wedgie!   She refused to tell the teacher or the principal, both males, why she had done it.  

I knew this was out of character for her so I pulled her off to the side to get the story.  The reason was simple; the boy behind her was snapping her bra.  She told him to stop and he didn't.  So she hit him.

"Okay, but why did you give him a wedgie?" I asked baffled.

She looked up at me with those big, blue eyes and defiantly told me, "So he will be as uncomfortable as I was!"

Do you have any idea how hard it was not to laugh until I peed??? 

I turned around and went back to the principal and advised him of the situation.  His defense was that she should have told the teacher.  'Cause a 12 year old girl is going to tell her male teacher she wears a bra?  Ya right.'

I then advised him that “yes, it was serious, violence is not acceptable but if he tried to suspend Caitlin or even put it on her permanent record I would be back at the school that afternoon with my lawyers talking sexual assault.” 

 He just sent her home for the day.

We got in the car and I started peeing laughing, because as we were walking out, Caitlin had her head hanging down and was dragging her feet.  She thought she was in trouble; until Daddy patted her on the back and said, "Good Girl, proud of you!  Who wants ice cream?"

My Mountain Man has never been able to take Caitlin to the doctor.  We can't trust him.  Caitlin had to have hearing surgery where they put tubes in her ears.  I received a frantic phone call from the dentist’ secretary one day asking,  “why on earth we would sterilize a six year old????”  After we woke our dentist from his faint I found out that my guy had told the doctor that Caitlin had "had a tubal ligation." 

My hubby has watched a man burn to death in a trucking accident and been calm enough to try to save him.  (He couldn't, it still haunts him.) But if he sees a drop of mine or the kids’ blood, he either throws up or faints. 

I refused to allow him to escort me to cancer treatments because I spend more time worrying about him than me. 

This man who says things like, "Women should be barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen," just because he likes when I get fire in my eyes, is the same man who brags to his buddies that Caitlin just got her first fishing license.

 He is also extremely proud of Breyan but his relationship with his son is more traditional.  Over the years there have been many times when I've had to make him go verbalize to Breyan he was proud of him.  He expects his son to be a man's man with all the traditional values and the same respect for women. 

Breyan's Goth phase almost killed his father.  Yet Breyan knows his Dad loves him and will be at his side for anything, anytime.  (Hubby’s own father is the same.)  Breyan didn't lack for cuddles and stories and affection. 
You know how kids can be more like one parent than the other?  Well people call my guy and me the Barbarian and Bohemian.  It's just that Caitlin is more barbarian like her Dad and Breyan is more bohemian, like his mom. It's created many conflicts.

My guys parenting can be quite unique.  When Breyan mentioned that he was thinking of getting a tongue ring a few years ago, he was informed, very calmly I might add, by his father that if he did try it before he was 18, Dad would rip it out. 

When a boy would come to the house to see Catie, he would be met by my guy at the door asking very deeply, "What are your intentions with my daughter?" --scared the crap out of the boys!

Mentioning his daughter and sex in the same sentence can render my guy into the two year old boy, covering his ears and singing la, la la, yet he sneakily reads my Cosmo in the bathroom, especially the "What you want him to do in bed," kinds of articles and then wants to try things out. 

I had to make him stop watching Dr. Phil ‘cause he got it into his head we should discuss every person we've ever dated.  Well, I've ever dated.

When he wants visitors to go home he gets the wind up alarm clock, strolls around the house and starts yawning—subtle is not in his vocabulary.

When Breyan was disciplined for skipping, my guy offered to drive to the school, park himself outside each and every one of Breyan classes---Armed! 

What’s his idea for getting the kids to clear out now that they are grown?  He will walk into the room where the kids are and cheerily announce, "Well kids, you know what day it is?  It's naked Tuesday!"  They leave so fast the door is swinging. 

He's got the same double standard with me.  Every morning before he leaves for work he brings me coffee in bed.  If I'm sick he has no problem picking up the housework and cooking.  In fact, as I'm writing this he's just come in from work and is making dinner so I can finish.  (Though he has no idea what I'm writing I hope.)  This is the same man that will nudge me in the middle of the night and say, "Honey, you up for it?  You don't have to wake up."

I'm not saying he's perfect.  Believe you me there have been some rocky and stormy times in our marriage with the blame on both sides.

After Dee died, he stopped talking to me.  He didn't want to add to my grief.  It drove me out of my skull!  Finally I'd had enough and told him to either start talking or leave.  He wouldn't leave or talk so I threw all his clothes over the balcony.  Kids were returning his underwear out of the trees for days. 

And he refuses to admit when he's sick.  I have to threaten to call his 80 year old father on him if he doesn't go get a strange lump checked out at the doctors.  My guy knows his Dad will drive the hour and half to our house, slap him up the back of the head, lock him in the car and drive him to the doctors. 

I knew that I'd had an effect on my Mountain Man when he came home agitated one day, "You know what I saw today in Montreal?" he told me all offended.  "A woman was wearing all black, even a black purse with RED shoes?  God woman get a clue!"

There are hundreds of more stories like this I could tell you but I would be here all day.  These are just some of my favourites. 

I love this man and I have no doubt that should we ever divorce; there will be a line up at my door of my women friends willing to take him.  Mind you half the time I want to let them, just so I can get some sleep.

The last story I will tell you about him is this and it really sums up our marriage.  Growing up the way I did, I had no faith in marriage.  I didn't believe in "Happily Ever After’s," I only believed in "Happy Ever Now’s."  It took a lot of work and one child for my guy to get me to make it legal.  So he proudly tells his friends,

 "Yeah I had to knock her up to get her to marry me and even then it wasn't a safe bet."