Anime North and how I can embarass myself without even leavingt the house.

Dated May 30 to family and friends
Hi all;

I hope everyone is doing well?  Now that Anime North Season is over I might have time to breathe.  Still have three orders to go but not bad.  There are construction guys outside my back window.  They are tearing down our back steps and replacing them finally.  It's hard not to be polite and I don't know whether to smile or pull the blind as they are working right in front of the picture window looking into my living room.  Being me I just give them a good morning wave and go about my day, making sure I'm covered.

It turns out I don't have to leave my house to embarrass the crap out of myself.  Last week I was making a turtle shell backpack for Catie's costume.  She had taken my IKEA tray and used papermache  on it to create the shell.  But she didn't let it dry properly and for three days she and I had blinding migraines.  We discovered that the mache had molded on the inside.  So Gross!  You should have seen the "yuck" dance she did when she stuck her hand in it to turn it over--beats my "earwiggy" dance any day. 
So I decided to redo the whole thing and I made a quilted cover. My only pain was the tube of white that went around the edge.  I basically made a 36" tube and had to stuff it.  I couldn't find a long enough handle to push the stuffing up with so I decided to use the broom. 
The easiest way is to brace it against the floor, hold it with my feet and just keep pushing it up and down to get the stuffing to the end.  I didn't realise how "improper" it looked until I heard a crash outside and found out the guy fixing the window had laughed himself off the ladder. 

On Thursday night I was making armoured gloves, Catie was running around in her "Squirtle" costume with a blue wig, turtle shell and tail, Keagan, her boyfriend was wearing his pink gi, a street fighter costume and their friend Curtis was dressed as a D & D wizard.  Then the pizza guy came.  None of us thought it odd for them to answer the door.  I love these moments of my life.

My health seems to be getting stronger.  I organised a Community Spring Cleaning and BBQ for our neighbourhood.  We picked up garbage and leaves etc...  It was funny because I went out of my way to make sure I got halal meat for the Muslims in the neighbourhood and none showed up.  Really good burgers though.  It was great to see all the kids out and making an effort.  I was really impressed with them.  I was supposed to just organize the teams and food but as the one of the co ordinators I had to try to help by sweeping and picking up the glass.   That's why I'm so sore today.  My big old Mountain Man did twice the work picking up branches and old furniture and heavy stuff but won't admit he's worn out.  Thank goodness he's on holidays.  We also got our approval for a grant for the squirrel proof garbage cans I wanted.  Poor Mr. Squirrel's children will have to count on the kindness of strangers from now on.

We have all of our plants in.  Lavender, tomato, basil, oregano, moon flowers, parsley and chives.  Once they finish the back steps Hubby says he will make me a small garden but I worry that the kids will take any fruit, flowers or vegys grown.  I am thinking I might put in some chocolate mint if it's not too late.  The problem is that it has to be isolated or it will take over all your garden but it makes an amazing sauce.

We seem to have started a trend in our neighbourhood since we put up the greenhouse on the balcony five neighbours on each side have made little gardens of their own.  It's nice but I wish they'd stop asking me questions about their plants.  I get all my answers from Gene Lake (He's a friend from Convergys who used to farm and is brilliant for gardening questions.) or the internet. 

Catie won tickets to the premiere of Pirates of the Carrabien movie and couldn't go but Sarah had been desperate to go and Breyan couldn't find tickets.  They sold out in fifteen minutes.  Since Catie had to work she let Sarah have the tickets.  The next issue was babysitting. Hubby and I know how hard it is to get out together when you have small children.  They couldn't find a sitter so my guy and I volunteered.  It was physically hard but rewarding.  Except I forgot how much babies puke on everything, Aurora decided to inform me, "she can do whatever she wants."  I proved her wrong.  Ivy is adorable but very clumsy.    I've decided I really don't want more babies, I'll let my kids have them. 

But I do miss telling bedtime stories, having Rory inform me, "Nona, I have new make-up.  I'm going to give you a do-over."  She's so my granddaughter.  Unfortunately, or not, she couldn't find it.  She says she will do it next time.   She very proudly showed me how she cleaned the bathroom for me.  Am I that bad at complaining about people's bathroom?

There is a funny picture on Breyan's Facebook that has him and Rory sitting back on the couch with their arms behind their heads watching TV.  I turned around at one point and there was Oompah and Rory doing the same thing.  Wish I had my camera. 

We had a funny moment with Aurora.  We were talking about family history and I guess Breyan had explained her Great- Grampa Lorente does genealogy for the Home Children.  She told me, "My Great Big Grandpa finds little boys and girls that got lost when the government put them in ships and pushed off."  I roared.

Well this is all for now.  It's been a very hard week so I think I will have a nap today.

Missing you all.
Kimberley

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.)

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;

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? 

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.”

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!

The Mountain Man's Labour

Dear Gramma;

Sarah is having Braxton Hicks today.  I called her and I agree with her it probably is, she's had this problem in her other pregnancy's and she pinched the nerve in her back yesterday.  Even if it is, she's only four weeks early which today is almost routine.

Everyone on Facebook is telling her to get checked out anyway.  I was concerned enough when I saw it that I wrote, "Get Your Butt to the Doctors or I'm gonna ask Dad to go over and check you himself!!!"

Then I called her and calmed down.

Then I thought of the ultra panicked look on the Mountain Man's face if I really did ask him?!!!!  OMG I'm laughing so hard I feel like I'm going into labour!!!!  hee hee hee

I told her she could relieve the pain in her back by lying down on the floor and puttting her feet on the coffee table.   Remember when I had to do throughout my pregnancy because Breyan kept sitting on the nerve in my back? 

Remember the Sarcasm King, the one man I know whom Nothing makes him panic?  He used my belly as his coffee table!!.  I could have killed him!

Breyan got his revenge one day by kicking so hard, hot coffee went all over his uncle's lap.
What goes around comes around, snorkle!!!

I will update if there is any news.

Big Hugs

Would I want to be 17 again, OMG NO!!!!!!!!!

The other day, we watched a movie called, ‘17 again.’  Afterwards, Mountain Man asked me, “Would you want to be a teenager again?”  I think he was surprised by my answer.  I was horrified.  OMG NO!!!!!

Why on earth would I want to do that??? 

When I was seventeen it was just past the ‘70s, into the early ‘80s.  Was the world a different place?  You bet your fanny it was!

Hair was huge; shoulder pads made us all look like football players and for Goddess's sake--Disco was alive and kicking!
(I think I still have my “Disco Sucks!” t-shirt.)

Back then, people really did define the book by the cover.  What you wore was who you were. 
For example; there were the "Preppy Girls" with their cardigans and penny loafers, there were the "Jocks;" there were the "Gino's" with their gold chains and hairy chests; there were the "Rockers" with their Rolling Stone t-shirts. 

What you wore defined who your groups of friends were.  It wasn't stone-clad, you could be a rocker with a preppy friend but it was pretty much a good indication of who you associated with.

 Of course I was a punk rocker because I was a freak!  A Freak was one of the most lonely, soul-destroying ways you could think of yourself.

Worse, I was what they call a "Gingerkid" back then.  I had bright copper hair, freckles, was skinny and a bosom, often described as, "two-fried eggs" or a "board that has never been nailed."

As you can see I had the self-confidence of a tree.

In my case, I was homeless at times, living on the streets or in someone else's house.  This was partially my fault and partly because of my background but that is another story.  It was a stupid choice to make then but all teens make stupid choices.  I just didn't have anyone around to tell me it was stupid. 

Canada was not the States*, in the early 80's we were still a society who's family just didn't talk about sex, abuse, rape, drugs etc....  There just wasn't enough education in the media. 

I know that parents today complain about sex, body image and drugs in media but at least it also includes the strong message to be yourself, has opened the door to conversations in families about these issues and has allowed thousands of men, women and children to speak up. 

I really believe if you monitor your child's access to media, if you educate them and keep a dialogue at all times about what they are seeing or hearing from a young age then the media won't hold the power.

Things our kids take for granted today would have horrified the average teenager.  For example, being gay; one of the bravest people I knew back then was my friend Andy.  He was 17, there was not an effeminate thing about him and he was openly gay.  His family had turned his back on him, society disapproved of him, he was bullied and bashed and yet he still stood up to the world and said, "Whatever buddy, I'm doing your brother behind the football bleachers." 
Now that my friends is a hero!!

Nowadays if I ask Caitlin or Breyan if one of their friends is gay, they answer surprised, "Yeah why?"  (Mostly I just don't want to make the mistake of asking if they have a girlfriend or boyfriend.)  I knew so many people in the closet, not because they were ashamed of being gay, they were afraid they'd lose friends, family and even their life!

You've got to know the world is better place when you’re kids think people who are homophobic are stupid.

Still, even if I'd been normal, I still would never want to be a teen again.  It's a nightmare!

Sure I’d love the better health, the endless energy and the freedom from adult cares.  Yet, why would I want acne, hormonal insanity and decreased ability to make long term decisions?

It's an age where you're body is changing faster than your mind.  Society cannot make up its mind if you are an adult or child.  You are supposed to make the decisions about your career and education that will affect the rest of your life.

As a teenager either then or now, there is just so much fighting for control.  Not just from your parents--even your government can't seem to decide what age is an "adult."  Think about it.  In Ontario, you have to be sixteen to drive a car, move out of home; quit school.  You have to be eighteen to vote and get married and legal drinking age is nineteen.  Which means that you can move out and drive away from high school but you can't vote for the person who made the law that lets you do it?!  You can get married but you can't legally drink your wedding toast?! 

High school is a nightmare.  It doesn't matter how good your school is, how popular you are, there are the times when high school holds downright terror!  Dating, bullies, swarmings it's all just the tip of the iceberg.  There are prisons in third world countries that don't hold half the terrors of the average Canadian high school. 

I once heard the description, "high school is the place where, at the end, they give you a piece of paper that says you made it out alive."

There have been huge strides made to reduce the bullying in schools but they are not enough.  Ask Breyan about getting swarmed by thirty boys and having the cops tell us there was nothing we could do about it...thanks to the Young Offenders Act, they were all too young to charge.  An officer even told my son to get himself a pair of steel toed boots! 

Still, being a teen is easier nowadays.  First of all there is more communication to cut down on the isolation.  There are more resources for getting help when you need it and best of all you can choose any fashion from any decade to wear as long as it looks good!

I swear I saw a girl the other day and I thought, "Hey, she stole my clothes from 1986!"  She was wearing my Clash T-shirt, my skinny jeans with four belts, cut out finger gloves, and my Peter Pan Getaway boots. 

Of course then I thought, “OMG did I look that stupid?”

The generation gap in music has closed, as I know since half my CD's have disappeared.  On any given day I will hear my kids listening to Queen, The Clash, Supertramp or even new renditions of old songs.  I don't know how many times I've thought, "Hey I know the words to that song, how come it doesn't sound right?" 

I have to admit it shocked me one day to listen to a dance tune and realize the words were Air Supply: a band that never made a song you couldn't fall asleep to.  Now that is just wrong!

So would I want to be seventeen again?  Goddess, No!!  It's just too hard.

However I did go buy myself a pair of the Peter Pan boots because they are really comfy.  Of course, being my age I was back in the store buying three hours later buying insoles for support.

Have a good day all.

Kimberley

*it is my theory that Canada waits ten years to pick up a new fad.  We let the States try it first just to see how stupid we’ll look.

Grieving Parents Are Allowed...

I believe every grieving parent should be allowed to;

1. Have two days during the year when they can hide in their rooms with their heads under the cover, the lost ones Birthday and the Anniversary of the loved ones death.  No matter how many years it's been.  You don't get over it, you just get used to it.
2. Be allowed to smack people who tell grieving parents, "You can have other children."  This is stupid.  You can't replace children like puppies.
3. Be allowed to have as many candles as they want to light for their lost ones.  Even if they could burn the house down.
4. Need to be reminded that bad things happen to you...not because of you.  No matter how good of a parent you are; If you lose a child you always feel the guilt.  Don't wallow in it. There is no purpose, healing or reason. "Bad things happen to good people.  Just wish it didn't happen to you,"  was one of the most comforting pharses I've ever heard.
5. Be allowed to yell at God whether they believe in him or not.
6. Tell the Smarmy Ass Jesus freak at the funeral that I don't find any comfort that they are in the arms of Jesus.  I want them in mine!
7. Tell people they have three children.  She died, it's not like she never existed.
8. Smack people who tell women who have miscarriages that, "It's not as if you actually had the child."  Of course she did, in her mind the child was born, married and had children already.
9. Be angry, sad, frustrated all on the same day.
10. Eat as much chocolate as they want.
11. Be reminded that they have friends and loved ones who love them, are willing to listen, hug them, get them drunk and let them cry.  (I did and it was my salvation.  Thank you.)