Signs your child might be getting too old for Dora the Explorer

Map [annoyingly, from the TV]: First you have to go to the drum parade. Can *you* see the drum parade?

Rachel [talking back to the TV]: Yeah -- I'm not blind you know.

I'm too sexy for my shoes

Did you ever have one of those days when everything went right?

When the sun was shining and it was breezy and warm? And your hair, for once, looked marvelous -- shiny and bouncy and straight? And you had just the right amount of sleep the night before, and sun the day before, so the bags under your eyes were gone and your face had a rosy, slightly tanned glow? And the small amount of makeup you were wearing made you look fresh and pretty? And you were wearing an outfit that made you feel sexy and stylish? So, all in all, you felt just gorgeous?

And, did you ever have a day when you had all this going for you, and you were walking from where you park your car to your office (about a 7 minute walk) and you noticed a guy walking on the other side of the street? A guy who also noticed you, and seemed to be glancing appreciatively your way? And did it make you feel good -- good enough so that you began to sashay just a little tiny bit? Just giving your hips that little extra swing to say, "yep, I got it going on and I know it"?

And did you ever get caught up in trying to keep the sashaying going while flashing him a shy smile? And while you were trying to do both these things at once, and project an aura of hotness, did you ever catch the toe of one of your new and favourite chocolate suede thong-style sandals in the uneven sidewalk, pitch forward ungracefully, and stumble for a few feet while dropping your bag and watching your belongings spew out and roll into the gutter?

Nah. Me neither.

By the numbers

Just a few figures to sum up the last week or so...

2 - on Friday, the number of years since my ex walked out. It was devastating when it happened, but now, with 24 months of perspective under my belt, turns out it was a good thing.

1 - the number of bottles of wine I bought to celebrate the above point

0 - the number of glasses of wine I actually had, seeing as I was busy caring for the plague children who had...

13,276 - the number of chicken pox spots (roughly) my girls had between them

3 - the cumulative number of hours Leah spent in a baking soda bath Sunday night to relieve the pain of chicken pox spots in a place that no girl wants to get chicken pox spots

0 - the number of hours of sleep Leah and I had Sunday night. I don't think I've ever actually had an entirely sleepless night before in my life

3:19 - in the a.m. The time I realized that Leah and I weren't going to get any sleep and put Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone on the VCR in my bedroom

1.99 - how much it costs to rent a children's movie on videotape for a whole week from our local video store

17 - the number of times we've seen The Littlest Mermaid II: Return to the Sea since Rachel chose it at the video store on Friday

11.7 - the cost per viewing, in cents, of Mermaid II over the last week

9 - the number of games of Uno I played with Leah and Rachel

4 - the number of those Uno games during which Rachel got bored and wandered off to watch Mermaid II

3 - the number of silly photos I took to entertain the girls, using food from the play kitchen. See:

A pox on both your houses ***updated***

Chicken pox, to be exact. I had been dithering about getting the girls vaccinated against chicken pox because I'd heard that the vaccine only confers immunity for 7 to 10 years, and I was weighing the benefits of having them vaccinated now and perhaps coming down with the chicken pox while they were teens and suffering far more than they would if they got it now, or not vaccinating them and hoping they'd get it as kids and getting it over with. Well, nature just made my mind up for me.

Rae woke up covered with spots. Leah has just 2, but they're huge.

I have to go upstairs now, and get snacks and drinks, take temperatures and see if Tylenol is necessary, play Uno and watch Aladdin and the King of Thieves, and all the other things you need to do when your kids are sick. That's why this post is a bit on the thin side. So, I'll try to make up for it by leaving you with this picture that I found when surfing through Facebook. Apparently it's in Windsor, Ontario (and if any of you know where exactly, I'd like to know). Isn't this just the most Canadian sign EVER??

Update: Leah is up to 7 spots now, but seems to be sicker than Rachel, who has roughly double the number of spots that she had when the above picture was taken. Rachel is fine. Benadryl has taken care of the itching, and it's not too hot this weekend, TG. She has no fever (though Leah does) and is her usual rambunctious self. We have lots of videos and books and Rae and I even went in the pool for a swim yesterday afternoon. All in all, it isn't that bad. They are pouting this morning though, because I won't take them to the Farmers' Market for our usual Saturday morning breakfast. They also have new nicknames -- Rae is Spot and Leah is Dot.

Thank you for all the lovely comments and well wishes.

Strawberry season

Saturday, we decided to drive to Pakenham to the Cedar Hill Berry Farm and then stop off for ice cream at Scoops. It was a cloudy and sometimes drizzly day, but it was fun.



I might yet be able to get the strawberry stains off Rachel.

To complete the weekend, the girls now think I'm the Best Mother EVER, because on Sunday, the following words actually came out of my mouth (I kid you not): "OK, that's enough. Stop cleaning your bedrooms, we're going to the Hershey Factory."

Is it just me?

Or does everyone:

• have a car whose interior resembles a mobile landfill site/Salvation Army collection box/toy library*?

No word of a lie, I just took the following out of my car: two hoodie sweatshirts (kid size), a Bratz doll, a Polly Pocket boot and purse, an empty McDonald's french fry bag, two popsicle sticks, an apple core (ewwwww), a ripped-up coloured-on page from a colouring book, a chewed-up wad of gum (I threw out my gum, honest, Mom), a ripped road map of Ontario (grrrrr), 4 kleenexes (kleenices??), 2 french fries, 2 King Tut sarcophagus happy meal toys from Wendy's (they always have the coolest toys), a small mauve unicorn with a Barbie-hair mane, a Tim Horton's bag, and a drinking straw.

• have a laundry room where the piles of clothes look like a relief model of the Rockies?

I really think that David Suzuki oughta do a Nature of Things special on my laundry room. No matter how many loads I do, there is always more. It's breeding, dammit! Who knows, maybe he could capture time-lapse photography of a litter of baby socks being born, or teeshirts mating.

• who resolves to lose a few pounds get seized with an uncontrollable hunger 5 minutes after making the decision?

Yep, thought there was a bit too much muffin top going on with the jeans I was wearing. Told myself sternly, "Self, it's salads for a week or so to get this under control". Immediately, and without really being aware of what I was doing (body reacting to threatened diet and going into self-preservation mode), I found I had somehow had taken the box of Jos. Louis out of the pantry (bought for special treat for the girls and rationed) and consumed 3 without noticing. The only clues were the 3 empty wrappers and the chocolate crumbs on the carpet. (Clarification, they were the half Jos. Louis, not the whole circle ones -- I'm not a *total* pig.)

• feel like they can never get ahead of the housework, and their houses are where entropy goes to practice?

Seriously, I can't keep my house tidy for more than half an hour at a time. As soon as one room is cleared, a tide of Littlest Petshop figures, Polly Pocket shoes, hair and Lego pieces washes in and laps around my ankles. Not to mention the lawn that grows fast enough to track with a radar gun that needs mowing every 48 hours. Sigh.

• on Facebook who wants to find old University friends and work buddies have friends with names as common as dirt?

Yeah, you try finding Dave Evans, Nick Gibson, Suzanne Scott, or Trudy Miller when you don't know where they're living now or if they're even *on* Facebook. I've been reduced to 'friending' my nephew and my girlfriend next door, for Pete's sake. I might as well have gone to school with a bunch of John Smiths.

*I'm just looking for agreement here. If you were planning on commenting on how you a) never allow your children to eat in the car, b) always have a garbage bag/tasteful garbage container with matching wipes in your car, or c) have perfect, mess-free children, don't. Just don't. I'm looking to preach to the choir with this post.

Nightmares

Rachel slept with me last night. Or, I guess, more correctly, I slept with her. It was my bed, but she totally owned it -- stretching out like a starfish across the majority of the space. I had an area approximately 18 inches by 4 and a half feet in which to contort my 5 foot 10 inch body.

She woke sometime after 3 a.m because of a nightmare. I cuddled her and smoothed the hair off her forehead and reassured her that it was only a dream and that she was safe with me and that nothing bad could happen to her. I asked her what she had been dreaming about, and her answers were so very Rachel. She always has to ensure that you understand *exactly* what she's trying to say, and that everything is as precise as possible. Remember that as you read our conversation:

Rachel (crying): Mommy, is someone going to steal me?

Me: Of course not, Rachel. It's just a dream, you're safe in bed with Mommy. No one is going to steal you. I'm going to keep you forever.

Rachel: Are you sure?

Me: I'm sure. I'd beat up anyone who tried to steal you. Can you tell me about your dream?

Rachel: OK

Me: What happened in your dream?

Rachel: Well, I got stolen.

Me: Who stole you?

Rachel: A man in black. Or very, very dark blue.

There was more to it of course, but at that point one part of me had dissolved in giggles while the other part was intent on comforting her. Eventually, the story all told, she put her arms around my neck, aimed a sleepy kiss at my mouth, and rolled over, secure in the knowledge that I would keep any black- (or very dark blue-) clad men from stealing her.