According to Rachel: Kingston Pen edition

So, Rachel's class went on the annual Grade 7 end-of-year day trip to Kingston, down on the St. Lawrence Seaway. They visited Fort Henry, a military outpost built to repel those pesky Americans during the War of 1812.

They also visited Kingston Penitentiary, a now-closed, but iconic Canadian prison. They weren't allowed into the prison, but toured the Corrections Canada Prison Museum across the street.

On the way home from school after the bus had dropped them off, Rae and I chatted in the car.

Rae: "And we went to the prison too."

Me: "Kingston Pen?"

Rae: "I don't know. Some old prison, but we didn't get to go in."

Me: "Probably Kingston Pen. It's a famous prison. That's too bad. It would have been fun to go into the cells."

Rae: "Yeah, it would've. But we went to this museum and got to see stuff from the prison. There was a whole shelf of shivs." 

Me: [marvelling a bit that the school would show stuff like that to what are essentially children] "Wow. Shivs."

Rae: "They made them out of all kinds of things. Toothbrushes, spoons. One shiv was even made out of a hammer. Why would anyone do that?" 

Me: [smiles at my daughter's revulsion towards the violence inherent in making a shiv]

Rae: "Just hit the guy with the hammer. [shakes head] Efficiency, dude."

Me: .......

According to Rachel: Dogs and dubious drug references edition

Apparently, today is National Dog Day. I'm assuming that's in the States. But just in case it's also a quasi-holiday here in the Great White North, this is my Rocky:  

A.k.a. Rocket Man, Rockstar, Rocky Raccoon, Little Rock Arkansas, and on occasion, BaRock Obama.

Yes, we're lame like that.

Rocky is a very sweet dog. A Chihuahua-Dachshund cross who acts like he's a Doberman. We love him.

He has some quirks, however. He gets car sick to the point of throwing up, so the vet told us that if we were travelling long distances, we should give him a small dose of children's Benadryl half an hour before we leave to calm him and make him sleep. We visited family in southern Ontario two weeks ago.

Getting ready to leave my sister's place for home:

Me: "Do you have your iPad?"

Rae: "Yes."

Me: "Did you pack your bathing suit?"

Rae: "Yes."

Me: "Did you --"

Rae: "Did you roofie the dog yet?"

Me: ...... "Wait, what?"

One roofied dog.

According to Rachel: Hedley inspiration edition

Sorry there's another Rachel post in a row, especially as I'm seeing this blog more as a personal blog and less as a mommy blog, but this made my brain itch enough to actually open Blogger and type something, which has been a long time coming.  I think my blog block might be over and I hope to post soon about my birthday trip, my Halifax-PEI trip, and why I shouldn't try to emulate Michael Phelps.

In the meantime, let me share the conversation Rae and I had on the way home from buying little, tiny elastics at Giant Tiger.

We were listening to (the clean radio edit of) Hedley's 'Anything' on the radio:


(Note: the original video has a fair bit of nudity and swearing, and is not quite as inspirational as it sounds on the radio, lol.)

A section of the lyrics go like this:

Everybody said
You'd better stay in school
Get a real job boy
Don't be a fool
Burn that guitar
You can never be a star
I can, I can, I can so.

A thousand disbelievers couldn't keep me on the ground
I've invented a momentum that'll never slow me down
I believe it 'cause I feel it and I shout it out loud
I can, I can, I can so.

Everybody said boy don't go any higher
(Uh uh, forget  that)
I can do anything
Never push the limit and don't play with fire
(Uh uh, forget that)
I can do anything.

Me: That's kind of an inspirational song, isn't it?  I like the message.
Rae: Yah. I like that it says that you can do anything. Except that one part.
Me: Which part?
Rae: The part where they're telling him 'don't play with fire.' That's probably good advice.  You shouldn't play with fire, it's dangerous. [a few seconds of silence] Unless you're a magician. Then you can do whatever the hell you want.

According to Rachel: Ladies of the Evening edition

Friday night in Carp. Early summer. Ten p.m. or so.

I am lolling on my bed, glass of red in hand, enjoying the breeze blowing through the window, and watching the beginning of a C.S.I. episode on DVD. Leah is at my desk, which is right beside my bed, playing spider solitaire on the computer. Rae wanders in unexpectedly from her bedroom, where I'd assumed she was asleep, since I'd tucked her in earlier. As it's Friday night, there is no set bedtime.

Onscreen, two hookers are strutting around and leaning over into cars.  Rachel catches sight of the TV screen. It's too late to turn it off.

Rae: What are those girls doing?
Me (mentally girding my loins for one of *those* conversations): Well... [pause to collect thoughts] Those girls are prostitutes.
Rae: What are prostitutes?
Me (remembering my vow not to lie to my kids but to explain things in simple terms and not go into too much detail): A prostitute is a woman who makes a living by having sex with men.
Rae (nonchalantly): Oh. You mean a hooker.
Me (mildly shocked and quite amused): Where did you learn that word?
Rae: From Leah.
We both turn and look at Leah, who has a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights expression on her face.
Me: Leah, where did you learn about hookers?
Leah: From Ellie and Grace.
[The daughters of a friend of mine whom I *know* will find this very funny when I tell her about it.]
Me: *Loud guffaws.* And how did that conversation happen?
Leah: We were listening to a Lady Gaga song, and I was all, "what is this song about?" and Grace explained it to me.
Me: Oh. OK.
Rae: Is there any ice cream?

Question answered.  Crisis averted.  Ice cream consumed.

According to Rachel: "no pulling the wool over her eyes" edition

My friend Debby has four girls between the ages of three and ten.  She is very brave.  She often takes my girls for me so that I can do things without having to hire a babysitter, bringing the number of girls in her house to six.  She is very nice, and, quite possibly insane.

So, when she asked me if I could take her girls overnight so that she and her husband could go to Montreal for a 25th wedding anniversary party, of course I said yes.

At one point in the evening, I looked around at the living room, which was showing the effects of having several children playing there, especially the three- and five-year-olds.

Rae and Deb's oldest, Rebecca, were watching the TV.

Me: Hey, why don't you guys pick up some of the toys in here while you're watching TV?

Rae [conversationally, her eyes still glued to the TV]: That doesn't sound like fun.

Me [in a falsely hearty voice]: It can be fun, honest. Just think of it as a game -- the "Clean Up the Living Room Game"!

(OK, I realize that was really lame, but I figured it was worth a try.)

Rae [witheringly, and with air quotes]: Mum. Really? You could call it the "Super Fantastic Pizza Party Game" and it still wouldn't be any fun.

Me: Just pick up the toys.

Rae: I can't believe you thought we'd fall for that.

According to Rachel: inability to distinguish between cultural stereotypes edition

Getting breakfast ready on a weekday morning:

Rae: It's a Freaky Friday for our class this week. It was Sara's birthday so she got to pick what kind of day it was going to be, and she picked "Pajama Day".

Me: OK, sounds good. Which PJs are you going to wear?

Rae: My monkey ones. Guess what? If it was my choice, I'd pick Korean Day. [assumes a passable Jamaican accent] -- 'Yah mon'.

Me....

Me [recovering]: Um, what does 'yah mon' have to do with Korea?

Rae: [slightly exasperated at my obvious lack of knowledge]: You know: 'Yah mon'?? That thing that Korean people say all the time?

Me: Oh.... Right.

According to Rachel: 'self-esteem is not a problem' edition

Last night, at dinner.

Rachel: Monsieur asked me to come up to the board and write the math problem today. *And* Ellie and I got to take the attendance to the office. He likes me.

Me: Well of course he does. You're a good student and a great kid.

Rachel: I think it's because of my intense cuteness.

Talking music with Rachel

In the car on the way back from grocery shopping last night:

Rae: I heard a David Bowie song in the grocery store.

Me: Really? Which one.

Rae: I don't know the name of it. It goes: "Oooooooooooh, somebody, something, something, oooooooooh, doo doo doo doo doo doo."

Me: Hmmm. I'm not sure I know that one. Jean Genie?

Rae: No, not that one. "Oooooooooooh, somebody, something, something, oooooooooh, doo doo doo doo doo doo."

Me: John, I'm only Dancing?

Rae [giving me the exasperated look in the rear-view mirror]: NO! [this pronunciation is all dragged out to two syllables and sounds like "noooowah"] I know *that* song. LISTEN: "Oooooooooooh, somebody, something, something, oooooooooh, doo doo doo doo doo doo."

Me: Oh, now I think I know. Blue Jean? [I hum a bit for her.]

Rae: Yes! That's it! You're not very good at this, you know. I had to sing it, like, 3 times.

*******************************

Getting our coats on in the front entryway this morning:

Rae: What's that song from Shrek?

Me: Which song?

Rae: The one about jumping up.

Me: Jumping up?

Rae: Yeah, about falling down and jumping up.

Me: Tubthumping?

Rae: What?

Me: Is it Tubthumping?

Rae: I don't know. How does that go?

Leah goes by blasting Florence + the Machine's Dog Days are Over from her iPod touch, with no earphones so we all can enjoy it.

Me: It's hard to think about one song when you're listening to another song. [Singing] "He drinks a whisky drink, he drinks a vodka drink, he drinks a lager drink, he drinks a cider drink.."

Rae: No, that's not it. It's about jumping, not drinking stuff.

Me: [singing again] "I get knocked down, but I get up again, you're never going to keep me down."

Rae: That's it! That's the one.

Me: It's the same song.

Rae: No it isn't.

Me: Yes it is.

Rae: [sighs wearily] If you say so.

The thing is, I don't think that song was ever on a Shrek soundtrack, so I don't know which song she was actually thinking about. And really, I don't want to know.

According to Rachel: Canal edition

Yesterday we went skating on the Canal to get a skate in before the promised freezing rain and snow that's taking place today. Bribed with the promise of Beavertails and hot apple cider, the girls happily skated the length of Dows Lake and we headed to the Beavertail stand and rest area to refuel and warm ourselves by the outdoor fireplace.

Satisfied, we headed down the Canal towards the Bank Street Bridge, with Leah helping her sister, who isn't as accomplished a skater as Leah is.

Leah: Don't go so near the edge where the snow is. The ice is really bumpy under there. And watch out for the cracks, you could trip if your skate blade catches in one.

Rachel [in a witheringly sarcastic voice]: Yah, I think I can figure that out. You don't have to be Albert Frankenstein to know *that*.

According to Rachel, January 2011 edition

In the car the other night, driving back from visiting friends, talking about summer camps to Leah.

Me: And they have all kinds of camps. They even have a C.S.I. camp where you learn detective techniques!

Leah: Cool!

Rachel [sounding very adult and world-weary]: That would be the Village of Yawn for me.

Me: . . . . *hysterical laughter*

Rachel [sounding disgruntled]: What?

Me: Where did you hear that?

Rae [sounding defensive]: Nowhere. I was just trying to say that it sounds boring.

Me: Well, you did a pretty good job.

(I am totally going to use this from now on whenever something is boring: "Are you going to the legend committee meeting, Alison?" "Yep, I'm heading out to the Village of Yawn." )

Be careful what you wish for

I am sorry for the long absence, but I've been a little....under the weather since Christmas, having hit the pulmonary lotto (thanks Jen, for that phrase) of pneumonia with a side of bronchitis. So I've been off work since New Year's, trying to rest and regain my strength while the antibiotics and steriods do their magic.

I thought I'd tell you about a conversation that happened on New Year's Eve. On holidays in Windsor, the girls and I went out for dinner with family to a Chinese restaurant in Lasalle. On the way out, the owner gave each of the girls a cellophane bag holding several fortune cookies. On the way to my sister's place in Belle River, the girls started eating the cookies and reading the fortunes.

Leah: Mum, listen to this fortune, it's weird: "Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it." That doesn't sound bad.

Me: When you're a bit older, I'll read you a story called 'The Monkey's Paw'. It's really scary.

Leah: How is getting what you wish for scary?

Me: In the story, the wishes don't turn out like the people thought they would.

Rachel: I don't think that story would be scary at all.

Me: No? Why not?

Rachel: What's so scary about a bunch of monkeys getting their nails done?

Me: ......? [comprehension dawns] Rachel, it's "The Monkey's Paw" not "The Monkey Spa".

Rachel: Oh.

********************

I had occasion to revisit this subject with Leah a few days ago. I told her that I had been wishing for a week off work while she and her sister were at school, so that I could declutter and deep clean the house. Well, I got the week off alright, but was too weak to do more than lie on the couch watching True Blood and C.S.I. on DVD. I told her that I should have been careful what I wished for.

I think she gets it now.

According to Rachel

In which Rachel blows off an entire subcontinent

Rachel (singing the song from Lady and the Tramp): 'This is the night, it's a beautiful night, and they call it bella notte.' You know, that's the only Indian I know.
Leah: It's not Indian, it's Italian.
Rae: Same thing.
Leah (a mite sarcastically): I think there's a couple of million Indians who probably wouldn't agree with you.
Rae: Whatever.

Rachel, queen of the metaphor. Or simile. I can never get those straight.

Rachel, frustrated because whenever she invites a friend over to play, the friend inevitably gravitates to older sister Leah:
"It's like Leah's a fridge, and all my friends are magnets."

On the subject of cleaning up the toys in the basement

Rae: The basement looks fine. It's not like the Queen is coming over, or Josie, or Marsha Stewart.