Sorry, Horatio

Leah, my 15-year-old, and I were out walking the dog this evening.

Leah: "So, Tiana and I were late for Math, we walked in after everyone was already there, but the teacher turned a blind eye and didn't say anything."

Me: "Do you know where that saying comes from? 'Turn a blind eye?'"

Leah: "I hope to God you're going to tell me it's from Mad Eye Moody."

Me: .......

Me: "Never mind, it's nowhere near that cool."

Sign #431 we watch way too much C.S.I. around here

While drying my hair yesterday, I managed to bang the back of my hand into the corner of the vanity in my bathroom. It hurt. I stood there, feeling it throb and watching the blood pool under the skin, a pale bluish dome with a small bloody scrape on top.

Me: "Leah, come and look. I've got a hematoma!"

Leah: "Cool! Subdural?"

Me: "Nope. Not a head injury, just a regular hematoma."

*comes into bathroom*

*looks at my hand*

*makes appraising face*

Leah: "Nice."

Me: "I know, right?"

Trying to educate her palate

The drive home tonight was awful.The Senators are playing at home and so the highway was crowded. It snowed on and off all day, so the roads were greasy and slippery, a horrible commute. I stopped at the grocery store for a few items and decided to pick up a bottle of wine at the wine shop there, instead of going to the liquor store for my usual Malbec-Shiraz.  I bought a bottle of merlot that I had never tried before.

At home, I poured myself a glass. It was very good. Dark red and tasting of cherries and berries. I offered Leah (my almost 15-year-old) a sip.

Me: Here, try this if you want. It's good. It tastes of cherries.

Leah takes a tiny sip, holds it in her mouth. Considers.

Me: Well, what do you think of the taste? It tastes like cherries, don't you think?

Leah: It tastes like peroxide on an open wound.

Me:.....

Me: But with an aftertaste of cherries, right?

Don't you wish you could have dinner with us?

Our conversation during dinner last night.

The actual speakers have been left unidentified so that you can appreciate that the weirdness is pretty evenly spread out amongst the three of us.

At Harvey's, a burger joint, having a quick bite before shopping for badly needed winter boots:

"'Hiving' is too a word."

"Well, OK, but not how you're using it. It doesn't mean 'having hives all over your body'. You can't say, 'Crap, I'm hiving today.'"

"Mum, is 'hiving' a word?"

"Yep, but it doesn't mean 'breaking out in hives', you can say something is hived off from something else, and it means 'separated out.'"

"Oh. I thought 'hiving' was a thing." [side-eyes her sister] "Like hearing something out of [breaks out the air quotes] 'the corner of your ear.'"

"'THE CORNER OF YOUR EAR' IS TOTALLY A THING!!! I looked it up on the Urban Dictionary. It's a thing. [calming down and becoming thoughtful] Though I did used to think toothpicks were called 'picksticks' and that's not a thing."

"That kinda makes sense though because mostly you stick them in cakes to see if they're done or to pick up things like cheese squares."

"It's not a cheese square, it's a cube. Three dimensions."

"Square, cube, same thing."

"No. It isn't. A square is two dimensional, a cube is three dimensional. If you ate the cheese, it's 3D. If you draw a square on a piece of paper, then it's in two dimensions --"

"But what about the pencil lead being left on the paper when you draw? It's a couple of atoms thick, so, three dimensional."

[rolls eyes] "Well, technically. [stops to regroup and launch new logic attack] OK, so how about a square drawn on a computer monitor in pixels?"

"Computer monitors are three dimensional."

[sighs] "But the surface of the computer monitor is a plane, so, two dimensional."

"I don't think so."

"Me either, I'm with you." [gestures at sister with a french fry] "I vote that it's still three dimensional."

"You can't vote on that. PHYSICS IS NOT A DEMOCRACY."

"Yes it is."

[dripping sarcasm] "Oh really. I don't care how many people vote, you can't stop gravity and levitate your butt out of that chair."

"Wooooo-ooooo-ooo!" [eerie noise accompanied by butt shimmying up and out of chair]

[explosive laughter]

I'm not dead yet

Though you might be forgiven for thinking so, seeing as I haven't blogged since early November.  I've been totally bereft of blog ideas a bit busy, what with Christmas coming and our family's upcoming trip to Nice. 

How busy, you ask?  Well, I have one of those perpetual calendars with the dates on little wooden tiles.  Sort of like these, except nicer.



Three days ago, I finally changed it from 'August' to 'December'. 

Yeah, that busy.

In my own defence, I've also finished a few knitting projects. And shopped for a new car. And worked/commuted/shopped/cooked/drove kids places/etc.  Occasionally, I've slept.

But I need to get back on the horse so that my blogging ability doesn't leave me entirely.  And so, dear reader, here is a bunch of random stuff rattling around in my head.  With pictures.

From the 'NHL lockout' files 

I had the following Facebook exchange with my friend Josie on my timeline:

Josie: Just an FYI, I am no longer referring to Bettman as "that troll" but instead as Gollum.

Alison: I guess that money is 'his precioussssss'. Stupid troll.

Josie: Watch a clip of Gollum and then watch Bettman last week during his press conference after talks broke down. Only difference is a suit and a wig.

And you know, I checked out some pictures, and she's right. So I made this for her:

From the 'You shouldn't have to get wrinkles and pimples at the same time.  It's just not fair.' files

I have a giant pimple on my forehead, right where I would have a lightning-shaped scar if I were Harry Potter.

It seems impervious to all my attempts to get rid of it -- creams, ointments, facial washes, even Avada Kedavra.

I am going to call it "The Zit Who Lived."

From the 'Introducing my children to popular culture/They're getting so much older' files

  

The past few nights, we’ve been piling onto my bed and watching Roger Moore in ‘Live and Let Die’ on DVD. Along with the Daniel Craig movies, I got a DVD with three of Moore's James Bond movies on it for my birthday.

The kids were interested in watching a James Bond movie, and this one, released in 1973 at the height of the Blaxploitation movie genre, has sparked some interesting conversations about racism, as parts of it are set in Harlem and southern Louisiana. The implied sex scenes are pretty tame, and both girls seem to be enjoying watching, though we keep pausing it so that I can answer questions. We’ve been watching about 45 minutes per night.

Part of the plot of this movie, if you’ve not seen it, is that Jane Seymour plays Solitaire, a clairvoyant who can reliably read the future in Tarot cards. She has this power only so long as she remains a virgin. This fact is discussed quite obliquely, and Rae did not pick up on it. Apparently Leah did. James tricks Solitaire with a Tarot deck stacked with ‘The Lovers’ cards and makes quick work of her powers. Offscreen, of course.

So, last night, we were watching the last 45 minutes of the movie, and Rae was full of questions. Leah was patiently answering them:

Rae:“Why is James throwing the chicken on the ground?”
Leah:“So that the alligators will come out of the pond and make a diversion”

Rae:“What is James doing?”
Leah:“He’s setting the drug lab on fire”

Rae:“Why is James’s boat slowing down?”
Leah:“Because when he was escaping, the guy with the hook shot at him and hit the outboard and it’s leaking gas.”

This went on for a while. And then came the question I was afraid would crop up.

Rae:“Why did being James’s girlfriend make Solitare not able to read the future anymore?”

Leah looked at me and said, “Your turn.”

From the "Things in your kitchen that can hurt you' files

• The pointy end of the meat thermometer is quite ouchy when encountered unexpectedly in the sudsy dish-water by being jammed under your thumbnail.
• Bricks of butter are unexpectedly heavy when they are cold and solid and have been dropped on your foot.
• Picking up the skittish cat when he's having a bite to eat at his dish and holding him like a baby in order to smooch him on the head is potentially dangerous in itself.  Doing so at the same time your daughter drops a metal saucepan loudly onto the tile floor? Cue the band-aids and Neosporin.

And this is why I am not a photojournalist for Rolling Stone magazine

Well, first of all, because I hardly ever go to concerts.

And second of all, when I did go to a concert, last week, I drove up to the venue in a borrowed minivan full of children.  Actually, two of the children were borrowed as well. 

Not much rocker cred there.

Third of all, I didn't bring my camera, so the only pictures I could take with my Blackberry Curve 8520 that has no flash and about 0.0002 megapixels were....somewhat less than stellar.

So here you have Alan Frew, lead singer of Glass Tiger, doing an amazing acoustic set.  He's not only a great musician, but a really funny guy.  He's the whitish blob on the right of the stage.  The left-hand whitish blob is a guitarist.  Honest.

 

This is Tom Cochrane and Red Rider, still making audiences scream, rocking Scotiabank Place.  They are somewhere in the light.

Oh, this one's better.  Tom is the middle figure in black with the guitar, who appears to have no head.  I can attest that he does, in fact, have a head. 

I saw it.

Yeah, I know. Don't quit my day job.

 

It was Rae's first concert. After each song, she would clap and 'wooohoooo' like it was Lady Gaga up there. She was going wild. So I asked her, "Isn't this great?". She looked at me and shrugged and said, "Yeah, it's OK."  It was all about the screaming and clapping. That's my Rae.

 

Concert admission: free.  Parking: $8. Four Slurpees for the girls: $17. (Now I know why I never go to concerts, other than the whole 'not being a music photojournalist' thing.) Watching the girls listening to great Canadian 80s rock and new wave: priceless.  A week later hearing Rachel singing 'Sinking Like a Sunset' to herself: beyond priceless.

 

 

I hope the prison they end up in is close to home. You know, to make the visiting easier.

Leah walks past me carrying several baby dolls that haven't been played with in a long time, two balls of yarn, and a roll of duct tape.  I can hear Rae in the basement moving furniture around.

Me: "What's all that stuff for?"

Leah: "We're making a hostage camp."

Me: .......

Me [sighing heavily]: "I'm going to the liquor store."

Leah: "Cool.  See you when you get back."

Bon Jovi probably didn't see this one coming

(This was not one of the deer we saw. I found this pic on Google.)

So, just past dusk a couple of nights ago, the girls and I were in the car, driving Kylah, one of Leah's friends, home from our house.  She doesn't live too far away -- a couple of minutes in the car, tops.  There aren't many street lights in this residential part of the village, and I slowed down when the brake lights of the SUV in front of me flashed red. 

I was wondering why he was stopping in the middle of the road, when my answer arrived in the form of two large does bounding over the snow bank and in front of the SUV and disappearing between two houses.  A third one trotted through the snow after the first two, and, tracing her path backwards, we could all see that one of the homeowners has set up a feeding station in their unfenced back yard.  Three or four deer were eating out of a trough underneath a suspended light, just perfect for viewing from a window.

"Well that's pretty stupid," I said.  "Someone is going to get into an accident trying to avoid one of these deer.  You look out for them on the outskirts of the village, but you don't expect to see them coming out from between houses.  People are going to get hurt."

"Deer, too," replied Kylah.  "Some poor deer is going to end up dead meat."

From the back seat, I could hear Leah singing something, and then a whole bunch of giggles from the girls.

"What are you singing?" I asked.

"Oh, just a Bon Jovi song," Leah answered.

"Really?  Which one?"

Leah [singing louder]:"♫This deer is just bad venison, bad venison is what I need. Eat it up just like bad venison, bad venison will give me disease.♪♫"

[hysterical laughter from the back seat]

Someday I will learn not to ask these kinds of questions.

Thank you. Come again.

Saturday was beautiful.  We got dressed in our outdoor clothes, bought some sunflower seeds to feed the birds, and headed out to the Jack Pine Trail in the Greenbelt. 

Rachel (to each chickadee who landed on her hand): "Thank you for dining at Chez Rachel.  Please come again."

Things we made at our house yesterday

Home-made French bread:

Lemon meringue pies (which had a bit of a sliding accident in the oven):

Zombie babies:

I think you can probably figure out who made what.

Things I learned on the weekend

1. If you host a sleepover for your daughters and their friends and decide to jazz up their dinner of home-made pizza, baby carrots, celery sticks, and milk by lighting the candles on the table to give them some ambiance before grabbing your pizza and heading to the living room for some peace and quiet so as not to intrude, DON'T. Because later, when you go to throw out some leftovers, you might find almost all of the vegetables (which you thought the girls ate since the serving plate was empty) in the compost bin, scorched at one or both ends.

2. Your dishwasher will not remove "Hi, I'm Rebecca ♥ ♥ ♥" written on a dinner plate in soot from a scorched carrot or celery stick. You will have to wash those plates by hand.

Back seat conversations: the meaning of lyrics edition

So we were driving back from soccer one day last month, and "Kiss You (When it's Dangerous)" came on the radio. I've embedded the video above for those of you (my U.S and U.K. friends) who have probably never heard this 80s Ottawa band's most famous song.

And from the back seat came this conversation:

Leah [singing along]: ♫ ♪ I'll kiss you when it's dangerous. I'll kiss you then and only then. ♪

Rae: What do you think they mean by "kiss you when it's dangerous"? What does it mean?

Leah: I don't know.

Rae: Maybe it means that he will only kiss her if she's tied up on a moving conveyor belt with sharp knives on it.

Leah: Ummm....

Rae: And lasers.

Leah: Nah, it probably means that he's going to kiss her when she's mad at him and he might get slapped if he tries. So it's dangerous.

Rae: Like she's mad because he didn't buy her some shoes?

Leah: Exactly.

Back seat conversations

In which attempts are made to articulate the degree of awfulness of the smell of turtle urine


It was just after supper on a beautiful early summer evening and we were on our way to Dunrobin for a soccer game. We were coming around one of the curves on Carp Road, past farms and silos and the Carp Ridge up to our right. Something round and dark was sitting on the centre line ahead of us. “Mum, it’s a turtle,” yelled Rachel, “Don’t hit it!” I slowed down and pulled over on the side of the road.

It was a big old snapping turtle. His shell was about a foot across, and he seemed to be pretty happy sitting on the warm roadway. We decided that I needed to pick him up and take him across the road so he’d be safe in the ditch and long grass.

Now I’m not a novice turtle saver, and I know that turtles will pee when threatened. I found this out first-hand last summer when I stopped to help a painted turtle across another section of Carp Road, and got wet feet for my pains. (I’m not sure if it’s because you’re scaring the piss out of them, or whether it’s because they’re trying to make things unpleasant for a predator.) So this time I was careful to grip the turtle by the edges of his shell and hold him far out in front of me so that I wouldn't be in the spray radius.

He was not amused. He was whipping his dinosaur-like tail from side to side, hissing at me, and trying to dislodge my hands by swiping at them with his back feet. He was also trying to bite me, which was impossible due to where I was holding him. "Hah, turtle," I thought, "you can't do anything, so just relax and enjoy the ride." Suddenly, I could feel something warm and wet on my fingers. Damn. He was peeing.

I walked as quickly as I could across the road and put him down on the edge of the ditch. He hissed at me one last time and headed down into the ditch. I was left standing there with brownish fluid dripping from my fingertips. It smelled very bad. I wiped my hands on the grass beside the road and hopped in the car.

Of course, there were no tissues in the car. I dug around in my purse with the non-pee-covered fingers and found a wet nap and did my best. The smell was still apparent. Even with all the car windows open. The girls were both delighted and horrified. Horrified at the stench, but delighted that their mother had been peed on by a turtle.

Rae [through the car window at me as I approached the car]: Mum! Did he pee on you?

Me [wiggling my just-wiped-on-the-grass fingers in her face]: Yeah. Wanna sniff?

Rae [recoiling, horrified]: Eeeww! That smells awful. It’s like…like...[words fail her for a moment] like...asparagus mixed with burning rubber.

Leah [joining in, as we pull back onto the road]: No, it’s worse than that.

Rae: It’s like asparagus and burning rubber mixed with cherry cough syrup. [The cough syrup smells and tastes fine, but Rae hates it.]

Leah: If Rebecca Black was a smell, she’d be turtle pee.

Me: [explodes in laughter]

Rachel: [trying to outdo her sister]: No, no, no, wait, if Justin Bieber was a smell, he’d be turtle pee.

Leah: If Rebecca Black and Justin Bieber had a baby…

Rae [interrupting]: …and the baby fell in a portapotty…

Me: OK, now you’re just getting carried away.

Rae: But it does really stink, Mum. And I meant the part about the asparagus and burning rubber.

Me: I know.

Rae: At least we know he’s OK.

Leah: Yep, he’ll live to pee another day.


Vaya con Dios, Mr. Turtle.

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*.

A good day

A school trip to the Parliament Buildings:

+


Skating on the Rideau Canal Skateway:

+


A fire in the fireplace:

+

Home-made pizza (can you tell which third of the pie was mine?):

+

A glass or two of Shiraz:

=

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.

Rated PG for language

I was driving home from grocery shopping with the girls a couple of evenings ago. The radio was on, but I wasn't listening -- my mind was far away, already thinking of the other things I had to do once the groceries were put away and the children in bed.

Leah: Why did he use that word?

Me: (coming out of my reverie) What?

Leah: He just said a bad word on that commercial.

Me: (listening now to the tail end of a car dealership ad) Really? What did he say?

Leah: He said, "no-asshole financing."

Me: (nearly driving off the road, laughing) Oh, honey, I'm pretty sure he said "no-hassle financing."

Leah: (laughing along with me) I guess that makes more sense. Otherwise, they wouldn't give financing to people who are... you know...

It's probably a good thing that there isn't any no-asshole financing. If there were, I can think of a few people I know who wouldn't have cars.

Busted

Rachel turned 8 last weekend. She planned an almost-24-hour birthday party which included a trip to the pool at the rec centre (the one with the cool waterslide), pizza, Boston Cream Cake, a movie and a sleepover. It was an unqualified success. Lots of fun was had by all the kids.


During the party, Leah and I decided that we really didn't want to watch Furry Vengeance with the 8-year-old partygoers, my tolerance for Brendan Fraser not being at an all time high. So we repaired to my bedroom, where we watched Lara Croft: Tomb Raider. I figured that it wasn't too bad for Leah to watch -- less gore than the Indiana Jones movies, and about the same kind of plot. I'd forgotten a few things about the movie in the years since I first saw it though:

1. Despite what the credits say, the two main actors in the movie are Angelina Jolie, and Angelina Jolie's breasts. They're in almost every scene. Front and centre.


2. Daniel Craig is in the movie. And I think you all know how I feel about Daniel Craig.


(I have to give him kudos for looking her in the eyes in this picture. I'm pretty sure those things would exert an actual gravitational pull.)

3. Daniel has an almost-nude scene in the movie.


Yes, he's taking a shower (!) and hears a noise. Stepping out of the shower, and not bothering to grab a towel (squee!) he picks up his gun, and posing carefully behind a view-blocking table (what's the opposite of 'squee'?) he inserts a new clip into his gun (see picture above) and then walks to the door. He throws it open to reveal a startled chambermaid, who screams and throws a towel at him, which, disappointingly, he wraps around himself while apologizing to the maid in Spanish. Still PG rated, yet the scene makes the whole silly plot, Daniel's atrocious attempt at an American accent, and the wall-to-wall presence of Angelina's boobs worth watching.

We were watching an old VHS tape of the movie ('cause I'm old school), and as soon as the scene ended, Leah left the room to get more popcorn for us. I rewound it and watched the scene again. And then I rewound it and watched the scene again. Leah walked back in during the third time Daniel inserted the clip into his gun.

Leah: Did you rewind that?

Me: What? Oh. Um. Yeah. I did.

Leah: Why?

Me: I couldn't hear what he said at the start of the scene, so I rewound it to see if I could hear it better.
(I figured it was pretty good thinking on my feet, if I do say so myself.)

Leah: Mum?

Me: Yeah?

Leah: He was in the shower. He didn't say anything.

Busted.

There is no one like her in the whole universe

Found while initialling work in Leah's workbook, where the teacher had asked them to explain the word 'unique':

Unique means special and that there is nothing in the whole universe like it.

I am unique. There is only one of me, unless I have been secretly cloned.

Yep, she's my daughter alright.

Conrad Black has nothing on her

I think Leah might have a head for business. She decided to set up a face-painting stand at the end of the driveway to make some money to spend at the Carp Fair. She was very methodical. First she drew designs of the various face paintings on offer on pieces of paper that she inserted into plastic photo-album pages, and created a catalogue of designs. Then she bought some face paint crayons.

I heard the following when she was discussing how much she should be charging for the service with her sister:

Rae: How much are you going to charge?

Leah: I don't know. A dollar? Hey! We should go on Dragons' Den and ask for $300 in return for 40% of the business.

I figure I'll be getting a Rolls for my birthday in a couple of years.

(For my American friends, you have Dragons' Den too, only it's called Shark Tank down there.)