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]

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.

Gingy goes to Nice

In the movie Amelie, one of the characters kidnaps a garden gnome and takes pictures of him all over the world and mails them back to the owner. I liked that idea, but garden gnomes are too big to carry in my purse. But Gingy isn't, so this is Gingy's trip to Nice.

The first leg of the journey was a train from Ottawa to Toronto to Windsor.  It was a long day.

 

Here is Gingy the next day, checking his luggage at Detroit International airport:

 

 

The trip did not go exactly as planned.  We flew from Detroit to New York's JFK airport.  We were delayed almost an hour leaving JFK, and so here's Gingy killing time with the boys in Charles DeGaulle Airport in Paris, waiting to get on a new flight since the delay meant we missed our connection to Nice.

 

Finally we arrived in Nice with most of our luggage.  Gingy collapsed on a chair on the balcony of the villa.  He was very jet-lagged and in need of a glass of wine.

 

Soon he headed for bed. In the movie star bedroom of the villa.

 

The next day, we went into downtown Nice.  The Port is pretty cool.

 

We went into the Old Town (Vielle Ville) and stopped for lunch and a drink in the K'fe Cayenne in Place du Palais:

 

Cafe au lait hit the spot:

 

Later we stopped for lunch. You kind of have to order Salade Nicoise when you're in Nice.
 

 

 After all that food, cafe au lait wasn't going to cut it. It was time for espresso!

 

 

Christmas Eve we made a special feast of cheese and crackers and prosciutto and pineapple and salami and shrimp and champagne.  We even tried lumpfish roe that we bought by accident, thinking it was seafood sauce.  It was salty and fishy.  No one had seconds.

 

 

We took turns having our pictures taken in the jacuzzi tub in my Dad's bedroom.

 

Gingy hit the champagne a bit too hard and decided to wear the wire thingy that came on the bottle.

 

After Christmas dinner, we had Buche Noel for dessert.

Sadly, Gingy got into an altercation with some locals.

 

Hopefully, his New Year's will be better!

 

Merry Christmas, everyone!!!!

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.

Focus -- my kid's got it

Morning conversation Sunday:

Me: Morning Rae, what would you like for breakfast?

Rae: Waffles.

Me: Sorry, you guys ate the last waffles yesterday. You can have a bagel or cereal. [changing topic]
Hey, I had the strangest dream this morning right before I woke up.  Do you want to  hear it?

Rae: OK

Me: I was riding in a stretch limousine with Arlene from across the street, but her hair was really long and she was wearing it in ponytails.  For some reason we were in downtown Toronto, but when we looked through the moon roof of the limo we could see two bald eagles circling overhead.  One of them was carrying two volleyballs in his talons.  When we noticed this, he let go of the volleyballs and they fell and bounced off the hood of the limo, and we nearly got into an accident.  Weird, eh?

Rae: So..... what you're saying is that we're out of waffles.

Me: Um, yeah.

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.

Just Don't 3

Yet another public service announcement for my loyal readers.

If you buy Just Dance 3 for the Wii for your daughter for her birthday, your entire family will spend more time dancing, which is wonderful exercise. Win.

If you are wearing a pair of pajama bottoms with a loose drawstring, and grab a Wii remote and dance like crazy to The Pointer Sisters' "I'm So Excited", you might *actually* dance your pants off. Fail.

However, this will send your children into fits of hysterical laughter, which is also pretty good cardio excercise. Win. I think.

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.

The French sense of humour, part deux

While traversing the city on Sunday, on our way to the Port in order to buy tickets for our boat ride to Monaco, we walked through Place Garabaldi. There is a big statue in the middle of the square.



Apparently, Mr. Garabaldi liked to play raquetball.

A conversation on the Promenade

On the Promenade des Anglais.

Alison: Over there, green shirt, black pants.

Lise (Alison's sister): Mmmm, nice.

Alison: You know, we need a code word for saying "Look at the hot guy over there" so we don't have to say "Look at the hot guy over there."

Lise: Yep.

Alison: But what?

Lise: How about "Bazinga".

Alison: Bazinga?

Lise: Or "Knock, knock".

Alison: *laughs* I like "Bazinga".

Lise: "Bazinga" it is.

The French sense of humour

We went walking this morning, my sister Lise, my dad and I, looking for a cheese shop. On the way we passed a small store that sells cosmetics:

Outside was this sign:

"Tested on the English"

I think that PETA would probably be OK with that.

Hee.

And now for something completely different

A while back I did a recipe post on my blog. Now it's going to be a travel blog for a while. Why? Because I'm in France, and who knows when I'm going to have a chance like this again. So you're just going to have to put up with me chronicling two weeks of jealousy-inducing meals and trips and scenery, just because I can. Sorry.

Did I say France? I meant the South of France. Yes, I'm in Nice on the French Riviera, and really, now I know why rich and famous people move here. It's gorgeous.

The trip, from Detroit, to Washington, to Munich and then to Nice, was very long, but the last leg, from Munich to Nice was when I met the first man of the trip. Instead of being seated next to my sister, I was next to a really good-looking man. He was olive-skinned and dark-haired, with huge brown eyes and long silky lashes and charming English. Unfortunately, he was also about 18, and spoke to me with all the polite respect that's usually reserved for the elderly. Sigh. I couldn't figure out his nationality: Italian? Spanish? French? Turns out he was Swedish. Go figure

We arrived in Nice about 2 p.m. local time and took a bus to our apartment.



It's very nice and looks out over the Promenade des Anglais and the Mediterranean Sea.

We had only been in the apartment (me, my dad, my sister and my stepmum) half an hour before the first bottle of rose was polished off. Life is good.

(We had been travelling for 16 hours when this was taken and well, we are kind of tired and it shows.)

Culinary dilemma: solved

A couple of days ago, I went out for lunch with my friend Pat. We went to The Pantry, a vegetarian tea room that's been in business for more than 30 years in the Glebe Community Centre. The meal was delicious. I had vegetable-lentil soup, an open-faced tuna salad sandwich on rye, and Italian marmalata cake.

Yes, tuna salad. In a vegetarian tea room. Apparently tuna is a vegetable now.

Taking this into account, along with the European Union's Jam Directive of 1979, which declared the carrot to be a fruit (due to Portugal wanting to trade its carrot jam within the EU), I think I may have found a creative way to solve my Easter Dinner problem.

Due to the travel plans of the family members I've invited for an Easter meal, I'm having my ham and scalloped potato dinner on Good Friday, a day that is tradionally meat-free.

But that's OK. I'm not serving meat, I'm serving fish. Yep, those pink, curly-tailed, funny-nosed fish.


Hey, if it worked for Portugal, it can work for me.

This weekend by the numbers

Number of children affected by the violent vomiting virus - 2

Number of times Leah threw up Friday night - 1 (But it was a doozy)

Number of times per hour Rachel threw up between midnight Friday and 5 a.m. Saturday - 3

Number of mothers affected by the VVV in my house - 0 (So far, fingers crossed)

Number of degrees Celcius reached on Saturday in sunshine - 15

Number of yard waste bags filled with leaves which fell from the oak tree after the snow started to fall and I stopped raking last year - 4

Number of shoots of crocus and tulip poking through the soil proving that it's spring - ~25

Number of spider-related screams that startled passing dog walkers - 1

Number of Advil consumed due to muscle pain from yard work - 2

Number of RDJ movies acquired for weekend viewing after girls in bed - 1 (Sherlock Holmes)

Number of RDJ movies viewed Friday night, seeing as night-time hours spent running from one girl's bedroom to the other and to the bathroom to empty vomit bowls - 0

Number of times Grease was viewed instead by sick girls who ended up in my bed in the wee hours - 1.5

Number of RDJ movies viewed Saturday night, seeing as Friday night was essentially sleepless - 0.021 (I think I might have stayed awake for the first three minutes)

Number of feelings of accomplishment for starting to get yard in shape - 1

International Women's Day

We have a little ritual that we do when we leave the house for the day, heading for school and work. First, we tell the cats to behave themselves while we're gone: "Be good. No smoking. No making french fries." And then as we go through the front door, I always say, "Let's go conquer the world!"

Today is the 100th anniversary of International Women's Day, so I decided to switch it up a bit. I told the girls that I wanted them to go out and kick some butt and show everyone what super amazing women they are. (And then I had to explain the word 'metaphorically' to Rachel.)

What are you going to do today?

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:

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Skating on the Rideau Canal Skateway:

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A fire in the fireplace:

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

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A glass or two of Shiraz:

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