The Slip up!

So the Christmas season has moved along tickedy-boo! Santa Claus arrived on schedule. The wedding plans and preparations remained remarkably sane. Everyone was having a good little break from our hectic schedules. Then the inevitable happened, derailing most of the Christmas cheer we'd acumulated over the last few days!

Something went missing...Katie came out of the master bedroom and asked me what I'd done with the outfit she'd left in my room a week ago. She had put her new dress and cardigan on the chair in my room so it would be here for the day of Sara's wedding. And when she went to find it, it was GONE.

Wally was just sitting in the kitchen minding his own business-reading one of his new Christmas books when all eyes turned on him! "I never touched the dress. I never even saw it!"

"Sure Dad, it was on the chair by your bed. Where did you put it?"

Well, we all know how this story ends.

I really thought he'd moved the dress or even tossed it with the old bag of shoes I had set aside. There really was no other explanation-except maybe:

So I slipped up. And Wally's record is still clear.

But we all know that won't last

Redemption!!!

So Wally has felt like he's been "picked on" as I've blogged about some of the funny things that happen around our house. What he doesn't realize is just how much funnier things are when we make him the joke.

But in all fairness, he has had his day of REDEMPTION just recently. There are some things that are so poetic, they're funny.

We all agree that Dad is a good guy. He's even up there with the great guys of the world. And he really did know that the chocolate chips were in the bin marked POISON. He was just respecting my wishes for everyone to quit eating the chocolate chips!

And the other day as we were busy at work, Katie sent a text message from the home front: "Good news!! I found the computer games!" Apparently, when we'd thrown out the computer desk in the summer, someone stashed the computer games down with the games for the Wii. What a remarkably sensible idea. Games with the games....

As I showed Wally the text, he broke into a broad grin. "I knew I was innocent."

So we may poke fun at our Dad regularly and he takes the heat for a lot of stuff that he really does do: (he really does clean up; he doesn't throw things away as much as he used to)

BUT occasionally he comes through a crisis innocent and unscathed.

Christmas Tradition?

I realize some families have awesome Christmas traditions. I also know that at our house, we do the best we can. As the kids were filtering in to the family home this past week there was a lot of excited twitter about the COMPUTER GAMES!

I don't know exactly when it happened but it can probably be traced back to my "video games will rot your brain" phase. Back in the day when I was mother to a house full of pliable young brains, I was convinced that leisure time was best spent reading the classics or creating art.

Nintendo, X-Box, Wii and the like were all evil and created to destroy the rising generation.

Consequently, my kids spent what little free time I allowed them enriching their minds with educational computer games; games that required them to think and use their brains.

They spent hours creating cities, zoos, amusement parks and incredible, complicated social systems

And because I was not entirely heartless, I remember quite clearly making the rule that Christmas vacation was the one time that everyone could play computer games. There was no school and it was time to party!

So it came to pass that the most anticipated Christmas tradition in our home became the "Computer Games Marathon!" Apparently, while I was upstairs locked in my room wrapping presents or in the kitchen stuffing that turkey, the kids were down in the computer room, in the office or on a laptop in the family room playing Zoo Tycoon, Roller Coaster Tycoon, SIM City, Tomb Raider, etc. etc. I've learned that these games often went into the night; sometimes 24 hours a day as individuals relieved one another around the clock.

Apparently, as sons-in-law joined the family, they also adopted the "Christmas Computer Game Marathon" as the most beloved of family traditions.

So last week when Katie and her husband were finished exams, they headed home to help me get ready for Christmas. There was vacuuming to compltete, a tree to trim, some baking to finish and the games had to get set up!

We were having a pretty good day when about midway through the afternoon Katie started to wonder aloud where the packet that held the discs had been removed to when Wally and I discarded our ancient computer desk last summer. "Where do you think that package of computer games is, Mom?" "I don't see them here on the CD shelf." "Do you think they're in with the photo discs?" "Where do you think you put those discs Mom?"

Now you all remember that I'm married to a tidy man! It was just a matter of time before someone said outloud what everyone in the room was thinking. "I think Dad (choose one:) threw away, recycled, sent to Goodwill, the computer games."

Immediately, EVERYONE jumped on the Bandwagon! Of course, Wally's obsessive cleaning would be the only reason the computer games would go missing.

At first, he maintained his innocence with a vengance but as the afternoon wore on and the computer games were no where to be found, he finally admitted that, Yes, he probably had disposed of the sacred package, even though he couldn't remember just exactly what he'd done with it.

Katie told the story of how in grade three she had told the teacher that her dad had thrown out her homework because it was left on the kitchen counter and the teacher had said, " Now Katie, we all know that a dad wouldn't do that. Why don't you just admit you lost it? ...and stay in for recess to get your homework done."

Friends and neighbors soon heard about the missing computer games and started to rummage through their own stashes to see if this Christmas could be saved. Of course, a number of people called or facebooked to say that the Smart's could borrow any old computer games that would work.

A relieved calm fell over the entire household as it looked like the Marathon could happen.

As the kids began to arrive last week from their various destinations, Dad was once again forgiven, the PC was fired up and it was GAME ON!

The SIMS live, the Zoo has vistors and all is right in the world. Merry Christmas!

.....to be continued.....

one what?

I am old enough to remember when the phrase, "Have a nice day!" was coined and people started using the greeting in every day conversation and especially in business interactions. I initially thought the greeting was a bit lame but over the years, I've gotten used to it and even found myself saying those words to people with whom I have casual interactions. It's harmless and virtually meaningless so "whatever..."

Lately, however, I'm increasingly BUGGED by something I've heard a few too many times while out and about in the world running errands and doing business.

Yesterday was the last straw! I went to the Bulk Barn to buy some Christmas treats and was loading my $$$47 worth of candy corn (seriously, it doesn't seem like that much when the sign says 3 cents per piece...) in to my reusable shopping bag when the girl at the till mumbled, "ya, have a good one."

My mind was still trying to compute the outrageous cost of colored sugar when it was assaulted with that meaningless phrase! The guy at Mr. Lube had said it to me earlier in the week and I'd smiled. The adolescent at Five Guys Burgers and Fries had cheerily waved good bye with the same phrase the night before but this Bulk Barn Barista put me over the edge.

I looked her squarely in the eye and said in the calmest voice I could muster, "A good one of what? a good seizure? a good sleep? a good laugh, lunch? a good bowel movement?! What should I have a good one of?!!!?"

Clearly confused, she stared at me for a moment and then cast her eyes down and said, "sorry" TRANSLATION: "What the heck is your problem, Lady? I'm just pushing buttons here."

Yes, I confess my buttons were pushed. But my work for the Language Police was done so I took my candy and continued on my way to have a "good drive" home and a "nice day".

Poison!!

Wally loves chocolate! I am more a chips and salsa girl but given a choice, my husband will take the chocolate every time.

When I was a full-time stay at home mom I did a lot of baking. With five little kids and a husband that enjoys sweet treats I baked about 5 dozen cookies every other day or so. The cookies of choice were chocolate chip. I had a great recipe everybody loved them.

The key ingredient was the chocolate chips. Often I would take the chocolate chip container from the cupboard only to find it depleted or empty. It was frustrating. I bought chocolate chips in a two kg. bag!! We should never run out.

I knew that Wally quite regularly grabbed a handful of chocolate chips on his was through the pantry towards the cookie jar. It wasn't until I realized that the kids had picked up their dad's habit that I knew I had to take drastic measures. It was hard enough keeping them in cookies; the chocolate chips needed to be preserved at any cost.

One day while I was alone in the kitchen I took the chocolate chip container and marked it with a skull and crossbones and then in green permanent marker wrote POISON on both ends of the tupperware - "do not eat!"

Everything went according to plan for a couple of months but slowly, one by one, the kids figured out that the POISON was in fact, chocolate chips and eventually they were all dipping into the container on occasion. I let it go. The kids joked with their friends about the "poison" in the pantry and I kept chocolate chips on the grocery list right below milk, bread and apples.

ONE YEAR LATER: Wally was in the kitchen on a Saturday afternoon and the kids were getting the POISON out of the pantry. "What are you guys doing!" he exclaimed in a panic..."Can't you see you should leave that alone?"

"Seriously Dad," Diana replied in the tone reserved for teenagers who really do know everything. "Who keeps POISON in the pantry with the food? Are you kidding me? You didn't know this was Mom's lame attempt to hide the chocolate chips?"

"Of course I did. I was just playing with you. Here; gimme a handful, too."

LATER THAT NIGHT in the privacy of our bedroom Wally confronted me.

"How could you do that to me?!" he asked incredulously. "I've been looking ofr the chocolate chips for a WHOLE YEAR!"

a tidy man!?

Who knew there was such a thing? But it's a fact. I am married to a tidy man.

I met Wally my first year of university. He lived at the end of the hall on 5th Mac. (That would be the fifth floor of MacKenzie Hall-UofA student housing complex). The first thing I noticed about him was just how well groomed and well dressed he was as he made his way around the floor. He never left his room without every hair in place, shirt neatly buttoned and tucked into his belted, slim fitting jeans....You get the picture. He looked neat and tidy even when he was slumming around the tv room.

When I was first invited in to his room, I was equally impressed. His clothes were hanging neatly in his closet. His bed was made. His books were stacked in an orderly fashion on his bookshelf and on his desk was an open book with pencils and pens waiting patiently in an actual pen holder at the back of his desk. I was impressed!

Then he showed me his stereo, which was state of the art and ultimately cool but the best part of the visit was his album collection. Seriously! He had dozens of albums stored on a shelf - IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER!! Fleetwood Mac? just shuffle through to the "f's" Abba? right there at the front in the "a's".

The most attractive thing about Wally was just how completely neat, tidy and organized he kept his life. And then we married and I moved in! I had never been particularly tidy but being with Wally made a believer out of me and over the years I have grown to love cleaning and organizing and everything in between. Nothing is more exhilarating than cleaning closets for date night. A new shelving unit sends shivers up and down my spine! Rearranging furniture is still one of the most fun things we do together. I love my neat house and my tidy life!

But we're approaching 30 years together and occasionally his tidiness can get on my nerves.

The other morning I got the milk out of the fridge and put it on the counter. Then I took a glass from the cupboard and set it on the counter by the milk. I'm sure you get the picture of how this was going to work out for me.

I put bread in the toaster and took the butter and jam from the fridge and put those items on the counter beside the toaster.

Then I realized I had a moment to run downstairs to the laundry room to move the wet clothes to the dryer and the dry clothes to the basket to bring upstairs, etc. etc. I mean, really, it takes about two minutes for toast to pop and I am the queen of multi-tasking. I was getting things done!

I deposited the basket in the bedroom just as I heard the toast pop. As I entered the kitchen, you'd never know I'd been there 2 minutes earlier. The counters were completely bare, the food safely stowed in the refrigerator and Wally was just putting my CLEAN glass in the dishwasher.

The popping of the toast combined with my entrance sort of startled him. He got this puzzled look on his face and then he said, "Oh, I bet you wanted that stuff out, didn't you?"

For Jordan...

I just couldn't help myself. I love the look on his face in this photo and felt compelled to post it.

He's a great guy! Love you , Son!

Mr. Bear (part two)

So even though the rest of us were getting tired of hauling Mr. Bear everywhere, Jordan was most happy when Mr. Bear was in sight.

My plan was flawless.

I knew that each of my children understood the realities of laundry. Mysterious things happened when things went to the laundry room. Socks disappeared, colors changed and occasionally things got smaller.........

As Jordan sat on the couch upstairs with his blankie (to which he was never overly attached), I set to work in the basement laundry room. I loaded both the bears into the washing machine with some towels and a good dose of detergent and fabric softener. As the machine churned away I headed upstairs to work in the kitchen-getting a batch of cookies going, tidying up, checking on Jordan and his sister and ultimately being totally distracted by the sound of the magic machine at work in the laundry room.

The moment I heard the "end of cycle" bell ring, I bolted down the stairs to load my loot into the dryer. I was halfway through my plan and I was determined to see it through to completion without interruption. With everything safely stowed in the dryer, I went back upstairs to continue with the morning chores as the towels and bears tumbled dry.

I got Sara and Jordan busy with some toys in the play room. Jordan was starting to ask for his bear-wandering around the room muttering, "Mr. Bear" as he examined the mob of Fisher Price Little People at his disposal.

The dryer bell chimed not a moment too soon and I made a bee-line for the laundry room, anxiously praying the children would stay upstairs long enough for me to make the switch undetected.

I pulled everything out of the dryer! I was sick with worry that something might have gone wrong but as I untangled towels and bears, to my delight, everything was PERFECT! Both bears were fresh, clean, fluffy and ready for action. I hastily stuffed Mr. Bear in the Goodwill bag I kept behind the dryer. "Yes GIrls; I always had a Goodwill bag in the laundry room so that's probably where (insert missing item here) went." But that's another story.....

I gave the Little Mr. Bear a good shake and headed up the stairs. I was absolutely vibrating with anticipation as I entered the playroom. "Mr. Bear?!" Jordan inquired as I came in the room, Little Mr. Bear behind my back. "Oh Buddy, look what happened to Mr. Bear in the wash!! He got smaller! The machine must have shrunk him! It's like magic!"

Sara looked like she was in shock. Jordan was staring at the bear with disbelief. "That's NOT MR. BEAR," he howled. "Sure it is, Son. He just got smaller. See, it's your bear, just littler," I replied in the most reassuring mom voice I could muster. I was losing ground. Jordan's face was getting redder, his little fists were clenching and unclenching. He was shaking his head. Tears were squirting out and down his round cheeks. "It's Mr. Bear, Son. He's clean and fresh and little. Isn't he cute?" Jordan was devastated. He held the bear in his hand and cried and cried and cried. Then he cried some more.

Sara lost interest almost immediately. "That's kinda cool." And she was off playing again.

When the big girls came home for lunch, they marvelled at the mysteries of laundry and tried to comfort Jordan. They both said the new Mr. Bear was definitely an improvement since he was easier to carry and could even fit in a pocket if necessary.

But Jordan was inconsolable. He curled up on the couch with the Bear and sobbed for most of the day.

When his Dad came home that night he asked, "What's wrong with Jordan?" The sisters replied in unison that Mr. Bear had shrunk in the wash and Jordan was sad. Jordan wouldn't eat his dinner and continued to cry and sob for the rest of the evening.

Wally and I deposited a very unhappy little boy in his bed that night with the much smaller Mr. Bear nearby. I was having second thoughts; maybe this wasn't such a great idea. "You can't give him the old bear now. It will screw him up entirely," his dad told me later that night as I fretted. Wally counselled, "Parenting is about being consistent, not changing your mind, sticking to your guns...He'll wake up and have forgotten all about Mr. Bear. He'll be fine. Don't worry and DON'T GIVE HIM MR. BEAR"

Three days later...Jordan was still unhappy; miserable might better describe his state and I was a nervous wreck. He had cried non-stop, even sobbing in his sleep. He hadn't eaten properly since the first day-skipping lunch and then only picking at subsequent meals. In addition to emotional turmoil, my little slugger was probably losing weight. I was wracked with guilt and basically the whole situation was spiralling out of control. The girls were no longer entertained and were beginning to treat their brother with disdain. I had to act.

I slunk to the laundry room, rummaged through the Goodwill bag and retrieved Mr. Bear. I climbed the stairs slowly and approached the couch where my little snot encrusted man child lay. I held out the bear where he could see it.

"MR. BEAR!" he squealed. "Mr. Bear is back!!" He jumped up immediately, beaming from ear to ear, dancing a little happy dance that would rival any NFL display. Sara came running with all the commotion. "It's a miracle." she said solemnly and went back to her toys.

Jordan was overjoyed. Mr. Bear and Little Mr. Bear became fast friends. And we all lived happily ever after, somehow.

PS: As Jordan grew, the Mr. Bears went on many adventures but eventually lived in a hammock above his bed. In honor of the Mr. Bears, however, Jordan did have a "tiny Mr. Bear" that he clipped on the rearview mirror of his car. Today the family of bears are stowed safely in a rubbermaid waiting to move in with Jordan and his wife, Sara- probably when there's a new little boy to love them.

Mr. Bear (part one)

My son Jordan is a good man but he has repeatedly expressed his disdain over my choice to begin blogging. "Journal it, Mom, and I'll read it but don't ask me to follow something so trendy as a BLOG!"

As soon as he said that, the thought came to mind that I needed to blog about him!

"That'll show him who's in charge."

When Jordan was much smaller, he had a companion we affectionately referred to as

"Mr. Bear."

Mr. Bear was a large stuffed Koala Bear and Jordan LOVED him! I don't remember why I gave my infant son such a large stuffed toy but the bear was pretty much the same size as the child. Mr. Bear was carted around with the baby boy everywhere he went and people would always comment on how "adorable" they were. As the child began to toddle, he could often be seen dragging Mr. Bear along. Mr. Bear and Jordan were inseparable!

When Jordan was about two, Mr. Bear was starting to show some wear and tear. His fur was matted. He was sort of losing his shape. He'd been through the washer and dryer more than any bear should. And it was becoming a bit cumbersome. Jordan was a big boy from day one (10lbs 6 oz BIG!) but now he was a big toddler with a big bear in tow. Add to the boy and his bear, his wiry, hyperactive barely three year old sister, the other two girls ("does he have to bring that stupid Mr. Bear EVERYWHERE, Mom?!") and I was getting a little loaded down trying to keep track of all the kids and toys and stuff I was hauling around every time I left the house.

One day, I volunteered to clean the toys in the Nursery at our church. A recent directive from the church administration had suggested that all stuffed toys should really be removed from the church's nurseries because they were germ collectors/distributors. As I was sorting through all the toys and separating out the stuffies, I happened across the answer to my "Mr. Bear" situation!

There in the bottom of one of the boxes was a miniature Mr. Bear! This smaller version was clearly brand new and although he was only about one tenth the size of Mr. Bear, he was an exact replica. As soon as I saw that Little Mr. Bear, I had a plan. "Can I take this little bear home?" I asked. "Sure, the stuffies are just going in the dumpster. If you want that little guy, he's yours." I hastily stowed the new baby bear in my backpack (of course I carried a backpack!) and set out to carry out my sneaky, sneaky plan.

The next morning after I had deposited the two oldest girls at school, I rushed home to get going on the laundry. "Jordan, Mr. Bear needs a wash. Let's get him all nice and clean." As usual, I pried the Bear out of Jordan's little paws and coaxed the bear into the machine for a bath with the towels. We'd done this before and Jordan had learned that he liked the fresher Mr. Bear so it was not too much of a problem. Jordan trusted me and understood that if he could be patient for the cycle, his bear would return to him fresh and huggable. As I settled my unsuspecting son on the sofa with his blankie and a Disney movie, I actually felt no guilt or remorse over what I was about to do. When mother's get worn out and desperate, they can be heartless.

(to be continued....)

"Going Down?"

My office is on the 9th floor of the downtown business tower. Generally, I take the stairs. Nine flights of stairs a few times a day is good for woman my age.

The other day, however, I was tired and loaded down with a bit of "baggage" so I opted for the elevator.

I was enjoying the ride down when the elevator abruptly stopped on the fifth floor. Now the fifth floor has been locked off for months. It's been under construction (or reconstruction) and the contractors didn't want anyone accidentally wandering on to the "site". Needless to say, I was a bit surprised to see the doors opening.

Imagine my further surprise when I was greeted by another ANGRY MAN! And this time he was clearly angry with me.

"What are you doing in the service elevator?" he growled.

I realized that to get off on the fifth floor might actually be like jumping into a black hole and I really had no where else to go so I held my ground, shrugged my shoulders, smiled my biggest "dumb old lady smile" and muttered, "Is this the service elevator? This isn't a service elevator...what?" I looked as sweet and confused as possible and waited for him to BACK OFF!

But he shoved his cart in the door and yelled at me again..."What are you doing in the service elevator?!!?" The thought occurred to me that I could have made it down and up the stairs twice by now and this guy was not anything I was going to deal with rationally at the end of the day.

I put my fist on the close door button, shoved the cart out with my left foot, peeked around the boxes and calmly replied, "Going down."

Welcome?!

There is a sign beside the door at the bank in the building where I work:

WELCOME

The other day I was rushing back to the office after lunch and I glanced up the street to the main entrance of the building and saw

at least 12 angry men crowded around the door - arguing! Normally I would just put my head down and plow through a situation like that but on this day I just didn't have the energy to deal with the perils of modern urban life.

That welcome sign just jumped out and begged me to duck in and cut through the bank. It would make getting into the building so uncomplicated...

At least that's what I had in mind until I was stopped in my tracks by the local rent-a-cops who obviously hadn't noticed the ruckus 100 feet up the sidewalk. "Do you have business in the bank, Ma'am?"

That adolescent in costume actually called me MA'AM! Seriously, he gave me no choice. I smiled sweetly, batted my lashes and told him a bare faced lie!

"Of course I do, Honey. Gotta get my banking done before I'm late for work. Thanks."

He actually opened the door for me. And I never looked back.