Love, 10 Years Later...

A decade has passed since I became Mark's wife.

October 11th, 2003

Had anyone told me, back in high school, that the boy with the gorgeous curly locks would one day be the father of my children, I'd have run away, laughing.

"I mean, yes, he's adorable," I might have said, "but marriage is not in my plans. Kids? No way. Besides, he drives me crazy and we argue too much."

A lifetime later, we are married with kids. He still drives me crazy and we still argue too much.


And yet...

This man, who once drove his boxy Chevette so fast over back-country roads, I think I peed my pants a little, now sometimes steals my car and fills it up with gas and always leaves money in the cup holder so that I can fuel up with to-go coffee without scrambling for change.

This man, who can sometimes go days without speaking to me, will happily sing duets in the car, while in the back seat, our children laugh in delight, especially when he deliberately warbles off-key.

This man, whose temper is fierce, spent the week after my brother died soothing me with gentle words and tucking me into bed when I simply could not stand a moment longer.

On the anniversary of Andrew's passing, he knows to run a bath with bubbles and presses a tissue into my hand, even before my tears begin to fall. Of all the things he has said to me about the loss of my only sibling, this is the one that both breaks and soothes my heart the most:

"Your brother was mine for a little while too, Liz. I was proud of that. I loved him. Miss him, too."

We are not a perfect couple, despite 10 years of trying. Most of the time, we're not even close. Instead, we stagger through the lows and float through the highs and bring each other coffee in apology or affection, depending on the day.

We can have a conversation without words, make each other laugh with a single one, with a glance, with a memory.

He accepts - for the most part - that I will move the furniture around every month and I have resigned myself to planning for his habitual lateness and inability to notice that the toilet paper roll needs replacing.

Sometimes, he brings me a book for no reason, just because he can.

Sometimes, I shave my legs for no reason, just because I can.

And day by day, year by year, decade by decade we are muddling through.

We have just had the best summer of our marriage, despite the stress of preparing the house for sale and then the wrenching process of NOT moving.

We spent most of our evenings together on the porch, listening to our world settle into sleep and listening to each other. We spoke of things long-buried, we laughed at our own foolishness and shared hopeful dreams for our future.

One night, towards summer's end, I turned to my husband and said, simply: "This is the first year in a long time that on our anniversary, we'll have something to truly celebrate."

And this man, he got it. He knew it, too. And he took my hand and smiled. "I think you're right. It feels good, doesn't it?"

I snuggled closer and sighed. "Yep. Sure does."

Sigh. Typical shot of the two of us...
 

Happy 10th Anniversary, Husband!

I love you.

Wife

A Brighter Light

Today is a special day here at the House of Leprechauns.

Today marks the last day of Mark's training: tomorrow, he will officially be a nuclear operator at OPG .

To say that I am proud of him would be an understatement. He has worked so hard since last September: studying, commuting, being tested - in so many ways - again and again.

And here he is - here we all are - at the end of one journey and the beginning of the next.

I am grateful to him for all of his efforts and for keeping the faith. The road to here has not been easy, on him or on our family. But it has all been worth it.

Congratulations, Husband! May the coming years be all that you'd imagined.

For Mark

 

When we married, pledging to love and honour for all the rest of our days, we had no idea what we were getting into. All these years later, knowing, it makes me laugh a little, at all we did not know.

 

Today, I know this:

 

I am proud of you.

I am proud of the courage you show every day and that you took a leap of faith.

I know that change is not easy, for any of us, but especially you.

But despite that discomfort, you took a deep breath and pushed on.

Pushed through.

 

And here you are, poised on the edge of  a bright, bright future. Go, you!

 

I know it has not been an easy journey to here, love.

For you, for me, for us.

And yet...we have fumbled through and you have carried the weight all this time, mostly without complaint.

 

For all of it, I am grateful. Know that.

 

Know too that, as our lives shift and change once again, I love you.

Despite the storm that is sometimes "us", I will always love you.

 

And I've got your back. As you have always had mine.

 

That's another thing we didn't know, then:

 

That we would still be here, in spite of ourselves.

 

I am so happy to be here, to see you shine.

 

Always,

Liz

On Fridays, Baileys and Being a Domestic Goddess

It's Friday!

Around here, the end of the work/school week goes like this:

Dump kids, purse, mitts, coat and bags in the porch and let them sort themselves out. Head directly to kitchen sink, filling it with hot, soapy water. Fill sink with dishes from breakfast, toss juice into cups and rummage for apples.

Toss apples, juice and kids into family room. Ignore them to empty dishwasher from one side whilst filling it from the other. Heat oven to 300C and  place cup filled with two tablespoons of vanilla extract, two tablespoons of cinnamon extract inside. Set timer for 20 minutes.

Pour Baileys. Sip contentedly.

Shoo kids upstairs. Ignore their shrieks of laughter and thumping as they bounce on beds. Spritz couch with Febreze, fold a quilt tidily over its arm and kick lone sock underneath it.

Sip Baileys.

Turn on side lamps, bask briefly in the warm glow they cast. Scurry over to computer desk, stack haphazardly tossed papers and bills into a tidy(ish) pile. Festoon piles with sticky notes that say "To File" and "Kids' Work" so that it appears as though I will be organizing them shortly, instead of simply adding to the piles next week around this time.

Photo nostalgia courtesy of Pinterest.com

Check Facebook.

Sip Baileys.

Toss laundry into washing machine. Hide washed and folded but not-yet-put-away baskets of laundry in the boys' closet. Shut their door, just to be safe.

Head to bathroom, kicking two toy guns, a lone plastic arrow and a stuffed alligator into the linen closet along the way. Windex toilet, bathtub, sink and mirror. Pause to inspect eyebrows. Make mental note to have them waxed as soon as possible.

Sip Baileys whilst folding tiny triangle into the top of the toilet paper roll. Grin at how such a small, stupid thing can bring such delight.

Race downstairs. Wash dishes in sink. Sweep kitchen floor, hide schoolbags behind the settee, hide remnants of late-night-Halloween-candy-foraging in bottom of garbage can.


DING!

20 minutes' worth of Christmas wafting from the oven has come to an end. So too, have my chores.

Glance at clock. 5:26....in 5, 4, 3, 2....

Lean against counter, watching the side door.

Sip Baileys.

Open the side door, just in time.

Smile.

"Hello, husband! Welcome home!"

 

 

 

And you?

How do you wrap up a long week?

Any hoodwinking cleaning tips you'd like to share?  

Eight Against the North (Part II): How Kool Aid Saved My Life

It's kind of a rite of passage here in Ontario - gather up a few friends, some beer, some canoes and head into the untamed wilderness that is Algonquin Park.

When my turn came for the merry adventure with long-time friends and semi-experienced campers, I thought I was prepared:

Tent...check!
Pack...check!
Beer cans shoved into socks and jammed into pack...check!
Kool-aid packet.....uh, no. Nope, did not think to pack cherry-flavoured sugar crystals.

Good thing my friend Clarence did:

On Day Three of our trip into 'Nam the beautiful and wild heart of the Canadian Shield, I discovered the horror that are leeches. Leeches, in case you've never seen the movie "Stand By Me" are filthy black, blood-sucking slugs, known to frequent swampy bogs and marshes and attach themselves to passersby, at whim. Park authorities had issued a fire-ban mere days before our arrival, due to unseasonably hot temperatures and not enough rain, which put the park at risk for fire and meant more swamp, less water.

It also meant more leeches.

I thought I'd outsmarted the li'l buggers by jamming socks onto my feet as we slogged through swampland, canoes held high above our heads, jaws set in grim determination. Our quest: make it to our next campsite before dark, or die trying.

Even as my friends stopped  regularly to peel feasting bloodsuckers from between their toes or off their calves, I was left blessedly alone. I'm not certain, but I think that my shrieking every time I spied a leech (or a water snake...after awhile, they all looked the same to me) may have deterred them. Regardless, it was a happy relief to set up camp without having experienced  something drinking three times its body-weight of MY blood.

Day Four: Perfection. The day dawned sunny, but not humid and we decided to stay put for one more day, stretching our long weekend into an extra-long one and pushing off for a quick paddle to a sandy beach across the way. Spent the morning frolicking, sunbathing, laughing, all thoughts of trudging through swamp and leeches forgotten.

Bellymonster at the Beach

After lunch, the good mood continued as we dove from the rocks near our site into the cool, dark lake. Splashed and traded "shampoo" back and forth, delighting in the feeling of clean and of contentment. Later, I chatted happily to Clarence as I bent over an overturned canoe, attempting to put in my contact lenses. The first twinge in my nether regions should have got my attention, but didn't really.

The second pinch did and I frowned - surely that pinching sensation in the crease between thigh and my lady bits was from a twisted tankini bottom and not a....

LEECH!

Stumbling, stuttering with terror, I made my awkward, legs-akimbo way over to Clarence and clutched his arm. Willing myself not to cry, I spoke with icy calm: "Clarence, this may sound weird and sort of rude, but I need you to look at my crotch."

Clarence blinked.

I inclined my head downward, looked back up at him and gave a slight nod. As understanding dawned in his eyes, I allowed myself a brief moment's respite from the hysteria building in my body: someone else now shared my horror.

As Clarence hunkered down, I angled my leg slightly, closed my eyes and held my breath, waiting.

A moment passed - a second, a lifetime and then Clarence said the word that pitched me headlong into a living nightmare:

"Duuude!"

And just like that our peaceful morning was shattered as my shrieks of panic filled the air:

 "OhmyGOOOOODDDgetitoffgetitoffgetiofff....howmanyaretheregetitoffgetitoff...

ohmyGODwhatifitgotinsiiidddeeeeeeee me.....AGGGGGHHHHH!!"

The others came running and gathered around as Clarence tried his best to calm me down, mumbling half-hearted assurances that leeches can NOT crawl into one's body through one's vagina (a bold lie, actually, but he was desperate) and would I just calm the f*ck down already?

Slight-Goddess* rifled through the first aid kit and then the meal kits, frantically looking for some salt when Clarence spied the Kool-Aid packs he'd tossed in at the last minute. In that moment, my hero was born. He snatched up a packet and ripped it open, while grabbing me by the arm and forcing my gaze onto his:

"Liz! Hold still now...I'm gonna put some of this Kool-Aid on your...uh...leg, but you have to hold still, ok?"

I whimpered, sniffed, drew in a long, shaky breath and nodded. Okay.

With a steady and deliberate hand, Clarence gently poured the Kool-Aid crystals onto my crotch and to my shock and amazement, within seconds, the long, slimy slug HURLED itself - shrieking, I'm sure I heard shrieking - from my body and lay twitching and twisting in agony in a red, cherry-flavoured puddle on the ground.

Planning a trip? Bring Kool-Aid.

For a moment, there was absolute silence as we watched and then, as blood and Kool-Aid flowed freely from my nether region and snot and tears flowed from my face, I turned to my friends:

"I don't care what you people do, but I am taking THAT canoe and I am getting the hell outta here. Today. I'll sleep in the car if I have to, but I am NOT spending another day out here, getting eaten by leeches!"

As I stomped off toward my tent, the others took a quick vote. All in favour of heading home today?

7 out of 8.

And so, off we went, pushing hard against the wind that suddenly swirled up out of nowhere. With each stroke, Mark encouraged me from his spot in the back of the canoe: "Stroke left....coca-cola! Stroke right....with ice...stroke left...in a fountain glass....stroke left...with a straw...."

When the rain began to pelt us from all sides and caps formed on the water underneath us, he simply got louder: Stroke, stroke, stroke! What I heard was "Coke, coke, coke!" but it was more than enough to have me paddling as hard as I could, determined to propel us off the water before we got struck by lightning. With our only and last stroke - ha! - of luck, we managed to scramble ashore and into our cars just as the lightning lit up the sky. Phew!

Finally, the trip was over.

With a tired sigh, I settled back into the suddenly-luxurious comfort of the fabric seat, switched the air-conditioning to full-blast and smiled sweetly at Mark.

"Next year?

"Yeah?" He sighed it, knowing.

We're renting a cottage."

At the start of our epic journey.

Wanna read how this oh-so-merry adventure began? Click here.

To share your own vacations-gone-awry stories, click in the Comments section and share away!

* By Slight-Goddess, I mean,Sheri who is a "tiny-figured" goddess, not "only-this-much" of a goddess.

* By Clarence, I mean Barry (aka Lumpy, aka Telly, aka My Hero, aka Dude)

* By Wog, I mean Paul, whom I call Pauly-Wog. He does not appreciate it as much as he should, but since he is my oldest and dearest friend, I use it sparingly. Sort of.

Finding the "Good" on Good Friday...

It has been a special kind of day around here. At this holy "Good Friday" draws to its blessed, blessed close, I shall tip my hot chocolate-and-Baileys to you, offer up a prayerful thanks for both and let Facebook tell the story:


This morning's status read as follows:

Sigh.

Thankfully, even Matthew cannot hold a grudge for long and came down bearing gifts for his dad: a bow and arrow, so they could play "Robin Hood and his Minions."

Heh. Minions.

In any case, I managed to tackle 328 loads of laundry before the natives got restless again, so we feasted on a brunch of bacon and eggs before Mark snagged the couch to "rest his eyes":

Desperate to keep the Reds occupied while I sorted and folded the above-mentioned 328 loads of laundry, I threw on some Norah Jones, loaded up the coffee-maker with fresh grounds and dug out some cheap paint-by-numbers kits I'd been hoarding. That kept them busy for, oh, 8 minutes or so:

Alas. Before the paint had even dried the begging started:

"Mummy, can we ride bikes?"

"Just give me a few minutes here, Matthew. You can't ride out front without a grown-up to supervise, so you'll have to wait, ok?"

5 seconds passed

"Mummy, can we ride bikes noooooww?"

"In just a minute, Matthew, please."

17 seconds passed.

"MummyyUH! It's been 12 minutes already!"

Sigh.

It was time to pull out my secret weapon:

Is there anything more beautiful than the sight and sound of children laughing? I think not. No chorus of angels has ever sounded or looked so divine (except perhaps for Luke, who somehow manages to look devilish even when he's being cute)

(Nor had my coffee-flavoured Baileys tasted so heavenly, but I digress...)

We did make it outside, I'm happy to report. We played baseball and skateboarded and rode bikes up and down the street. Well, the Reds did. I sat on the porch with my coffee, soaking up the sunshine and the moment and "supervising."

After supper, Mark took bath duty, which is better than the gift of Blurp, around here. For me, it was gift of time and blessed quiet but for the Reds, it was the gift of play. I am a no-nonsense bather - get in, get washed, get out. Mark, on the other hand, filled the tub to the brim, tossed ALL of their tub toys in AND let them use the bath crayons...

For the record? That sh*t is NOT entirely washable. Mark doesn't know that though and they had so much fun, I don't have the heart to tell him. Maybe tomorrow...for now, this:

Turned out to be a pretty good "Good Friday" after all!

And you?

How do you celebrate holy days?

 How do you bribe help your children to be especially good?

Dear Husband....Love, Wife

Around this time last year I listed some of the weird and wacky ways in which my husband and I keep the divorce lawyers at bay home fires burning here at the House of Leprechauns.

Our Wedding Dance: October 2003

In the spirit of those lists and in true "Us" style,  this was one of a series of infuriating yet oddly endearing conversations we had today, Valentine's Day:

Mark: Oh, by the way, thanks a lot.
Me: For what?
Mark: For leaving the gas gauge on empty in your car.
Me: It's my car. I was going to fill it later today.
Mark: Wish you'd told me that before I filled it up.
Me: You filled it up? Thank you!
Mark: Happy Valentine's Day!

All Smiles, 2009

A little while later:

Mark: Is this coffee fresh?
Me: Yep.
Mark: Like, "this-morning-fresh" or  "you-just-heated-up-yesterday's-to-trick-me fresh?"
Me: This morning fresh.
Mark: Thank you.
Me: Happy Valentine's Day!

La Famille Bellymonster

Post-coffee:

Me, from the bathroom: So what's on your agenda today?
Mark, from the bedroom: Stuff.
Me: Are you gonna expand on that?
Mark: Can I see you naked?
Me: Yep.
Mark: Really?!?!
Me: Happy Valentine's Day!

Funny how most photos of us are from other people's weddings...

This afternoon, as Mark rushed about getting ready for hockey and I filled him in on my day:

Me: So, I cried in class again today.
Mark: That's my girl.
Me: What is WRONG with me, blubbering all the time?
Mark:  You're just sensitive.
Me: Is that another of saying I'm a big suck?
Mark: No. Well, yes. But in a good way.
Me: Is there a good way to be a bawling mess at every little thing?
Mark: Yeah. YOUR way.
Me: Really?
Mark: Happy Valentine's Day. Check the printer.

Trying to recreate our wedding dance, 8 years later.
Failing miserably.
Laughing hysterically.

Pause for me to race  down the stairs and snatch up the wonderfully mushy card (heartfelt, handwritten message and all!)  and oh-so-coveted-newest Nora Roberts book:

Me: You got me a card AND a book!
Mark: Yep.
Me: I didn't get you anything.
Mark: I don't want anything.
Me: Not even a card?
Mark: I don't like cards.
Me: Oh.
Mark: I like when you write me stuff, just not in cards. Just, you know, YOU writing ME stuff.
Me: Really?
Mark: Really.

Now:

Me:  This is ME writing YOU stuff. I love you. Happy Valentine's Day.

Us, being....well...us!

How Not Parenting Makes Me a Better Mum

My parents took the Reds camping this weekend - without me. In their absence, I stayed up late, slept in until mid-morning, cleaned the house and hung out with Mark. I also learned a few things about parenting.

Specifically, I learned a few things about parenting my kids:

1. I have great kids. I knew that, of course, before the weekend. It's just that sometimes, that truth gets lost amidst the sameness of being with them every day, all day long. I get so caught up in teaching them manners, and nagging reminding them to pick up their toys, to get along, to poo in the toilet, to stop unbuckling their seatbelts while the car is in motion...that I forget.

I forget to praise them for being kind to one another, for putting the cap on the toothpaste, for coming when called, for spelling words correctly, for remembering their hats, helmets and to stay out of the sand pile.

Without them here, I remembered.

2. I must rediscover my sense of silly. On Saturday, I had the rare privilege of watching my niece and nephew for a few hours. I have never had them all to myself before and I was delighted to read them a dozen books, using all my "silly voices". I laughed aloud when they did, loving the happy sounds they made. I spent 10 minutes kissing invisible boo-boos up and down their limbs, making them laugh harder and twirled my fingers into their curls, holding them closer, gently, for as long as I could.

As I did so, feeling my shy, prickly niece relax into my side and sigh with tired contentment, I tried to remember the last time I got goofy with my own kids. Seems I don't do it often enough, because I couldn't recall a recent "Funny Five Minutes" and vowed then and there to change things for the Reds.

Without them here, I remembered.

3. The Reds are my everything, but maybe there's room for others, too. It has been many, many years since Mark and I have spent more than 24 hours alone. And the three-day weekend sans kids is the first one we've had since before Luke was born. It was also the longest stretch of time alone together that didn't end with a door-slamming, curse-hollering fight. Sad, but true.

I had forgotten the quiet pleasure of  sitting together on the deck with only our books and our coffee. I had forgotten how much fun a trip to the hardware store, to window-shop and dream - could be. I had forgotten what brought Mark and I together years ago and this weekend, I was given a glimpse of the people we used to be.

For a few brief days, I allowed myself to be the wife I've never been and focused my attention solely on Mark. I was rewarded with a relaxed and cheerful man with whom I peacefully shared meals, coffee and forgotten laughter. And I realized that, in putting the Reds first, always,  I do our family a great disservice.

Without them here, I remembered.

I am so grateful to my children.  Even when they're not here, they teach me the biggest, most important lessons in life: Let go. Be silly. Forgive.

And you? What have your kids taught you lately?

Cats in the Cradle

Tonight we ate dinner with my friend Jack and his daughter, Emily. Jack and Emily's mum have recently separated, so there's been a period of adjustment for everyone as they learn to live apart while still being a family, for Emily's sake.

So far, so good.

But for whatever reason, Matthew chose today to quiz me about Emily's new living arrangements. Naturally, I was utterly unprepared for his questions and wonder if I said anything right.

This is how the heartbreak went:

Matthew: Why does Emily get to live in two houses?
Belly: Because her parents live apart from each other and they each have their own house.
Matthew: Why do they live apart?
Belly: Because sometimes grown ups get along better when they don't live together.
Matthew: Why?
Belly: Umm...because sometimes grown-ups end up not wanting the same things anymore and they argue.
Matthew: Or they're sad?
Belly: Or they're sad.
Matthew: So does Emily live with Jack more or her mummy more?
Belly: Emily stays with Jack for one week and then her mummy for one week. And Jack brings her to school every day, even on the days when she's with her mummy. So she doesn't really have time to miss him, if that's what you're thinking.
Matthew: I'm not thinking that. I'm thinking about where Daddy will live.
Belly: Mummy and Daddy live together, Matthew. With you and Luke. It's not something you need to worry about, ok?
Matthew: I don't worry about it Mummy. I just think that if Daddy lived in a different place from us then we'd get to see him more often. We could live with him for one week and you for one week.

HUGE pause for me to pull the stunned look from my face, and turn the rearview mirror so that Matthew and I can see one another.

Belly: Why do you think you'd see Daddy more if he lived somewhere else, Matthew?
Matthew: Because he'd miss us so much he'd leave work early, like he does on Fridays and we'd play and go to the park, just us boys. And for the weeks we live with him, he'll drive us to school, too.
Belly: I see. But we all live togeth...
Matthew: MUMMY! I know! Can you ask Daddy if sometimes we can pretend that he lives in a different place and he's missing us and then we can go to the park?

Small pause for me to take a deep breath, to prevent myself from bursting into tears.

Belly: I'll talk to Daddy about making some special Daddy-Boys time this weekend, ok?
Matthew: Ok. Thanks, Mummy. That'd be great.

And you? Please share your kid-question heartaches. Surely mine isn't the only one...

Goddess Off the Rails...

The life of a domestic goddess ain't all it's cracked up to be.

Don't get me wrong - I dig being home with the Reds and watching them move -swiftly, leaving mess in their wake - through their days and I love being the first person to see them master a new skill or use the phrase "Fer CRAP's sake!" in the right context.

It's the OTHER stuff that sort of gets me down. Meals, I've got sorted - I like cooking and the Reds aren't as fussy as they once were. We eat simply and on a schedule, which leaves me time for other stuff.

Or should.

Mostly, I ignore the pile of stuff on the kitchen table until it threatens to topple. My junk drawer is actually a "junk counter" and while I try to keep it tidy, it drives my husband loopy.

On Sunday, I learned that practically all aspects of our life drive him loopy and that the house, in particular, overwhelms him. Dude's got a lot going on, life-wise, between his job and wanting to spend more time helping out his parents. I get that.

But because he was home last week, he got to witness the cheerful, everyday chaos of life with two kids and it sort of freaked him out:

 The phone rang incessantly, friends and neighbours popped by unannounced, friends came asking if the boys' could come out to play, our street is filled with the noise and mess of construction, workmen toiled at the bottom of the driveway and needed into the basement to mess around with the water pipes or something, toys lay strewn from kitchen to front door and the boys played hockey in the house....

It overwhelmed Mark, who leaves for work when the boys are still sleeping and trudges home long after they're in bed. By the time he comes through the door the house is tidy, the toys are away and his supper is waiting on the stove. H e has control of the remote because I am usually blogging and all is quiet. Peaceful.

But not, apparently, peaceful enough.

Our house is small and old - there is very little in the way of storage and there are LOTS of things that ought to be stored away. Mostly toys, books and paper - bills, pictures, notes, etc. I think part of Mark's issue is that even the things that are put away are still visible, as our shelves are open as are both bookcases.

The boys' room looks best when I close the door and I'll admit that I am crap at putting laundry away. I could live out of a basket forever, actually, if it meant never having to put clothes in drawers again.

The kitchen, even when completely tidied up, still looks cluttered and...too full.

I am pretty good about making the bed every day and the bathroom is always getting cleaned because I live with three boys and only one of 'em has decent aim.

But that boy is NOT happy about Life with Bellymonster and the Reds.

Not. one. bit.

So, beloved readers, I need advice. And a garbage truck backed into my driveway so I can scrap it all and start fresh, but since that's unlikely, I'll take suggestions:

How do YOU control the clutter monster in your house?

Do you and your partner have completely different ways of doing things?

How do you balance the needs of everyone in the family?

Do you schedule certain tasks or tackle things as they come up?

Would you please come and heeellllppp meeeeee?

The One in Which We Discuss Boobs

Sometimes, blog posts write themselves. Today's is one of those, courtesy of a delightfully cheerful Luke.

Mark is home this week, trying to cram a year's worth of household chores into 8 days. He's actually travelling between our house and his parents' farm, pitching in with their chores as well.

 In a word? The dude is busy.

Thankfully, he's not too busy to help Luke put a puzzle together. Here is an almost-verbatim conversation between them. I say almost because I couldn't hear some stuff over my attempts to stifle my own snorts of laughter:

Luke to a shirtless Mark: Daddy, you have small boobies.
Mark: Uh..yes, I do.
Luke: And I have smaller boobies and so does Matthew. But not Mummy.
Mark: Really?
Luke: Mummy has bigger boobies.
Mark: You think Mummy has big boobies?
Luke: Well, bigger than yours, for sure!

At this point, I peered around the corner and caught Mark's eye - he raised his brows in helpless, silent mirth and carried on sorting puzzle pieces.

Mark: Luke, I bet that's the first time Mummy's ever heard that her boobies are the biggest.
Luke: Daddy! You're so silly. I didn't say biggest. I said big-ER! Phffftt!

Awesome. Sauce.

Grouchy Bellymonster: By the Numbers

Am completely stealing this blogging format/idea from the awesome IronicMom for two reasons:

1. She's awesome and
2. I'm uninspired. And grouchy.

I guess that's technically three reasons.

Anyway, here's the sum up (get it? SUM up? Heh.):

7. Baskets of laundry waiting to be hauled to laundromat, washed, dried and put away.

2. Pairs of underwear left in Luke's drawer.

4. Average number of times Luke pees in his underwear on any given day.

1. Number of times Luke usually poops in his underwear on any given day.

9. Times I asked the boys to put their Lego away.

2. Times I turned the vacuum on to scare the boys into gathering Lego faster.

3. Happy Meals I ordered for the three of us at McDonald's tonight, because I got tired of standing in front of the fridge opening and closing the door, hoping something yummy and delicious - and already cooked - might appear.

11. Number of words Mark and I have exchanged today.

15. Minutes before I finish this post and head off to bed, to shake this "Hmph!"

6. Kilometres I walked this weekend.

0. Kilometres I ran this weekend.

72. Times it occurred to me that there may be a correlation between my grouchy mood and my lack of exercise.

72. Times I ignored above-mentioned realization. There's little room for guilt on top of grouchy.

8. Number of days left until my husband's week off ends and the world gets back to normal.

1. Washing machine I hope (please God!) to have installed and working in my basement by week's end. Ditto the dryer.

1. Bottle of Baileys I may well smuggle to bed with me.

Mmmm....Baileys......

20 Ways to Say, "I Love You!"

I am not a particularly romantic person.

I don't care for candlelit dinners, although that's not to say I won't happily eat by candlelight. It's the eating bit that I like best, not the loving words or seductive background music.  To me, the trappings of romance made popular by Hallmark society feel false and contrived and I resent the expectations - unspoken or otherwise - that come with store-bought sentiment or champagne flutes on a beside table.

I cover my face during cinematic kissing scenes, late night phone-chat commercials and ones advertising Viagara. I am easily flustered by things like rose petals, anything piped by Yanni and lingerie. By easily flustered, I mean "completely freaked out."


I am not a cuddly sort of woman, either - at least, when it comes to people other than my children. Once my husband and I have finished..erm..."being close" I  don't crave cuddles or soft words. Instead, I crave space, the cool side of my pillow and no one's feet touching mine. That's  it. That's all.

Mark on the other hand - he is a romantic fellow, in spite of my best squashing efforts. He likes sitting close on the couch, soft lighting and lingerie.(Me: "I'll take off my flannel and socks as soon as the room is pitch black.") and would whisk me off for a romantic (read: child-free) weekend once a month or so if,

a) we could afford to and
b) he somehow tricked me into it.

Alas, money, time and his wife defeat him. My poor, poor husband.

Despite ourselves, we have survived 7 years of marriage and have been driving each other crazy since 1999. (Sooner, if attending the same high school counts. He drove me crazy then, too. But I digress...) During that time, I've come to realize that we express our love for one another in ways that makes sense only to us and that Hallmark will never be able to sucessfully market.

It's an everyday, ordinary romance...and I wouldn't change a thing.

Top Ten Ways My Husband Says "I Love You!"

1. "I filled up your car with gas and there's a new jug of windshield-wiper fluid in your trunk."

2. "Go get a new dress for the party. New shoes, too."

3. "Sorry, I'll just move my feet over here."

4. "Here's a coffee. The kids have eaten breakfast."

5. "Is this the right brand of tampon? I got confused in that aisle..."

6. "I love your ass."

7. "Thanks for dinner, it was great!"

8. "If I was too tired to drive, I'd feel safe going to sleep while you drive."

9. "I saw this J.D. Robb book at Shopper's. You haven't read this one, have you?"

10."I'm sorry."

Top Ten Ways I Say "I Love You!"

1."It's only receding a bit - no one will notice."

2. "Dinner's in the oven."

3. "Here's your coffee. The kids have eaten breakfast and lunch."

4. "I shaved my legs."

5. "I saved $15 on groceries this week, just by clipping coupons."

6. "I called your mom, emailed your sister and your aunt and sent our replies for Rob's wedding. The hotel room is booked and my parents are taking the kids. I plan to shave my legs."

7. "Want me to rub your back?"

8. "I tagged you in my Facebook status."

9. "I shovelled the drive."

10. "I'm sorry."

And you? How do you and your looovvvaaahhh say "I love you?"