Bless me, Father...

Matthew will make his First Communion this year. For non-Catholics out there, this means that, following a ceremony in the Spring, he will be able to take the communion wafer and drink the communion wine.

I did not make the Parent Meeting about this important event, though I had intended to. I can't remember why, but for brevity's sake, I'll blame Mark.

Thankfully, I have a very good friend called Janet who is a MUCH better Catholic than I am (read: she attends Mass more than six times a year) and who has been feeding me information via Facebook.

Today, she informed me that there will be a special ceremony next month, involving baptismal candles (which I cannot find) and school photos (which I know are around here somewhere...) and a first visit to the Confessional Box for our children, which is meant to be preceded by MY visit to the Confessional Box.

MEEP!

To prepare myself, I googled "How to Confess Properly" and found a neat  little website which lists important questions to ask myself whilst holed up in a darkened box, listening to someone else waiting to pass judgement on my...well, life.

This is how I imagine things will go, assuming Fr. W. calls me back following the guilt-ridden, apologetic, rambling message I just left on his voice mail:

Photo courtesy of "Catholic Home and Garden"

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been approximately 30 years since my last confession.

When was my last good Confession?

Alright fine, it was 32 years ago. It's been so long, I lost count. Happy now? It's even worse than previously thought.

 Did I receive Communion or other sacraments in the state of mortal sin?

 

Nope. God will have noticed that I didn't take communion for many, many years. He knows why. I'm good with keeping that between me and Him, if it's all the same to you.

 

Did I intentionally fail to confess some mortal sin in my previous Confession?

 

Nope. My last confession was around the age of 9. Pretty sure the worst of my sins were wishing my brother harm and thinking grouchy things about having to do chores. Ah, simple, magical times.

Did I seriously doubt my faith or put myself in danger of losing my faith through readings hostile to Catholic teachings or involvement in non-Catholic sects?

 

Absolutely. In fact, during a clearly troubled period, I converted to another religion, which I swiftly decided was a cult, but who am I to judge? I steered clear of the church for so long, my parents despaired. And then my first child was born and when I held him for the first time, I knew that I was touching God. Since that moment, I have been on a long, slow journey back to the church of my childhood and to a quiet, but strengthening faith.

 

(Except for when my brother died. Then I pretty much raged against everything and everyone, especially God. He waited me out. We're good now.)

 

Did I engage in superstitious practices: palm-reading, fortune telling, etc.?

Yes. And while I'm here, I may as well confess that I really, really, really want to visit a local shaman. I've heard wonderful things about her and am looking for all the help I can get, letting go of old stuff and embracing challenges yet to come. I feel sort of compelled to see her, actually. I'm pretty sure God knows that. I'm pretty sure He'd steer me away, if He felt threatened or that she might do me harm. I mean, she's His child too, right?

Did I take the name of God in vain?

Is this even a real question? Oh my GOD, yes. I know. I suck. I'm working on it, I swear to G...never mind.

 

Did I curse, or take a false oath? 

EFF. Please see previous response.

 

Did I miss Mass on Sundays or holy days of obligation through my own fault, without any serious reason?

Yes. Sometimes for no reason at all. Mostly laziness. Followed by guilt. And then guilt about the lazy and then guilt about the guilt....sigh....it's never-ending, this guilt. Can we talk about that sometime?

 

Did I keep fast and abstinence on the prescribed days?

Clearly not. Have you SEEN the size of my bum?

Did I disobey my parents and lawful superiors in important matters?

 

Yes. But my parents, much like our Father, are loving and forgiving. They forgive me because they love me and they know that I am working hard to become a better person, even when I fail miserably. Does speeding on the 401 or rolling through stop signs count? 'Cause if so, I think you oughta know that I'll do it all again, so confessing is sort of...wrong. Right?

Did I hate or quarrel with anyone, or desire revenge?

 Yes. I still do.

 

 Did I refuse to forgive?

Yes. Mostly myself.

 

Did I hurt or cause to kill someone?

God, I hope not. I'll pay more attention at stop signs, though.

 

Did I get drunk? 

Yes. There were shooters, you see. And I like shooters. Especially the ones called Butter Shooters...

 

Did I take illicit drugs?

No. That's weird, right? You can thank my dad for that. When I was a teenager, I promised him four things:

 

1. I wouldn't smoke.

2. I wouldn't do drugs.

3. I wouldn't drink alcohol before the legal age.

4. I wouldn't have sex before I got married.

 

I had to keep at least ONE of those promises. By default, it was #2.

 

Did I consent to, recommend, advise or actively take part in an abortion?

 

Yes. I'm pro-choice. God knows it. I know it. I will always support a woman's right to choose, yes, even now that I am a mother. ESPECIALLY since I've become a mother. My feelings about this topic have not changed.  Is this where things are gonna get awkward?

Did I willfully look at indecent pictures or watch immoral movies?

 

Does Magic Mike count? I haven't seen it. But I've seen lots of shots of Channing Tatum  half-naked and will admit to thinking that he is one of God's finest creations. Ditto Angelina Jolie when she was Lara Croft: Tomb Raider.

 

And God said, "Let there be perfection..."

 

 

 Did I read immoral books or magazines?

 

50 Shades of Grey. I read all three books in the series, hoping it got better. It didn't. Frankly, I think reading that drivel was punishment enough. Um, also...I read "Flowers in the Attic" in 7th grade. Please don't tell my mum.

 

Did I engage in impure jokes or conversations?

 

Yeah.

Did I willfully entertain impure thoughts or feelings?

 

Yes. I only feel guilty about that sometimes. Can I get half a Hail Mary for half-confessing? As cheeky as that might sound, it's kind of a serious question. What happens when only someone/thing else believes that what you're doing/thinking is wrong, but YOU don't? Confessing to it would be lying. Sort of. Can we talk about this sometime, too?

 

Did I commit impure acts, alone or with others?

 

Yes. Some of my favourite memories involve impure acts. Some of my favourite memories involve some of my favourite people. I kind of don't want to forget those people or those memories. Remembering's OK, right? I mean, it's not like I'm gonna do those impure things with those people again or anything. Outside of my head, I mean...

 

Did I take contraceptive or abortifacient pills or use other artificial means in order to prevent contraception?

 

Take, no. Use presently, yes. I have Matthew, Mark and Luke. I'm gonna name my dog John. I should get bonus points.

Did I steal or damage another's property?

 

I stole my Across-the-Road Neighbour's fur-lined hat last night. Mostly, is was due to the Butter Shooter consumption, but she's going to a warm country for a few months and won't be needing it. I'm pretty sure she's OK with that.

 

How much?

It's fur-lined. Probably $50? I'll have to ask...

 

Have I made reparation for the damages done?

No. I have no intention of giving it back. I DID give her a bottle of wine, though. That's  PRE-reparation. Sort of.

 

Have I been honest in my business relations?

 

 Mostly. There may have been some creative number-crunching on my tax form from 1997, but I'm also hopeless at math so it's hard to know for sure.

Did I tell lies?

Yes. Hell, yes. I can say that, right?

 

Did I sin by calumny, or detraction telling the unknown grave faults of others without necessity, even if they are true? 

 

 Do you mean "did I gossip?" Yes. Have you met me? Sometimes, a LOT of the time, my mouth engages before my brain does. That said, I am MUCH better at keeping secrets since I spilled one of my Dolphin's and there was that weird, dreadful silence at the table. That sucked, even though, technically, I didn't KNOW it was a secret...wait, what was the question, again? 

 

Did I judge others rashly in serious matters?

 

Before I became a mother? You bet. Before Karma handed me my own shit back, you mean? You bet. Now? I try not to. And frankly, I am pretty clear about my own shit, Father. I know when I've been mean or spiteful or wrong. I don't LIKE to admit it when I am, but I do. Mostly, I do so on my blog. Or on Facebook. Some people might refer to it as "oversharing." but others might see it as "unofficially" confessing. I'm just saying.

 

Surely the fact that I am here, in this box, this moment, this LIFE - imperfect, hopeful but a little bit afraid - should mean something. Something good, I mean. 'Cause the thing is, Father, even though I'm terrible at attending Mass and I holler at my kids FAR too often and I curse my husband to Hell...God has forgiven me for everything. He loves me.

 

This is how I know:

 

Me: Matthew, I love you. Thank you for choosing me to be your mummy.

Matthew: I love you, too, Mummy. And I didn't choose you all by myself, you know.

Me: What do you mean?

Matthew: God helped me choose you.

 

 

On Christmas Eve, Dinky Cars and Traditions-in-the-Making

A few weeks ago, this happened:

Since then, we've spoken of my brother many times. My parents were here last week and we stayed up too late, reminiscing about our best Christmas Eve EVER, as a Schillings family of four. It involved a ton of eating, drinking and present-opening. And laughter. Oh God, how we laughed.

Having children of my own brings a certain magic to the season, as I'm sure it does for so many of you. But memories of Christmas, 1999 are the sweetest ones to savour because a decade later, Andrew is gone.

So, on this special day, as families begin to gather in celebration for all that was and all that will be, I will think of Andrew and hope that he is watching over my sons from someplace warm and cozy and remembering Christmas of '99, too.

In the meantime, Luke and I are heading out to rummage for some last minute groceries...and some balloons.

In what I hope will become a yearly tradition, on Christmas Day, we will  release some balloons from Andrew's Garden, with our love and (maybe some more dinky cars) attached to their strings.

I have a feeling that he's been waiting...

Andrew with Baby Matthew, Christmas 2008

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?  

I Surrender

This is my Facebook status from earlier this evening, when I arrived home with two frazzled Reds in tow, the making of supper a daunting task before me and another run in my stupid stockings:

Seriously now, this post is officially a shout-out to all you working parents out there, including a belated one to my own, who, though long-retired, still put in full days being awesome.

AMAZING, you are. INSPIRING, you are. STRONG, you are. MY HEROS, you are.

I don't know how you do it and still look as good as you do. Me, I straggle home at day's end looking like something the cat tossed aside in disgust and feeling worse.

In a good way, I suppose, but still.

Carry on being awesome, all. I'm just gonna put my head down here, for just a min.....


zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz........

Words to Love By...

T'is the week of awesomeness here at Life With Bellymonster. To recap:

On Wednesday, I met God. At McDonald's. He was wearing a nice sweater, lovely slacks and a wedding band. In one hand, he held his wife's, in the other, a cup of coffee. From His heart, he offered up words of  hope to a woman in need.

This morning, I bumped into Santa Claus at my son's hockey game. Pretty sure it was him: white beard, red hat, twinkly eyes, rounded belly...

When the man in red leaned past me to wink a "hello" to Luke, Luke's eyes went huge and he froze on the spot. Chuckling, I turned to my gaze to smile at the man as he settled down next to me:

 "I guess you hear all the time that you look like Santa, eh?"

The man smiled and patted my hand. "My dear," he leaned close to whisper, "I AM Santa!"

For a moment - one brief, incredible, magical moment - I thought, "Santa! It IS you!"

(And, "God and Santa in the same week? What are the chances?)

Santa Claus! (courtesy of Pinterest)

We talked about all kinds of things, the jolly old elf man and I: the Reds, hockey, his accent, his love of children and fear of technology. We laughed at his hat and the faces of children and grown-ups as they spotted him - young and old alike, a look of wonder crossed many of their faces before they blinked and shook their heads before moving on, smiling.

 For 1/2 an hour we sat with our heads together, discussing my college program (training to support people with disabilities) and the wondrous journey that brought him to Ontario from the east, many years ago....to support people with disabilities.

Coincidence? Maybe.

But....maybe not.

A little while later, I posted about the happy encounter on Facebook and was delighted and gratified to see how many of friends "liked" the tale and how many responded happily to it. Just sharing a little bit of Christmas magic, I wrote to one friend, who'd messaged me privately to say "Thanks for that!"

And then into my inbox, came another message. This one was from an old friend who I've not seen face-to-face in 20 or more years, but whose life I watch with pleasure, via Facebook.

This is what she wrote:


Hi Liz!
I just wanted to leave u a little note. There are times when my days are well... Lets not go there but reading ur posts make me smile, laugh, always heartwarming, and sometimes tearful. Your an amazing women to share all ur tidbits because u are funny as hell!! You know just what to say! Just want to let you know u have inspired me. In the small ways u express yourself.
When I saw you were going back to school I too have decided to go back. ( hopefully I get admissions ;-) I just wanted to let you know keep it ur amazing and inspiring.
Xo
Ps hope this wasn't too awkward ... But I just wanted you to know ur post about God and Santa really just made my day!!

Jo xo


I don't share her words here to toot my own horn, but rather to show once more and the best way I know how, that the words we use - and the way in which we use them - can and do have an awesome, incredible, sometimes transformative power.

I have never been more aware of or focused on the power of words than I have been this week. Practically every encounter I've had during the past seven days has left me pondering the conversation long after it ended.I have been marveling over the profound effect we have on others when we speak our truth, call "Hello!" offer our thanks, our prayers, type a status, publish a blog post, a comment, a manifesto, when we whisper, "I need help," or "You hurt me," or  say "I love you."

And because I've had such amazing conversations - with God, Santa, in real life and via the 'net - I want to keep them going. Let me, dear readers, thank YOU for being such a strangely intimate and wonderful  part of my life and my family.

 If we're friends on Facebook, let me know in the comments HERE and I promise that - between now and year's end - I will send you some cyber love, via your inbox.

If I follow you on Twitter, comment HERE and  I'll tweet you 140 characters about why I'm happy you're my tweep.

(If we're connected by both, pick Facebook, OK? I tend to ramble on, as you know, so will need more space in which to do so...)

Let me tell you the story of how our friendship was born...

Who's in? Pass it on!

On Social Media and Cyber-Meanies

I love the Internet.

 I love that I am Facebook friends with practically every person I've ever known. Love that, with a click of the "Publish" button, I can share my life here at Life With Bellymonster with family across the pond or friends just across town.

Twitter just plain delights me and I have spent many a happy hour on Pinterest, dreaming and repinning pictures or sayings or recipes that catch my eye and my fancy.

I love the immediacy of email and the weird freedom that comes from sharing thoughts through the computer instead of face-to-face. Sometimes it's just easier, even for a person like me, who will talk to anyone, anytime.

But sometimes, even I wonder if what we've created isn't entirely good or wise.

The news today is full of Amanda Todd, a young B.C. girl who was bullied to death, via the Internet. She posted about her deepest pain via YouTube just weeks ago and earlier this week, undone by vicious words and actions of strangers, she committed suicide.

My heart aches for her parents and others who loved her. My heart aches for the thousands of other children whose self-esteem and sense of worth and safety lessen every day at the hands of faceless, nameless strangers (or enemies disguised as friends) at the other end of a keyboard.

At the other end of things, a Canadian mother named Jessica Stilwell has brought the ire of an entire nation down onto her head, in less than a dozen posts on a newly-created blog: Crazy Working Mom: Diary of a Mother on the Brink of Snapping.

 Discouraged by her family's refusal to pitch in to keep up with the housework, she gave up the picking up and (encouraged by family and friends on Facebook) blogged about the ensuing chaos.  Written with humour and heart, Jessica's story is honest and real and  messy and gosh darn it, people, going on strike from domestic drudgery is something I've wished to do myself, from time to time.

Haven't we all?

Needless to say, I was shocked and dismayed to discover that so many people, smugly seated at desks or laptops the world over, can do little more than criticize her actions, her marriage, her parenting, her intelligence, her life. Most commenters, it seems, have nothing nice to say at all.

And therein lies the rub.

Seems to me that, as time passes, more and more people log on to news feeds simply to spew venom and pass along hatred. And, it seems to me, more and more people will have their voices silenced - some, like Amanda Todd, forever - because a virtual stranger typed before s/he thought

What are we becoming, as a social media society? Is THIS what it's all about? Tearing down our mothers, our daughters for sharing themselves with us? Does it make those who rip into a stranger feel bigger, wiser, stronger, better when they do? Do those who write things like, "She did it to herself!" or "Sorry, but it's all your own stupid fault!" truly believe that and if so, WHY?

Why do you think it's OK to blast a young girl or a middle-aged mother or a troubled boy or a lonely man for sharing their truth? When did we all become virtual judges and when, pray tell, did we get so damned mean about it?

And finally, why would you choose to hurt with words - typed, spoken, hurled, sung - instead of heal?

Monitoring My Blessings...Again

Am considering making "Monitoring My Blessings" a monthly gig around here, as the Reds are giving me much blog fodder these days.

This week, (read: most of the time) I've posted snippets of their  overheard-via-the-baby-monitor conversations on Facebook, because:

a) I am FB friends with practically everyone I've ever known in my entire life and
b) I'm lazy.

But the awesome and talented Leanne from Ironic Mom AND Nickmom.com fame, has inspired me. She does a a "Whiteboard Wednesday" thing, in which she writes down the weird stuff her kids inspire her to mutter throughout the week.

"Hey!" I thought, "What a great idea! I think I shall shamelessly copy follow suit!"


So now you should

a) Read the stuff that keeps [me and] the Reds up at night, long after they've been put to bed,

b) Leave your own "overheard conversational tidbit" in the comment section,
c) Come and find me on Facebook. Oh, come on....you know you wanna....

*Insert incredulous tone from Luke/shot of Baileys by me, here*

And then, he reveals his true feelings about Mummy Dearest....

BONUS: A pre-dinner conversation at the end of a long, long week:

 

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?

Tale of Two Sickies

The Reds have been felled by the 'flu. Here's the whole stinkin' mess, as posted on Facebook


Wednesday evening, having written my last exam:

Thursday morning, having been woken by Matthew shortly after midnight:

And then Luke woke up, crying and complaining of stomach pain:

 By late afternoon, we were all miserable:

Later that evening, blessedly alone and wishing for Baileys:

 Sigh. Even when they're sick, they make me snort-giggle:

Apparently I get a teensy bit twitchy when my kids are sick:

And finally....wait for it....you know this one's coming......

 Apparently, I also get sick when my kids get sick:

And you? How do you deal with sick kids?

Are we friends on Facebook yet? Come and find me!

When Santa Calls...

Yesterday, wee Luke had a hard time listening to instructions. Specifically, he threw two decks of cards all over the floor and refused to pick them up. No amount of asking, cajoling or hollering was working, so, like many a desperate parent before me has done, I threatened to call Santa.

He begged me to hang up the phone and hurried to pick up, only to be distracted by dust motes dancing and hunger and Lord knows what else. Suddenly inspired, I posted this on Facebook:

 

Within minutes, my friend Jamie offered to make the call. This is how it went:

Luke: Hello?

Santa: Hello Luke, it's Santa! How are you?

 

Luke: Fine.

Santa: Are you having trouble picking up your toys? Are you having a problem? Mommy asked you to pick them up.

Luke: Yeah. But all I wanted was someone to help me pick up.

Santa: Did you ask someone to help you? Did you make the mess? If so  you have to pick it up. If you need help, ask Mommy.

Luke: Ok.

Me: If you pick up your toys Luke I will look into getting you that "Cars" guitar you wanted. You still want that right?

Luke: Yes.

Santa: Well then you pick up and be a good boy for Mommy and I will see about getting one to you for Christmas, OK?

Luke: OK.

Santa: You go clean up Luke and I will talk to you later and have a Merry Christmas.

In the meantime, Jamie and I were conversing madly on Facebook, hopping between a thread on my wall and one on his. The conversation on his had me howling with laughter, as Luke scurried about behind me:

Luke: Hello! Luke speaking.

Santa: Luke. It's Santa again. Did you clean up your toys?

Luke: Yep.

Santa:  Good boy. I knew you could do it. Now I will look at getting that guitar in the sleigh for you OK?

Luke: Ok bye.  CLICK.

My son had indeed hung up on Santa, but boy, was he proud of himself:

 The fun didn't end there. In between the picking up, hysterical laughter and mad Facebook'ing by me, Luke managed to jam his finger into the pencil sharpener, proceeded to sharpen his finger and then burst into panicked tears. In the midst of the ensuing chaos, "Santa" rang again:

Matthew:  Hello! Matthew McLennan speaking.

Santa: Hello Matthew! It's Santa! I heard you wanted to talk to me too?

Matthew: Yeah!

Santa: Did your brother clean up his toys?

Matthew: Yes.

Santa: Good, good. What happened to his finger? He tried to sharpen it? That's silly! You tell him Santa is bringing him pencils so he won't have to sharpen his fingers OK?

Matthew: ( giggling): OK Santa. ( giggling)

Santa: Now. you want a police man costume and drums?

Matthew: YES, PLEASE! 

Santa: Well I think I can get you the costume, but the drums are a bit big for my sleigh, maybe when you are older OK, buddy?

Matthew: That's what my Mom said too. So that's OK.

Santa: Because when you are older you get bigger things and I can make more room in the sleigh.

Matthew: That's fine.

Santa: Now you be a good boy and help Mommy and I will get you your presents OK? And tell Luke to stop sharpening his fingers! I will get him some pencils!

Matthew: ( Giggling again) OK Santa.

Santa: Good bye, Matthew and Merry Christmas.

Matthew: Bye! Merry Christmas, Santa.

. 

 Proof, dear readers, that the magic of Christmas is all around us: all you need is a good friend, Facebook and a phone.

With love and thanks to the awesome Jamie Terry, for playing along and for letting me plaster his Facebook wall all over the place. Merry Christmas, my friend! xo

A Visit From Murphy...and Santa Claus

Murphy's Law

 Loosely translated and borrowing heavily from Finagle's Law

means:

"Anything that can go wrong, will."

It's been a wild ride at ye old Bellymonster homestead. To long-story-short things, that dang Murphy  popped by for a visit, leaving an expensive mess in his wake.

It started with the furnace:

Furnace guy came. Shook head, sadly, eyeing our 42-year-old furnace. Whistled - in bad way - when he saw our chimney. Turned his palm up in an apologetic way and said he reckoned it'd be cheaper to simply start anew.

Sigh.

 I cringed, waiting for  the estimate to replace the furnace. Winced when it came. Mark did more than wince. In fact, I'm fairly certain I saw him wipe a tear from his suddenly alarmingly pale face:

We discussed things all weekend long, trying to figure out where we can cut back to see our way around financing a new furnace. On Monday, Mark called from work:

Sigh.

Yep. The WHEEL FELL OFF THE CAR! Thankfully, it happened as Mark turned into the driveway at work and not whilst he was sailing up the 401, but still. We were hoping to get one more winter out of the ol' girl. Alas...



Later that week, I received a second furnace quote - from a man who looked like Santa Claus (without the beard) and who immediately offered to bring some electric heaters by while we made up our minds.

That pretty much made up our minds, so I arranged to have an environmental audit done so that we could take advantage of government rebates, set to end in early 2012.

Spent the rest of the week bemoaning our crummy luck and waiting for the sky to fall.

Gah. Argh. Blah, indeed.

Murphy, in case you didn't know, also likes to sprinkle mischief in threes:

F*cked-up furnace? Check.

Crapped-out car? Check.

I waited. I fretted. I tweeted:

I prayed. But alas...

That Friday, the computer gave one last pitiful chug, a few coughs, a wheeze..


and died.

When Mark came home from work, looking exhausted and stressed out, I greeted him with a smile. But it was enough. He knew. Oh, he knew:


Me: "So, Murphy stopped by earlier."
Mark: "Computer?"
Me: "Yep."
Mark: "Fuck."
Me: "Yep."
Mark: "I need a drink."
Me: "Rye and coke?"
Mark: "Do we have any arsenic?"

Thankfully, we have an awesome friend who provided us with a new-to-us computer and amazingly  generous family, who've  loaned us a car, indefinitely.

On Tuesday, I called Santa Claus (aka. Brian from Rosebush Heating and Cooling) and gave the go-ahead for a new furnace. He cautioned that it might be a few days, as it's a busy time.

 20 minutes later, he rang back:

"My guys'll  be over in about 20 minutes."
Me: Uh, OK. I thought you said it might be a few days?
Santa: I did. I pulled them off another job. I hate the idea of your little boys having to face even one more day of cold.
Me: Wow. Thank you!
Santa: You take care of those boys, Mrs. They're precious.
Me: They are. I will. Thank you.

30 minutes later, I posted this on Facebook:

I called Mark at work:

"The furnace people just showed up!"
"Seriously? I thought he said..."
"He did! But he hated the thought of the Reds being cold and sent his crew here straight away."
"Wow."
"That's what I said!"
"I guess Santa Claus came to town early, eh?"


Indeed.

*And you? Got any Murphy's Law fiascos to share? Who's YOUR Santa Claus?*

On Protests and Freedoms (And A Bit of a Rant)

Tonight's Facebook Status:

 Pro-lifers, I understand you feel strongly about abortion, but thanks to you, my five-year old son is upset and weepy, having seen your HUGE, horrifyingly graphic signs. 

Having spent a happy day at the beach, we were cruising home happily chatting. Traffic slowed at the lights and then suddenly we became a reluctantly captive audience to your silent protest, stuck as we were with nowhere to go.

 

I am. absolutely. furious.

 Ensuing Wall Discussion:

AR: I am a Pro Lifer, but my child seeing one of those signs would make me LIVID! Poor sweet Matthew :( :hugs:

PMA:  ‎:(

NS:  Poor sweet boy.

AF: Poor Matthew. People don't think do they??

LM: Oh gosh, so sorry for Matthew and you, mama. Big hugs.

JMK: We pass a weekly protest by my house and they only hold up an ultrasound pic. I am thankful that its only that. Im sorry Liz and Im sorry for Matthew, they stole a bit of his innoncence and Im sorry for that.

‎RP: :( Gaaaaaah!

RTG: amen sister.

Belly: I don't mind a peaceful protest every now and again. People have strong beliefs and I admire those who stand up for them. What I DON"T admire - nor appreciate - is having those beliefs shoved at me and my children, who are blameless, clueless and should NOT have to be subjected to images like the ones we saw.

Luke still cries at certain Loony Tunes. The images EVERYWHERE at a four-way intersection were 8 feet tall and completely unavoidable. Thank GOD Luke was asleep. Now only his brother can close his FIVE YEAR OLD eyes to those images as he goes to sleep tonight.

LR: These folks claim to care about children and families and yet are perfectly fine traumatizing children and families. They have no sense of irony, decency or common sense. Fundamentalists make me so ashamed to be a Christian, sometimes.

Belly: Sigh. And therein lies the rub, LR. To identify yourself as a Christian man - and in my humble opinion you personally embody some of the best qualities of a true and sincere Christian - you risk aligning yourself w/ groups such as these, whose focus is so scarily intense, they've blocked out any thought to WHO might see those signs. No sense of irony or decency is absolutely right.

Too bad my SON was on the receiving end of their lack of both.

LR: Very kind of you to say, Belly, but i'm not so devout that i'm above calling these people a bunch of really choice names right to their faces.

Heh ... "choice" ...

‎Belly: *Snickers* 
 If Mark weren't sleeping for night shift, I'd haul ass back up there to give them a piece of my mind. Yep. Seems I *can* be *that* woman, if the situation warrants. Just call me Mama Bear...

AC: Such poor taste. Sorry you guys had to see that filth.

LMc: I drove past that too Liz - there were kids holding those signs! They were massive and I did everything I could to avoid looking at them. As a mother, and one who would never abort her baby, I do not need to look at a graphic image like that of a dead baby...it was unbelievable and made me want to cry. I guess that is the reaction they are looking for, but I was upset seeing it, I can't imagine if my kids were with me...poor Matthew!! I am pro choice for many reasons, but still very pro life in my own mind...the thought of abortion sickens me. I don't mind a protest like you said, but not something like that, that was like nothing I've ever seen before!

 

Belly: Is this a NORMAL thing for Belleville?!?? I've never seen anything like it and those images dropped my stomach to the floor. Pro-choice does NOT mean ANTI-LIFE and it infuriates me that people would use such tactics to make their point.

Matthew is fine now - nothing a little grilled cheese and Treehouse can't cure, really, but I am still agitated. I saw the kids holding signs and am incredulous that their parents would expect/encourage it.

Protecting the innocent, indeed.

LAL: I've seen them before - lining Dundas Street right around the Bay Bridge. I wonder if there is something law wise that covers the graphic nature of the pictures. I certainly don't want to get into the debate of their right to protest but there must be something to speak to content of the images.Displaying a picture of a Sunshine girl in a workplace can be considered sexual harassment. That's tame in comparison to this so surely there must be some recourse?

 

Belly: Am, naturally, drafting a letter right now. Their location was well-chosen, traffic-wise. Also, w/Ribfest this weekend, lots of people are travelling down 62 to Zwicks. IS there not a rule about this sort of thing? The protest was peaceful - I saw no law enforcement or the like. Saw a lot of stunned looks on the faces of the drivers around me, but no confrontation or anything, so I suppose that speaks well of the Friendly City's tolerance and support of freedom to speak/protest etc.

 

LMc: I have never seen anything like this in Belleville before...or anywhere for that matter. I hear stories of crazy protests...like the horrible one at Heath Ledger's funeral, but I never thought I'd see hat kind of thing here!

That's what upset me Liz...protest if you must, but don't force somebody to look at something in that manner. I could tried hard not to look, but I didn't have much choice!

LAL: Yep, I think that's the issue. We all understand the value and importance of freedom of speech and the right to peacefully protest. But the images are akin to an assault and we DO have laws that support that concept. Let me know the outcome of your letter writing.

Belly: Totally blogging this thread, if that's OK w/ everyone. Will not use your full names, just initials.

LAL: Blog away your Royal Blogness.

LMc: No problem:)

LP: They shoot doctors who perform abortions, right? Maybe it's time to even the score. 

Belly: Well, I don't think that's the answer, either. No, it's NOT the answer. To do so would be hypocritical and wrong. But I see your point.

WB: I totally agree! I found those posters so upsetting and unnecessary!

SL: I've seen them doing the same thing in Toronto. Corner of Bayview and Eglinton if I remember correctly. It's completely inappropriate. I think most people don't react because they're too stunned at the fact that these morons are doing what they're doing. It does nothing for their cause - just angers people and if anything it deepens the resolve of pro-choicers. I don't understand fanatical fundamentalists of any kind. They are just plain dangerous...just ask Norway.

So there you have it - how to get a Belly Mama completely riled up on sunny summer's day. 

Was this a rant, a conversation, a sermon or a complaint? What do you think?