Pruny Apres Swim Thinks

1. Losing 17lbs sounds like a lot until you see what's left to lose in a bathing suit.


2. Swimming through a warm pocket in a large crowded pool is ..... unnerving.


3. Swimming in h2O makes you want to drink more of it when you're done.


4. Distances in water are shorter compared to land. Until you're swimming laps.


5. I am a screaming child splash magnet.


6. They need to change the name from Hot Tub to People Soup.


7. Speedos are wrong. Very. Wrong.


8.  For every person bigger than you, there a dozen smaller.


9. I need to go swimming more often.

Confirmation

Finally I have confirmation.

My father is, in fact, dead.

The email from his email account was sent by my mother.

"Your father died on Nov 14th. Yikes!"

It is the grossest most unclassy piece of electronic literature I have ever received...and that's saying a lot, considering all the spam emails for viagra that seem to find their way to my junk mail folder.

Here is the online obituary:

Online Tributes	View All Tributes
	Richardson, Thomas Jun 8, 1942 - Nov 14, 2011 View Obituary Condolence Send Gift Service Schedule Notify a Friend Send Flowers

Obituary Print Obituary On Monday, November 14, 2011, Mr. Thomas George Richardson of Oliver passed away surrounded by his family at his home. He was predeceased by his parents, Maybelle and James Richardson. He is survived by his loving wife, Betty, of 47 years; daughter, Kelli; son-in-law, Vance and granddaughter, Briane Terry. "Tommy Telephone" worked for BC Tel/Telus for 28 years. He was TWU local 1 president and plant counsellor for 4 years. Over the years, he was a member of the Oliver Kinsmen Club and the Kettle Valley Railway Club of Penticton. He was a lifelong model railroad enthusiast, who also enjoyed building models, as well as woodworking. Through his woodworking he created many treasured heirlooms for his family and friends. Tom was a fun-loving guy who enjoyed the revelry of his friends and family, along with his "Jack on-the-rocks" and a cheeseburger. Tom treasured his family above all and was there for them in every way. The family wishes to thank all of the staff at the SOGH in Oliver, Penticton Hospital ICU and Kelowna Hospital for the kind and caring support they provided throughout his hospital stays. A very special thank-you also to Jack and Heather Frank for always being there when needed. A celebration of life will be announced at a later date. Condolences and tributes may be directed to the family by visiting www.nunes-pottinger.com Arrangements entrusted to Nunes-Pottinger Funeral Service & Crematorium, Oliver & Osoyoos. ========================================================================= If I ever had any doubt about making the right decision to give em the ol heave ho, the above completely obliterated it. Here's to continued personal growth and happiness.

You Have Mail

Yesterday was not one of my better days. 

It was 97 hours long.  It was windy.  It was raining.

I spent approximately 1 of those 97 hours getting 4 toddlers ready to play in my backyard, which is on par with getting ready for extended deep sea diving.  Screaming with laughter and the thrill of who was going to get in the Little Tikes ride-in truck first, they hit the patio running.

Six and a half minutes later, they were wet, cold, frustrated and attempting to claw their way through my sliding glass patio door.

At the end of my 10hr workday, I set to making bolognese sauce to top bowtie pasta, a dozen homemade basil/garlic dinner rolls, and peanut butter rice krispie treats smothered in chocolate for dessert.

My dinner was received with as much fanfare as a limp dick on a honeymoon.

Just before 9:30pm, the wind decided to pick up and sweep away the garbage cans from our carport and pull our mailbox off one of it's hinges.  In my rescue attempt, Ravenpaw, our 7 month old not-yet-neutered cat saw his chance and made a break for it, which set our youngest into hysteria.

Silly me for even daring to hope this could finally signal the end of Hell Day.

Resigned to the fact the cat was not coming back til possibly the very next day, I realized it had been a couple days since checking my email, and foolishly thought "WTF...might as well.."

Nothing too interesting in the old inbox.  Then I noticed a (1) in my Junk Mail.

*click*

===============================================
From: xxx @ xxx

Sent: November-16-11 9:28 PM
To: ME

Subject:

Your father died on November 14th. Yikes!

==================================================================

I haven't heard from my family in over 9 years.  The Coles Notes version is I am the white sheep of my family.

I remember when this all blew up 9 years ago, a friend who is more family than my birth family asked me what if my father was dying right at that moment in time, would I have any regrets, was there anything I had left to say…

The answer was no.  I spent all last night and today coming to terms with the fact that the answer seems to still be no.

The really funny cosmic karmaic (yes I know this is not a word) thing?

I cannot fathom holding a grudge against my own flesh and blood children for 9 years, let alone not giving a shit about my grandchildren. It defies logic. It goes against every single thing I believe in about family.

Our daughters were never treated as equals to my neice.  I refuse to stand by and watch our daughters grow up feeling bad about themselves when the problem is not with them, it has always been my parents.

I cannot fathom being on my death bed and just….well….you know.

This is the 3^rd time since January 1992 that I have been estranged from my parents. The last 2 reconciliations I have been subjected to ridicule and told that I was “a brain dead moron”....yet I kept trying to make it work.

That changed 9 years ago when I realized I have my own little family that loves me.  I have so many amazing friends, here in Victoria, in North Vancouver where I met Lawr, in Richmond where I grew up, all over the world now thanks to the poker tables on Crackbook.

When we were putting our Christmas tree up on Sunday, I found a box labelled "xmas decs" on one side, and "albums" on the other.  Inside was a whole bunch of photo albums and pics of me when I was growing up.  I sat with Nic and Zoe and they asked who that was and who's that – and it hit me they had no idea the people in the pictures were my mother and father.

That is sad on too many levels.

That same night (Sunday) I had a dream that my mother just showed up at our door asking if she could move in.  My alarm clock went off before I got to the part in the dream telling WHY she was at our door.

Then I got that email last night telling me my father had died the day after the albums and my dream.

Wanna know the really really REALLY funny cosmic karmaic thing?  I NEVER open anything in my junk mail folder, because it’s usually Viagra ads or viruses.

But something made me click it and at first I didn’t even recognize the email address.  It wasn’t til I actually read the email that I made the connection.

So.  Very.  Surreal.

Lawr helped me with my daycare today.  I am closing tomorrow for a personal day.

I know the right thing to do FOR ME is to just say my goodbye in my own way.  I’ve been right here for 9 years, and there’s been no contact.

I am not interested in trying to build a relationship where one has never been able to exist.  I don’t want to go back to feeling like there’s something wrong with me, that I’m worthless.

I love where I am in my life.  I have an amazing family.  An incredible extended family and so many friends that love me for who I am.  That’s what my life is about.

*delete*

An Apology To Our Soldiers And Veterans

This morning I attended my grade 5 daughters' school's Remembrance Day assembly.  With three - count em THREE toddlers in tow.  I let all my daycare parents know earlier in the week about our upcoming fieldtrip and how important it was for me to be there as a parent.  Zoe's in her school choir this year.  Her final year of elementary school.  It's been a long, long, looooong battle to get where we are today, and to see her excelling and positively loving school.

I talked with my toddlers about how important our fieldtrip was to Zoe and me, and explained we'd be listening to other children sing songs about peace and about being grateful for all our soldiers. 

I packed a dozen little teeny tiny books that I bought specially for fieldtrips.  I packed each toddler their own special snack - cheerios, raisins, and Froot Loops and Alpha-bits - the latter being perfect for teaching colours and letters ;P

I made sure to bring a big comfy quilt for us to sit on instead of having to sit on a cold, hard gym floor. 

We all watched...QUIETLY...as Zoe and the rest of the school filtered into the gym.

We stood...QUIETLY...and listened to Oh Canada!  We knew that after such an important song, we don't applaud. 

We sat down...QUIETLY...and resumed our book reading and started on our snack packs.

We watched and listened intently as Zoe and the rest of the choir took their places in the stands and sang "Last Night I Had The Strangest Dream".  When my toddlers saw me dabbing at my tears of pride with kleenex, they all held out their hands and asked "please"...so they could copy me and dab too!

So what is the point of my ramble?

This morning was one of those picture-perfect mornings where I am reminded how much I love doing daycare, how much I love my little group, and how thankful I am to live in the time and place that I do.

So what is the point of my ramble......

While the entire audience of moms, dads, aunts, uncles, grammas, grampas, and other children and toddlers were respectfully listening and enjoying today's assembly, some parent felt it was ok to just let THEIR toddler run rampant through the audience chairs, through the students sitting respectfully on the floor, and even up and down and through the choir stands!

The most disgusting, disheartening and downright disrespectful part was when this toddler was permitted to behave this way while a veteran was giving a heartfelt speech on what Remembrance Day is all about...about how it is hard to put on his uniform without remembering all his fallen comrades...about all the sacrifices made by the brave few for the many.

At the end of the ceremonies, I was shocked at how many parents, teachers - even Zoe's principal - came over to personally thank my three toddlers for being so respectful, and such pleasant visitors. 

I wasn't shocked that I was able to "pull this off".

I was shocked at how pretty much complete strangers felt comfortable enough to tell me and my children how much they appreciated our manners at such an important assembly.

I was shocked that NOT ONE parent or teacher approached the parent of the obnoxious toddler to tell them how inappropriate, rude and downright disrespectful it was to allow their child to run rampant....even though it was on the faces of everyone there while it was happening.

But I think what bothers me the most is the fact that *I* sat there and did nothing.

I am truly sorry that I did not speak up.

So our sweet almost 10yr old Zoe is hosting a sleepover with her best bud.  We made homemade pizzas last night and they stayed up giggling til almost 1am.  This morning while snorfling half a batch of cinnamon waffles and a 1/4lb of bacon, they were reviewing the events of a busy school week.

"Hey..remember when you asked so-and-so if he was right or left handed and he slapped you in the face and asked you, 'well, which hand did I slap you with?'"

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOAH THERE...WTF?

I am outraged.  Some kid in my kid's class thought it was cool or funny or wtf to hit her in the face in answer to whether he's right or left handed?  So much for WITS - a school-wide policy taught from kindergarten.

W = walk away

I = ignore

T = talk it out

S = seek help

Well, I guess she followed the first step...!

I've always prided myself on raising my girls to believe they are worthy human beings and to stand up for themselves and for others.  (Ok, clarification that Lawr feels the same way...but he's not writing this blog, I am, so yah, just try not to judge me as an overbearing loudmouth here.)

I see a major fault with this whole WITS program.  If the very first step or suggestion is to walk away, how are we teaching our kids to preserve self-worth and not be victims?  Zoe was quick to point out that it didn't hurt...much...."it just kinda made my lip feel tingly", and "I used my WITS".

I'd like to propose changing WITS to:

W= whack

I = injure

T = tattle

S = scream

I spent the majority of my life not sticking up for myself.  Apologizing all the time.  And then apologizing for apologizing so much.  It wasn't until I had my daughters that I realized I *am* worth sticking up for.  I *don't* have to put up with being treated like crap or being used or abused. 

I *thought* I was doing a pretty good job of instilling self worth, self confidence and self love in my girls.

I'm shocked that her bff didn't stand up for her and seek out a playground monitor, or at least let their teacher know.  Their teacher is amazing and I know she would have dealt with the whole thing matter of factly and would have preserved Zoe's pride and self-worth.

Most of all, I am beyond heartbroken that our sweet daughter feels she did something to provoke this. 

Is It Over Yet?

....but give me a blowtorch and we'll talk.

Today's blog will be decidedly lacking in butterflies, unicorns and rainbows.

Sometimes life is ugly, days are long, and the only relief in sight is sweet merciful death. 

It's been a long fucking day.  If time has taught me anything, it's that this fucking day should have fucking ended 2 fucking weeks ago.

We all stayed up to watch Game 7 last night (GO CANUCKS WOOOOOOT)...not that I am normally in bed at 10pm on Tuesday nights. 

Hubby and I also cooked and enjoyed an amazing Indian feast complete with pappadums, basil marinated onions, coriander chutney, tamarind-date chutney, prawn korma on rice, and an entire bottle of Zinfandel.  Each.  Nothing too strange about that given the occasion.  During overtime, I gnawed my way through an entire frozen Mr. Nutty Bunny.  Meh, given the season, still nothing wacko there.

The problem is that I am getting old and my body is starting to hate me in ways I never dreamed possible.  And I am still naive enough to think I can outsmart my body.  I topped off the evening's gastronomic expedition with a glass of milk, a couple Tylenol and some Tums, and stumbled off to bed willing positive thoughts and energy through my brain and body. 

Alarm goes off 6:45am.  Reset.  7:00am.  Reset.  7:20am. 

 * THANK YOU BRAIN AND BODY *



I care for 4 toddlers in my home, 9 hours a day, 5 days a week. 

And yet I love my job. 

After working in the "real world" and trying to balance work, a husband, 2 pre-teen daughters, housework, friends, and my own insignificant needs, I learned that I hate working in the real world. 

I love my home.  I love being in my home.  I love being the one who picks our girls up after school, or who rushes to school to pick them up when they are hurt or really sick.  I love that *I* am caring for them. 

I love opening my home to my daycare kids.  I love watching them take their first wobbly steps, learn new words, the whole shebang.

That being said, there are those unusually challenging days where I'm questioning my career choice, or at least my ability to make it through the day. 

Today was one of 'em:

Toddlers would make awesome politicians, because they tell you what they know you want to hear (or at least smile sweetly and nod enthusiastically) and then proceed to do whatever the hell they want after. 

Pre-teen girls are like volcanoes.  Calm on the outside, yet on the verge of complete (emotional) eruption at any moment.

Dogs make great family pets.  Some are indifferent to doorbells, mailmen, garbage trucks, and ducks who are looking to nest on your front lawn.  Some never know when to shut the hell up.  

Phones never ring when you want them to, and never stop when you don't.

Non-torrential rain only occurs during snack/lunch/naptime.

The people who design the school drop off/pick up lanes have

(a) never gone to school,

(b) never learned to drive,

(c) never had children,

(d) all of the above.

It's days like this when hubby's also had a day like this and would love to be picked up from work rather than endure a crowded smelly ride home on the Loser Cruiser (aka Bus).

I pick up our oldest from her playdate (GAH I hate that term), and drive downtown through the rain to pickup Lawr.  I realize I can't wait to see my hubby, my rock, my soulmate.  One look at me and he says the magical words every hungover, frustrated, self employed, emotionally exhausted wife and mom wants to hear:

"Let's go out for dinner tonight."

Sorry, sweet merciful death...you lose again ;P

The Greatest Epiphanies Happen When It's Pouring Fucking Rain

I love where we live.

I love the feel of our house; it just feels comfy and loving. I felt that the first time we ever toured it, which is why we bought it.  I love my big honking backyard.  I love how the little grape vines we lovingly and optimistically planted almost 13yrs ago now grow right over our patio and shade us from the hot summer sun.  I love that our girls can actually reach a full out sprint in the expanse of our yard while chasing Tylee The Wonder Dog. 

Yet sometimes I feel so crowded in our house. I see friends' houses and I think, wow *I* want a bigger house like they have! I do licensed daycare in our house.  I hate having to shuffle toys and furniture and highchairs around every morning to set up for daycare, and having to move everything out of the way every night so we can relax and watch TV in our livingroom. I hate that Zoe's room is so small that the only time she ever spends time in it is when friends' kids are over or when she's sleeping. She's another grade away from middle school and having homework every night.  How will we ever fit a study desk in her 7x10 foot room?

We have one bathroom...oy vey I don't wanna even think about 2 young ladies and me and Lawr getting ready in the morning. I guess I want more for my kids (??) but they don't know any different, they're happy..so why am I wanting to sell?

I think I'm going thru some sort of mid life thing. It hit me the other day...On May 17th I'm turning 42. 

42.

FORTY TWO. 

I started thinking of things like how I never went to college or university and how I never took a summer off to tour Europe, and I haven't been to Hawaii, I've never been anywhere tropical.  I'm starting to look at life from the point of how long do I have left instead of how long have I been here. What will I be remembered for? In 8 years, I'll be turning 50. Nic will be turning 20 and Zoe will be turning 18, graduating. Am I still going to do daycare in a 3 bedroom rancher? Do I want to?
  
Maybe I'm just caught up in stupid consumerism gotta buy bigger, gotta have better...

We had an amazing Easter dinner with Maureen and Fiona and Nolan last night.  We met almost 9yrs ago when I first opened my daycare.  Fiona and Nolan grew up in our little house, toilet trained here, shared laughs and grew to be best friends with our girlies.  They're actually more like siblings than best friends.  Maureen and Fiona and Nolan are family.

Nolan has been telling us everytime he see us that he's sad we're selling our house because it's his first daycare house, there's a lot of memories here. Out of the corner of my eye I've seen Nic and Zoe kinda nodding.  OMG what am I doing to them?

I got frustrated with Lawr last night after dinner and went out in the carport to clear my head while he and Maureen drove the PC and dialled up the youtube vids for awhile and talked.  I was over my harrumph and came back inside quietly because I could hear they were deep in some discussion.  I stood in the kitchen, not wanting to barge into their conversation.  It broke my heart to hear him say he's so upset about selling our house, he loves our house, he's too old to be re-mortgaging and uprooting,  this is our grow old together house.  At first I was shocked and hurt and angry that he was telling our best friend these things instead of me. 

Then it hit me.  Holy crap he really loves me and our little love nest.   

Ugh. It's pouring rain out. I'm hungover from last night's rich food and plentiful wine.  I'm emotionally worn out. I feel like some horribly shrewish bossy overbearing woman that's trying to take away everyone's comfort and stability. 

I got the kitchen all cleaned up this morning and had it all to myself to just think me thinks while everyone snoozed and slowly came to life.  I spotted a bird I've never seen before in my backyard on the garden fence and watched the raindrops wind their way down the grape vines. 

And then I had my epiphany.

It's time to call our realtor.  I love my crowded little house too much to ever sell it.