Paranoid Blog-oh-phrenia

Crouching inconspicuously at the pool, her one intent to be a good mother and take her children swimming, she notices a woman watching her. Every time her eyes scan the room, they lock in with the woman watching her. Is the woman a lurker? Does she indeed read the blog of this complex self; know the innermost workings of her mind, and wonder at this near naked specimin so clearly exposing herself in public? Does she judge me? Despise me? Pity me?

Is she out to get me?

Holiday Newsletter

With the approaching onslaught of another Christmas season, she realized that she had never been happier.

Her eldest daughter applied herself diligently to facebook and was acqiring the necessary skills of well-applied mascara. Her mother's nearly retired dream of entering her into pagaents seemed once again within reach.

Second born had recently been observed staring longingly at Avril Lavigne's album cover, twirling her hair wistfully, and reaching for a darker shade of eye liner.

The boy had been so easy to care for. He'd spent hours in his bedroom, entertaining himself and saving his allowance for a couple of more challenging video games. His wrists showed promising ripples of strength from the dedication and commitment to acquiring new levels.

The little one, indulge-ed wonder child never ceased to charm all with his crescendoing whine and demands to all possessions of all persons entering his territory. He showed tremedous potential for politics and was sure to appeal to a wide population with his spiderman slippers in one hand and the pink tutu in the other.

And Mr Perfect Family member had never looked better in workboots; slicing and dicing in the kitchen, never ceasing to entice more and more members into his Moosewood pyramid scheme cult.

Nope, things could hardly look better, she mused, studying herself in the mirror. She'd grown into forty with so much grace, and no signs whatsoever of impending crisis.

Their mortgage was practically untouched, so engaged had they been in the various celebrations of life, and learning to love their neighbors. And the echoeing spaces of their now baby-free home was soon to be filled with the piddling and whining of a perfect little puppy. The cat couldn't be more excited.

No, it could not be denied.
They were practically perfect in every way.

We Are soooooooooo NOT a bed AND breakfast

Last Saturday night, a window or two got opened to accomodate the many thick, heat containing sweaters. And as they say, when a door closes, a window opens, and the next thing you know, you're overrun with cats. Well, maybe that's not exactly what they say, but it is just what happened. I thought it was our neighbor's cat- hearing the hilarity and wanting to get her a piece of the action. But when Jane the cat lady came home, she set me straight on the cat facts. Well, that cat figured she owned the place and just kept coming around. The girls brought food out for her, which she appreciated, but she would still jump up onto the windowsill and do the paw version of the happy dance on the window staring plaintively, frantically, into our dining room.
~


A gal like me has got only so much strength.
~

That poor puss was freezing and I couldn't stand it. So, I found room in the inn, and managed to contain her to the bathroom for the first 24 hours or so. She already knew she owned the place, so within 48 hours, she had taken over the beds, the heat-spewing vents, the food dish, the basement, and well..... the house.
~

She said we could stay.
If we wanted.
~

Then she discovered the best reality game EVER.



~

Why Its Probably Best That I Never Finished My Degree

.... because then I'd likely expect myself to keep track of all the stuff that comes with running a home daycare.

Take for example; "Debbie". Typically known as a given name for a child of the female persuasion, this is a word, which when expressed by one particular two year old means some-word-which-I-don't-know-how-to-say. Hence, he calls it "debbie" and its up to me to figure out what the item in question may be. But. When its uttered by a particular three year old, and its enunciation is varied to that of "Debra"; it means: "Quick! I'm feeling emotional or tired or homesick and I need that tiny fabric doll that goes everywhere with me. If you don't find it NOW, you WILL have a full blown situation on your hands."

Then there's the child who says; "Me home" in response to most things. This can mean: I have that very same thing at my home ; or I'm planning to take this toy home; or I really wish I were at home right now. All other children interpret "me home" as: I'm going to take away your toy right now, and I will bring it home with me, and you will never see it again. Without appropriate interpretation, total chaos ensues.

No, if I had finished my degree, I'd probably be off doing some really important, world event type stuff. I would expect more from myself than getting through the workday retaining a cool head, and refraining from bashing said head against the kitchen center repeatedly.

All That Glitters Befits a Cougar

Cougars, prepare the way for the alpha Cougar, the Great Alluring One. Her time in the chambers is nearly complete, for her ladies in waiting have bestowed upon her many gifts from afar.

Thus far, her fingers are well adorned, but her cheeks are found lacking.

The request has been made that any prospective apprentices might at this time present their case before council. Alpha Cougar is ready to receive considerations for three women who would henceforth be formally invited to the third party of November: The Party Before The Party.

This is an exclusive event, closed to the public. Only the three chosen ones will join our Lady of Forty to share in the great ceremony of the Glueing-On-Of-The-Nails about which generations of cougars before us have woven their legends.

Ceremony is to commence on November 10, an hour before the previously announced event: The Great Cougar Party to celebrate the first forty years of our esteemed one.


State your case in the comments, and they will be presented for consideration.

Words to study before November 10, 7:00 pm.

*muffin top
* fishnet
*stiletto heel
*skanky

Overheard at Thanksgiving

The children have some highly favoured friends from life in that other city who have come to spend Thanksgiving Day with them. They sat down to a lovingly prepared lunch of tuna and tomatoe slices and toast. Eldest daughter offered to pray.

"Dear Lord;
SHUT
UP!

Micah! I'm trying to pray over here!
.... Thank you for this food and these friends...."

One More Shot at Making an Ugly Mark

Back in the eighties I shared the second floor of an amazing old house just off of Corydon and my roomies and I had a party that would be henceforth be remembered as the "cop stopper". As it turned out, the guys who lived below us, (and repaired harleys on the living room hardwood in their spare (sober) time) were also throwing a party, so we just threw all the doors and stairways open and had one great big, cop stopper. It felt to me like one of those life events that I could wear as a feather in my kercheif. Like maybe I had finally moved off the farm...

Well, I'm not twenty-something any more and I'm not afraid to tell you that I've been thirty-nine for some ten months now. You gals all know about the up and coming cougar party, and I trust that your shopping and hair-teasing is well under way. I'm putting quite a bit of energy into plumping myself with that extra twenty to thirty pounds that was mentioned in the comments. I'd forgotten about that cougar special, but I think I can pull that one off. (she says, taking a sip of her wine, and a big bite of baguette with boursin cheese...the sambucca resting in the folds of her thigh).

Last year I hosted my first ever I'm-thirty-nine-and-not-afraid-to-tell-you-what-to-do-about-it-Ugly-Sweater-Party. I'm not joking whatsoever when I tell you that I believed this to be my very own, original idea. I came up with it at the elevater thrift shop when I was enjoying all the ghastly holiday sweaters and wishing I had some reason to purchase them. Turns out that there are other brilliant minds out there. That this has been thought of before. And I'll tell you how I know.

After the Ugly Sweater Party, I received an e-mail from a Michigan reader who was contacted by a columnist at the Winnipeg Free Press. He had googled "ugly sweater party" and landed up at her site. She had been sent a lovely honourary bad-ass sweater corsage since she had been otherwise committed on the day of the party and could not attend in person. Mr columnist guy wanted to write an article about this trendy Christmas party theme and asked her some questions about the event. She in turn directed me to him; and he to me. We exchanged e-mails, and since we were already well into December, he decided to defer until the following winter to write the piece about the ugly sweaters.

TRENDY?! Like I said, I thought that this was my original idea. I thought it was just possible that this idea of mine would be my ticket to finally making something memorable of myself- some legacy for my children, for my future generations.......

Hard to believe its been a year already. Another year off my life, and I'm still not a published author, a tae kwon doe instructer, a famous lecturer, or a coveted artist. But just this week, I received an e-mail from Dave Sanderson of the Winnipeg Free Press. He requested an invitation for himself and his photographer in anticipation of what he probably believes is an annual event for me. Rapidly approaching forty, and fearing that I may never make my mark on this world, I lept at the oppurtunity. So, maybe my works would never get published, but at least I'd get my name and maybe even a photo in the paper?!

So, here's your formal invitation:

on November 24, 2007, 7:00 pm

We request the honour of your attendance

at Joyce's second annual

Ugly Sweater Party

this year featuring

your choice of male escort or attendent.

(not necessarily paid)

No shoes, shirt, or black tie required.

Sweater mandatory.

Bring food and drink to share.

(BYOB&F&S)

(bring your own drink and food and sweater... heck, just bring your own party!)

Care to join me in becoming famous?

Check out last year's event here and here.

This time, if you want to, you can bring your husband or significant other. (just please not both). Leave your kids and pets at home though. They remind me too much of work.

No Screen Sundays

(just don't scroll down and notice that I'm writing this on Sunday. That would make me a hypocrite.)

Every fall and spring and new year, and possibly days in between, I get the undeniable urge to write down some goals and good intentions. Some directions to move into. Some intentional plans to pull into focus the rumbling, fumbling grey matter above.

*

At the end of August, I forced my sometimes pliable husband to sit with me and agree on some good intentions for our family life in the new school year. As much as I love screens, and couldn't possibly convince anyone that I'm above all that technology, pretty colours, lights, and sounds..... THEY DRIVE ME UTTERLY INSANE. I like to blame it on the fact that I grew up without any screens whatsoever. We never, ever had a television, and since humanity had just recently left the dank caves, home computers were unheard of. (unimaginable). I like to pretend that this has caused the inability in me to know what balance is. That I was raised on such purity that my "inner child" craves the silence (hah! eight kids!) and creativity of our farm house years.

*

So, I foolishly came up with the notion of "no screen Sundays". Not because my parents had taught me that cards and homework on the sabbath were sins, (they didn't.) not because I think it irreverent to humour hollywood on the Lord's day... well, I wish I were that holy but I'm not. I just thought that I wasn't really willing to make it Saturday since that's the day after Friday and some saturday mornings, there's nothing better than a bunch of brain dead kids in front of the tv and me not being side-show-daycare-lady for a change. So I picked Sunday. I also reasoned that we'd be more likely to remember undone homework due on Monday if the tv was off. And that out of sheer boredom and desparation, everyone would come to church with me instead of watching Bing and Bong in their underwear.

*

And its had the desired effect. Children get their homework done. (or sit and cry about their homework, but its a start, right?) Children haul out tape and crap out of the recycling bin and make tvs and computers for their play mobil people. (at least they're seeing some action...) Wildly stimulating and educational comic books get read. Block towers are built and conquered. The hamster's cage is cleaned. Flute practise gets done. Friends come by, dress up breaks into hysteria. Children actually ask to go visit grandma and grandpa.

*

BUT THE NOISE!!!

oh the noise.

*

I nearly succombed today. I nearly suggested that after they clean up the twelve thousand blocks, the fabric scraps, the milk jug lids, the shoes in the porch, the baskets of laundry and miscellaneous, the playhouse people, the markers, the waffle crumbs, and the bionicle pieces, that we should reward ourselves with an episode of America's Funniest Home Videos. Oh, how close did I come.

*

But thirteen odd years of trial and error parenting whispered in my ear..... You know where that will get you. Every sunday from now until eternity the children will use that as a bargaining chip. You know that you suck at saying no. You know that they will see your weakness and rub you with it.

*

So, I did the mature thing.

I made them all go to bed early, after doing all the housework.

*

Then I came down to use the computer in some peace and quiet.

If I Were Made of Time and Infinite Resources

... I would lose myself for hours in my beautiful, inspired sewing room. I would piece and patch and form into beauty the multitude of intentions and ideas that live in my head. (and quite a few pieces from ideas that I've stolen from other talented artists out there.)

I would hire a life coach for myself. I would learn how to have goals and a plan that would move me from a whole bunch of loose ended theories and wonderings to an intentioned way of concluding a thing or two before I turn to dust.

I would sign up for a neat thing I saw in a pamphlet at my sisters annual procrastinators birthday party this weekend. It was a weekly meeting about intentional journalling. That sounds so incredibly wonderful. To journal in the company of others who love to do so, and to have a facilitator to help us write and explore new ideas.

I would join the gym, not to beat my body into what I wish it would become, but instead to feel it work, to celebrate that all the joints and ligaments and muscles can team up and work in unision. To embrace my aging self and dance with it.

I would install a self-cleaning floor.

I would hire someone to put baseboards in my kitchen.

I would volunteer in a gritty downtown soup kitchen.

I would travel to Alberta and spend a week organizing my sister Laura. On the way there, I would stop at my friend Nancy's and drink some wine and talk about God with her.

I would set aside one night of the week for a stitch 'n bitch at my house. Except I would never call it that. I'm much too upright to say such a crass and inappropriate word. I would never suggest that my friends would fit such descriptions, or that they would accept me for another minute if they heard such foul mouthedness emerge from my lips. But. I would like to spend an evening a week with my beloved fabrics and buttons and friends. Stitching, creating, sipping, laughing, connecting.

I would go for a walk every night after supper while the children rip each other to shreds washing the dishes.

but as it stands, this post was begun first thing this morning, and I've had no time to complete it until late afternoon. I have nearly paid my bills for August now.

So, time and money do have their constraints. Lets just see what I manage to squeeze in, because if my life were entirely manageable, I'd likely die from boredom.

That. Again.

I took the kids for a walk today to get a red pepper from the grocery store. On the way to the peppers, I had to pass the magazines, and since the children were being extremely compliant, my eye had a moment to fall on two of my favourite magazines: Home Companion, and Country Living. I guess I needed an adrenalin rush or something- being a highly religious bargain hunter and buying a magazine retail really don't go hand in hand. I impulsively balanced a copy of each on top of the stroller and headed off to produce.

There was good reason for being compulsive about the magazine. I felt like I needed to compensate for missing out on some yard sales this weekend.

I've signed up for a church seminar that will take up my thursday and friday evenings, as well as all day saturday. That's not the difficult part.

Saturday also happens to be town-wide garage sale. Saturday just might be the day for that ONE garage sale... the ONE where the perfectly beautiful, perfectly affordable couch lies in wait.... for me. Its not that I haven't been taunted before. There was the time when I could see the absolutely perfect, red vintage couch and chair IN A GARAGE with an affordable price tag dangling temptingly off of it. I nearly drove off the road. I nearly stopped breathing.

Too bad the poor couch was shredded. It would have made the green one and the grey one look downright contemporary. But I digress.

Flipping through my overpriced copy of Country Living, I came across the above page. A gorgeous couch. Funky. Having recently walked through our local furniture store for the very first time, and realizing that I really loved nothing in it... I was pleased to see this avacado green piece in the magazine with the wide arm rests and fun patterns and felt relieved that these were being manufactured once again. Then I read further. Turns out that the woman had not only a stack of vintage chenille and beautiful old quilts in amazing textiles, but that she had found the couch and a matching chair for $35.00.


Which brought me back to the original conflict.
Church.
Versus Garage Saling.


Well, they said it would be a narrow road. They said that there would be sacrifices.

And now I really need to stay committed to the seminar.

Now I've got the whole jealousy thing going on, coveting whats in my neighbor's garage, whats in my neighbors handmaiden's garage, and maybe even whats in the shed they keep their oxen in.

I've got stuff to come clean on.

I may never find that couch that I just know is going to be out there on Saturday morning. Because now, not only do I have to work on my poor stewardship (buying that unnecessary magazine RETAIL) , I'll have to deal with my envious urges, my jealousies, my covetousness, and my compulsive bargain hunting.

But if I get all that dealt with and I'm no longer driven, then how will I ever find my vintage couch?!

How I Nearly Got to Guatamala

This morning, a group of people from our community left on a trip to Guatamala. They packed the maximum allowed baggage full of backpacks, gifts, and school supplies for the sponsored children whom they plan to visit. I imagine that there were also a number of toolbelts to pack, as they will be building a cinder block school house during their stay.





I felt excited about the trip, even though I couldn't even consider joining them. Gloria and Crystal have gone, as well as the grandma of one of my little daycare sweeties. I wished I were joining them.





But today, Brandy took Crystal's job.

Crystal fled the country to go build a schoolhouse.

I took Brandy's son, Mikey.


And that's how I practically flew to Guatamala.


(Micah and Mikey.)

Things that Make you Say.... Hmmmm.....

Going through cupboards the other day, I came across some forgotten bottles of vitamins and supplements. It made me wonder why they had been purchased, and what I had hoped they would remedy in me. Were they related to my medication? Were they purchased to counteract side-effects? It struck me again that my memory had seemed particularily unreliable of late, that I had actually frightened myself by forgetting a common word, and wondered if I would land up being that young mother in a brodey chair in the nursing home dying of ALS or something and my children having to come in three times a day to spoon feed me and wipe up my saliva and pee and everything.

So I called up my old friend google.

Turns out that I had forgotten everything that I had previously researched. Most of my problems could be blamed on the said medication. Excessive yawning, sleepiness, insomnia, farting, constipation, vertigo, vivid dreams, sweating.......... could all be blamed on the treatment. Plus a half dozen or more side-effects that I could still look forward to.

Oh. And there is anecdotal evidence of impaired memory. So, whatever brain power is available after having been awake, sweating and farting from 2:00 until 5:00 am last night, will be further compromised by this other, tiny side-effect.

Maybe I should try to remember to take those vitamins.
Although, I find it even more challenging to remember things when I'm sleep deprived.
I wonder if there is a medication or supplement that I could take for that? And what would its side-effects be?!