I might be holding Rick Springfield responsible for my latest brain malfunction.

All of a sudden, although that might be inaccurate because he's been kind of lurking assertively for a couple years now, and actually never really totally went away... Rick Springfield has become ubiquitous. He is so everywhere right now that this blog post involves my mom, my sister Sweetie, and my husband Jethro, Dave Grohl, and Jack Frisco Wagner Jones. See?  Everywhere!

Clearly, I'm not sure when the saturation started, or re-started.  I know I saw him on a talk show at some point discussing his memoir, which I would probably read if I weren't so darn lazy.  (Seriously my unread book pile is becoming dangerous.) I was thinking the ol' feller's looking pretty good.  He's like, 63 now.  Considering all the bad stuff and meltdowns and problems maybe a few mugshots and serious nasty depression problems...  I think it shows on him.  Not in a bad way.  He just has the look, to me anyways, of a person who's been through some crap and dragged himself through it.

Funny thing is, I generally find older men better looking now.  Either I'm getting old (yup) or men look better with some age on them.

Also, he's taking on the Depp look.  Well that always works, right?  Haha.  

Anyways.

I can't talk about this without bringing my mom into it.  As most of you know, I live with my family in my parental home.  I am 42 years old and live with my parents.  One big happy etc etc.  We'll get to my mom, but first, my childhood memories.  If you were alive in the very early 80s, you remember Rick Springfield.

We were visiting some friends of ours, back in the day, and the evening had progressed to the stage where dinner had been eaten, parents were upstairs talking about mortgages and car repairs, and now that I think about it, probably waiting to talk about us kids until we were down in the rec room goofing off loudly enough to hear none of it.  One of the girls was older than me and so super cool.  She was showing me her new posters and records in her bedroom.  One record had a really cute picture of a dog.

"I asked my mom for a Bruce Springsteen record, but she got this one by mistake, but I don't mind because it's pretty alright."

Okay, so that's the 80s.

Now, we're back to 2013.  Is your head spinning yet?  No? Oh, just wait.

It was a quiet winter morning.  I'd been out to the barn and come back into the house to do those other chores. I upended a basket of laundry to fold, because I have a weird affliction that prevents me from folding laundry unless I have the TV on.  And I fold perfectly.  While watching crap on TV.

Well isn't that good ol Rick Springfield on The View.

Sure enough... there's a guitar behind the couch!!! He picks it up and starts playing. Just to make sure we know this is live, he sort of stops playing for a second and says something, then starts again.  It's a little trick performers use.  He wound't have had to; he's old enough that he comes from an age when musicians had to ACTUALLY PLAY MUSIC AND SING because editing and tuning required 2" analog tape, razor blades and scotch tape. (Do not get me started...!)

He plays that riff we all know and love.  And laments about his covetous lust of his best friend's girlfriend.  And he was good.  He was really good.

But it doesn't stop there.

So I get into the house after getting Bucky at the bus stop.  Grandma is watching the Ellen Show. I walk past the living room, hear about the secretive jealous longing, and take two steps back to get a look at the TV.  Yep, there he is.  Cuz she's watchin' him with those eyes, yeah she's lovin'im with that bodyahjustknow it.  

And then... one camera angle caught the drummer.

"Is that... Is that Taylor Hawkins???"

"Who's Taylor Hawkins?"  My mom's not up on popular rock drummers.  It's ok, it's not her job.

"Foo Fighters."

"Oh.  Okay."  She does know who the Foo Fighters are.  She's hip.

AND THEN.

"Is that... THAT'S DAVE GROHL!"

This, people, lead to my first moment of Springfield related brain malfunction.

Not only could I not figure out what the connection would be, but at the end of the performance, Dave Grohl, prolific songwriter, great singer, bitchin guitarist, enthusiastic supporter and collaborator of fellow artists, recording enthusiast, studio owner, and absolute nicest guy in rock and roll, threw his arms up in an "I'm not worthy!" gesture and grinned at Rick Springfield like he was saying to the world, "Dude!  That's RICK SPRINGFIELD."

Jethro later informed me that this little collaboration has something to do with his new favourite movie, SOUND CITY, which is about a recording studio going out of business and Dave Grohl deciding to make a documentary about it.  Oh yes, that guy is also a documentarian now.  Also, used to be in Nirvana.

And... has jammed with Rick Springfield!!!!!!!!!

(If it hasn't already, that name is going to start sounding really funny to you soon.)

So now back to my mom.

It turns out my mom might have had a little crush on the man too, back in the day.

You see, Rick Springfield didn't just have a music career, he also had an acting career.  He was on General Hospital, which my mom used to call My Story as we were growing up and now calls My Show or simply GH.  She has this thing on the DVR and watches it with gleeful scrutiny. I don't have a show.  Although I think New Girl is hilarious.  But since I share a house with my mother, I often end up seeing My Show when I happen to be indoors, a process I call Not-watching.  On rare occasions I quit not-watching which I call not-not-watching.  For some reason my sister thinks this is odd.  But the two of them call each other at least once a day to discuss what happened/ is happening/ will probably happen on GH.  This results in Jethro and the kids and I referring to My Show as... wait for it.... It's Getting Really Good Right Now.  Because THAT is what we hear Mom and Sweetie saying to each other when they're talking about Their Show.

Stay with me, I'm getting to it.

So It's Getting Really Good Right Now is throwing itself a big 50th Anniversary Thing.

Over the last few months they've been dragging out every actor who's ever been on the show and who is still alive.  This has resulted in shameful and embarrassing amounts of me not-not-watching.  I can't help it.  Some of these people were around in my childhood.  And some of them look like they've been pumped full of plastic and hair dye.  But you can imagine how It's Getting Really Good Right Now has been a huge conversation topic for awhile now.  (Actually, as I write this, they are discussing it RIGHT NOW!!) Well, except for the vampire/ insane lady storyline, which had them rolling their eyes and groaning about how they'll be glad when that storyline gets resolved, but I was like, hey, vampires and insanity?  Time to start not-not-watching full time!  But then the rest of it started irritating me so I went back to not-watching.

BUT WAIT.

Guess who showed up to attend the Nurse's Ball / Opportunity To Do A Makeover On The Mousy But Secretly Hot Young Nurse / Oldies Reunion?  Yep.  Dr Noah Drake.  Rick Springfield.

How come none of my doctors have ever looked like beleaguered rock stars?


In the time honoured tradition of actors who are pop stars on their shows becoming pop stars in real life - well I really only know of two and I'm getting to that right now but I figure that's time honoured enough - Jack Wagner showed up to do a thing at the big soiree which is a good excuse to dress everybody up and have their characters perform while we suspend our disbelief that most people don't even have the nerve to Karaoke unless they're sloshing drunk.  I'm not sure what the Frisco Jones character supposedly did for a living other than go off on some kind of top secret excursions on the other side of the world when he wasn't Being A Pop Star. As one does when one is a soap opera character. But it's a paying gig, I guess, so there he was.

I was suffering some cabin fever at the time, and being a weekend night, got the sudden urge to go grocery shopping with Jethro.  If you know how I despise grocery shopping, you'll understand how much I did not want to be a part of the Frisco Jones experience.  But alas!  He started into his "hit" before I managed to get the guys mobilized and car keys located and shoes on.  My eyes must have been bulging.  Poor Jethro.  I'm gritting my teeth and trying to whip my coat onto my flailing arms while hissing, "This song sucked 30 years ago and it's even worse now."

That safely out of the way, I figured I could be in the house without much more of that.  But It's Getting Really Good Right Now wasn't done yet.

I was doing whatever it was I was doing, probably folding laundry - there's so much of it - when I heard somebody on the TV introducing... "MR RICK SPRINGFIELD"

(Oh wait - before I go on, I have to report that just now, over the phone, Mom and Sweetie are discussing "who else will they bring back?  Have they had everybody back yet?  Oh, Blackie."  Now this perks up my ears because "Blackie" was John Stamos and I'm not even going to pretend that he wasn't the reason I watched that damn show when I was a kid.  I watched every day looking for him.  Big time crush.  Still think John Stamos is the bomb.  Hated the show with all the kids but I confess to watching one of those other hospital shows - oh dear hospital shows forehead smack - and if he shows up on It's Getting Really Good Right Now I am definitely going to not-not-watch!!!!)

Okay.  Sorry about the digression, I'm just having so much fun live-blogging the discussion here.  They should get paid to discuss this show so thoroughly.

Anyways.

"MR RICK SPRINGFIELD"

This is where my brain snapped.

Jack Wagner was Frisco Jones, but Rick Springfield is Rick Springfield.

Whaaaaaaaaaaat....?

And there he is, taped this time of course, Jesse is a friend, you know he's always been a good friend of mine.  Damn that song holds up.  A monster hit is a monster hit.  Did you know he won a Grammy for that?  Yep he did.

But I was sitting there in disbelief, most likely with a handful of socks, I couldn't figure out if there was some kind of fourth-wall-breaking artistic license going on, or if we're supposed to just give up and go, "aw what the heck, we all know who the heck he is, doctor? Who are we kidding, okay" or if like, somebody on the team of writers forgot that THIS IS A TV SHOW AND IS THEREFORE FICTION AND WHAT THE HECK WITH THE REAL PEOPLE NOT BEING THE CHARACTERS THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO BE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH THIS I WRITE FICTION THE PEOPLE IN MY HEAD ARE NOT REAL OR OH MY GOSH ARE THEY??!!!

I'm okay, by the way.  I haven't totally resolved this head problem of mine but I'm dealing with it by reminding myself that my grasp on reality isn't real strong to start with so why should this cause permanent damage, am I right?

So back on It's Getting Really Good Right Now, once Jesse's Girl had been run through the tape machine, haha, one of the female characters in her fancy dress walked up to Rick Springfield who was no longer in his rock star uniform of black leather jacket and guitar, but rather his doctor at a fancy dinner thing uniform of tuxedo and bow tie.  She said to him something like, "Dr Drake!  I had no idea you looked so much like Rick Springfield!"

He - whoever he is - looked at her incredulously, and said the only reasonable thing, which was...

"You're kidding... right?"

Twitch.  Twitch.

Well they're off the phone now and It's Getting Really Good Right Now is back on.  The party's over and people who aren't Rick Springfield are having heavy conversations about who they weren't supposed to sleep with or who recently returned from the dead.  I am not kidding.

I guess we're going to be watching Sound City this weekend.  Did I mention this movie features Dave Grohl and Rick Springfield?

Have we repeated that name enough now that it's sounding ridiculous?

Rick Springfield.


Rick Springfield.

Rickspring.  Field.  

aaaarrgghhhhhhhhh

I have laundry to fold.  

COLLEGE: Like Kindergarten. But way bigger. And more expensive. And a lot farther away.

So we shipped our first born child off to college this past weekend.  So far she's been busy bonding with her three new roommates, exploring the grounds, and getting fed at all the free events the school's been throwing.  The rest of the time she's in her room with the Mac Book Pro (all the photography students get a computer issued by the program) editing photos she took here at home.  Oh yeah, she also showed up at her first class yesterday.  On time.

She's rocking this.

Now you're wondering how I'm doing.

I'M GREAT!

No seriously.  I'm handling this better than I thought I would.  I squeezed out a few tears on Friday night, in my bed, with my face stuck to her daddy's shoulder.  That was my hard time.  I'd spent the last half a year preparing myself for the basic idea that my kid will be not living in the same house as me during the week.  I introduced to her the concept of self-nagging.  She ended up not getting a steady job this summer, and while it would have been good to have some money earned up, she had time to work on her photography skills and talk to her mother about life and stuff, and also, grow up a little.  I had time to enjoy her presence.

I just had that one moment Friday night.

Okay maybe I've been choked up a couple times.

But I'm way more okay than I expected.

That child walked into the kindergarten yard all those years ago in her floweree-ree-ree-ree jacket and cute skirt and red rubber boots, wide eyed and free of expectations.  She walked out a couple hours later, looked at the yellow school bus, and burst into tears when I told her that she could't go on the bus because we lived just down the street and she had to walk home with me and her little brother.  That was my forehead slap moment.  I didn't prepare her for that!  I'd told her how when I was a little girl living on Grandma's farm I took the bus to school.  I forgot to tell her that kids who live two blocks away from the school walk home, holding mommy's hand, with little brother in the stroller.

Now she lives about an hour away from the school.  Her new home away from home is a residence building, just across the lane from a nice cafeteria and mere minutes from the school's photography studio.  Everything is a short walk.

I am pretty sure I thought of everything this time.  I told her about how my one and only year of college was different because I was 20 and married.  And how I had only been on a city bus once in my life.  And how I had a meltdown beside a bus shelter the night before my first class because the posted bus schedule looked like a Russian blueprint and what the hell was I doing living in a place with all these buildings everywhere, right beside each other... while my young husband sat on the curb with his head in his hands wondering what he was thinking, taking this little hick out of her natural habitat, the full realization sinking in that he had just married a crazy chick.

Selina is a little odd and quirky, but she's not crazy.  And she's not typical.  She's not swayed by what everybody else is doing.

Not like back in kindergarten.  She went in with full sentences and decent grammar and clear enunciation.  She came home the second day talking like a baby.  Oh wow.  Poor kid looked around with those big eyes and open ears and figured out that this is what we do in kindergarten.

I'm not really concerned that she'll come home next weekend talking with full-on vocal fry, sentences all dipping down at the end, eyes rolling, hair flipping, slouching, post-valley-girl apathy.  (Luckily so far her roommates don't fit that description.  Whew.)

MEANWHILE, back at the Ol' Homestead.

Bucky went to school yesterday without his sister for the first time ever.  He was ready with time to spare and had nobody to nag at to quick hurry up get ready don't make me miss the bus.  He drove over to the bus stop and everybody got to see him get out of the driver's seat.

I will now be the recipient of all Bucky's practical jokes and advanced trolling.  Unless he text spams his sister.  Which he will.  Because waiting five days for her to come back is a lot longer than waiting two hours for her to come home.

Merry merry happy happy etc etc....!

Well people, thanks for joining my Christmas blog party, and if you missed it, I'll catch you next year!

I'm going to take a week or so off. I plan on hunkering down with the family and it would be kinda uncool to be blogging when I could be actually interacting with my favourite humans, you know, in real life, in real time.  Keepin' it REAL man!

I've been doing some serious soul searching these past couple weeks, and giving myself a few good pep talks.  Gotta do that sometimes.

Conclusions:

-Not everybody (Me) is happy during Christmas... and yes there is a lot of pressure heaped on us, to be and act and do what somebody decided we should act and do and feel.  I think we should be allowed to feel how we feel.  All the time.  So yeah, I feel chafed and scraped by that kind of happiness-conformity.

-Doesn't mean I have to be miserable.

-I'm the only one who gets to decide how miserable I'm going to be.

-The very core of Christmas to me, is good.

-I have family that I love and who love me back.

-I AM BLESSED.





I hope all of you, each and every one of you, finds something to be blessed with this Christmas.

Be well, be merry!  (Unless you don't wanna be!)

ps,
41.  Forty-one.  Forty-ONE.  There's the hill, and I am on my way down the other side.  Should get easier from now on, eh?  hahahahahahahahaaaaa

Yer darn right I watched that big wedding!

While I'm not a HUGE ROYALIST  (my father-in-law, "Grandpar," who left England in the 60s to get away from all these things, would be horrified...) I do like the Queen.  She just seems like a really together chick, you know?

And I hear she stomps around her country place in wellies.  (That would be British for rubber boots.)

So, there ya go.



Yay, Princes!  Aren't they adorable.  Harry looks like he's snickering and Will actually looks reasonably calm.  I cannot imagine how weird it would be to get married with half the world watching.  Like, no pressure.  Wait.  Yes, PRESSURE!

Okay, so we got the princes, who are all decked up in these incredibly ornate uniforms.

And then Kate gets out of the Bentley and she looks beautiful.  It's like she got training on how to be a royal bride. Oh yes that's right... she has gotten training.  Heck, Will's had his whole life to be trained.

Confession: I squeezed out a couple of tears.  

I LOVE WEDDINGS!  (DRINKS ALL ROUND!)

My mom got to see this before leaving for work.  "Oh and her train isn't even 40 ft long," she wept, since we had been talking about how sensible Kate seems to be.  Okay, sensible in relation to your average colossal royal wedding.

This just isn't a good year to be super flashy, what with the recessions and global lack of cash.  

Pretty!  Elegant!  

By this time, Harry is fidgeting and sweating and looking like he's more nervous than the groom.  Do we kinda love Harry?  He's done some boneheaded moves but he grins a lot.  

Will didn't get to actually watch her come down the aisle but had to stand there waiting until she got right up beside him.  Is that a thing in Britain or just for royal people?  Wow.  Self-control.  Harry turned around for a peek though, and apparently said to his brother,  "Wait till you see her."

And then, also apparently, according to those who are good at reading lips, Will said "You look beautiful."  I'm not so good at reading lips but I can read dudes, and he gave her a quick but thorough looking-over.  Oh yes.  

It was cute... they sort of whispered little things to each other like they'd just met for coffee or something.  Hello darling.  You look handsome.  Thank you honey, you're quite slamming yourself today.  Oh you rogue, my dad is standing here.  Cheeky aren't you?  Ha, you just wait.  

It was a very formal and serious ceremony.  It was an hour long.  I'm twitching and trying to keep my eyes open by then. I do know one of the men in robes stood in a little crow's nest and gave a wonderful speech/ sermon, but I sure as heck can't remember a word of it.  Luckily nobody fell asleep in church while being televised.

Know what I love about this lady?  Her crooked smile.  She always looks like she's choking down a good snicker.  I also have an instant kinship with other crooked-faced women.  Her eyebrows are different, and she's unique, and besides, symmetry is so overrated. 

Then of course the ring doesn't go on smoothly.  It never does. The groom always stands there wrestling with it while everyone else holds their breath.  

Not the Queen though.  

Always chill.

Do you think Prince Philip is a total scream in real life?  He looks kind of jokey.  He also looks pretty darn good - he's turning 90 next month!!  (His eldest son, sitting right there beside him, doesn't really look that much younger... maybe Charles has had a more stressful life...!)

Oh Will, so thoughtful and serious and oh my gosh, I AM OLD.  I remember when this guy was born.  I remember when he was a little chubby cheeked toddler with yellow hair.  And now look at him.  He's tall and his hair is thinning!  He's a MAN, man!

So yeah.  I'm old.  

Another thing I like: she wore her hair down, so she looked like herself.  

I think she's good at this thing.

Let's look at this again:  

I think she looks more comfortable than he does.  

 Notice how there seems to be a proper way to hold hands, a proper way to walk?  

But no slight little wave, the twist from the wrist.  Maybe only the Queen waves that way.  What if there's a way to wave that only the Queen gets to use?

Maybe it takes a few years of being the Queen to get it right.

Lots of waving.  

 Mother, Grandmother and Step-mother all wearing proper British lady hats and nice non-offensive pastels.  

Left to right:

 I am standing beside the Queen of England.  Well done.

I AM the Queen of England.

My hat is sideways?  Mrs Middleworth's hat is too.  Or is it Middlemore?  We look like we called each other this morning.  

Well aren't they a charming group.  I'd love to know what they're chatting about in real life.  Nice wedding.  Mm, yes.  My backside is rather numb after sitting for an hour.  Not to worry dear.  Very soon your feet will go numb from standing.  Later your face will be numb from smiling.  Buck up, ladies.  

Man she must be a tough ol lady.

You know how I suspect Prince Philip to be the life of the party?  Check him out here, putting the charm on Kate's sister.  

Oh Pippa.  Watch out for that ol feller.  

So the new Duchess walks out, looks around and we can see her going, "Oh wow."  Understatement.  There was a carpet of people in front of them.  

 Then they had to do the little peck on the lips.

And these two are so racy they kissed TWICE!  Them kids today, eh?

Well I had to go out to the barn so I didn't see the next part.  I hear William took his new wife for a drive in his dad's antique Aston Martin.  

Well, sure that's cool - you know I love cars.  I think Jethro and I did one better though.  We got driven through town in the back of a 1955 Ford F-100 pickup truck!  That rocked.  

I wonder if my wedding dress still fits.  It did on our tenth anniversary, but that was almost ten years ago.  I'm not good with numbers, but this is our twentieth anniversary coming up in the summer.  

I feel another ride in the back of a truck coming on.

Oh wow... what a week! (Pick your favourite!)

Honestly I don't know where to start!  It's all so exciting!

One: The most life-changing, amazing thing happened this week.  A new person, a brand new, tiny boy with black hair and beautiful cheeks and tiny little fingernails has joined our world.  And now I'm a GRANDGODMOTHER!  I think that's right, but being Mennonite, I'm not really sure what the deal is with godmothering other than it doesn't actually involve magic wands.

My best friend's daughter had a baby this week.  My best friend is a GRANDMA!  I'm picturing her right now and suddenly realize, holy smokes, for real, SHE is somebody's grandmother!  When I remember her on Wednesday night at the hospital, rocking that baby... yeah she's a grandma all right.

The new mother, KK, was understandably exhausted when I saw her at the hospital.  Poor girl could hardly keep her eyes open.  I remember that feeling too, being numb from the waist down, weak from exertion and dazed.  I also remember holding KK when she was a small baby, and now here she is holding a little carbon copy of herself.  The new father, beaming, handed the baby to me so I could hold him, and I was hit with a flood of emotions.

So yeah, that really is the biggest thing to happen this week.  The tiny boy is a really big event!

 Two:  Some of you may be aware that I wrote a book.  A novel.  I made a bunch of stuff up and spent a few years rewriting it until I thought it was pretty good.  I sent out letters to literary agents two years ago and as a result got proof that I really truly am a writer: I got rejected.  I did some more rewriting and editing.  People I respect and trusted gave it a few reads.  I sent out a few more letters.  And this time... the people who read for a living and could potentially guide me on a career as a writer are reading MY manuscript. I considered not sharing this here, because nothing has been decided.  I'm just a writer with big goals and dreams trying to get this thing going.  But I am sharing it because it's happening to me and I have friends who've been through the same process, and they shared the journey.  It's just so good after all this time to know that there is hope.  And I'm trying not to think about it too much or I'll go crazier.

Three:  I moved half of the manure pile this week.

Those of you who do not pick up after large hooved animals for a living won't understand the accomplishment, but let me tell you, I feel good about this.  Using a 1958 John Deere with a very small loader bucket to move the manure through two gates and down a hill is not a ripping fast project.  I wanted to get it all cleared out but half a pile is better than a big pile.  Anyways, eventually I'll get slick with the whole hydraulic loader controls and then I'll get that pile moved real slick-like.  Next year.

Four:  People magazine rolled out their Sexiest Man Alive issue.  Have you got yours yet?

I've got mine!!!  I haven't read it yet.  I JUST LOOKED AT THE PICTURES!  Bwahahahaha!

How cute is this guy?  Let's discuss it in more detail next week, shall we?  I think we shall.




Five:  Jethro and I are going to see OZZY OSBOURNE this weekend!!!!!!!!

Ozzy is so freakin' fantastic, and I know this for a fact because we saw him a few years ago.  The fact that dude is still alive is amazing... but regardless of his more recent portrayal as shaky and unintelligible, make no mistake,  THIS MAN ROCKS.  He sounds note perfect every time.  And also, he is Ozzy Freakin' Osbourne.  

Don't forget, he used to look like this:

... and you know how I love a baby-faced British guy.  

In case I haven't mentioned it, Ozzy's new album is haaaavy.  Just trust me.  Ozzy invented this stuff. He still rules it!  

One more thing: this concert involves the two of us leaving the farm, as in, three horses, two barn cats, a house cat and a PUG, in charge of the grandparents and teenagers, going to the city, as in Toronto, and staying there overnight.  In a hotel!  I'll probably wake up at 6 am anyways, but I won't have to drag my butt out of bed.  Which is good because after an evening with Ozzy I'll probably be half deaf and all screamed out.  

Aaaaand, that was my week.

!!!

Mrs Wolowitz????!!!!!

A couple of questions before we begin:

First, how many of us adults have lived with, or are living with, their parents?

(This is where I sheepishly grimace and do the wiggle-finger wave.)  Meeeee!

Second, anybody here ever watch a show called The Big Bang Theory?  (We kind of relate because we have a budding genius in the family.)  

If you watch it too, you might be familiar with a strange little character called Howard Wolowitz.  If not, let me introduce you.  

This is Howard.

He lives with his mother.  We never see his mother.  We just hear her.  And she's loud.  Raspy.  Harsh, and really, really irritating.  She yells when his "little friends" are over for a "play date."  She yells to ask what they're doing.  She yells to ask if they want cookies.  She yells.  He is 27 going on eight.  He rolls his eyes, yells back, and looks irritated.

Unlike poor How-AHHHD my mother is not irritating.  Sure, she can't quit mothering, but I assure that if I, at the age of 61, end up with one of my adult children and the grandchildren (not to mention the spouse and house-pets) living in my house with me, you can bet I'll be mothering them all too.  

We mothers can't help it.  It's like a switch gets flipped the first time we hold our children and that switch can never, ever be turned off again.  I really think my mom's doing quite well, considering.  She'll start into one of my teenagers on the merits of cough syrup or the pressing urgency of homework, then stop, turn her head, grin, and announce, "I'm not your mother!"

This approach seems to be working.  Example:

The other evening, Bucky yelled, "Mom!"  

And because that switch never shuts off, and also because Grandma is really good at her job, before I opened my mouth she'd already replied.

So Bucky, the quick witted little smartass, came back instantly with "You're not my mother!"

Sometimes we accuse her of overfunctioning, but she has proven that without her, there is no functioning.  I suspect she enjoys being She Who Runs The Place, even if it is a lot of work.  It would be tempting to just let her run my life... I mean, she's good at it and it would be so easy.  But I've never been good at being...run.  Besides, I moved out at age 20 and have had a few years worth of running my own place.  Not as well, maybe.  But I managed to get two babies to the teenage years without any catastrophic accidents or extreme neglect!

Yesterday morning, I had to take my truck over to the garage.  Mom followed me with her car, since I would rather not walk down the highway back to the farm.  After parking the truck, I headed over to her car before going to the office.  I had to drop off a bag in the car.  It was raining and miserable out and I was motoring, but my extremely on-the-ball mother already had her window down, cold rain lashing at her face, as she yelled across the parking lot, "DON'T FORGET TO TELL THEM YOUR LEFT HEADLIGHT IS OUT!"  

I yelled back, "YEAH I'M GONNA!"

Well by the time I opened the passenger door to throw the bag in the car, she was already laughing.  

"I sound like Howard's mother!"

So yeah, we have a pretty good sense of humour.  All the way home we snorted and giggled about HOWAHHHHHD!

In the evening, she drove me back to the garage to pay for the truck and bring it home.  We got home about the same time, and as soon as I got out of the truck she was standing there beside her car, grinning, and yelled...

"TELL YA LITTLE FRIENDS YA GOT YA HEADLIGHT FIXED!!!!"

And so, little friends, I would like to tell you that both the headlights in my truck are working.

(How did I function without her?)

Time to put the "summer office" away.

Dad bought a little vintage camper last summer for his twice-yearly flea market trips.  I think it's kind of funny that he wouldn't normally go camping for fun, but if there are car parts involved, he's there.

Meanwhile back at the homestead, Mom and I snicker about him camping out with all the other gear heads and rednecks and hillbillies and car hoarders.  He packs a couple of comforters, one pillow, and an extra hoodie.  Maybe some extra woolly socks.  One year he forgot a can opener for his pork n beans.

If we women spent a weekend in the camper, we'd bring like, 18 pillows, four comforters (each), a cotton blanket or two or five, a little rug for the floor, and that cute little closet would contain flannel jammies, hoodies, an extra jacket, and maybe a couple more pillows just in case.  Because you never know when you will need to prop something up with a pillow.

Also, upon arriving home, the camper would not smell like farts.

We would at least open the windows, y'know!

Here's the thing: she doesn't camp anymore.  I don't think I do either.

But I love the little camper!  It has doubled as a bunkhouse for visiting kids many times.  Sometimes the kids just hang in the camper with their buddies.

I discovered this summer that I could hide in plain sight if I just sneaked in there.

I could bring a bag with my MacWhite and my notebook, a novel, a pen, and I'd be good for an hour or two.  Sometimes, I would pull my glasses off my face and roll over for a little snooze.  Parked under a tree with the windows open to catch the breeze, the camper was a sweet haven.

Well, it's October now.  I have to retrieve those comforters because I'll need them on the beds soon.  I've accepted that writing and reading in a trailer isn't so sweet anymore on a cool day.  It's hard to remember how incredibly painfully hot it was this summer, now that the morning leaves frost on the windshields.  Dad moved the camper down into the yard, but he was too early.  I insist on dragging it back up so I can get in there with the Shopvac.  He doesn't get it.  He figures it's fine to put it up for winter the way it is.  I strongly disagree because it has to be clean and neat first!  You know how I hate rodents, right?  I will give them no excuse to wiggle their horrible little way in there looking for cracker crumbs.

And even if it's rodent free... I'd like to crack it open in the spring and not be knocked over by the musty dusty and possibly farty smell of a 40-something year old camper.

I'm just thinking ahead.

My mom says that blogging pictures of your laundry is just as bad as tweeting pictures of your lunch.

Okay, yes.  BUT.  My laundry is so PRETTY!

(And how does my mother know so much about the Tweetering?)

Look at those colours, up there against that vivid blue sky, and the kind of cotton-ball clouds you always think of when you think the word clouds.

Through my eyes, the backlit clothes glowed, but the iGadget couldn't quite capture it.  I still like this picture because of the shadows, and that it makes me think of the smell of the wind.  

And of course, a quilt.

How typically Mennonite of me.

We found it in my uncle's house.  Mom says my Grandma made it, since she recognized some of the fabrics in the squares.  Grandma worked in a shirt factory for a few years, and brought home remnants rather than throw them out.  It's practically an unwritten unofficial rule of being a Mennonite woman.  Thou shalt not throw away perfectly good fabric scraps.  

Yep, I've got three boxes in Mom's sewing room.

See the Pug at the bottom of that picture?  He's the reason I wash quilts so often.  Him and his shedding all year round, sleeping on my bed every night habit.  

It's okay with me though.  I love doing laundry.

this is my "I'm too busy to blog" blog!

I wanted to write about that big bug building a nest in the sunporch, buzzing around me while I hang laundry on the line.

Also about nests, I wanted to write about the barn swallow family moving out.  Got pictures too.

I wanted to write about Brad Pitt's beard-ectomy.

But instead I'm going to saddle up a horse, move some s**t, and then do a trip into town to return an extra kid and fill the trunk of my mom's car with groceries.  Okay, technically, I'll change and wash my hands, THEN go into town, take the extra kid home, go to the tack shop next door, and then all those groceries will end up in my mom's kitchen.

And I've already written more than I had time to write.

Okay!  Sheets on the line!  Spotted gelding wearing a saddle!  GO!

So the $400 pool is not actually a bargain???

When we decided to move out to the country, I PROMISED the kids we'd get them a pool.  You know those round plastic pools, about 4 ft deep, with the inflatable rim?  I reasoned that I didn't want to have to run them into town every hot day to use the township pool.  I wouldn't be able to send them down the street to a friend's house anymore.  And besides, maybe I'd like a swim too.  The inflatable pool seemed like an ever better idea when we decided to temporarily move to the Ol' Homestead with the grandparents first.  We can take it with us when we move!

Being July, and having just survived a heat wave with the exact same temperatures as Miami Florida, the pressure was on.  I PROMISED that pool.  PROMISED.

Good news - they're on sale.  We decided to buy it before they're all gone.  Jethro and I both looked slightly ill at the checkout.  We have so many things to pay for.  Debts to pay off, bills to pay, repairs to be paid for.  BUT WE PROMISED.  We mumbled to each other about how our kids are pretty happy about there at the Ol' Homestead, and don't get bored, and haven't complained about the lack of X-360-Nintendo-sega-64 game things.  They've been pretty low-maintenance, really.  Also, WE PROMISED.

Once home, the full reality of the country landscape hit us.

This property slopes gently away from the road.  A truly flat space of lawn is hard to find.  The spot we picked out is just barely big enough to shoehorn that pool between the house and the back lane.  We'll still have to do some levelling first.

My ol' man decided his tractor isn't powerful enough, so we might as well get a guy in with a Bobcat... and of course, that back door has been nailed shut for a few years.  We'll have to do something about that... especially since the back steps have been missing for a long time now...

Jethro started getting excited.  Oh boy, building a DECK!  This will involve power tools!

I started up a nervous sweat.

I calmed myself by remembering that this little back porch will be a nice spot for my parents to relax even after we move out and take the pool with us someday.

The grandparents deserve it.  I suddenly wanted badly to pay for it, and throw a brand new door into the deal while we're at it.  We'll still get the vet bill paid. We can do this.  We can do the work ourselves, and it won't cost much because we can shop around.  We can do this.

WE PROMISED!

THE BOY!!!!!

BUCKY THE NERD!

BUCKY THE STUNT NERD!

BUCKY THE STUNT HICK ROCKDOG NERD!

What the heck!  How can my baby be 14?????  He's my baby for crying out loud and now he's bigger than me and has size 10 shoes!  He can do power tool things and lift heavy stuff, you know, if he feels like doing stuff.  He's spending mornings with one grandpa and following the other grandpa around at home.  He's building targets to shoot and driving anything with four wheels.

Did I mention he's bigger than me?

Okay I know it doesn't take much but still.

Man, time flies and all that crap.

You might be wondering what's going on here in my neck of the woods.  I'd love to tell you all about it, but I have to load up my truck and go to the dump.  I'd show pictures, but I can't figure out how to get them off my iGadget into the macbook so you can see them.  I'm exhausted and excited and reeeeeally busy.

I feel like I'm way behind here... I still want to tell you about our trip to St John's Newfoundland, and that was over a month ago!  I can't believe it's the middle of May already!

I CAN'T BELIEVE MY FIRSTBORN CHILD IS TURNING 16 IN A WEEK.

I mean, sometimes I think of her and in my mind she's tiny, stomping around on her little legs, pointing to things with her double jointed finger, smiling so big her cheeks are wider than her face.  I've almost gotten used to her being taller than me.  (Yeah I know, it's been like that for a long time now.)  Now, I look up and see this gorgeous willowy young lady and kind of lose track of time for a split second.  That's my kid.  That beautiful girl is my kid.

She's been driving the truck around the yard and doing quite well, much better than I'd expected.

She wants to write her test on her birthday and get her G1 (beginner's) license.

Wow.

Just wow.

(How'd I get this old?)

So chic. So cute. And such a little hick.

She learned everything she knows from me, obviously.

Gaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh

Yeah I'm still here.

Working on the barn - pictures soon.  Maybe.

Not writing.  Want to, would like to, but any spare hour is often spent sitting on a couch watching something on TV that does not stimulate my brain in any way - and I like it.

My mom's taking a few weeks off work.  Did you know you have a little internal filtering organ called a gallbladder?  Well she doesn't anymore.  And soon she'll be much happier about it.  Until then, I take over all grocery shopping duties as well as all dish washing, cooking, and bathroom cleaning.  I continue with my laundry jobs.  She continues to instruct the universe from a position of relaxation, and continues to be amazing.

My dog is now full time foot warmer for Grandma.

I'm glad I'm here for her.

My ol' Man is 67 years old and might be close to admitting that he ain't 45 anymore.  Nobody believes him though. Will keep you posted.

Tribble wrote her Grade 10 english exam today.  Good thing she can read.  She doesn't have to go to school again until Friday, when she performs her Dance exam.  I fully intend to work her like a rented mule, hahahaha!  Good thing she likes the barn.

Bucky has to be at school at 7 am tomorrow for a field trip.  I will be getting up around 5:30 am, leaving the house with him at 6:30, returning home at 7, kicking the horses out of the barn with a half bale of hay, taking the Pug for a quick run in the melting snow, then going back to bed.  (Where Tribble will most likely be, taking up as much room as a 102 lb person can.)

Jethro got the floors in that house of ours sanded.  Looks gorgeous.  I think we should do that again soon in a house we intend to live in for many years.

There's a big grey and white tomcat hanging around the barn.  Larry and Moe kind of avoid him.  I figure if he's gonna hang around and eat our generic feed mill cat-kibble, he better tame up.  I can get almost 2 feet away from him, but he still looks at me like I'm a cat eating monster.  Maybe I should stop picking up Larry and telling him he's deliciously cute.

Lucy In The Sky With Ladybugs is still insane, stalks shadows, pounces on my feet in bed, thinks she's weightless and eats like a dog.  I suspect she might be a shapeshifter but she's so damn fast I can't catch her at it.  Hmmm.

Phoenix and the Little Lady both in need of hoof trimming.  I have neglected them.  I feel awful every time I look at their hooves, especially his.  I shouldn't even be posting this on the internet.  His hooves are all long and cracking and I must be a bad horse owner.  I had to choose between parasite control and hoof trimming.  Then I had to buy feed.  Then shavings to bed their stalls.  Then... my own children needed new pants.

I hate being broke.

I am working on getting work.

People I know are dealing with problems worse than mine.

That doesn't make me feel better.

I have a dream of wearing really expensive high quality overalls out to the barn.

I like having a radio out there.

I'll need a new corn broom soon.  This one's wearing down from sweeping all those miserable cobwebs. Will it ever end?

I miss Jethro.

My imaginary people talk to me while I'm working.  I hope they don't stop.  I'm listening.

I am behind on EVERYTHING.

I just remembered that my coveralls are still in the washing machine and I think I'd like them to be dry before I put them on to go back out to the barn.

I still have a huge amount of re-arranging to do before the last of our belongings will fit into this house.  I have nightmares about brown webs and cardboard boxes and garbage bags.

So, yeah, I'm just gonna mosey on down to the cellar and do some laundry.

I hope it doesn't take me a week.  Stay tuned.

The New Routine

5:30 am  The squirming and snuffling at the foot of the bed tells me the dog has to go outside and take a wiz.  I realize I do too.  But not outside.

5:35 am   Cat and dog both fed.  Cat eyeballs me playfully from under a chair like she's about to swipe and blasts upstairs to hide.  Dog follows; bed needs more warming up.

6:20 am   If Mom works early, I take her to town so I can have her car later.  Otherwise, I'm back in bed, but probably  not sleeping because my brain is full.

7 am  get up.

7: 07 am Get the boy and the girl out of bed.  I know the boy's been working hard driving tractor and the 4 wheeler and stuff, cuz he is hard to wake up.  In town he was always awake before me.

7:10 am   Take dog out, tie him up, put the fly masks on the horses and open the gate to let them out into the pasture.

7:12 am   The dog and I go for a run around the yard, along the hay field, around the bottom of the south side, and up the hill by the pasture field.  We both run.  Him, almost all of it, me just the hay field stretch.  The downhill part.

7:20 to 8 am  Eat, move the kids through the bathroom while finding time for parents to use it, then getting them through the kitchen ensuring something in the vege/ fruit category goes in the lunch bag.

8:10 am   Git in the car!

8:10 to 8:40  Drive through the country and gawk at all the farms.  There are so many farms around here.  They're everywhere.  Farms everywhere you look.  Only one was for sale, too much land, too much money, and it's already sold.  But there are more!

8:40  drop kids off at school, wish luck, tell boy not to ignore his sister when he sees her, see you at 3 etc.

8:45 to 9:15  tell myself I put them in the right school even if a different one would have sent a bus to our place to pick them up.

9:15 am  to 2:30  pm   Depends who's home here.  Sometimes help mom with groceries or help Dad with whatever project he's working on involving machinery and the great outdoors.  Take Mom to work if she works late.  I always call my husband when I get home.  I miss him.  I'm used to him not being around during the day; I'm used to going to bed alone and telling myself to sleep and not wait for him to come home.  I sleep here with one ear open and can't tell myself he's not sleeping where I am.  I miss him in the morning.  This is hard.

So I make the phone calls and sweep the floor, do laundry, clean the barn, move the pile, walk the dog, remind myself to eat, play with the horses, vacuum, sort through stuff nobody wants anymore, and wonder where the hell the day went and wonder what I got done, because mysteriously, it never looks to me like I did anything.

2:30 pm  Go get the kids.  Drive through the country thinking about how much I kinda like my Mom's Alero with its big General Motors body and half decent stereo and power seat and A/C that works.  But I drive with the window down, elbow out, too fast on the dirt road.  I wave at all the guys on tractors.  They all wave back.

3 pm  I bring a book since I'm usually there a little early.  Try not to watch kids leave the school and wonder who will be friends of my kids soon.  

3:05 outta here

3:30  home, or at least, home we're at now.  If Mom works early, go straight to town to get her.  

4 pm tell the kids they really need to get their lunch bags out, do they have homework, the internet's too slow for facebook right now and let's get outside to see the horses before it gets dark.

5 pm  hopefully I'm outside, with the Pug on his tether-rope watching me do my horsey thing.

6 pm  Mom's got supper ready to go if she's home and we all migrate to the house.  It's gonna be good.  However, if she's at work and supper's up to me... it's gonna be canned.  What?  Pretty hard to train a horse and cook supper at the same time.  Just sayin.

7 pm  to 8 pm   Either getting Mom, or checking off my To Do list, or trying to get in a quick ride before it gets dark.  Oh, and likely doing laundry.  

around 9 pm  Barn.  I love this part of the day.  I take my scoop of cat kibble from the cellar, carrying it to the barn while Larry and Moe trot across the corral, meowing and already purring.  I pour it into two bowls so the brothers don't have to fight.  You know how siblings can be.  

Outside, Phoenix and Copper stomp and snort, pacing the back wall of the barn, but they are not wildly impatient.  The grain goes into the feeders, and I lock the door shut after I return to the scoop to the bin.  Then I open the back door.  Phoenix walks in first, calm and easy, turning the corner into his stall.  The Little Lady is close behind, walking briskly to her stall.  They both know it's rude to trot down the barn aisle.  I lock them into their stalls as I putter around, picking their hooves, sweeping up the aisles, stopping for ear scratches and pats.  

When they're done munching (Phoenix has to lick out the feeder before he considers it done) I unlock their stall doors.  They ease their way out of their stalls and back out into the dark.  I check to make sure all the doors are shut tight, turn off the lights, and give them their last pats of the night. 

10 pm Bark my kids into bed.  Send the dog out for one last wiz of the day.  Tell him he's a good boy because he listens to me when I yell at him to not chase the barn cat.  Hug my kids, pat their backs, tell them gently to get their carcasses up to bed right now darnitall.  Try to keep track of bathroom traffic.  Find the feral house cat rubbing her back against a doorframe, pick her up and coo to her in a baby voice.  Let the Pug back in.  Refill their water bowl.  Clean out her litter box.  Say good night to parents and yell up the stairs to git in bed would ya already.  Charge up there like I'm real good n mad and instead give them hugs and goodnights.  Promise them I'm going to bed too, I really am.

11 pm  Sneak back downstairs, get cordless phone, call husband.  Coo at him in a sweet voice.  Tell him I miss him, tell him what happened today, who each kid ate lunch with, how they're doing.  Hear about his day.  Find something to laugh about.  It's never easy to hang up.

11:30  Sneak some dial-up internet time.  Get frustrated and give up.

11: 45  Realize while brushing teeth that holy crap I'm tired.  Have been for a couple hours.

11:47 pm Find a kid and a Pug snoring in my bed and a furry little cat on my windowsill.  She mews at me.  I pet her and whisper to her.  The moon makes the trees look silvery.  I shove the kid over, because there's no point moving a kid at this time of night.  There's room for all of us.

Late o'clock  Give myself heck for getting to bed so late, but remind myself that I actually get a lot done in a day.  It just doesn't look like it.

5:30 am  Pretty kitty shows up on my pillow purring and brushing her fluffy tail in my face.  Pug whimpers and squirms and tells me it's time to get up....

(this is for a blog buddy) HICK CHIC GUIDE TO GESTATING!

My blog buddy and fellow Four Corners writer, the wonderful JKB, has just announced her pregnancy!

When I was pregnant for the first time, I felt pretty darn smart. Here I was, little me, all busy growing an entirely new human, right there inside me! Of course, this was a few weeks after I got over the shock and accepted the fact that I wouldn’t be riding a horse for a few months, might never look the same again, and would always, forever, the rest of my life, be somebody’s mother.

I’ve done it twice, and learned a few things each time. I know we MOTHERS like to spew advice at every occasion, but it’s not just to show off, honest! It’s because we wish we’d heard it, or because it was such good advice it has to be passed on.

Here’s the best advice I can think of if you’re growing a new person:

EAT. If you have to, eat two of every meal! I’m not saying you have to pig out, but if you are hungry, it’s for a reason. That little thing is growing at a ridiculous rate and you will feel the drain. Eat breakfast and snack again before lunch. Eat supper when you get home and again when your man gets home, or whatever suits your schedule. Carry snacks with you.

A system of eating 6 little meals rather than 3 big ones is going to help you later, when your baby belly is squishing your stomach up under your lungs and even though you’re hungry, there’s no room.

This whole “eat a lot” thing isn’t permission to junk out though, okay? Eat things that are actually food, rather than stuff made in a factory and wrapped in plastic. Eat real food.

DRINK. Water. Drink lots of water. Listen, I’m not gonna speak in codes here, this is the honest truth... you do not want to get constipated when you’re pregnant. There, I said it. Let’s not speak of this again. Go get a glass of water.

SLEEP. Go to bed early, like maybe two hours earlier than you normally do. Most of us don’t get enough sleep as it is.

Especially in your first months, you need to sleep a lot. I was working in an office the first time around, and at lunch hour I’d head into the boss’s room to crash on his couch while he was out. I don’t think I’d have made it to 5 pm without that, but I had to get creative.

STAY ACTIVE. All those muscles will change over the next few months, so keep them strong and flexible. Of course, I wouldn’t know about this because I was ordered to bed rest in order to keep my babies where they belonged until they were fully baked...

BE SENSIBLE. If your doctor orders you to bed rest, you gotta do it. Don’t whine that you’re wasting your life away, or you don’t have time, or any other kind of rebellious resistance. Damn right you see all the dust on the shelves when you’re not allowed to get up. Too bad. Find a good book. Once I made my peace with being a beached whale for the next 6 months (okay five) I decided to just enjoy this time. It wouldn’t happen again until I’m in my 90s most likely, so I settled in with a stack of books and learned how to relax.

PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR EMOTIONS. Pregnancy brings on a whole range of emotions. Feelings you wouldn’t have thought could happen at the same time will course through you, together and then in sequences. Don’t worry if you’re ecstatic one minute and then sobbing. Just let it be.

However, if you feel that it’s out of control, don’t just put up with it. If you’re worried about a nagging emotion, or any kind of obsessive thoughts, speak up. Tell your doctor. Some serious stuff can come at this time. Be honest with yourself and recognize if your emotions are scaring you. It doesn’t mean you’ll be a bad mother - I think it’ll make you better.

NEST. Don’t take on a big renovation project but by all means, putter around and get your nest feathered. Enjoy it. You’re building a home, and I don’t mean the physical building: I mean home.

BABY-PROOF. Your kid won’t come out of you walking and reaching for dangerous stuff, but do it now, if you’re physically capable. If you’re young/ poor enough that you haven’t accumulated a lot of pretty and delicate things in your home, you are that far ahead already! Pack stuff up, give it away, whatever, but make your life easier and get your home ready. (plus making cleaning easier once Jr’s in your life. Not that I’d know...)

MOISTURIZE. I’ve head it said that stretch marks are more dependent on the skin you’ve inherited, but why take the chance? Smooth some lotion or oil on your expanding belly. Even if it doesn’t prevent marks, it’s comforting and soothing. Don’t forget to include your thighs and butt. Yep, you’re going to stretch aaaall over. And your boobs, they’ll likely expand. Just sayin’.

LAUGH. Find a way. You’ve got a lot on your mind, and comic relief feels pretty good.

DEVELOP A SELECTIVE INFO FILTER. You don’t have to take any of my advice. You don’t have to take anybody’s. Filter out what you can’t agree with. I think it all deserves a first listen, but if you judge the advice to be wrong for you, don’t even let it in.

EASE UP ON THE SPENDING. Yeah, I know, I’m just famously cheap, but you know what? Babies need less things than we are currently led to believe. Most baby furniture can be bought second hand (always check current safety guidelines) and there’s nothing wrong with hand-me-downs. The kid doesn’t know the difference and won’t remember! I’m an opinionated little hick who grew up cheap and raised my own babies cheap, but I truly believe that material things aren’t as important as we think they are.

TRY THE PLAYGROUND TEST. Yell a potential baby name across a playground. If you feel stupid, don’t give your baby that name.

RELAX. We’ve been doing this for like, a million years. Take deep breaths and be thankful.

And you know what? I think it’s perfectly okay to feel slightly smug. You are growing a whole new person. Aren’t you smart?