Shit, shit, shit... what the hell was I thinking?

Literally 30 seconds after I got all four kids in the car Tristan and Toby started fighting. And they fought all the way home for a full hour. And then... they fought all afternoon. Now they are in bed and I am drinking a beer dammit. They mostly fought about, get this, Harry Potter. Tristan is a fantastic reader for an 8 year old and is reading The Order of the Phoenix. Toby can't read and I am reading him The Chamber of Secrets. He doesn't think it's fair that she's ahead of him. Plus, she got The Half-Blood Prince in Vancouver. Try and explain to two kids that that is a dumb argument. Go ahead and try. I dare you.

Also, my mom taught Tristan that Betty Bolter tongue twister and she has some of the words wrong and I tried to teach her the right way, but apparently I still don't know anything.

Shane is flying somewhere over Jen right now and should be home sometime in the middle of the night.

I have been eagerly trying to read BlogHer after-posts but some people seem to be unaware of my need for updates and are traveling or some other bullshit. Blah.

The whole BlogHer thing is literally making me feel like the whole blogosphere is quivering in excitement. At the starting line waiting for this brave new blogiverse to start. It's an exciting time and I'm eager to follow the change.

They are coming home! Toby returned a couple days ago from his adventures in grandpa's world. These adventures included bb guns, slingshots, lots of tools, bow and arrows and a canoe ride. How can a mother top that? Not that I in any way condone those activities but being not related to grandpa by blood has it's disadvantages.

Tristan comes home this morning after a long ride on the ferry. I have never been away from her this long and I really missed her. Yet, I'm sure we both enjoyed the break as well. My 8 year old girl is precocious and beautiful and a know it all. She thinks that everything I say is wrong. I keep telling her that I'm actually kind of smart. I am a university graduate. I even have a most of a masters degree. Means nothing.

She won't say she loves me. I bug her on the phone "I love you Tristan..." and she says "uh-huh". She's a tough nut.

I have been enveloped by a bad thing called envy. I want to be at BlogHer; although looking at the photos there are lots of cool people there but all in all not that many people which would make me very uncomfortable. I sort of picture a room full of uncomfortable introverts. Isn't that who blogs anyway?

I also envy anybody who can sleep. Since I have four kids and they go to bed between 8 and 9 pm if I am to have ANY time alone it has to be at night. I often stay up way to late. Like last night. I went to bed at midnight. Really, not that unreasonable, but, Parker has taken to waking up at 6am. That's only 6 hours. Also, he wakes up at least 4 times in those six hours. God help me. I need sleep. I need some space. I think I am going to force wean him. I'm going to go away for three nights and let Shane deal with it. Is that terrible?

Also, I've been going to the beach a lot lately and some people have really hot bodies. I want one of those too. I am just too damn lazy to do any exercise except bounce on the trampoline.

Mother. Not all the time at least. Sometimes in these small hours of the night I am something different. I am me.

And right now, I wish I was on a plane to anywhere really, but BlogHer would be good. Shane is on a plane to Halifax. He is away, again. And I miss him... and my kids. Toby comes home tomorrow, Tristan not so much. I miss her, but she is having too much fun at the chez mansion of her Aunt (my sister) to come home to me.

And there I had nothing to say today because I am missing everyone, but I said something.

I still miss them, but we had a nice day. Eliza is a joy to be around and happy to run in the sprinkler for hours while i sing 'ring around the rosie' 500 times. (Is it ashes ashes or husha husha we all fall down?) It was nice and I was generally happy to have happy kids. I've just been thinking about how really lonely and hard it is to be a SAHM. I read this today and i felt bad for her, really bad. But i don't know SJ - at all - and i am really lame at leaving comments and so instead of trying to offer my thoughts or well wishes to her i sat and stewed about it all day.

And i thought about being a mom and how hard it is and how every step is hard.

And i also thought about when my second child, Toby, was born and how fucking hard life became. For awhile. And then magically when he was about 10 months old life became easier. I have fond memories of being out all day with Tristan and Toby in the bicycle trailer and zipping about everywhere. They were both really happy at that time. Probably the happiest they ever were, at least the best the two of them ever got along. And then I got pregnant, again.

I think some of the hardest days of parenting I've had have been when I was pregnant and parenting at the same time. During your first pregnancy, even though you are working, life is simple and revolves around you and the wonderful thing you are doing. You can sleep and eat and shop and do all those preparation things at leisure and at your owh whims. It's kind of magical. As well as those first few months with the first child. They are magical, personal, private and peaceful moments that you can never appreciate until you are ripped into the reality of being a mom to more than one. I am not a yeller, but i have yelled a lot when i was pregnant. I have felt shame about my parenting skills during those days. Being pregnany can really suck when you have other kids. People assume you're an expert and therefor you aren't afforded all the luxuries first-time mothers are. You can't languish in the miracle you are creating because that first little miracle needs you - Now!

And so I felt bad, because those are hard times and saying "It will get better" doesn't help, at all.

Plus, everybody is going to BlogHer and I'm not and I want to beat you all up. And if I was going I would totally know what to wear.

Well, this morning we dropped Toby off for his adventure on Saltspring and then Parker, Eliza and I went swimming, ate donairs (man those kids can eat!), and came home for Parker's nap. It is so damn quiet in this house. Eliza and I ate some play-doh pizza, watched the Wiggles and, well, that's it. We are now anxiously waiting for Parker to wake up as the silence is BOR-ING.

I miss Toby and Tristan. I miss Tristan correcting everything I say because she is, well 8 years old and a girl and therefor, always right. I miss Toby begging me to snuggle with him and read the Playmobil catalog for the 275th time.

I don't miss their constant bickering.

I think what it comes down to is that I live in the middle of fucking no where and without 8 grubby feet stomping around demanding everything from me "RIGHT NOW!" I am lonely. Lonely and stranded. Where is the damn mall when I need it. Plus, I only have like $100 to last till monday and it's not enough! Every two weeks Shane deposits our paycheque, and pretty much every time I use up all that money in ten days. He stresses. I pleasure him in one way or another (that's my business internet!) And then he gives me another $300 and says "this HAS to last!" Oh yeah baby.

We have been struggling to live within our means for the past year and pay off all our debts. We have been mildly successful. We have no debt. Mostly because we re-mortgaged our house (that doesn't count as debt in our books) and paid off all our cards. As Shane is self-employed our income varies depending on business and sometimes the direction of the wind. Usually, there is wiggle room and I probably take up all that wiggle with my discretionary spending. Bad me. I had a short-lived addiction to eBay which I had to give up cold turkey before I spent our entire fortune. When you live in the middle of no where spending on-line is really the best way to spend on things you absolutely DON'T need; like the vintage Fisher Price Record Player.

So, I'm trying to live within our means, but crappity crap it's hard.

Shane and I have our own way of cursing that is unoriginal and funny to only us. Like the all time fav: fuckin fuck. Really, it comes down to having no brain when mad and the only thing that comes out is variations of fuck. We actually keep our curses to ourselves for the most part now because we have so many fucking kids. We realized it was a problem when Toby lay down on the floor amongst all the relatives at Christmas time to play with his new toys and started saying things like "goddammit batman get out of the damn car, Jesus Christ!" It was funny for a moment and then terribly humiliating.

I miss Toby. I miss Tristan too.

Parker's up! Booby time.

Weaning soon.... real soon.

As we live in the country and the nearest mall is an hour away and going to the mall with four kids is usually a hellish experience, we never go. I hadn't really thought much about it because I grew up in Vancouver with a mother who's idea of quality time with her youngest of four children was hanging out at the mall. My idea of quality time is sitting on the balcony with my iBook while the children entertain themselves with power tools, well actually, half the entire Little Tykes catalog circa 1997-2003.

So, anyway, I assumed that my children didn't care about the mall or shopping or had somehow inherited enough shopping experience from me?

I was wrong.

Today, we drove to the Hell's Angels capital of Canada, Nanaimo, to drop my oldest daughter, Tristan, off at the ferry to spend the week (at the mall i suppose) with my mom and my rich sister. As an aside, my mom in all her wisdom, said "how nice, now you'll only have three kids to take care of".... Three kids? Only three under 6? Now that's a regular week at the spa!

So, we were in Nanaimo at 10 in the morning and going to check out the mall there seemed like a good idea. Even better, when we got there the first store we saw was Toys R Us. I am realizing that my kids are a little deprived as Parker had never been and Eliza can't remember ever going! Wow. I think I have embraced online shopping a little too heartily. Needless to say there was much overstimulation and many items added to the "when is Christmas anyway?" wishlists.

I managed to walk away with only a new noodle for swimming and a basket for Eliza's bike. I try and hold fast to the toys only at birthdays and Christmas rule as after four kids we have pretty much a full supply of toys - most of which don't get played with.

Lucy is one of those dogs that only an owner can love. She's a little chunky, she's a little dim and she's got a funny haircut. Yet, we can make her howl any old time, she wanders around with all kinds of debris hanging from her and she loves us. What else could we want?

Not much to say. I just went out on a date with my oldest daughter for sushi and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and now I have a mind-blowing oompah loompah headache.

youch.

I now have 11 chicks and one baby turkey. The turkey we call christmas dinner; trying to persuade ourselves that we will actually follow through on that plan. Ya right. The chicks are chick like and cute and by some fluke we seem to have only one rooster. Roosters are pretty much worthless as we are a laying hen kind of hobby farm, plus we already have two roosters - Stanley and Charlie. My prize chick is a little white cochin, she is the cutest thing in the world. The chickens are helping to fill the void my body feels with not being pregnant again, as well as my heart.

Today I took my kids swimming at the lake. It was beautiful and it finally feels like summer. My four year old daughet, Eliza, is allergic to peanuts and tree-nuts. When she was 15 months old she stopped breathing in front of me, then she did it again two more times in a two week period. I had never really felt terror until that time. Finally we figured out what the hell was going on; her nut allergy, the first reaction, as well as an anaphylactic allergy to dairy - which she grew out of this past year. Anyway, my life runs slightly different because of her allergies than a lot of other peoples. I never leave the house or her side without my allergy bag strapped firmly across my chest. We have epipens in pretty much every room in our house. Her last reaction turned life threatening in 6 minutes. Each reaction speeds up. Whenever I go into any new room or place i scan countertops, floors, childrens faces and hands, brands of food, dog food, bird food you name it I check it, even under sofa cushions. All to ensure her safety. People think I am insane. I have already started grooming her future kindergarten teacher.

So, today we get to the beach. All is well and nice and summery. Tristan and Toby are fighting/swimming and Eliza and Parker are splashing around and playing in the sand beside me at the edge of the water. I was not really paying attention to all the specifics as I was trying to make sure nobody drowned (except me), but I noticed some little plink plink plinks in the little water puddle that Eliza and Parker were playing in. In a millisecond i realized that some bitch (of course she didn't realize my wrath) was throwing pistachio shells into MY childrens little puddle! She might as well of been throwing little bombs in there. She was laughing and smiling at them and me. My rage was barely contained as I ripped Eliza out of there and yelled at her that Eliza was allergic to nuts and all i get? A fucking pathetic "they're not peanuts". Bitch.

Last. When we were in Vancouver i somehow lost my iPod between my parents driveway and their house. I was very bummed about that. I definately don't have the money for a new one, plus I am saving my money for a new Canon digital camera. But, today, my brother-in-law who happens to be the nicest guy in the world AND who bought me an iBook 6 months ago for my birthday gave me his because he wanted a shuffle instead. I love him and i'm so glad i married his brother.

We just had our friend from Korea over for dinner and his girlfriend (Korean). Now Andy, our friend, left 9 years ago to start teaching English and loved it so much he never came back. Before he left he was a sensitive little indy rocker. He was, you know, nice to girls in a nice way not a 'nice' way. He never had much luck with women here in Canada, i think mostly, because he wasn't great looking. When Andy moved to Korea everything changed for him, i guess there aren't that many short, stocky, red-haired greek guys walking around. Being the new guy in town - and nice and sensitive - finally got him the luck he deserved. From there, his crotch, there was no looking back. A man getting laid far from home is a man a lot less lonely than a man not getting laid at home.

So, Andy and his girlfriend, Maruko, came for dinner and Korea has changed my sensitive friend. Where in the old days he would have sat and talked with all of us; tonight he only talked with Shane. Maruko, bless her as this has never happened to me before, took care of my children. I cooked, served and cleaned. That was it. And as a topper I only earned a handshake goodbye.

What the fuck? Is it age, culture, what? I am at a loss as to what happened to my young Lou Barlow-esque friend.

As my body has done this (see picture) four times and my boobs have nursed said offspring for more years than is probably right, I am looking a little haggard. I am also 35, not old - but not young. Not young in the way I once was. I can't spend sleepless nights and bounce back. Well, on second thought perhaps I could, I just can't spend almost 3,000 nights sleepless and bounce back. Could anybody? Holy shit 3,000 nights of sleep deprivation! No wonder my mind drifts in and out of conversations so that I am often left staring blankly back at someone with only uh-huh?!...? left to say while begging in my mind that I am not really appearing to be as big of an idiot as I feel like I am.

So, my body or lack there of. I weigh about 10 pounds more (140 pounds) than I did when I started having kids, but my boobs... well, my boobs they are huge. So, I account five pounds for that and I am weaning soon. Really, I am. No, this time I really am. So, not bad for a mom of four. But, I have so many problems.

I'll break it down into two categories: top and bottom.

The girls are not what they used to be. Now they are more like old timers on holidays. Like I said my breasts are huge, at least for me. I used to be a nice 36 B or C now, more like 38 D or DD depending on when the last mealtime happened. I fear the worst when I wean. I have been wearing a bra for those 3,000 sleepless nights in hopes of avoiding the sag. But, I fear the sag is there regardless of any lame support that these nursing bras have been providing. Also, once for a brief period of time between baby two and three I only nursed on one side and my left breast shrunk down to almost nothing. But then I got pregnant again and forgot all about it. Now, there are no more pregnancies and I remember that deflated little watermelon.

The bottom or more aptly front bottom. I have had three cesaerean sections which have depleted my tummy muscles to such a degree that I still have trouble sitting up from a lying down position. Plus, I am, you know, a lazy ass and can't be bothered to get into the habit of doing sit-ups every night when I could be sitting here writing for nobody. So my almost flat tummy is mushy and gushy and if you squeeze it in just the right way it looks like another bum - a front bum. To make matters worse I have a big honkin tattoo on said tummy. You can see it in that photo up there. Smart. It says a lot for my mental state that at 23 I felt getting a big tattoo on my stomach by some guy in the back of an art gallery would be cool. So, the tattoo has been stretched in and out four times and it looks a little rough. Plus, my husband hates it because it symbolizes a time when life really sucked for us.

Anyway, my brother is a big wig plastic surgeon and told me when I was done having kids he'd fix me all up. What the fuck? How can I deal with that? I am terrified of pain since getting flesh-eating bacteria after my last c-section, I hate the idea of a long recovery. BUT, BUT, BUT! Holy shit! Plastic surgery at a discount and I could look really hot! But, but, but.... do I care and what am I saying to my kids if I did do it and what the hell am I thinking anyway. Shit, I need to sleep,

I try to teach all my children that it's important in life to keep your options open. If you don't like Hide and Seek maybe give it one more try, maybe you'll find someone you like to play with and then you can start a new game. Try your noodles with sauce on them, don't piss and moan that you don't like sauce before you try it. Options. Maybe one pair of undies are "uncomterfull", try another.

I have somehow given birth to the biggest fuss-ass kids on the planet. Eliza refuses to wear underwear and changes her outfit at least six times every morning all the while in tears that everything feels itchy, scratchy, too big, too small... Toby will only eat beige food - french fries, white bread, cinnamon toast crunch, pasta with butter and parmesan, apples (peeled), crackers, cheese and God forbid you let his food touch on his plate. And Tristan, she refuses to use toilet paper when she pees. It's really a problem. Plus, they never listen to me, unless I'm offering up treats, they never listen to me. I'm beginning to think - fuck attachment parenting and bring on the Ezzo's and spanking and God-fearing (mom-fearing) children.

Jesus, no wonder I have 500 bottles of wine on the wall.

Back when my husband was not my husband, but my hot and cute and sensitive boyfriend who was also in a GREAT band, we used to partake in our fair share of alcohol fueled adventures. We were laughing the other night about how we always assumed we had invisibility powers. There was one time when we were visiting friends in Penticton and they had a very small bachelor apartment. After several hours of talking, laughing and drinking we gave each other a look and went outside and decided that the hallway of their apartment building was a very private spot where nobody could possibly see us? Another time we were in Stanley Park, a huge park in downtown Vancouver, and instead of hiding in bushes we somehow did it right in the headlights of oncoming traffic. I apologize to anybody who had to drive-by that incident.

So, my husband was this super-cute super star, at least in the little city of Victoria. I often miss those days when we would spend the weekend sleeping, napping, doing it and, well, sleeping some more. I notice in my memories we rarely were eating I think that's part of my problem now, my whole day is a series of preparing, serving and cleaning up meals. You know, I still love my husband more than anything - we can spend days and days laughing at our own private joke that is the dumbest thing in the world - but for whatever reason we have the same sense of humor. I think that history that we share together, having been together since we were 20, it makes me love him more. He knows what I have been like in every stage of my life. Plus, he saw me give birth, poop on the delivery table, and see my insides during three c-sections and he still loves me and doesn't hold any of that against me.

Seriously, I can't believe the weather. Is it just here on the west coast that we are having the worst summer - ever? In June there was more rain and less hours of sunlight than ever recorded before and July is looking even worse! It is really, really hard to keep four kids sane and from knocking each other out when 90% of their summer vacation has been spent indoors with little to do but draw, read and watch TV. I could, I know, play another exhilarating round of Candyland or Crazy 8's but really, I'm going to kill myself if I do. My brain is mushy, my body is haggard and my soul, well it's being slowly stomped by the Clifford and the Berenstein Bears. Help me!

Yesterday, was a beautiful summer day. It was perfect. We spent the whole afternoon at the lake swimming and playing with several friends we ran into there. Then Shane met us there at 5 and we went to a little restaurant on the lake for dinner where we saw more friends. It was really a wonderfully refreshing day that made it feel like summer holidays had finally begun.

Then, today, I wake up to rain, rain, rain.

I think that everybody in the world should enjoy the smell of this flower. If you are me, place it in a vase in a place in your home that you walk by every 10-15 minutes throughout the day. It will, unless you are dead or hard of smelling, make you happy. Even happier, if you are me, if it was grown in your very own garden.

Okay, so I've been writing this thing in one way or another (mentally) for a while now. I've been reading the ups and downs and ins and outs of others lives for quite awhile now. And now? Now, I am ready for some friends, or to be more exact some bloggy buddies. Will you be mine?

Today was day number 6 of days off work for Shane and today, as they say, was the day that broke the camels back and off to work he did march. Loser. Six days off work ( with two weekends to be fair) in a whole year. A whole year of bitching and complaining about how burnt out and tired he is. A whole year of the "you don't know how hard it is for me" stories. A whole year and I get six friggin' days of "it's your vacation too" and he gives in.

Now, to be fair again, the kids reached a fever pitch of bitching and whining and complaining today themselves. But, I did manage to send the older two off on day long playdates. I guess he gave in because in the end we are all sick of each other. Sick of the big holiday being two weeks at home (minus a very fun four day excursion to Vancouver).

Mad at dad. Today, I am mad at dad. Dad is not wearing plaid. Mad at dad.

Every other comment out of my four year old, Eliza, is "That's very interesting!" It's really so nice to have such positive acknowledgment of everything I say. Except, of course, when she is screaming for me at 4 in the morning because she has wet her bed and when I ask if she wants to come sleep in my room I get "that's interesting?"

Hmmmm.

I found a healthy (somewhat, what do you expect) kid treat yesterday. More aptly, I baked one. Flaxseed Oat bars. Yum. They want to eat them for breakfast this morning covered in milk and know what? I'm going to let them! because that would be interesting.

Today we have the other Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle coming over for Grammee's birthday dinner. I'm going to make the clams and mussels in a coconut milk curry broth and a cheese plate with roasted garlic and lots of bread.

I have to say that after all my complaining the holiday is going very well. Relaxing and fun makes me think being independently wealthy would be very interesting.

Every other word out of baby Parker's mouth is POO. We've gone way past pinecones and actual poo; now, every speck of dirt, every little rock and pebble, every froot loop is POO!!!

Have a nice day.

We have a great horned owl in our yard. I assume he is a he because he is so damn big. Last week we lost two chickens, out of the blue, they were just gone - and then today the owl arrives. Hmmm. I don't think it's a coincidence. The owl is so beautiful though that we haven't really discouraged it from hanging out. The kids really love it.

Parker just woke up and promptly started yelling. When I got to the room he was pointing at the ceiling yelling "OWEE, OWEE!" He has a very cute habit of adding "E" to the end of everything so mom is obviously "momeee" and chips are "chippee" and as we've discussed boobs are an emphatic "boobeee". I really never want this sage to change or end. Despite all the sleep-deprivation and the complete lack of self my kids are all at these really great ages and it makes me want to vomit my heart on the floor. After the owl and all the excitement Eliza told me she had an "acre" in her tummy from all the owl investigating and she was worried about the little "chickee's"

See them in all their cuteness here

I'm looking for inspiration in all the wrong places. I feel that once I started getting people e-mailing me and a few spattering of comments I totally lost my groove. Momma needs her groove back. My husband is watching Team America and, once again, I just don't get it. They are fucking puppets... am i wrong? Is it totally lame? I know lots of people love this movie and South Park and all that, it just seems like a horrifying waste of time. I feel like I may wake up in hell one day for the amount of TV I watch already, but adding total crap to it seems like double dutch.

We have been playing with Garage Band and we recorded my kids all singing Mary Had A Little Lamb. It is, I'm fairly sure, the best thing I have ever heard. I wish I could figure out how to post it as well as photos right here on my blog using Blogger and a Mac. Any help will be reciprocated with a life times worth of computer geek good deed karma.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the cycles of happiness and sadness - mania and depression. Way back before I had kids I had a nervous breakdown followed by a major depression and rapid-cycling mania. It was REAL fun. At the time I went through so much pain, sorrow and humiliation I willed myself to move on with my life. I came to a moment in time that completely changed me. I remember one day after many horrible weeks and lots of gory details I came upon Shane, alone, in our apartment and I knew from the look in his eyes that if I didn't get my shit together I was going to lose him forever. The real life-altering thought that came from that moment was the realization that he was my true love, that I could never lose him because the pain of that would be worse than anything. It sounds so movie'ish icky kaka poo-poo. But, it really changed me - that moment. It was a defining moment. I've had others since then - the births of each of my four children, my dads cancer, my brothers alcoholism, the day my mom dropped my sisters 6 week old baby. (I'm serious about that) It all sounds like one giant butt-fuck Julia Roberts movie.

I wonder how many clich�s I can come up with in this post, it all started with the groove thing and went downhill from there.

So, anyways, those cycles. Several times over this past year I have thought that it would be a good idea if I went back on medication. I am worried for many reasons; first is actually going to my family doc and asking for medication. It feels like I'm opening myself up to so much scrutiny and I can't handle that stress. Secondly, I'm still nursing and I have kept my body clean - save the 500 bottles of wine - and I'm not sure I want to expose my big baby to that. (That is so lame and I am trying to wean him.) Third, when I was on medication before I hated it. I hated the way it made me feel, except for the Ativan, which I loved a little too much. Oooh-ooh clich� time - mothers little helper. Anyway, in all honesty, I had moments of suicidal thoughts and I conjured up way too many images in my head of all the pills I had and how easy it...

I have to say that the Team America sex scene just came on and THAT was fucking hilarious.

Anyway, I worry about conjuring up all those thoughts I had so long ago and heck, now I have my 500 bottles of wine. Self-medication seems to work for everybody else.

I'm sorry for being such an incredibly, insensitive loser. I'm sorry that people are sad and i am unable to help them in any way but make smarmy smart-ass comments.

I'm in a bad mood today. I think the constant up and down's of this so-called vacation are wearing me out. Shane decided that, today - day three- of his big vacation would be a good day to go back to work for a short while. Asshole. I'll regret saying that later, but it feels good right now. Tomorrow we are off to Vancouver for four days which will be nice. The logistics, however, of getting four kids, two adults, two dogs ready for four days away without any help has left me feeling unloved, unappreciated and under-whelmed with my family. Not to mention the 9 chickens (two got eaten by owls which is a whole 'nother story) and 11 chicks and one baby turkey who need to be prepare so that the 9 year old down the street can watch them.

So, i'm sorry for being emotionally unavailable to anybody or anything as wallow in self-pity.

As my husband is on holidays i have been enjoying getting caught up on some personal maintenance- namely waxing and hair cuts. What a wonderful thing. I am a waxing virgin, so to speak, as i have only ever had my eyebrows done once, six weeks ago, and nothing else. Well, since i had my brows done i have been looking at every hair on my body in a whole new light. I can see how this might become a little obsessive. Today i had my hair cut, brow waxed and, ahem, my upper lip. Now, i have always been aware that there was some hair there, i never really thought anything of it. But, to my horror the self-processed politically incorrect waxing lady (esthetician) said "we should really do something about your upper lip too" now being shy and having just had a really garlicky quinoa salad i was trying not to talk too much being in such close proximity. She took my silence as an acceptance and proceeded to rip the hair off my face at will and with glee. After it was all done i had to put a baseball cap on to go outside as my face was redder than, well, the worst sunburn you can imagine.

But, when i got home i was really pleased. I looked good and felt good. Like a real woman, who really has time to actually care about herself. Clean, coiffed and hairless. My husband looking very excited asked when i was going to do my bikini area? Soon, very soon. I'm a little worried about the whole pain thing, but not enough to stop me on my whole new exploration of personal care.

I really can't help it. I am sitting here looking at the past three or four years in photos of my kids and I am listening to the most clichŽ'd song of all "Time of Your Life" by Green Day and I feel so overwhelmed with emotion. One - my kids are so fucking cute, i dare anyone to say that they are not and you are so totally dead to me. Two - time goes by so fucking fast. Three - holy shit kids change you, i mean really make you understand all that is pure and sweet and innocent. It really is one big awful clichŽ. I don't know what to do with that. I am so, totally, unprepared for this wrath of emotion and how to be - cool - with it. What's up y'all.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that pretty much every night I get a little drunk, I go up and check on all my totally awesome, not to mention cute, kids and then I am completely dumb struck. Not just in a sleep deprived, i forgot your name on day 543 of sleep deprivation way, but in a fruit of my loins, great blessing, unworthy kind of way.

I have noticed a lot of visitors to my blog from various religious organizations (hi!) and i am wondering why? Is it the four kids in six years? (Pull-out method really doesn't work FYI!) Is it that they really want to save me from my own personal hell? Is it the not all that gratuitous swearing? I don't get it?

But, I digress. I really love my kids. Happy Canada Day weekend.

Okay, so today got better. A lot better actually. As I was lying down with Parker tonight trying to get him to sleep I realized that I am not a morning person; in fact, I'm not even an afternoon person - I really start to wake up and feel alive just after dinner. If I could have the kids sleep in till 10 or 11 stay up till 9 or 10 my life would probably be just about perfect. Well, except the sleep deprivation thing - because we all know that my babies do not sleep not matter what time I put them to bed.

I decided to start Parker on the whole toilet training thing recently and in true men of my family fashion he is uninterested in doing anything that would make my life a little easier. So, tonight I put a little pair of Scooby Doo undies on his cutest in the world little bum-bum. That's so sickeningly cute...barf. Anyway, his bum that is so cute I constantly pinch it, ran off to play with Scooby bringing up the rear. Moments later he came running back looking a little worried and a little smug saying "poo". Now, this is the boy who points at everything on the ground be it a slug or a pinecone and proclaims "poo". So, I went to investigate and he toddled after me "poo, poo, poo!" Nothing, but then as turned around I realized Scooby had a large protrusion jutting out right around the point of my sweetness and lights rectum. Nice. Nice potty training start. Luckily, it was a solid one so I easily dumped it in the toilet and saved the underwear (after taunting my gagish 8 year old with it).

I also managed to make a huge dent in the acre of weeds that is my back yard and make a yummy coconut curry muscle and clam thing for dinner. Yum. I think I'm feeling a little manic today.

I'm not sure wether Parker's incredibly terrible sleep habits of late have anything to do with my miserable mood, but life here is definately in the doldrums. The kids are fighting like cats and, well, dogs. I think the transition from two of them being in school all day to being home all day, all four, is hard on everyone. I managed to sign Tristan and Toby up for a two week long camp in late July and we are off to Vancouver for a visit with my parents next week, but I fear I am going to lose my mind before summer's out. Shane is miserable too. Totally. He's rarely present physically and when he is he's totally absent emotionally. For part of our holidays he wants to go stay at his brothers (empty) house on the ocean. Sounds nice, yet I know his brother is a complete slob and I will spend my holidays cleaning his house. Not my idea of fun - I'd rather clean my own! I don't know if I'm being unreasonable or not. Really, I just want to be alone or at least without the added stress of having my fifth child around.

On a separate not I watched The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou last night. Am I the only one who didn't get it? I mean it was funny and silly - is that the point?