It's been a week since we saw AJ fall from Grace. Nick came up to Ontario to party like a rock star, and Vanessa and I didn't do a road trip. The weather has gone from frigid, to mild in a matter of days, and is about to hit the arctic temperatures again soon. February has snuck up on us, and I am yet reminded that these next 28 days will be the longest 28 days in history.

Probably even longer for AJ.

Erin went to NYC for the weekend; Dan did a lot of gaming on the computer while I used Erin's laptop; and Glen walked the dog. Over and over again. Which is a good thing 'cause it keeps him from eating the furniture. Les, not Glen.

I'm in the throes of the winter blues. They started immediately after Christmas this time which is not normal. I spent the entire month of January grumpy. Thank God for the puppy or I'd have been in bed with the covers pulled over. Being needed is a powerful thing.

Last week three of my Momvet friends (I've written of this wonderful group of women before and I'll probably write of them again), and I went to see a fourth in the play Pride and Prejudice. Too be honest I wasn't looking forward to it as I didn't know the story at all, and it was a two and a half hour long affair. Luckily I was very pleasantly surprised. It was wonderfully done, and very entertaining. I sincerely did not feel the time weighing down on me at all. We went out for drinks afterward, and met up with some of the other actors. It was a very lively group, and again, lots of fun.

My friend Doris and I are going to dinner this week with an old friend. Doris and Victoria used to work me at Umbrella...well I was the Executive Director so they actually worked for me, but that's just semantics. We haven't seen Victoria for a very long time. I'd say at least ten years. We kept in Christmas card contact, but it's just now that we've gotten off our lazy asses to do a face-to-face. I'm looking forward to it, and also dreading it. I hate being in the position of having nothing to say when asked what I've been doing. I feel stupid, and lazy; things that I'm not, but how else do I account for my lack of activity?

I need something to do so badly. Getting the puppy was step one in my returning to the real world. Now it's time for the next step. I just wish I knew what that next step could be. I need a life coach. Someone to help me find my calling. Someone to make me get serious about the next part of my life. Someone to prod my ass off my chair.

So...that's where I am right now.

Cross-posting.


How’s that for a hook? I know exactly what age is. It’s the thing that children want more of, adults grin and bear for a while, and eventually everyone starts rebelling against.

I’ve been musing lately about my age. For those of you who know exactly how old I am, keep it to yourselves. For the rest of you, I’m in my fifties. ’Nuff said. I’ve never had a problem with my age; never minded the birthdays; looked forward to the cake and presents. That could partly be because I never looked my age. The last time I was carded at a bar I was 27, and the legal age was 19. I used to thank people when they asked for ID. I used to love it when people didn’t believe I was really 30, or 40...or 50. When I was 39 I worked with a 25 year old who absolutely refused to believe I was as old as her older brother. When she talked about things he did as a teenager, I’d say I’d done them too, and she would laugh and shake her head. I finally showed her my drivers license to prove it. I loved it.

My sisters and I can thank my mother for very good genes. She has very few wrinkles, even now at 78 she looks pretty good. And she taught us at a young age to look after our skin; to always smooth the moisturizer upwards, and to never rub the sensitive skin under our eyes. Thanks, Mom!

People say age is just a number, and that’s been my motto for years. Just because your body ages doesn’t mean you become a different person. Your interests may change, your vocabulary may grow, your hair may thin, but the person you are inside is still the same. When my grandmother was 80 she told me she felt 16 inside. At the time I thought she was crazy, but I’m beginning to see exactly what she meant. I’m a hell of a lot smarter than I was at 16, but the girl I was is still alive and dancing (and listening to the Beatles, and Herman’s Hermits).

Speaking of the Beatles, when I was 11 my mother pointed out a picture in the newspaper. It was of the mop-top foursome. She wanted to know what I thought, didn’t I think they were cute? Well, yes I did! My love affair with the Beatles, music, and musicians started at that moment, and has never abated. It wasn’t until years later that I realized she liked them too. That’s why she always let me play their records (the vinyl kind) all day long, as loud as my old square box of a record player would go. She admitted once to having a crush on Sir Paul, but I told her I’d fight her to the death. My point is that at 35 she couldn’t admit to liking a bunch of teenaged musicians with long hair, so she lived vicariously through me. That’s what she had to do to be a proper 35 year old mother. She was following the rules. Something I’ve never been good at. After all, I managed to humiliate my daughter by becoming a Backstreet Boys fan in my 40’s. *dusts hands*

I did try to be a more ’normal’ type mom when my kids were little, and I was in my 30’s. I switched to an MOR radio station, I tried not to wear my jeans so tight, I was boring. And bored. I’m over that. Been over it for quite a while. Never going back.

Anyway...the fifties have been good to me in many ways. I’m more healthy both physically and mentally, more confidant, happier, and thinner than I have been in many years. I’m having more fun, and I laugh more often. I’ve got some of the best friends in the world; women I simply couldn’t live without, in my life. I’m in a good place.

However, my last birthday kind of upset my happy, little apple cart. It was a number I wasn’t pleased about to begin with, but I might have been able to get past that easier if the day itself wasn’t such a washout. The worst birthday I’ve ever had to be honest. For some reason that seemed to set the stage for a nasty little cloud to settle over my head. This nasty little cloud has a voice, and at the worst times it says "You’re old.". Usually I can ignore it. I call it a four letter name, and smack it under the rug, but it still manages to sneak out, and ambush me occasionally.

Sometimes when it ambushes me, and tells me I’m old, I actually feel old. Even worse I feel invisible. Years ago I read an article about how women of a certain age begin to feel invisible. It said that they felt men didn’t notice them; younger men saw an old woman, and older men wanted a younger woman. Teenagers walked around them on the street like they weren’t there. Clerks in stores avoided their eyes. It made no sense to me, and I never thought of it again until today.

Sometimes I feel invisible. I don’t get it, don’t understand it. I know I’m here, and looking better than I have for a very long time if I may say so myself! So where is this feeling coming from? I’m not willing to succumb. I’m not willing to be invisible. My presence is strong, and my voice powerful, so how do I get rid of the voice?

If I figure this out, I’ll blog again.

Cross post.


I have a group of friends that I've known since our youngest were toddlers. Now the kids range in age from 17 to 23, with an oops baby at 12 years old. We've been through a lot together, and I adore them, but this isn't about them this time. It's about the kids, and specifically about my son.

We live in a comfortable neighbourhood. Some of us aren't quite as comfortable as others, but all in all the kids have a very good life. They take violin, and piano lessons; they play baseball in the summer, and hockey in the winter; they wear Lululemon, and H & M; they go to Starbucks after school; they're all in French Immersion. They attend the lighting of the Christmas Tree in Kew Gardens in December, and the Jazz Festival in July. All the older ones are now in university, or grad school, and the younger ones will soon be on their way.

Life is good, they'll be successful, and their future is bright.

And then there's my son.

When the other moms were talking about how much their little ones loved the pre-school, I was trying to pry him off my leg. When they talked about the new recipe the family loved, I was fretting because Dan only ate cheerios while attached to my leg. When their kids took gymnastics or swimming, I was trying to pry Dan off my leg. When their kids ran gleefully into school, I was still trying to pry Dan off my leg.

You get the drift.

Every family function ended up with him being dragged to his room kicking and screaming so he could calm down. We stopped accepting invitations that involved taking the kids because of his behaviour. I wondered if the devil had dropped by for a little visit one night nine months before he was born

He was an obstinant, tantrum throwing, whirlwind of a little boy. He didn't want to go anywhere, or do anything that meant I was out of his sight. I was already very involved with the school so he was used to being there, but you'd have thought it was a dungeon full of dragons by the way he acted when he had to go to kindergarten. By the time he was in grade two he would run out of the classroom and try to follow me home. He would have hysterics, and I'd end up in the office sobbing because I was such a terrible mother and I'd obviously created a monster.

As he got older his hatred of school turned into acting out, not doing homework, doing anything to stay home. I met with his teachers on an almost daily basis. I knew them so well I considered putting them into my will.

Oh, here's an early moral to this story. Get to know your child's teachers and school. Get known, volunteer, go on field trips, read in the library, make friends with the janitors, the TA's, the principal, and the secretary. I know that most of the help I got can be attributed to being know, and liked at the school. His teachers went out of their way for us; they took extra time and made extra effort in trying to find a solution for us. Luckily too, all his teachers really liked him. He was an adorable, bright, charming red-head with an irresistable smile.

So. At one of our many ISP meetings his core french teacher (by now we'd pulled him out of french immersion) made mention of some noises he was making in class. The psychologist's ears perked up and she asked if he'd been tested for ADHD. The rest is history. He started taking ritilan, he got psychiatric counselling, and he turned into a different child. Almost.

The hatred for school stayed. He'd never learned how to be a student; how to sit still, how to do homework, and try as we might we couldn't help him. Did I mention that he was also diagnosed with OD? Obstinance Disorder. Tell him the sky is blue, and he'll argue it.

So we had a very bright child (in grade 7 he was reading at a grade 10 level) who failed grade 8, but was sent to high school anyway. We quickly met the Attendance Counsellor, who helped us get Dan into an alternate program which he hated, but he managed to get a few credits in spite of himself. Then he was accepted at the Subway Academy, which is a local alternative school, and I thought would suit him very well. Unfortunately he turned 16 that September, and realized he didn't have to go.

So he didn't.

It didn't matter what priviledges we took away, what we threatened, what we said or did, he was adament that he wasn't going to school. I said no school meant he had to work. Unfortunately that didn't happen, but that's another blog. He and I had many discussions about his future. He admitted he was scared to death, that he didn't know what he was going to do, but he just couldn't sit in a classroom, couldn't learn that way. He tried online school, but realized that he wasn't prepared for even the grade 9 material.

However, during this time he was learning to play the guitar. He had picked up an old, three-stringed guitar that had been sitting around since my own youth, and was making real music on it. No one was more surprised that he. He had a gift for music, an ear. He could hear a song, and play it. He has spent the last four years playing for hours every day. Teaching himself, writing music, listening to many different genres of music, many different musicians, reading up on their lives. Nothing is as important as music to him. For the first time in his life he willingly took lessons in something; guitar of course. His self-esteem has risen dramatically, and he's happier than he's ever been in his entire life. There are a few people in the neighbourhood who are professional musicians and they've told him he's very good. They might as well have just tattooed a gold star on his forehead.

My worries about his future continue. He's not making any money as a musician, other than the weekly guitar lessons he gives his cousin. He does work occasionally for friend's parents who need a labourer.

But...and this is a big but!

Right this minute he is on his way back to Subway Academy! To teach! He has been hired by one of the teachers as a 'specialist' brought in to teach beginner guitar/music. Imagine my delight when, at our monthly chick night, I was able to tell my friends about this. Imagine how thrilled I was to have something so positive to answer when asked how Dan was doing. Imagine my pride. Imagine their surprise. I still have no idea what he's going to end up doing with his life. He has absolutely no education to speak of, and his musical knowledge is self taught. But he has become a happy, confidant, well-adjusted young man and I've finally forgiven myself for being the terrible mother who caused him so much pain.

PS. He's not taking ritilan anymore either. He puts all his energy into music. He's learned how to focus on something, and give it all his attention. It's a freaking miracle! LOL

My baby’s gone.
Current mood: sad
Category: Life


Erin's gone, again. Back to Bishops for her last year. I should be rejoicing because this is the last time we'll be moving her out, but that's not true. She left home the day she moved into residence. Since that first year she's lived in a dorm, a house, an apartment, and now a house again. She's learned how to pay her own bills, look after herself, and be independant. When she comes home she comes as a (semi) independant young woman. Our house is a stop-over now.

She has friends that wouldn't even consider moving out. They'll stay home until they get married, or get a job out of town. Why would they leave the easy life? But Erin's been striving for independance since the minute she was born. I remember sitting on the edge of my bed one evening, sobbing, because she didn't need me anymore. She was two. My husband thought I was nuts, patted me on the back, and reminded me that all girls need their mother. Uh huh.

She loves travelling. Her grade 11 trip to Europe was the highlight of her life. She came home convinced she would live in Paris one day, and still believes it. Being bilingual helps. The grade 12 theatre trip to NYC was 'awesome' and spending a week there with a friend, a few years later, solidified her desire to live there as well. She was heartbroken when the grade 11 exchange to Costa Rica didn't happen for her school, but at least we had the extremely cheerful Ricos here for two weeks. They brought sunlight to one of our coldest winters ever.

*Sidenote* I volunteered to take them to the Metro Zoo. It was the coldest day in years, and even though the students were ill-prepared for the weather, I've never enjoyed the Zoo more. They smiled, and laughed the whole time! Good times!

The week before she left was strange. She was stressed about going back, after being away for the fall semester, yet thrilled at the same time. It was a week of bitching, and laughing. I had a hard time keeping up, and it was with a tiny note of relief that I waved goodbye as she and her Dad pulled out of the driveway. Relief tainted with tears.

The first time we left her in Sherbrooke/Lennoxville she couldn't get rid of us fast enough. She was eager to start all her frosh activities, to get involved, to be a real university student. I sobbed all the way to Kingston, and for those of you who don't know the trip, that's about 3 hours of tears. I was depressed for months, and cleaned my house from top to bottom.

The second time, I was a little sad, but fine. That is until I saw the picture we took of her standing on the porch of her new house, with tears in her eyes. The house soon sparkled again. The third time we moved her into a total hippie pad (so not her), and I was so surprised and taken by the decor that it was with a smile that I drove away.

It's just as well I didn't go down with Erin and her Dad this time. The knowledge that this would be the last moving trip to the Eastern Townships would have been too depressing. I am looking forward to going down to see her in the play in March, and I'm planning a Mom's Day trip to do some sightseeing with her. But the trip to pick her up, and bring her home with all her belongings is going to be tough too. It will signal the next step for her, and she has plans to move out ASAP. It's one thing to be out of the loop when she's living in another province, but when she's living in Toronto and I'm no longer part of her life, that'll be really hard.

So...this is what happens when you raise your children to be independant adults. Whether you meant to or not. ;-) They leave home. They follow their dreams. They grow strong, and become citizens of the world. *cue the Rocky theme*

I think I see a dust bunny lurking.

Well, we did it. My friend, my son and I did the MS Supercities walk this morning, and I'm pooped. My husband joined us for about half of it, but walking that slow almost killed him. LOL

It was freezing while we waited to start, and waited afterward for the shuttle bus, but while walking it was perfect. I had about 5 layers on, plus tights under my jeans, and I wore a ball cap with my hood over it.

A local news team was filming, so I'm going to watch the news, and see if we're on it.

I'll post a couple of pics after dinner.

:-)

I hate MS!

Okay.

Anyone who knows me, knows I don't discuss my health very often. It was only a couple of years ago I finally admitted to having MS to most of my online friends, and it was only very recently that I decided to get involved in the fight against the disease that I've had for over 25 years. I'm blessed to have the remitting/relapsing type so I'm not very 'disabled' even after all this time, and I try very hard to pretend I don't have it at all. I hate to use my cane, and will only do so when I absolutely have to. I hate to admit to the fatigue, the spasms in my leg, the loss of balance, or the clumsiness, all of which are pretty well part of my daily life.

I hate this disease, and as I think about it I realize that hating it as I do has probably kept me as 'healthy' as I am. I refuse to let it win. Each time I've had an attack that has knocked me flat, I've refused to stay down. I know that I can't conquer the phyical deterioration that occurs. but I can sure as hell fight against it, and try to get back to normal as soon as possible. My normal.

Which bring me to why I'm so angry today.

I registered to do the Supercities Walk for MS recently. I'm only walking 5k, which translates into 3.1m. That's not far, and I know I can do it, even if I do end up using the hated 'cane'. I discovered one of my normal walking routes is over 2k anyway. It's time that I got busy, got involved. I need to take action in some way, and this is just the start for me, so for the past three days I've walked 3k. I live in a really pretty neighbourhood, so walking here is easy even though it snowed on Tuesday, and was really cold on Wednesday. I was really tired after walking yesterday, but didn't think much of it until severe spasms in my right leg kept me awake most the night, and have continued today.

This isn't fair!

My husband suggested I just take it easy today, and I have to admit that I don't think I could walk far anyway since it's bitterly cold, but I don't want to take it easy! I want to walk everyday, and get stronger, and eventually get up to 5k daily. I want to do this fundraising walk with energy to spare and be smiling at the end of it.

I feel like yelling, and throwing things, and crying. I feel like stamping my foot, and pouting. I feel like I'm finally starting the final steps to taking back control of my life only to get pushed off the path. I've been mentally energised since signing up for the walk, and it's been a great feeling; one I've not had for a long time.

I know it's not the end of the world, and probably by the weekend I'll be fine again, but I needed to get this out. I've found that writing when I'm angry it is a lot healthier than throwing my keyboard through the window. Unfortunately.

My friends know I'm not looking for sympathy, just a willing ear, so thanks for listening.

*cross-posting*

I really like Christmas. I like the lights, and the company, and the feeling of good will, and since the kids are older I don't feel a lot of stress anymore. I tend to start decorating a lot later than many people, and every year I put out fewer 'things'. I'm decorating more with a sentimental eye. Ornaments that have been gifts, or that mean something to me, are what I like to see out now, and candles, lots of candles. Even the tree was less cluttered this year, due to a new kitten in the house, and my fear of having things broken. I liked the look, and will probably continue to decorate the tree like that in the future. It's all in part with my move toward a less-is-more type of lifestyle that I find myself adopting.

All in all it was a lovely, low key holiday. I hosted dinner for my family which includes my husband, and kids, my parent, and my two sisters, their husbands, and their four children. I usually host Christmas dinner; I enjoy doing it, and always get a lot of help from everyone. We had a bit of a problem with a super large, frozen turkey, but it all worked out. Then a few days later, the other half of the family came by for the evening, and a huge Chinese food feast. All in all a great holiday!

I don't usually get sad after Christmas. My winter blues usually come in February when winter seems to have been around forever, and there's no sun in sight. I also tend to have MS flare-ups in February, so it's just not my favourite month.

I've got the blues now.

First of all, my daughter left thirty minutes ago to go back to university, and that's always hard for me. She was here for three weeks this year, and after our initial, inevitable mother/daughter blow-up it was a great visit. We laughed a lot, watched some movies, shopped, talked, and I got to see some of her friends that I miss seeing when she's away. I'm not sure if she'll be home over March break or not, so I may not see her now until May, and I know it's not a long time, but it seems long to me.

However, the main reason for my state of mind is my dad. Thursday night I hosted my annual Christmas sleepover for my three nieces, and nephew. They like to come and spend more time with my kids, have pizza, play video games, watch movies, and generally hang with Auntie. Their ages are 9, 10, 12, and 13, with the boy being the youngest. I love it.

When my youngest sister dropped her kids off, she had news for me. Our father had just been told that he has stomach cancer. The final test hasn't been done, but it's 99% sure.

This isn't good.

He's already survived three different types of cancer, testicular, colon, and prostate, the last two within the past fifteen years, and the treatment has taken it's toll on him. He's only 75, but he was diagnosed with COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease) recently too, and he's gotten frail and tired. My first reaction when I heard the news was 'this is it'. I fear that he won't have the strength or will to fight again, and what's worse is that my sister, Liz, agrees with me. If one of us had been able to tell the other that it would be fine, that he'd get through this just fine, we both would have felt better, but that didn't happen this time. When I heard he had cancer before, I was sure he'd pull through with flying colours, and he did.

It feels different this time.

I hate that I feel this way. I feel sick, and sad, and scared to death this time. I'm worried about him, and my mom, and my sisters. I'm worried about his grandchildren. My parents live in a basement apartment with my sister Sharon, and I'm worried about her.

I'm worried about the whole family.

And I'm praying that it's all for nought. That he gets through this trial just like he got through all the others. That I'm being silly, and over-reactive, and I'm going to be proven wrong. I'll be delighted to be proven wrong.

But right now I'm sad.

*cross posted*

Well. After my week of Kevinness, I went to see my daughter in her play at university. It wasn't so much from the sublime (although he is) to the ridiculous as much as from one extreme to the other. Both plays were written, and set, in the early 1900's but one is a musical comedy based on a true crime story, while the other is a comedy of manners based on society at the time.

I enjoyed both immensely, but found that I might have been in the minority concerning the second one. The Madras House was, as I said, a comedy of manners which is described as:

Comedy of manners
Witty, ironic form of drama that satirizes the manners and fashions of a particular social class or set. Comedies of manners were usually written by sophisticated authors for members of their own social class, and they typically are concerned with social usage and the ability or inability of certain characters to meet social standards, which are often exacting but morally trivial. The plot, usually concerning an illicit love affair or other scandalous matter, is subordinate to the play's brittle atmosphere, witty dialogue, and pungent commentary on human foibles. Its notable exponents include William Congreve, Oliver Goldsmith, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, Oscar Wilde, and Noel Coward.

I'm a huge fan of wit, irony, and satire, and I found all three to be present in the play. However, not many others in the audience were laughing when I was, so I wasn't sure if I should be or not. My daughter assured me that I was correct in laughing. Thank goodness! LOL

One major problem? The director decided to eliminate the fourth, and final act!

Huh?

The last act, which ties all the threads together, which explains a small mystery, which would give closure to the play...not there!

Anyway, Erin told me what happens in the last act, and I also read the synopsis online, but it would have been nice to have seen the actors play it out.

The trip down to Sherbrooke/Lennoxville was a good one this time. It only took 6.5 hours each way, and there was literally no traffic. Even going through the horrors of the Montreal highway system wasn't too bad. And I discovered if I close my eyes, doze a bit, and listen to music continuously the time goes by even faster. My poor husband would probably have enjoyed more of my company, but I just can't stand the monotony of the trip between here and Montreal! What a dreary drive! At least the last hour of the trip, in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, is very pretty. The Appalachians start there, and it's beautifully scenic, even now when there are no leaves, and no snow.

Erin's friend, Mel, decided that the three sets of parents from Toronto should finally all meet, so she arranged a blind date for us. LOL We, six parents and three kids, had dinner in a very charming little town called East Hatley, in a lovely pub/restaurant. It was a terrible shame that only two of us mom's were drinking white wine and had to finish the litre between us. *smirk* All the others were drinking red and had to share. The meal was good, the company great, and then we went off to the theatre.

After the show we went to the local brew pub (owned and operated by the Hell's Angels, as is so much of Lennoxville since their national headquarters are there), and had fun with the cast, other parents, and friends. Not enough sleep that night, either, ended up with another snoozy ride home on Sunday. I'm really hoping to catch up this week. I've got nothing exciting planned, other than going down to catch Mr. Richardson after a show for a better picture, and perhaps a tiny hug this time.

So...brava Kevin! Brava Erin! It's fun having an actor in the house. At least when they're on stage. ;-)

Kevin.

Oh, Kevin.

I've always been a fan, now I realize exactly why.

The man can sing! Really sing! Get him out from behind his 'brothers', and he just belts it out!

Of course, he's also handsome, gracious, talented, and did I mention...handsome? *swoon*

The show itself was wonderful. Unfortunately, I really just waited for the other performers to get out of the way so I could watch our boy sing and dance. Our seats were fourth row to the extreme left, but the venue is small enough that we had perfect sight. It would have been nice to have been in the very center, since that's where he stands most of the time, but I'm very happy with what I saw of him. ;-)

Of course, the whole point of the night came after the show. The Q&A session. There weren't many of us, maybe 20-25, and we all sat right up front. My sister, two friends, and I were front row center for this, and when he sat on the stage right at the edge he was about 6-7 feet away. The theatre manager came out to keep us in line -LOL- and told us the rules. No pictures, no autographs, and NO HUGS. When we groaned Kevin held up his hands, and said "Not my rules, I love hugs."

NB: I was a nervous wreck, so if anyone was there and can correct me or add to this please do so. I made notes when I got home so I'd be able to remember as much as possible, but none of my 'quotes' are word for word. Backstreetbabe? I know you were there, please feel free to jump in. :-)

-When the BT interview was mentioned, where he'd said he and Kristin might be trying for a baby next week here in Toronto, I piped up and said, "You've really got to stop saying that on tv." *shakes head* I don't know why I said it, but he looked right at me and said, "Why? It's true."
Okay, I admit it. The green gaze is deadly!

-When asked what advice he might have for someone taking Music Business in school he said "Law". Good answer, Kevin. LOL

-His favourite number in the show? He demonstrated the 'dummy' on his lap, and also said his first song, saying something like "What guy wouldn't like to come out like that?".

-When asked about the decision to leave the group he talked about not being as happy as he should have been . Not feeling it in his heart and admitted he sounded jaded. He also mentioned the 'record label' a few times, and about being very frustrated and upset with some of their decisions. He talked about how they had almost no input into the choice of songs to go onto a cd. He was asked about a BSB Christmas cd, and said they'd talked about it during the last tour, but the 'record label' decided they'd rather have a another regular BSB cd. He always wanted to do a Christmas cd, he loves Christmas music and Christmas itself, and he mentioned his mom and dad playing Christmas records. Ahhhh...

-Similiarities/differences between him and Billy Flynn? Okay, are you ready? Here's a shocker! He admitted that, like Billy Flynn, he was a bit of a control freak. LMAO! However, he said he wasn't always as sure of himself as the character.

-He's taking acting lessons, and has been told that he has a natural talent, but needs to develop it. He'd love to do more musical theatre, as well as films or tv.

-The guys dissolved their own label after leaving the Firm, but he'd love to work with Crystal Harris again.

Judging from the way he conducted himself during this session? He seemed generous, thoughtful, genuine, relaxed, happy, and really, really polite. LOL He took the time to think about the questions, and his responses, and I think he would have stayed to talk more if the theatre manager hadn't stopped us. Even when told he had time for one more question, Kevin said he'd take two.

When he got up to leave, I asked if he'd meet us out back. He said that's where he was heading, and I told him we'd see him there. *g*

At the stage door it appeared that it was the same small group of us. First he signed autographs for everyone, and asked twice if he'd gotten everyone. Then he announced it was time for pictures. Now, I'm short, and not pushy, but luckily I have tall, pushy friends. I LOVE YOU GUYS! Anyway, my tall pushy friend decided it was time for my picture so she told Kevin that it was my turn, and I'd been waiting for this my whole life. Yes, it was embarrassing, but he was gracious about it. *rolls eyes* He looked down at me and said "Really?", and then put his arm around me, and that's when I blacked out. LOL After every picture he thanked the girl, and when he looked down and thanked me I thought I'd just perish on the spot.

Okay, okay, I'm going through the teeny stage that I should have gone through a long time ago. Sue me!

My opinion...he's exactly where he should be. The Backstreet Boys will never be the same, but that doesn't mean they'll be worse, and I think he felt he was being held back. You only have to look into his face when he's talking about being on stage, being all alone up there, how scary it is, taking huge risks and getting huge rewards to see how fulfilled his is. How happy he is to be in the spotlight, and having his talents recognized on his own.

I'm sure I'll remember more, and if I do I'll add to this. It was an incredible night, and I envy anyone who is going to see him. I wish I could go again, but there's always the 'stage door'.

When I came downstairs this morning, my husband was sitting at the opposite end of the couch from where he usually sits. At my questioning look he asked me if I'd changed the light bulb in the other lamp. The one at 'his' end of the couch, the one that wasn't on. At my negative response he replied that the lamp must be broken.

"Have you tried changing the light bulb?"

"No, it's not the bulb."

"But why did you ask if I'd changed the lightbulb? Wouldn't it be on if I'd changed it?"

"I think the switch is broken."

"Why?"

"Because it felt funny, jiggly, and then the light just went out."

After a few seconds of staring at him, while digesting this information, I decided to try again.

"But did you try changing the light bulb?"

"It's not the bulb, it's something wrong with the wiring."

I went into the kitchen, got a new lightbulb from the cupboard, and replaced the lightbulb. Sure enough the old one had that tinkly sound in it that only happens when it's broken. I didn't switch the lamp on for a moment. I had to get his attention first.

When the light went on, he said, "Oh,".

I couldn't help it, I was grinning like a lunatic.

I still am.

*cross posted*


My garden angel was kidnapped summer before last and I haven't seen him since. He was an ugly, little bugger, about 4 inches tall, made of stone, with an odd little leer on his face, but he was my ugly, little bugger. Sniff...

Now I've always been a fan of the Garden Gnome. I think they're hystercal, and my favourite is the Travelocity gnome. I love that little guy. However, I wouldn't put one in my garden for love or money. Not unless I could hide him in behind something large, but I have a feeling if I tried, the gnome would make his way out into the open so I'll just not go there.

Anyway, a few years ago, part of my Mother's Day gift was this ugly, bugger garden angel. Luckily he's small enough to hide under leaves, so he always sat in a large plant on my porch. I usually forgot he was there...until the day I got the dreaded postcard in my mailbox! The postcard of him, sitting in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, and leering his little leer at me. "Remember me?" , the postcard said? Well, of course I remember my ugly, little bugger!

Now, the fact that the postcard was a scan of a picture of my angel sitting in front of a picture of the Eiffel Tower only lends to the air of mystery, don't you think?

So...I immediately blamed my beloved daughter for kidnapping my angel. She hated him, was probably jealous, and it would be just the kind of thing she'd do. She's a sneaky little devil, a lot like my ugly, little bugger I think.

Hmm...

She consistantly claimed her innocence, so I then turned to my friend next door. She and Erin both laughed far too much to be innocent, but she, too, claimed no knowledge in the dastardly deed. As a matter of fact, she tried to point the blame at my sister. I disregarded her as a suspect after one long moment of contemplation. It's not that she wouldn't do something that sneaky, it's just that she really couldn't be bothered.

That was the summer of my obsession. I checked my mailbox diligently, I lifted leaves in my garden...I missed my ugly, little bugger. One evening, after being plied with alcoholic bevvies by my neighbour *eyes her suspiciously*, I returned home to a party my daughter was having, and proceeded to tell all and sundry about my kidnapped angel.

The next morning my daughter recapped my behaviour in great delight. "Mom, you were so drunk!" *add great disdain*

My angel is still missing. The first postcard was the last. He has not called, nor written...not even an email, or IM. Alas, I fear he is gone for good.

Come home ugly, little bugger. All is forgiven!

Monday, October 16, 2006


It's still so hard.

Another goodbye to my daughter. She's in her third year of university, and it's still hard everytime she leaves.

The very first goodbye, the very first time we took her to school, and left her I was a wreck. I cried half the way home, and it's an eight hour drive. I was a mess for months, and ended up with the cleanest house on the block. I can look back now and laugh, but at the time I was heartbroken.

Since that first goodbye she's been and gone a dozen times. She's been home for the summers, for Christmas', for weekends here, weeks there, and each time the goodbye was a little easier.

Funny thing? It's so much more peaceful when she's at school. She's a noisy, demanding, messy, young lady. She fights with her brother, she teases her father; she's a bit hard to live with at times, although that's all changing, too, as she matures.

I look forward to her coming home, I'm so happy to see her smiling face, and then I'm always a little relieved when she leaves again, but that doesn't stop the pain of goodbye.

On the other hand, she's always thrilled to leave. There's only been one time in all the goodbyes when she was sad too, and it still breaks my heart to remember that. I've done my job, I've raised my daughter to leave. She's independant, capable of living on her own, and looking after herself. I can dust my hands off, and pat myself on the back.

And then tear up when she drives away.

Another cross post...happy, Becky? LOL

Eighteen years ago today, my son was born. He was a big, red-headed baby, and made his presence known immediately in our family because of his colicky ways and sudden outbursts.

Elementary school, from JK to grade 8, was a nightmare for him. And me. He hated every single second of it. I still have memories of him chasing after me, running out of his classroom, out the doors, and across the field to latch onto my legs. His very understanding teacher would come out and pry him off me, and then he and I would both cry as we went our separate ways.

If I'd known then what I know now, I'd have home schooled him without hesitation. I didn't think I could do it, but it would have saved us both an incredible amount of anguish.

He was ten before he was diagnosed as ADHD, and I'm not sure who was more relieved at the diagnosis, him or me! He was so happy to know there was something that could be done for him, and I was so happy to know he wasn't really the bad seed. Unfortunately, medication and counselling wasn't enough to get him over his severe school phobia that had developed earlier.

He was too smart to be given a special-ed designation! In our school board, ADHD isn't enough to warrent extra help. If he'd been a slow learner, a slow reader, something like that, he would have gotten the help he needed. Problem was, he didn't do any work in the classroom, but when tested he was three grades ahead in reading and comprehension.

He only passed grade 8 because they aren't allowed to fail kids anymore!!! Ask me what I think of that bullshit!

Anyway...by the time he was 16 he had 3 grade nine credits to his name, and an intense hatred for the school system, authority, and life in general. I worried that he would become the typical loser who lived in his parent's basement, and had no life.

Today, I'm so thrilled to say, he's gotten himself on a waiting list at a nearby alternative school. He did this on his own! He's had his time off, he's gotten his head clear, and he's realized that he can do whatever he puts his mind to. He's talking about going to university, he's talking about his future, and these are things he never allowed himself to even dream of before.

There are some kids out there that can't do the normal things. They have to do it their way, on their time, and the more they are pushed the more they rebel.

I wish I'd listened to my heart for all those years, instead of believing what others told me. I wish I'd had the courage to do what he needed, and not what I thought was right.

Today he's a confident, smart, friendly, helpful young man, and I can even forgive his long, red dreads since it's what's on his inside that is so important!

Happy Birthday, Daniel! We love you so very much!

Double posting because if I don't Becky whines...

I'm having the girls over for a chick night tonight.

That might not be very exciting except for the fact that I've known these nine women for over 16 years! Two of them for even longer.

We met at a mom's support group in the local church. We shopped at the same grocery store, ran into each other at the coffee shop, had our kids in the same nursery school, attended the same community events, some of us even worked together.

That was when our kid's were little. Toddlers up to elementary school.

Now we've got kid's in university, kid's in high school, kid's in foreign lands, kid's working; our kid's run the full gamut of what young adults do. Our kids are amazing! But back when they were little ones, we needed our adult girlfriends around us, and the support group was a life saver for us.

When the kid's got bigger, and in school full-time, we left the support group, and most of us went back to work. We didn't quite lose touch, but we were missing each other, so we decided to try a monthly meeting. Of course, this meeting would take place at night, and be fueled by lots of chocolate and festive bevvies!

And no kids!

The first Momvet {our support group was called Momnet, so we retirees were the vets} took place 11 years ago this month. I think. It could be twelve, but I'll have to find out tonight for sure. That's a very long time.

Our ages now range from 43-53, our kids are between 10 and 22...again, I could be wrong about the youngest...and my God, what we've gone through!

Collectively we've lost children, husbands, and parents. We've moved away from the neighbourhood; some have come back, some have left the city, one has left the country. We've renovated our houses, gotten or changed jobs, opened businesses, divorced our spouses, given birth to more babies, had our parents move in. We've had all the health problems you can think of from Cancer to MS. We've had sleepovers, and yard sales, and pole dancing lessons.

One of us even has a new boyfriend, which we will hear about tonight. :-)

Through it all we've been there for each other. We've laughed and cried with each other. We've held hands, we've gone to funerals, we've celebrated our lives, health, and families with each other.

We meet at a different house each month from September to June. The hostess provides nibblies, the rest bring the booze. Some of us like to really go all out, and treat us to wonderful spreads of new recipes, while others of us like to buy chips, and dip...not pointing any fingers.

Tonight I'm hosting the first Momvet of the year. I'm excited to see everyone, and I just got back from the store where I found a sale on chips and dip. This will be the first time I've had Momvet without my very good friend by my side. She's the one that left the country, but I know she'll be back...eventually.

So...the house is tidy, the wine is chilling, the chips and dip are ready to be served, and it's time for me to take a shower. I can't wait to find out how everyone's summer went. One of us is an archeologist and spent the summer in Hungary with her professor husband, and his UT students, excavating. Another went to Paris with her new beau! There will be many tales to be heard tonight, some more interesting than others.

I've been blessed to have these women in my life, especially for as long as I have, and I hope we're still sitting around on a Friday night when we're in our 80's chatting, and gossipping, and laughing so hard our false teeth fall out.

That's my wish.

*Cross post*

I'm very hurt right now, the whole family is.

This is what we get for trying to do a good deed.

A year ago my son, and his friend came to me and asked if Levi, the friend, could stay with us for the school year. His parents were moving up north, and he wanted to complete his last two years of school here, as well as staying in the dojo where he's been taking martial arts. The agreement was that he would be here four nights a week, go home on Friday after school and return Monday morning. He would go home for all the holidays, and at the end of the school year. I said sure, he was a nice kid, and easy to get along with, and they were paying room and board.

Things changed, I can count the number of times he's been home on two hands for one thing, but I understood there was nothing to do up north, and he didn't want to miss his Saturday classes at the dojo. He started going out with our neighbour's daughter. We've known her since she was born, our families have been friends for 21 years, we holiday together, celebrate birthday, and anniversaries together...we're close.

There were little things that I didn't like, but they weren't enough to worry about, and I knew he'd be leaving at the end of June. The end of June turned into the end of July, which turned into the end of August. That's okay, I dealt.

Last night my daughter went out clubbing with her best friend, who is the older daughter of the neighbours next door. She told Erin that Levi's been bad-mouthing us for months to her family. She also told her that last week his mother said to her that "Levi would be finally getting out of there next week." meaning our place!

I'm hurt. Really hurt. But the worst is Dan. He's absolutely devastated that a so-called friend would stab him in the back like this. He's never been through this kind of betrayal before.

So many little things all make sense now; so many little things that I put up with are pissing me off now.

But most of all I'm very sad that we would take someone in, give him a home that was way beyond room and board, only to be treated like this.

Oh...I totally believe what Lisa has said. Erin mentioned once, long ago that he had said a few mean things about me in front of her, and I kind of ignored it. I wasn't sure if she was exaggerating as she's prone to do. But even then I thought, okay the end of June!

Dan says Levi's not coming back into the house, and I'm afraid there's going to be a problem when he gets back, so I've called Glen to come home.

Sigh...I'm upset.

*Cross posting 'cause Becky says I should* ;-)

My son's beautiful, long, red hair...and I mean LONG...is now in dreadlocks. He looks like Sideshow Bob, or Sideshow Luke Perry...whatever!

This is the first time I've truly not liked one of his fashion statements.

Sigh...This motherhood business is pour les oiseaus!

Happy Birthday!! We're going out for dinner, and it won't be a cyber-dinner this time!! Wooohoooo!!

Does anyone else have a very odd page when they open their flist??

:Double posting 'cause if I don't Becky will whine!:

A little rant

Fans. Are they as dumb as they appear?

Now, I'm a fan, and quite aware that the root of fan is fanatic and that knowledge makes me a very laid back fan...a happy to sit and watch fan, a horrified to think I could be considered a stalker fan.

As a fan, I do read forums, and belong to message boards, and do that kind of thing...I did say I was a fan! But I feel the need to comment about something that has me truly flabbergasted. The fans who believe they know the object of their admiration after a two minute conversation at a meet and greet, or a few comments back and forth on myspace, or even a thirty minute chat in the hotel bar after a show.

People! Try having an intimate two HOUR convo with someone and you may...MAY! have a glimmer of what they're really like. And that would be a regular person. You're talking to a celebrity...someone who knows just what to say/how to say it/when to smile/how to smile/how to play the fans!!!

It's all about the facade, the PR!! And this goes for a celebrity of any sort!! There's nothing wrong with that! Consider being famous, and losing any semblance of privacy. Imagine not being able to walk down the street without being accosted by someone. Think about having your most private life on display at all times, being written about, talked about.

That's not to say that the celeb's true nature can't obvious to their admirers...they're nice/shy/funny/friendly/standoffish/talkative/grumpy/rude/whatever! But don't think for a minute that they're going to share anything truly private or intimate with someone they don't know. Don't think they aren't always on guard and holding back...telling people what they want to hear, talking about the public stuff, doing the PR tango.

It's beng fun being a fan; some of the best times I've ever had have been as a fan, with other fans, doing fan type things. I've made verygood friends with women I've met through fandoms, and imagine I'll make more. I'll forever be grateful to the various objects of my admiration for the women I've met because of our common feelings, but I'll never assume to be a friend/acquaintance/buddy/confidant to any of the celebs I might ever speak to.

By the way? This isn't a dig at any one individual, or any particular celebrity, and it's my opinion so whether you agree or not isn't really of much concern to me.

It's my blog, and I can rant if I want to.