Because I’m trying to bless my husband by NOT COMPLAINING (it’s tough, I admit) and by stoically taking care of the kids after work without throwing any temper tantrums (mine . . . theirs are assumed), I decided to take Monkey Girl over to the bookstore so I could check out a potential purchase of crack books.

There was a homeless man having a coffee at the Starbucks and he asked me for change but God-strike-me-down I said no. Homeless and drinking Starbucks coffee don’t mix. Ouch, that was really judgmental of me.

Back to safe territory where I’m NOT a jerk. Monkey Girl was well-behaved, but it was tenuous. She didn’t want to share the Thomas toys that were set up for communal use, she wanted to open every book that had Dora on it. I decided not to buy the book I’d come for, but I did pick up a book on tape for my work outs. As we were leaving, I picked her up and put her on my hip, latte  in hand. As we excited, she launched herself forward and I ended up carrying her several steps to my car while holding her by the waist, upside down.

As I got to the car and put down my drink. I flipped her back up.

Two young women passed me, pausing just long enough to say “OH! She’s LAUGHING… we thought it was borderline child abuse.” Yes, right, I’m dragging my daughter out of the bookstore, upside down, as punishment. Sheesh.

Common Ties

Read this and kiss your children, hug your mother and feel blessed if you CAN’T relate.

Womb Within has a great post with some awesome Bill Cosby videos.

I LOVE Bill Cosby.

“My wife’s job is to breathe . . . my job is to bend my wife in half and yell push.”

Video - CNBC.com

This is a video with Judge Judy AND Suze Orman (oh be aware callers, you get double smackdowns!). I think Judge Judy gets it right. Suze is too busy freaking out on the poor caller.

I could hear the conflict in the woman’s voice. While in theory I agreed with Judge Judy… who are Judy and Suze to tell us we can choose to NOT work? Who says power comes strictly from money?

In my quest to lose a few pounds (read: baby doesn’t want back anymore) I’m on the lookout for ways to be effective and efficient at the gym. Honestly I go to the gym to be healthy and active, not necessarily to lose weight. Losing weight is done through eating properly, being healthy and active so I don’t start to crick and creak at 40 is done through going to the gym. I’ve already become faster and more flexible.

I was interested to read this article on the biggest workout mistakes people make. Although I’m not sure I “get” his whole blog, the single post has lots of great advice.

My new favourite exercise is called The Burpee. It’s actually the “official” prison exercise! (No off colour jokes on the “other” prison “exercises” please!) You can view a video of the workout here. The hardest part for me is the push up. Once upon a time (read: last month) I made a comment to my husband about how I could do about ten push ups. He said, “oh yeah? Do one.”

Now?

Yeah, one was hard.

Leave it to the army guy to call my bluff on push ups. But really, really, in my head I could have done ten.

The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.
– Mahatma Gandhi

I like that quote. And I like it even more because just yesterday I chose to forgive someone rather than make a big deal out of the situation. It was a minor offence.

Do you ever feel like you know you could forgive something bigger, but you don’t want to “waste” your forgiveness on something small like an off-hand comment. I mean those you can bring up, because they are small, right?

Except everytime you bring up something small, it becomes bigger. And then there’s this big thing that you haven’t (or won’t) forgive someone for. An off-hand comment, a small selfish act, a angry word.

I’ve forgiven some pretty big things in my life and I feel very good about doing it. I realized this morning when I read that quote that I could find that sense of peace by forgiving the small things too. Try it. It’s hard as heck when you want to say “look, dude, you really made me mad when you…” to instead choose forgiveness and walk away. Because in the end, the forgiveness is about you, not about them. Carrying anger around inside of yourself is like holding a hot stone with the intent of throwing it at someone. You are the one who is burned. I don’t know who said that, but I’ve seen it repeated many times and I like it.

As a side note, I’m always known as a hot-tempered gal. I’m a red head. (We’re going to be extinct by 2100, did you know??) But lately it’s really been bothering me that I’m “known” for my temper. Sometimes it works for people, they know I’ll fight a battle for them. But I need to ensure that if and when I need to fight a battle, it’s for a good reason. Sometimes they need to fight that battle, sometimes I need to be the peaceful one. I need to learn to do “peace” as well as I do “war”. That’s the trick.

At work they have a nickname for me, “The General”. There was some company event and we had to come up with nicknames and I was stumped … until a brave team member suggested that one. I was amused. And I suppose it’s true, I do have high expectations for my team and I do expect compliance. But I need to balance that out with equal portions of compassion, and somedays I’m running low on supplies.

Oh the credit card, she calls to me from my wallet… “I have room! I have room! You can pay later! Sales end, you know!” Today, I gave in.

Army Boy didn’t much want to go shopping. (Gee? Really?) Until I told him we’d swing by Toys R Us afterwards so he could spend his birthday gift card. That convinced him.

True to form, he found every bit of army looking clothing he could find… from underwear to shirts to pants to hats.

And… I overspent. We hadn’t really discussed a budget, but I knew hubby would love it if I came in under $100. Yeah, not even close. Try $256. I had purchased clothing for the seven year old and the two year old (day care is hard on clothes!) but nothing for me.

At the cashier I said “what do you think it will be, bud? About $150?” I almost swallowed my tongue when she said $256. I had her take $100 from my business account (I owe me money) and put the rest on the credit card that’s paid off each month. I don’t know why I did it. Actually, I do, I wanted to delay telling my husband. Isn’t that horrible?

I’ve promised him I’d never hide money and I’d always be honest. We’re very different… he’s a saver, I’m a spender. I didn’t want to lie, but as the evening wore on I realized it was eating me up. I was on the phone with a good friend and I admitted what I had done. “You need to tell him,” she said. She was right.

So I took my credit card and crept downstairs and admitted my mistake.

He just nodded and took the card. He’d wanted to ask me for the last few weeks because I’ve been so very good for the last three months and then “oh I put x on the card” or “I was short for groceries so I put the extra $20 on the card”. And that’s how it begins…

So once again I’m creditless. But my marriage is intact and no major damage was done. (Heck, I know people who have hid thousands from their spouse… not that I’m justifying or anything!)

The last few days have been rough. I’m a pretty healthy gal. I get the regular Day Care Crud that any other mother succumbs to when she forgets to wash her hands every 8.54 seconds.

But I have this new “Headache and Fever” issue going on. I noticed that I was feeling “off” during my workout Thursday. I tried to push through but only ran half my usual measly distance and then settled for some upper body weights and then stretching. Stretching is good, must do more. I especially love it when I can LIE DOWN during a workout.

I woke up at midnight that night in full fever with the sweats and chills and body aches. (Exacerbated by very sore upper arms from the stupid weights!) I definitely did not make it into work on Friday. In fact, I slept almost straight through the day, alternating between the upstairs bedroom when I was cold (because it is an oven) and the basement when I was too hot (because it’s an icebox).

I’ll make this story short, really, who wants to hear a long list of How Sick Am I talk? I mean, Yoda’s Mom is seriously sick, none of this wimpy sickness I have. Note to self: suck it up princess.

But Holy Brain Pain, Batman.

Yesterday and today I’ve woken up without the body aches but with killer headaches and a fever. It took two acetemino acetamin Tylenols with a codeine chaser to just get out of bed. And still, I have to be soft with myself. Don’t look at things too quickly. Just listening to Army Boy open up his presents today was hard. Listening to Army Toddler screech because she could not have the new toy was worse.

See, in about two hours we are all converging on Laser Quest for Army Boy’s 7th Birthday Party. So I bring you:

For the want of codeine a party was lost;
For the want of a party the happiness of Army Boy was lost;
For the want of Army Boy’s happiness, mommy’s sanity was lost;
For the want of mommy’s sanity, the entire day was lost;
For the want of an entire day, the birthday was lost;
For the want of a birthday, a childhood was lost;
And all for the want of codeine.

So let’s all say a quick prayer of thanks for modern medicine and the fact that both my mother and grandmother are allergice to codeine and gave me their prescribed “supply”. Yes, drug pushers the lot of us.  But the party shall go on… now New! and Pain Free!

ArmyBoy: Look at that big spider?

Me: oooh!

ArmyBoy: Oh, wait, maybe that’s not a spider. I think it’s at tit.

Me: . . .

ArmyBoy: There are lots of tits in Calgary you know!

Me: . . .

ArmyBoy: They bite.

Me: Do you mean ticks?

ArmyBoy: Yeah, that’s what I said!

He always has been a boob man. Must have been that extended breastfeeding.

Why oh why did I choose child care at *anonymous leisure centre in Calgary*? This was the me centre that I had problems with earlier this year. But they were offering drop-in camp in the summer and it was close by. And I was in need of child care because I’m an overworked working mom, well, just because. 

So I go to pick up Army Boy at the camp and they are just coming out of the pool. Or, rather, most of them are already out and waiting for the stragglers to get changed. Army Boy is always a straggler marches to his own drum and is on his own schedule, don’tchyaknow. I wait five … ten minutes. When I can’t wait any longer I hope the “Exit Only” turnstile and stand outside the boy’s room and yell “get out here this minute or you are going to lose some serious privileges!” He pops right around the corner, fully dressed. What the heck?

I’m about to read him the Dawdler’s Bill of Rights when something makes me stop. I ask him why he was in there so long.

Oh, no reason…other than helping one of his classmates get out of a locker he was locked in.

What?

I asked the camp leader if she was aware of this. “Yeah.” She seems to be sympathetic. So, someone is in there helping him? “Yeah.” Does this not seem wrong to you? I am paying to have my kid at Lord of the Flies camp or what? “Yeah.”

I headed over to Guest Services and let them know that I was not pleased. Army Boy is not big, he’s practically hand-in-glove for a locker. In fact, the one locked in is actually older and bigger.

Hand to God if I find out my kid gets locked in there they’ll have hellfire and damnation coming down their road. Guess what it’s called when you lock someone in a locker: assault. If I were to grab another adult and stick him/her in a locker I could face charges. So what’s the deal with some grade three kid getting locked in there and it’s no big deal?

What would you do?