Family Circus

Little Sister

/ Sarah / 4 Comments

I think it says a lot about my relationship with my sister to state that I can’t really remember much of my life that didn’t have her in it.

Whether it was watching my father pull her out of the pool in early April, fully clothed in her snowsuit, or wearing a swimsuit, swarmed by cats coming from every direction as she fed them dinner, I have had a front row seat for the life that is Little Sister’s. When we were younger, we were either best buddies or bickering bitches sibs.

As much as we were alike (she always wanted to pick the same chocolate bar that I picked at the corner store), we were very different (I never had a problem falling asleep at night, she would need some “wind down time” before drifting off – more on that later!) She had naturally curly blonde hair. I think you remember what my hair was like.

She is a free spirit, a young heart and big laugh. There are few mothers more dedicated than she, and she has been dealt – and endured trials that few others could overcome. I feel I have helped with that sense of tenacity. I like to take credit for shaping the person she is today!

It came from years of holding her hands after she pulled her mittens off and stuffed her hands into snow drifts. Either that or it was when I’d cross the hall to her room in the dark of night and pound the ever lovin’ crap out of her for failing to SHUT UP when I told her I wanted to go to sleep. I tempered her physically and emotionally which prepared her for life’s challenges!

Now, in one of life’s little twists of fate, I work with my sister. For her actually. We were recently asked how it was to work together – and neither of us could come up with an answer. Partially because we have always worked together, in less formal circumstances, and also because of the nature of our relationship.

We have always had each other’s back.

 

Happy Birthday Little Sister!

 

 

Fifteen

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

Fifteen years ago today, I got up very early to head to the hospital where I expected I would have a baby and become a mother.

At least, that’s what I thought.

Fifteen years later, I realize that while I may have been considered a mother, but I have become a Mom.

PRETTY BOY POUT

 

I vividly remember the first thought I had after the doctor announced you were a boy.

“Oh shit.”

Followed by,

“I don’t know what to do with a boy.”

As one of two girls, I was confident I had the girl thing figured out. But boys, hmmmmm.

So, Happy Birthday First Born Son.

Thank you for helping me become a Mom. Thank you for showing me what to do with boys. I have an appreciation for heavy equipment, work boots, Bob the Builder, goalie equipment, showing cattle, raising chickens and red wagons. (I still can’t appreciate you getting up at 6 a.m. on an almost daily basis….but we all know who your father is!)

Thank you for being an adorable child, and a young man I’m proud of every day.

Now get your arse upstairs and finish your homework.

Catching Up

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

I think it is an unspoken law of blogging that one takes off the summer months, if not cut back the number of entries. In my case, I tried to pack as many things into each day as humanly possible.

It’s hard to believe that with the return of back to school and fall routines, that it was only two months ago that we were admiring First Born Son’s gardening abilities.

 

While the lettuce was impressive, his corn and sunflowers are MASSIVE. He entered the sunflowers in the local Fall Fair and won third. The tallest stalk was 10’4 ft so I cannot imagine how tall the winning entry was!!! I’m waiting to get sick of eating corn, since its on the table every night. Hasn’t happened yet!

 

It was a nice hot summer for swimming at Mom & Dad’s pond. I’m not sure who enjoyed it more, the kids, or Roman!! On a related note: this was one of the few activities Second Born Son could actually take part in – so he spent a lot of time in the water. His are is healing well and we go back down to the specialist in October for an update. This could be an ongoing pattern for a while.  

 

 

While you saw M&M’s photos, her sister, Lil’ O also played softball and we loved watching her year-end tournament. “The power is strong in that one, master!!” So nice to see the kids enjoying ball. Now if we could do something about the nut-job adults who organize their teams….SIGH.

FBS had a great season playing ball. It was great to see a team of players who wanted to play ball, and not simply signed up because of their parents. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a lot of structure to the team, and they didn’t perform well overall. “There’s always next year!”

 

SBS was my little fish this year. Since swimming was considered good therapy for his arm, and we normally do swimming lessons through to the end of elementary school, he enrolled at the local pool. PARENTING TIP: Try to get your child into swimming during the summer Olympics. I wish I had video of SBS splashing at himself and getting psyched like the big boy swimmers. HeeLARrious!!!!

 

What summer is complete without a wedding? It was a beautiful July day when this lovely couple made it legal. The painful part, to me anyway, is that I USED TO BABYSIT THE BRIDE! That’s right. That gorgeous creature you see there – I used to feed her snacks and keep her and her deliciously chubby little brother entertained. He’s not longer chubby and she’s beautiful. I’m taking all the credit.

 

Then there was the cottage. Easily the highlight of the summer. Due to the time restraints dictated by work, Lil Sis and I decided to split a week. She took the girls and our parents up from Monday to Wednesday. We all enjoyed Wednesday together, then she took her crew home, and my family stayed on until Friday. HEAVEN! Even when the weather was poor, it was nice to just be together and not have to do anything. This beach has special meaning for me and The Big Guy, since it is where he proposed. I love the fact that the cottage was on the beach, so we didn’t have to load anything up to enjoy the water!!!

 

 

 

I love how this summer turned out; with birthdays and sunshine and being outside. I just need two more months!!!

 

 

 

Birthday Boy

/ Sarah / 2 Comments

What is summer without a party or two?

For those of us in Boweryville, the first (so far) of the year was last week, as we celebrated the 80th Birthday of The Big Guy’s uncle. This birthday is particularly important to me and The Big Guy since Uncle B is the reason we met.

 

Back in The Day when I was young and naive and lived on a farm, my family and I attended the Anniversary Sunday of our local country church. Following the service was a potluck meal, which was the pride of the ladies who lived up and down the Concession. Homemade salads, heaped platters of meats waiting to be tucked into fresh rolls; it was as much a feast for the eyes as it was the palate.

My contribution was a chocolate cake (surprise, surprise). As we enjoyed fellowship, a neighbour to the south, Uncle B, came up to me to compliment me on my dessert. I was hugely flattered. As I knew this gentleman was a bachelor and his family lived a distance away, I thought I’d make him an offer.

“If you tell me when your birthday is, I’ll make one for you!” I exclaimed.

“July 12th,” he replied.

So on the morning of one of the hottest days of the year, I got up, started the oven, and made a chocolate cake for my new fan, the birthday boy. When the cake was cooled and iced, Dad offered to drive me three farms over to deliver the cake. Little Sister had nothing better to do, so she came along for the ride.

As we drove up the lane way, we noticed a tractor heading back the lane way, past the main bank barn further along to the back fields. We followed the tractor and arrived at a smaller cottage style house and smaller bank barn. There we saw a trio of people, as well as a fourth on a second tractor in the field behind the house.

I was about to meet my future husband, and inlaws.

All I could think of was that the cake I was holding was going to melt in my very hands. The older couple were concerned that  a) they forgot it was the actual birthday of Uncle B, and  b) that they didn’t think they had room in their fridge to keep my confection from becoming a puddle.

Our exchange was short. The driver of the tractor we followed back the lane was indeed The Big Guy, and Uncle B was behind the house, round baling and giving a small wave of the hand as he went past our group. I handed over the cake and we left.

“That guy liked you,” said LS.

“Who???” I asked incredulously.

“The guy wearing the necklace.” she said. (Referring to The Big Guy who was a slick City Boy – gold chain et al.)

I had no recollection of what the guy was wearing, what he thought of me or what his name was, even though formal introductions were conducted.

A few weeks later, we would meet again, thanks to Uncle B. The rest, as they say, is history.

25 years ago history.

Hard to believe baking a cake could land you a husband! Happy Birthday Uncle B. Happy Anniversary Big Guy.

Love you both!!

I’m Going to Hell – Who’s With Me?

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

I saw my first stripper when I was 15.

I’ll give you a moment to grab your jaw. It’s over there, on the floor.

To clarify, the guy was an impromptu addition to a 50th Birthday Party for one of my dad’s coworkers. I was asked to provide music for the party since I had an enviable collection of music, and let’s face it, the BEST person to spin tracks for a 50-year-old is a 15-year-old. Yup – that’s sarcasm. It was during that event that it was revealed that a certain “special” aspect of fete was being thrown in. Before you knew it, some oiled up muscle man was bumping and grinding his way around the birthday girl.

She loved it. I was somewhat repulsed and yet secretly thrilled that he left his thong on. After all, my parents were in the room.

So perhaps I’ve had a more liberal outlook on these topics, but I was really taken aback by a posting by a fellow blogger I happen to have read last night. Usually I enjoy her take on parenting, being a young mother and family life in general, but yesterday’s entry gave me pause. I’m not going to share a link because frankly, I don’t want to give a platform to the kind of blather she was dishing.

In short; she thinks I’m going to hell, and that my marriage is doomed.

Cuz I’m going to see Magic Mike tomorrow night.

Helloooooooo There!

Her take on this is that by watching a movie (she doesn’t name it specifically) I will open the door for Satan to pervert my mind. I won’t be able to help myself from comparing my relationship with my husband with the relationship I would wish for with one of the characters in the movie. She then stated it was part of the bigger issue facing society today, the break down of the family, blah, blah, blah.

This must be some flick! I just thought it was about a bunch of guys who made loads of cash dancing for women. What power this movie must have!!!

She then went on to throw 50 Shades of Grey under the bus. Again, not being strong enough on point to name the book, she references the pop culture following “a certain book” has, and looks down her nose at the idea of a book discussing sexuality, as being something lowly and sinful. Can you say “Repressed?”

I then thought about how I would feel if The Big Guy was going out to see strippers with his friends. Nothin. No issue. No beef. We’ve actually laughed at how NOT jealous we are of each other. Perhaps we are too secure in our relationship (is that possible?) but I’ve pointed out good-looking women to him, and he’s shared his perspective of my admiration of various specimens of various males of the species. Isn’t it a GOOD thing that we don’t get wound up about each other’s appreciation for the option sex??

The blogger then draws a comparison, saying women should not see Magic Mike or read 50 Shades of Grey because they would be up in arms if their husbands went out to a movie about female strippers or a book that glorified sex from a male’s perspective.

Instantly, the following rebuttals came to mind;

1. We’d better get every beer commercial off television.

2. Somebody better tell the music community that women dressed in anything less than habits are evil and any dancing more risqué than the box step in a rap video will get you a first-class ticket to hell.

3. Survivor, Big Brother and every other reality TV show that allows women to flaunt their T&A is responsible for the erosion of the family unit.

4. Victoria’s Secret Angels are actually the minions of Satan (envision Church Lady saying this!).

Until then, I fully plan on enjoying Magic Mike with my sister, and perhaps my niece. After all, she is 16.

P.S. I didn’t really think I had time for more reading material, but I think I might make the exception and look up 50 Shades of Grey; since I’m already going to hell in a hand basket.

The Call of Nature

/ Sarah / 3 Comments

In honour of Father’s Day this weekend, and as a general Public Service Message to Humanity, I offer the following Skill Testing Question:

Which is Correct?

A)

 

Yes, this is a toilet. In my house. My parents are ever so proud of the education and training they paid for that has allowed me the skill to post a photo of the hopper on the internet.

That’s not the point right now. We’ll get on journalistic high ground another time.

For now, the point is – this is considered the Universally Acceptable Position for a Toilet. It’s also known traditionally known as “Ladies’ Choice”. This way the female user will not have any issue using the feature. And by issue, I think the women readers will acknowledge the “Splash Down” is to be avoided at all costs.

~ OR ~

B)

 

 

This is the Universally Accepted Position To Indicate That Only Men Live in this Abode. The lifted seat allow more area surface for the male user. Why does a male user require more surface area than a female user, you may ask?

It’s simple really. Every since young boys were taught about writing their names in the snow, light sabres and Cheerios, they have required more surface area. Something to do with “creativity”. I’d it has more to do with poor eyesight and altitude.

I doubt our forefathers were caught “doing battle” in outhouses, however I’ve been wrong more than once this week…. But you have to admit, it is hard to imagine Great Grandma Ethel losing her load over the mess left out in the two-holer.

“CECIL! CEDRIC! How many times do I have to tell you that if you are going to make at the same time, you need to use the Hudson Bay catalogue to clean up after yourselves!!!!????”

It also has to do with the less fair of the species having the luxury of being able to use the World as their private urinal. Think of it like you would a cat. When you have a house cat, it uses the litter box and understands the niceties of indoor living. Once that cat goes outside, it reverts back to its most primal instinct and will be spraying all over the patio doors.

Just like men.

Once they get a chance to void in Wild Open Spaces, trying to get them to contain and restrain themselves is almost futile.

Because of the mess male users leave behind (again think of trajectory here, people) I have suggested these users assume the effective and tidy method of use that requires one to SIT on the potty. The negative feedback to this suggestion can only be the result of fear. Fear of falling off, that is. Which is why I’m working on copyrighting a toilet seatbelt.

In all seriousness, as the sole female on this property (Second Born Son wanted a female dog, but I told him I was the only bitch girl in the family.) I have had somewhat of an epiphany.

Is it fair for me to expect three males to keep the seat down on the toilet solely for my use and comfort? Whatever happened to Majority Rule? Being the truly democratic individual that I am, I felt that it was only fair that we find a common ground.

But no one liked the idea of the boys using a Port-A-Potty, so I had to come up with another solution. Which, if you will permit me, IS the correct answer….

 

C)

 

When you think about it – THIS IS HOW THE MANUFACTURER DISPLAYS IT! You don’t walk in to a show room with a stunning four-piece washroom set and the throne is sitting there with the seat up!

I hate walking in and seeing an open toilet. Call me crazy. To me, it’s just a big gaping hole filled with questionable water waiting to catch my earrings, cell phone, keys, infant child.

There should be no battle of the sexes over the loo. It’s a case of common sense and practicality. Both men and women would have to “close” and “open” the appliance to use it, so there is no discrimination!! I know – BRILLIANT, right?

Now that I have saved Humanity from this conundrum, I’m off to create World Peace.

 

 

Birthday Boy

/ Sarah / 6 Comments

Because a year ago, we didn’t know we had a year.

Because you can’t spend your life looking back at yesterday.

Because no one knows if there is tomorrow.

We were very glad to have today.

 

Happy Birthday Dad.

Choices, choices…

/ Sarah / 2 Comments

“Regret is a useless emotion.”

This is my favourite quote. It came from my Journalism teacher, Bob Trotter, who would know a thing or two about the topic. I have applied this quote to much of my life. Including last night.

I had TONNES to do. Just got in the door, planning to grab a bite to eat and sit down to some photo editing and writing. After that there was a mountain of house work that I could get in to. Second Born Son had other ideas.

“Why don’t you come outside and do sidewalk chalk with me?” he asked. I was thrilled he had dug them out because I’ve come close on a couple of occasions to throwing them out. It seemed the boys have out grown it.

I had a choice here. Work, or be with the kid. The kid isn’t going to ask me to hang out with him much longer. I’ve already noticed a difference in his brother – damn hormones! Why do I work? To provide for my family. Isn’t my job as a mother include showing my kids how to have fun, as well as a strong work ethic? I’d been sitting at a computer most of the day – did I really want to sit down at one again?

I made a compromise. How about I take pictures of him doing sidewalk chalk? I am, as you know, still breaking in the new camera. He agreed to that – if we talked more about how to take pictures, because he’s going to be a photographer when he grows up, you know! He had already completed his drawing of me. (He always puts long hair on me, and yet as long as he’s been on this earth, the longest it’s been is to my shoulders.)

Then he decided he wanted to play Frisbee. We had done this earlier in the week since it was a great way to get his arm moving again.

<PAUSE>

Great trip to the specialist. The fracture has healed and may take care of the complication I mentioned previously. He was told to start moving the arm and we have booked physiotherapy for him. We have one more follow-up appointment, but we are beyond thrilled.

<PLAY>

So we got the Frisbee out. Can Mom still shoot and catch a Frisbee?

For the record – No.

But it was a nice evening, so we spent some time goofing around with cameras, lights and Frisbees.

Then along came Roman…..

Funnily enough, from the day SBS broke his arm, Roman has been patient and gentle with him. He would lick his fingers and sit softly beside him. Now that the collar and cuff are off, apparently, it’s No Holds Barred. (Fear not – this is not the broken arm.)

Then, like most good things, it went too far, and someone had to “Drop the Hammer.”

“GENTLE Roman! Take it easy. GENTLE!”

Before you know it, everyone is friends again, and we are back to the game.  (A Fun Fact for you. First Born Son wore that shirt A WEEK AGO. He got it for CHRISTMAS!)

Speaking of FBS, he’d been holed up in his room working on a Culminating Project – one of three he needs to turn in within a week. Don’t feel too bad for him, he’s only got two exams and has had more field trips in one year than I had in my ENTIRE. EDUCATIONAL. CAREER.

Yes, I’m working on the bitterness…

So FBS came outside for a break and decided to join us, which was nice because he doesn’t “play” often.

We had a delay of game because Roman and SBS got into it…AGAIN!

SBS is the only one Roman treats like a chew toy. But SBS kinda likes it. Except for the dog-butt-in-the-face part. It was obvious Roman needed to burn off some energy, so FBS got out his toys.

Running…running…running….

SBS sat out on this because the ball is heavier than it looks and Roman will MOW YOU DOWN if you are in between him and ball. We watched “safely” from the sidelines.

After a couple of minutes, it was time to get in on the act, and a lively game of Keep Away started….

Before you know it, I’ve got three tired boys! Lots of laughs, lots of photos and lots of grass stained knees!

So, in short, I didn’t get the dishes done until 10. I didn’t edit the photos I took earlier in the week. I didn’t write the story I have ready to go. I didn’t fold laundry until 9.

…and I don’t regret the choice I made last night.

You LIKE him! You REALLY LIKE him!

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

For all the days as mother that I want to choke the ever lovin’ life out of my boys, I feel I’m blessed with a couple of pretty decent kids.

But I’m completely biased. How can I be otherwise?

Today I was in the middle of a phone conversation about a problem I hoped to resolved. Then First Born Son’s name came up. The person I was speaking to made a point of being very complimentary about him and how he was such a great kid.

Wow, I thought, thanks!

Then the person continued. For a good couple of minutes. The comments he made about my child not only made me feel amazing about my son as a person, but he was also very flattering to me as a parent. I found myself; a) emotional, and b) damn near speechless – and you can count on one hand and only use the thumb for the number of times that has ever happened to me before.

It gave me something to think about for the rest of the day. When it comes to the greatest achievements in life; when it comes to what we will value and hold dear; I can’t think of anything else that means more to me that to do a really good job raising my children. It goes without saying that an equal portion of credit goes to The Big Guy who is an outstanding role model, but it is rewarding to think that the little things that matter to me and that I feel will be important to them as healthy balanced individuals, are the very things that this person was identifying in FBS.

I may never write the Great Canadian Novel. I may not capture a photo that will enlighten our generation and be published in National Geographic. But if I can raise two boys to be men, real men, then I will feel I my life will be worthwhile. It sounds corny to people who don’t have children. I don’t mean to be sappy, and those who know me personally, know I’m not.

I REALLY wanted to be a mom. That desire is what kept me sane during all night feedings, flu, and now, broken bones. Being responsible for another human being is overwhelming. There are days when it is worth it and there are times when you question your sanity. There are no days off.

It’s nice to have days that are so worth it. Especially when you don’t expect it.

Proud of you FBS!

 

 

The Shroud of Mystery

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

As I mentioned before, The Bowery Girl is the latest version of The Bowery – a column I wrote for a community newspaper a lifetime ago.

Back then, as today, I wrote about pretty much anything I chose to. I think the editor was simply glad to have one less thing to assign me.

Regardless – I have always found humour in the damnedest places. Which is where one of my Mother’s favourite column came from. Since she learned I was “live” with my writing, she’s asked when I would share this one. I actually dove into the tote I stored my newsprint life in, but couldn’t find it.  So….for my Mom, I’m rewriting it….sheesh….

My Granny was my Dad’s mother. She was a tiny, tough, Englishwoman. Around her you WOULD drink tea (hence my life-long aversion to the beverage to this day), and you would be scolded for eating HER chocolate covered graham cracker cookies. Why she would bring these around two young girls and NOT think we would inhale them is beyond me. I’m sure she was distressed that my sister and I were not orderly and well-behaved as young ladies should be. We had the run of a farm with neighbours far enough away that they’d never hear your sister scream when you pounded the crap out of her……..ahem.  Around Granny you did NOT shout and you certainly did not use profanity. There’s a whole other entry on the time she heard my father in the barn over the intercom during a particularly stressful morning of chores…

When I was a teenager, Granny died. It was a blessing since she was suffering from a dementia and the last few years were difficult, especially for my father. Now organizing a funeral for a parent is stressful, but this funeral was becoming BRUTAL. Aside from the regular bureaucracy one has to go through when a hospital and nursing home are involved, there were the stipulations laid out by my Granny. We had to get her in the ground ASAP!

Let me explain….

When my Granny was a younger woman, her mother (my great-granny) would tell her daughters that when she died, she wanted to be buried in nothing but a shroud, “Just like our Lord Jesus.” What ever possessed her to decide this was never fully explained, but it was simply understood that these are her wishes. When Granny’s mother died, her sisters refused to bury the elderly woman naked, in a shroud, pointing out it was not “proper”.  So their mother was buried in a “proper” dress and “proper” pearls. Likely with appropriate shoes that had a modest heel. This outraged my Granny.

Therefore, she took on the concept. SHE would be buried naked in a shroud, “Just like our Lord Jesus.” This would honour her religious convictions, as well as her mother’s legacy.

<PAUSE>

Can I point out here that my Granny was ANGLICAN? In anything I have come to understand about religion, there aren’t too many Christian-based beliefs that required wrapping one’s dearly departed in a sheet to honour God. Judaism requires a quick burial, but I am aware of that rule being stretched to 48 and even 72 hours after death. But I only took Religion/Cult/Occult in college as an elective, so I don’t pretend to be an expert…

<PLAY>

When the time came to plan the funeral, my Dad was working as quickly as he could to ensure it was a quick turnaround. My aunt was trying to get back into the country, therefore the little “details” of the funeral were left to my Mother. And she was having some issues. We all knew that Granny wanted to be buried in a shroud “Just like our Lord Jesus”, but was having a really hard time envisioning this tiny frail woman being in the ground with nothing more on her than a bed sheet.

This is when “logic” kicked in.

Mom decides to dress Granny in one of the cozy track suits she wore in the nursing home. She picked the pink one, well, because, well, it’s a visual thing right? She can LOOK like she has nothing on. Then she comes into my room.

“I need a pair of socks,” she said.

“Oh, ok.” I said.

“Make sure it’s a pair you don’t plan on getting back,” she adds.

I give her a couple of pairs, which are deemed unsuitable. Finally I give her a pair of “pom-pom” socks. She picks a pair that are white with pink pom-poms. Even through my Granny is yet to be in the ground, I’m fairly certain she’s spinning.

So with the socks in hand, my mother collects the other items and they are delivered to the funeral home. Oh to be a fly on the wall when the undertaker saw what he’d have to put his latest client in. Thankfully, the casket is closed. Granny is in the ground JUST under the time frame allotted and we are all taking license with the “shroud” concept.

I have since told my mother that her mother-in-law would come back to haunt her for failing to deliver on the final request, and even suggested that she, herself, take on the idea. She’s not interested in being buried “Just like our Lord Jesus.” Guess that takes me off the hook!

We’ve all heard stories young women taken tragically and buried in their wedding dresses, or perhaps a teen who was a cheerleader being laid to rest in her uniform. Men can be buried in military or sport uniforms, or other apparel that has special significance to them.

So I can only imagine what someone might think, years later, if they ever had to open my grandmother’s coffin.

“Look Joe, this one was a GYMNAST!”