I’m Slipping…or Not.

February 4, 2019February 4, 2019 / Sarah / Leave a comment

Truthfully, I thought I was losing my ever-lovin’ mind.

It’s bad enough that I have glasses that help me when my eyes are tired, but to lose a pair? Come one. I’m 47, not 87.

With the chaos settling around the house, there have been a couple of things that have gone “missing” temporarily, then found, as we all learn where things are going to be stored. I’ve even had a couple of good purge days where I was able to be merciless and toss or repurpose items that were not living up to their full potential.

But the glasses were gone. I couldn’t tell how long they had been gone. I just knew that any time I wanted to drive at night, I really felt like I would do better if I was wearing them.

Finally over the weekend, I got serious about locating the glasses. Fortunately I had my prescription sunglasses, but the other pair were GONE. I looked in places that I thought they might be. I looked in places that I knew they wouldn’t be. It’s like I had them and then, suddenly, I didn’t.

Both The Big Guy and Second Born Son were aware that I was looking for these glasses. SBS immediately indicated he had no idea where they were, but if he found them, he’d let me know. TBG, however, was far more invested.

As anyone knows, when you are looking for something, have someone making “helpful” suggestions is, in fact, far from an aid in the objective. TBG asked if I checked my purse. I had. He asked if I looked in the Jeep. I had. He asked if I looked in any of the new handy drawers in the kitchen. Of course I had – that was the first round of searching. He tried his “Dad Voice” on me, lecturing me about keeping track of my things. I reminded him that I already had a father and TBG need to slow his roll. I added the eyebrow for emphasis. I’m pretty sure my eyebrow trumps his Dad voice.

It wasn’t until Sunday that all was revealed. Heading out the door to grab some groceries, I happened to look up to the very top shelf of the front door closet and there they were; on the highest point on the highest shelf, in an area that I cannot reach without a stool to stand on. Remember, I am not short. I immediately knew what happened.

This shelf is a favorite of TBG’s for when he wants to quickly clear the hall the table of any items that he deems to be clutter, junk or simply don’t belong to him. I grabbed the nearest chair, hiked up to grab my glasses, and set out to find the father of my children.

I found him, unsurprisingly, cuddling Roman in the garage. Apparently I had interrupted a nail clipping session. Whatever. I held out the glasses for him to see. He was genuinely happy to see I had found them. Then asked the obvious question.

“Where did you find them?”

As I relayed the location of the glasses case, I could see the penny drop. He didn’t initially recall putting them there, and even tried to suggest that perhaps I had put them there, but couldn’t row that boat because he KNOWS I hate things being put up there. I would NEVER put my glasses there. He doubled down and tried to suggest that I should just be happy that I found them.

I suggested that he needs to stop “helping” me.

Because it’s causing me my sanity.

XXV

August 21, 2018 / Sarah / 2 Comments

I’m sitting on the couch watching the rain pour down outside, with Say Yes To The Dress Canada in the background, when I can hear it over the whine of power tools.

Twenty-five years ago, I was in my wedding dress, taking photos with my bridesmaids in the sunshine and preparing to get married.

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It couldn’t be more different from today.

I’m on vacation this week. The Big Guy is at work. He’s going to take off Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. This has raised some eyebrows. At first, I was disappointed, but I look at it this way; like my wedding day, my 25th wedding anniversary is one. day. In the 9,131 days we’ve been married, there have been many amazing days. Some of them were better than our wedding day. I’m not hinging my happiness of more than 9,000 days on the contents of one.

Which leads me back to my wedding day, and the young women on Say Yes To The Dress Canada. So much energy, emotion, drama, MONEY for one day. You hear it in what they are saying and how they act. The dress has to be PERFECT. The day has to be PERFECT. Everyone has to love the PERFECT bride.

<PAUSE> May I take moment to share my thoughts about the unending focus on the bride. Yup, she gets the fancier outfit, but she’s only one-half of the equation. If the groom doesn’t show up, this is nothing but a Prom For One. And yes, I’m basing this on a heterosexual relationship because that happens to be what I’m in – and what they seem to cater to on SYTTDC. <PLAY>

So let’s say the day is PERFECT. The weather cooperates, the guests arrive on time, the venue is stunning, none of the key players are a) inebriated b) quarrelling. The bride is stunning and the dresses, flowers, and elementary school bridal attendants are Instragram worthy. The service is the ideal ratio of reverent, emotional, traditional, modern and contains no less than three Facebook worthy posts. The food is scrumptious, the music is perfectly selected and the party never seems to end.

Until it ends.

And you wake up six months later with the person you vowed to love until the end of days. There are no more bridal showers with amazing and unnecessary items to replace the “old” household items that have served you perfectly well while you lived together. No more two-day bachelor/ette parties in remote locations. No more spotlight. Just life.

The perfect couple, right? WRONG!

Because life is why you side up for, both in content and in term. Yes to the awesome days when you both are in a great mood. Yes to the days when you want to throw in the towel on life. Yes to an empty bank account and Yes to a surprise dinner out when one of you gets a raise. Yes to not talking for three days because you are so busy you don’t realize it’s almost the weekend. Yes to your own form of shorthand when you talk, text, or need to relay info telekinetically in the middle of a disastrous family gathering.

TBG is the first guy I dated. I said yes the first time he asked me to marry him. There has not been anyone else I’d rather hand 25 years over to. I understand when he doesn’t communicate so well. He tolerates when I over-communicate. He is a perfectionist – I am not. We work. And we work well together. A quarter of a century and two kids later, I think we’ve proved that.

Happy 25th Anniversary Big Guy. Here’s to 25 more!

The Big Guy’s first selfie. After all, his arms are longer than mine!

I Now Pronounce You…

November 29, 2017 / Sarah / 1 Comment

It’s been many moons since The Big Guy and I vowed to fight over blankets and morning routines. Sometimes I look back and shake my head over the things that were deemed important and necessary to have a wedding in the early 90s.

Although there was some small movement away from traditions, (we didn’t have a traditional receiving line – GASP THE HORROR!) we were pretty conventional. Except, when it came to my name.

I was drawn back to a conversation I had with my future in-laws about 25 years ago, after reading this article. It seems crazy to me that a quarter of a century after I hyphenated my name, there is still a debate about women taking their husbands’ surnames.

It never occurred to me NOT to take TBG’s name. I just didn’t want to have to give up MY name. For some men, the issue of a woman refraining from linking last names is too big a picture. They need to look at the root of the matter; you are asking someone to change what they call themselves. I was Sarah B for the first 21 years of my life. I was actually called that in classrooms when there was more than one Sarah and we had to tack on the first letter of the last name to distinguish between me and Sarah K. It was a small school and it we knew it was going to be a long year whenever we realized we were in the same class – the only two Sarahs.

I don’t recall a specific moment when I decided I was going to keep my name. I do remember thinking for a while before getting engaged, that there were no males to carry on the family name. It was important to me to carry that on, and to preserve my identity. I had also done some research into the family I was joining and learned that there were not one, but two previous Sarahs. I’d be Sarah The Third with this last name. I didn’t really think about my future kids, but figured we’d sort that out down the line. I know when I told my father of my plan, he was quietly pleased.

But the aforementioned conversation with my soon to be in-laws took place about six months before the wedding. There was a discussion about the service and how we would be introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Big Guy. My oh-so helpful future brother-in-law, who knew of my plan, said, “That’s if Sarah takes TBG’s name.” Two pairs of eyes were on me.

“You AREN’T taking our name?” asked my future MIL with a look of disbelief on her face. My FIL didn’t speak but had an equally perplexed expression.

“No, it’s not that,” I tried to explain, “I’m actually going to hyphenate my name.”

Silence.

“Did you tell TBG this?!” demanded his mother. I stated that we had talked about it, and that he was in complete support. Conveniently, TBG was not in the room for this charming exchange.

This was more than shocking to my future parents-in-law. I don’t think they personally knew of any other woman who had done this, and it was outside their understanding. I’m sure for them it was an insult, but they could have chosen to see it as a young woman who had a more independent mindset, wanting to demonstrate her commitment to her husband, while still being autonomous. It had nothing to do with how much I cared for my fiancé. In fact, the idea that he was supportive of this, and wasn’t threatened by it, made him all the more attractive to me. Gotta love an open-minded man!

On the day of our wedding we were introduced as “Mr. Big Guy and Mrs. Maiden Name – Big Guy.” An easy way to let our family and friends know how I was addressing myself.

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When it was time to have children, the agreement was that they would only have their father’s surname. If they decided they wanted to have a hyphenated name, we would pay to change it. TBG agreed.

Traditionally, women were considered the property of men – that’s why her father would hand her off to her husband on her wedding day; a transfer of ownership – and with that was a name change. Times have changed and the issues surround the surname have become somewhat complicated. When a woman divorces, the dilemma is there – do I change my name back to my maiden name? Do I want to have the same name as my children?

In this era of women fighting for, and being recognized equally in most modern relationships, it seems a little dated to argue over what she calls herself. And a little archaic to insist she have the same moniker as her spouse. Welcome to the 21st Century!

When is More Simply Too Much – Archive

July 6, 2016 / Sarah / Leave a comment

This isn’t the first incarnation of The Bowery Girl, and I’ve been having a blast going through the previous site and reviewing my posts. Here’s one I had to share, and hopefully you find it timely, given that it is Wedding Season…

Monday, May 17, 2010

When More is Simply Too Much
Since when is “more” better?

I prefer to err on the side of “less” especially when it comes to public displays of affection, demonstrative actions etc. unless it is something truly funny. Funny needs to be shared.

But lavish, meh, not so much.

So I’m standing in the bridal salon that I shall not name because I’m still mad at them, waiting for the rolly polly seamstress. In the wall of mirrors I’m watching a tiny young woman leafing through wedding dresses. Honestly, she weighs about as much as my thigh. She’s with her mother and while the young woman is very collegiate looking, her mother looks very tired, dishevelled and not nearly as current in her wardrobe as her daughter.

The woman sits in the middle of the room on the bench and watches her daughter fanning through the gowns and I notice she only looking at short, strappy styles. I figure she’s having a small wedding and doesn’t want to overpower her small frame with a large gown. In my head I’m giving this girl a lot of credit – she’s going to spend about half to three-quarters what she would have spent on the larger dress.

I’m annoyed at the mother, who doesn’t seem engaged in this time with her daughter. Instead of revelling the time to being with her to pick her wedding dress, the woman looks and acts like she’s afraid to touch any of the dresses, and that she’s not buying into the idea of the wedding at all. I’m annoyed big time. If I’ve learned anything in my many trips down the aisle, it’s that the wedding is not about anyone other than the bride and groom – egos and attitudes need to be checked at the door.

Then grandma walks in. Wiry white hair cut bluntly that frames her face, makeup stylish appliced and a kick-ass outfit that makes the mother look even more frumpy. Her artisan jewelery plays off beautifully with the chic hand-crafted wrap and dark-wash jeans she’s wearing. She looks impecable and carries herself with an air of sophistication reserved for Katherine Hepburn. As soon as the woman walks in, the young girl starts to squeal, and the mother stops talking entirely.

Grandma fawns over the young girl, pulling out various dresses and suggesting various alterations to make the dress “her own”. My pleasure at seeing the older woman relishing the time with her granddaughter comes to a screeching halt when the younger female corrects the sales associate.

“Oh, this isn’t my wedding dress,” she said. “I already have my wedding gown.”

dead air

“This is for after the service – and pictures – for the reception,” she clarifies. Now I understand why Mom is hanging her head. She can’t afford this. And the daughter – a recent grad, can’t either. So thank goodness Money Bags showed up.

“I LOVE my dress,” she said. “But I just can’t imagine wearing it ALL DAY!” she gushes. “I mean it’s SO big and SO heavy, I would just DIE wearing it ALL DAY – it’s going to be too hot!”

What

the

hell

So you are getting married at the end of June – you’ve picked your dress – DON’T YOU PICK YOUR DRESS BASED ON WHEN YOU ARE GETTING MARRIED? I felt like asking, “What are you wearing, Angora wool? RAYON? PIG IRON??”

Unless this woman is marrying a multi-millionaire, she is about to start her married life under a grave misapprehension. It’s clear she wasn’t raised with a lot of money, but money is around her. She is having a wedding with TWO wedding gowns because, after all, didn’t Jennifer Lopez or Katie Holmes do that? The cost of having a second dress was over $750 – how much did you pay for your initial gown? Likely between $1,200 – $2,500 – and I’ll bet the farm it was closer to the top end amount. So now, you are looking at well over $3,000 AND TAX just for one day.

Because there was no time to order the dress in, the girl was negotiating the cost of alterations and the sales rep was having a dandy time trying to calculate how much it would cost to alter and cut down a sample dress. Grandma never blinked at the cost. She only concurred with her granddaughter – one dress simply would not DO! Mom just sat there like she was watching it all happen to strangers.

I wondered if she had tried to instill a sense of frugality in her daughter all these years, knowing she had limited resources. Had her mother then trumped her and usurped her rights as a mother when she felt she had the overpowering right as a grandmother? Did the daughter see this dynamic and play one off the other? At what point would the grandmother stand down and let this girl see things for what they are? Maybe the girl was embarassed that her mother was not in the same world as her grandmother was, but I daresay, unless her grandmother planned on supporting her for the rest of her life, the young woman’s wake up call was going to greet her the morning after her honeymoon.

It’s a disturbing trend, young people starting out expecting the best of everything. My parents were the most fortunate of all their friends. They had saved enough money to buy a house when they got married. Many of their friends had to rent an apartment for the first couple of years, finally saving a down payment in time for the first baby to arrive.

Homes were furnished with miss-matched furniture and dinnerware, save for the nicer items they received as wedding gifts. You worked hard and gained throughout your marriage. You had goals and dreams and set targets for yourself, including one day, GASP, buying a NEW car.

When did we decide it was ok to start at top? Newlyweds moving into homes that are fully furnished and model-home ready. Neither of their cars are more than 3 years old. A trip up north or to Niagara Falls is not be considered a worthy honeymoon, and if it didn’t include either a cruise or a number of spa treatments (for both of them)it simply wasn’t worth writing home about.

Methinks we need to adjust our expectations. Otherwise, what do you have to look forward to, other than a mountain of debt and a divorce decree?

It’s all Downhill from Here

February 17, 2016February 18, 2016 / Sarah / 4 Comments

I’ve gotta tell you, it’s awesome to hear from people who read The Bowery Girl and ask “So, how’s the reno going?” I can’t say that I thought my mother was the only person reading the blog, as she has yet to succumb to an internet connection, so it’s rewarding to hear from you. Thank you.

Writing about the renovation means I can refrain from losing my MIND over the Jian Gomeshi trail. I am literally taking notes on stuff I want to rant about following the verdict in March. So there you go – mark that on your calendar. Something to look forward to.

As far as answering that reno question, well, it’s going. The Big Guy is an absolute workhorse on this project; after long days at work, he’s putting in late nights on the dry walling in the bathroom and the hallway.

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**Editor’s Note** TBG says he hates it when I post photos of him while he’s working, because he doesn’t like what he’s wearing. I advised him that when I change The Bowery Girl’s direction to a more fashion-forward theme, I’ll let him know. Until then, I’ll continue posting working man shots. Keeping it real here!

I am excited about an unexpected detail – we (I) decided to install transoms above the bathroom and the Master Bedroom doorways. Since the house was built in the early 80s, the only item of architectural interest is seizure inducing flooring. No, I’m not showing you that. You’d have to sign a waiver first.

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I found a local glass installer who had some remnants from his stained glass days and for a sweet price, we were able to get two panels of “Hammered Flemmish” glass. I’m sorry, every time I say that I think of an intoxicated Belgian and it makes me laugh. Originally he had two other samples for me to look at. I had picked one, and was on my way out when I saw this pattern on a larger piece of glass and hit the brakes. He would sell it to me, he said, but cautioned that it was his last piece and if it shattered when he cut, or when TBG installed it, we’d have to look at a new pattern. He’s not getting any more Hammered Flemmish. (Sorry, giggling.)

<PAUSE> If you really want to go down a rabbit hole, look up glass patterns. It will truly devour and afternoon for you. Start with “Pinhead Glass” and we’ll see you sometime next week. You are welcome. <PLAY>

No pressure on TBG when he received the finished pieces. No anxiety when the glass installer cautioned him AGAIN when TBG asked for advice on how to build a custom frame.

But the results are terrific. I knew he could do it!!

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I love how the light throws a pattern onto the ceiling. TBG does his own drywall work, and because we hate ourselves, we’ve incorporated odd angles all over the place. I’d like you to take a moment to appreciate the corners. They are awesome. That is all.

You might say, “Sarah, what are YOU doing to help with this project?” and I would reply, “Gentle Reader, I am FEEDING the man who is doing the work AND keeping his work clothes clean and at the ready.” Then I would add, “I am also the designer/visionist who brings exciting, yet time-consuming and stressful design elements for TBG to execute! I am also the head cheerleader and task master! That’s not NOTHING you know!”

The truth is, TBG is ~~anal-retentive~~ a perfectionist. The only thing I’m allowed to consider helping with is the painting. I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to successfully complete a practical exam before I’m allowed to pick up brush on this project.

So, that’s all for now. Drywall is primed and we are looking to paint this week. Then flooring. Then vanity. Then toilet. Then I’m going to have the world’s longest spa day in this bathroom.

After The Big Guy of course!

To Gramma’s House We Go – aka – Back to the Forest, aka – Yes, We Wanted a Real Tree, Again…

December 22, 2014December 22, 2014 / Sarah / Leave a comment

Much like gathering the family around the telly for the annual viewing of Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer, Miracle on 34th Street, or even National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation,

ALL RIGHTS TO NATION LAMPOON’S CHRISTMAS VACATION – CHEVY CHASE

…it isn’t really and truly Christmas until The Bowery Girl posts her ~~now~~ annual Christmas Tree post. Last year’s went over so well, we just had to give it another go.

Our search party was smaller this year, as First Born Son was scheduled to work, and I choose to believe that Dad was with us in spirit. With my Mother’s blessing (but not participation- she had heard about last year’s antics), Second Born Son, The Big Guy, and I headed out into the great green yonder.

The Big Guy is making sure we have no issues with area hunters.

We passed the area where we found last year’s tree, certain that there were no suitable specimens from last year. We walked and walked. Eventually SBS was feeling the strain of the trek.

Piggy back ride anyone?

After all, it had been a solid 10 minute walk!

We cut across open spaces, since that is where the most evenly developed trees can be found,

…and SBS thought he’d found the perfect tree, but we thought it was a little on the small side.

Not bad, not bad at all!

Then The Big Guy thought he’d found the perfect tree!

Um, little full, lots of sap!

Then he suggested the one I was standing beside, but I quickly advised him I was not a “Scotch Pine” kinda gal.

Nooooooooooooo!

Finally, there was a choir of angels singing, a beam of light shone down and THERE IT WAS!!!!!

HALELUJAH!

Unfortunately, The Big Guy thought we were pointing at the tree BESIDE the one that SBS found!

Um, no.

Finally the confusion was clarified, and we decided we had our tree, thanks to SBS. Now, it was time to cut that bad boy down and haul it back. SBS was a little slow to volunteer, after what had happened to him last year, but his father convinced him that would never happen TWICE! SBS stood his ground, so it was The Big Guy who had to cut the tree.

Cutting,,,

We waited.

SBS taking the “supervisor” role.

You don’t realize how big the trunk of these darn trees are until you start sawing them!

Losin’ daylight here bud!

And then it happened!!

And he tells me he’s on the Health and Safety Committee at work!

The tree jigged when it should have jagged and SBS misjudged how tall he was in relation to the tree and it GOT HIM!

He might just make it doctor!

Once we realized there was no long-term damage, we propped him up and told him to drag the tree out of the bush. We’re awesome parents like that.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!

So like the trouper that he is, he agreed to pull the tree out of the bush. But he forgot how far we had walked to get into this little clearing.

No child labor laws were impacted by the removal of this tree!

The Big Guy is now supervising!

We told him it would put hair on his chest!

And before you know it – it was all trimmed up and decorated! Made all the blood, sweat and tears worthwhile! (Almost – right SBS?)

The purdiest tree you ever dun seen!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Sharp Dressed Man

March 12, 2014 / Sarah / 4 Comments

We all have our talents.

My Dad’s? He can look at you and tell you what size suit you wear. He knows if you should bump up to the “Tall” sizes, and when to advise someone to walk away, before they alter the crap out of their proposed purchase. It came in very handy throughout the 50+ years he work in retail, specifically men’s apparel.

While he always said he was thrilled to have daughters, none of us doubted his enthusiasm when The Big Guy came on the scene. Here was a tall, slim male that looked good in just about everything he wore. Before long, The Big Guy’s wardrobe was being revamped; a shirt given to Dad by a traveling sales rep, advice on what styles he should wear. For Christmas, the year before we were married, The Big Guy hit the motherlode – a garmet bag with a gorgeous pair of khaki pants, double-breasted navy blazer, a shirt and tie.

And it ALL fit.

Dad didn’t have to lay a measuring tape on you, he could eyeball your neck measurement; your arm length, your inseam, and he wasn’t off very often.

Suffice it to say, other than some sweatshirts and shorts, The Big Guy hasn’t had to buy any clothes from the time we were married. Dad’s wardrobe was expansive and impressive, so when he received purchasing credits, or simply found a great deal, he would pull it aside in the right size for his son-in-law. He was always proud of how my hubby looked and my hubby was thrilled to be turned out so well. I think Dad liked to dress his son-in-law in fashions that he himself could not carry off, even if was the latest look. He understood the art of making a person look good.

Four years ago, another suit showed up. Beautiful dark chocolate brown with stunning accessories. The caveat was that this would likely be the last suit; Dad was retiring as a suit jockey.

This is why we were so surprised when my parents combined The Big Guy’s Christmas and birthday presents; a shopping trip for a new suit! The Big Guy was thrilled and intimidated at the same time; he literally could not recall the last time he bought a suit.

I got to tag along, why I still don’t know, but the three of us walked into a major men’s clothing chain to capitalized on a huge sale. We were soon attended by staff member who was a confusing combination of overly helpful and neglectful. He wore a gorgeous salmon colored shirt with a bold tie, however, his pants were very on-trend and so tight he may have required surgery to fit his feet out the bottom. The long, pointed shoes he wore made him a genetic link away from Ronald McDonald. He wasn’t overly tall, and the length of his kicks indicated that he would NEVER blow over in a wind storm. His suit jacket was cropped short so you could see his butt and much more fitted around the waist. Don’t get me wrong, he was VERY stylish. Just not a style that was hitting any one of us.

While he did point out the area where we could find the size of suits we were looking for, he didn’t help us look for the suits. We grabbed an armful, located a dressing room and let The Big Guy go at it. Dad was keeping his distance, not wanting to step on the saleman’s shoes (and with those shoes, it would have been really easy). Ironically, the rep was nowhere to be found.

The Big Guy steps out of the change room with a look of horror on his face; he has on a pair of pants just like the sales reps. They are slim fit and mold to his leg, which causes him to shake out his legs, trying to make fabric drape like the regular-cut pants he’s used to. To no avail. He spins back into the change room. One down.

He steps out again with the second suit on and feels much more at ease, until out of nowhere we hear;

“THAT LOOKS TERRIBLE!”

It’s the phantom sales man. He’s popped out of a clothing carousel somewhere and declares the suit as simply unsuitable. The Big Guy’s face tightens and although Dad is trying to get some feedback from him, my poor hubby is having none of it.

This was a decent shot until we heard from the peanut gallery…

A third suit is modeled and again, the young salesman comes out with, “That’s SO wrong for you!” in a voice loud enough that people parking their vehicles are now in the loop.

The Big Guy is done. A quick tete a tete in the change room reveals what I thought to be the case; my husband doesn’t want to work with anyone else but his own stylist, my father. I agree to run interference with the sales rep while my Dad consults with my husband. They find two suits that are not only “RIGHT” but look great on him.

We move on to shirts and ties. The salesman is back in ready to roll. He brings out boring, old-looking styles because he’s picked up on the fact that this “old” customer and his “ancient” father in law are not going want anything remotely stylish.

The three of us proceed to blow his mind with our selections; purple, brown, plaids, patterns. He’s amazed at how well our choices work with both suits. I tell him that our style tends to be funky, (not freaky – okay, I left this part off!)

As we walk out of the store, we agree, that while it’s one thing to be a slave to fashion, but it’s quite another to know your own style.

And we also agree that when it comes to salespeople, my father is the last of generation.

Real or Fake: AKA Getting into the Spirit of Christmas

December 24, 2013December 25, 2013 / Sarah / 5 Comments

Real or artificial?

It’s a debate for the ages. Some suggest full and natural, the way God created them, is the best. Others think there is nothing wrong with the artificial version, and that sometimes perfection is attained through a manufacturer, not necessarily nature. This is especially true when you are particular on size, shape, uniformity.

You know we’re talking about Christmas Trees here, right?

This year I decided I’d really like a real tree. And then I furthered the concept by deciding I’d like to get one from Mom and Dad’s property. Dad was thrilled. Mom objected. Especially when I asked for one of these…..

So, I relented. After all, I didn’t want to look greedy. Dad was keen to help us out, and scouted a couple of locations. The problem was, everybody had an opinion about what kind of tree we should have. We struck out with the big truck, and headed back the lane way. After a brief search, the guys decided they found “The One”.

Ah. No.

So, we kept walking, and walking.

Then they found this one…

Really?

Still walking. Getting cold now people!

Then we came across this one.

Now we’re talking turkey! We all agreed, this was our tree. The Big Guy got the cutting started with the handsaw, and Second Born Son quickly took over.

He cut,

and cut,

and cut. Finally, we thought we heard something!

I didn’t think it was serious, after all, my father is howling with laughter. But it looked like assistance may have been required!

More than just a little ham was being served here, folks.

So after First Born Son took off to locate the truck, the rest of us debated the best route to get the tree out of the forest.

Why, yes, that is a water gun. Why is my father holding a water gun? Because he’s carrying it back to the house for SBS. Why do we have a water gun? Because we are looking for a Christmas tree…Do I have to explain EVERYTHING???

Finally, we are making tracks.

We load up the tree and take it home. Where, suddenly, something becomes apparent….

Yes, that’s the tree, upright, outside the house. Adjacent to the sliding glass doors. No photoshopping here, Jack. That tree is THAT TALL. Hmmmm. Wisely, The Big Guy decided to wait until I was at work to bring the tree in the house. We knew the tree would need a little trimming. The top was very spindly, so we figured nipping that off would solve the problem. What I missed was A LOT of trimming. A LOT of sap and, my favourite, a middle of the kitchen stump docking. Yes, A SAW IN MY KITCHEN.

Thankfully, when I came home, all I saw was this…

Let’s pause for a moment and note the amount of clearance between the top of my tree and my HAND PLASTERED CEILING!!! We opted for denial and started decorating.

Again, I’m going to draw your attention to the TOP OF MY TREE!!!

Finally, after covering ourselves in sap, spruce needles and glitter, we had ourselves a Christmas Tree! We had one last thing to do…

Folks, if my angel were to sneeze, she’d be wiping sap off her nose. The Big Guy crammed her on so hard, she might have to go out with the tree.

With my tree lit and angel ~~violated~~ installed, it finally felt like Christmas had arrived!

From our house to yours, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Hi! My name is Sarah!

September 13, 2013 / Sarah / 2 Comments

Okay, so we didn’t actually break up, stop being so dramatic!

The fact is, Summer is my favorite season and thanks to my ever evolving career (standard work week – yeah, shift work – BOOOO) I’ve tried to max my time outside as much as possible.

So let’s catch up, shall we?

For starters, this guy –

Has grown into this guy….

And folks, that photo is over a month old. The most recent check-up revealed that Roman is a fighting 33 kgs and Cane is 27 kgs!!!! He’s only six months old. I’m actually thinking about using him as a sled dog to get me to work this winter!

Naturally we watched ball. M&M was on a kick-ass team and had a very successful season at a number of tournaments, not to mention the Super-Duper Nationals in Nova Scotia in August. They won. Of course.

As you can see, she picked #22 because it is the date of the birth of her favorite Aunt. She’s so thoughtful that way. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

During the skills competition in Nationals she won for fastest runner.

Which is why THIS is such a dangerous posture for the opposing team.

First Born Son took to the field for his final year in ball.

And he had a great season! Lost in the finals for the A-Side Championship, but hey, going down swinging means there’s no shame in the game! He’s also had some other big events in his life.

Sumthin’ missin’ here? THE BRACES ARE GONE! We are really proud of the fact that he’s done so well in caring for this teeth, which meant the braces could come off early for all the late summer/early fall activities on the calendar.

However, we are still paying for the braces…… For a couple of months…. Seems wrong don’t it?

With a family wedding coming up, we needed a suit for FBS. Thankfully, my Dad was able to help us out with this!

With as much experience as my father has in selling suits, NOT taking him was not an option. Watching him flip through the fabric actually made my eyes a little leaky! Love how FBS is ROCKIN’ the running shoes, shorts and jacket look!

Second Born Son had easily the BEST. SUMMER. EVER. After starting with a party for his Confirmation….

…he only had a few short weeks until he left for camp….

…where the first thing they do is check for lice. I’ll give you a moment to scratch your scalp.

Better?

He also got his trip to Canada’s Wonderland, with his best bud, (who also went camping with him).

The two of them mastered the rides. While The Big Guy and I waved from the ground in a couple of instances.

This is Leviathan. It’s stupid big. We STARTED our day on this ride, and the boys ended their day with it. It’s so big, that when you think you should be at the top of the first big hill you look up and realize, you’re only half-way to the top!!!!

That is my child up there. I could not fit the top and the bottom of the hill in this frame. They loved it. I am apparently getting old.

We also enjoyed the prerequisite trips to the beach. We love laying out on a blanket and enjoying the sand. Until some ass comes along and parks right in front of us with la-z-boy style “beach chairs” that obliterate our view of the water. We’ve decided to stick with the more secluded beaches from now on!

Then there is “The Party”. We decided to have a pork roast this summer, which coincided with our 20th Wedding Anniversary.

Yup – did it up right. Got a tent, tables, and waited for the friends and family to arrive! Some even stayed over. We had our own little tent city!

Needless to say, the highlight was the pig. My parents had pork roasts on our farm and I’ve always remembered how much fun we had, and how good the food was!

SBS could have done without the head on the pig, but Roman didn’t seem to mind! Some wanted to contribute and brought their own favorite salads…

So if anyone left hungry, it was their own damn fault! We had a fire pit that night and enjoyed a huge breakfast in the morning for those who stayed overnight. The kids are ready to do it again.

I think I’ll need a year to think about it!

The boys and I headed to the beach with LS’s family and my parents.

The beach is my father’s favorite place. It’s a genetic thing as I’m pretty much ready to live near water NOW! The weather was perfect and the kids had a blast. ALL the kids…

**STYLE NOTE** LS has buzzed 85% of her hair off. And yes, she’s rocking it!

When I had to back to work (shift work – BOOOO) the boys had a little fun in Toronto.

The Hobbit House made out of Lego – such a wonderful, family-oriented place, Fan Expo…

…uh…ahem, where exactly is your hand my husband????

Okay, we’ll wrap this up now. Suffice it to say that it’s been a jam-packed summer and with the “fun” associated with back to school – FBS in Grade 11 (sniff sniff) and SBS entering Grade 8 (whaaaaaaa) I’m just starting to catch my breath now!!!

Would love to hear below how you spent your summer!

I Can’t Change, Even If I Wanted To…

July 17, 2013 / Sarah / 7 Comments

Indulge me and read the lyrics for this song below…

“Same Love”
(with Ryan Lewis)
(feat. Mary Lambert)

When I was in the third grade I thought that I was gay,
‘Cause I could draw, my uncle was, and I kept my room straight.
I told my mom, tears rushing down my face
She’s like “Ben you’ve loved girls since before pre-k, trippin’ “
Yeah, I guess she had a point, didn’t she?
Bunch of stereotypes all in my head.
I remember doing the math like, “Yeah, I’m good at little league”
A preconceived idea of what it all meant
For those that liked the same sex
Had the characteristics
The right wing conservatives think it’s a decision
And you can be cured with some treatment and religion
Man-made rewiring of a predisposition
Playing God, aw nah here we go
America the brave still fears what we don’t know
And God loves all his children, is somehow forgotten
But we paraphrase a book written thirty-five-hundred years ago
I don’t knowAnd I can’t change
Even if I tried
Even if I wanted to
And I can’t change
Even if I tried
Even if I wanted to
My love
My love
My love
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warmIf I was gay, I would think hip-hop hates me
Have you read the YouTube comments lately?
“Man, that’s gay” gets dropped on the daily
We become so numb to what we’re saying
A culture founded from oppression
Yet we don’t have acceptance for ’em
Call each other faggots behind the keys of a message board
A word rooted in hate, yet our genre still ignores it
Gay is synonymous with the lesser
It’s the same hate that’s caused wars from religion
Gender to skin color, the complexion of your pigment
The same fight that led people to walk outs and sit ins
It’s human rights for everybody, there is no difference!
Live on and be yourself
When I was at church they taught me something else
If you preach hate at the service those words aren’t anointed
That holy water that you soak in has been poisoned
When everyone else is more comfortable remaining voiceless
Rather than fighting for humans that have had their rights stolen
I might not be the same, but that’s not important
No freedom till we’re equal, damn right I support it

(I don’t know)

And I can’t change
Even if I tried
Even if I wanted to
My love
My love
My love
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warm

We press play, don’t press pause
Progress, march on
With the veil over our eyes
We turn our back on the cause
Till the day that my uncles can be united by law
When kids are walking ’round the hallway plagued by pain in their heart
A world so hateful some would rather die than be who they are
And a certificate on paper isn’t gonna solve it all
But it’s a damn good place to start
No law is gonna change us
We have to change us
Whatever God you believe in
We come from the same one
Strip away the fear
Underneath it’s all the same love
About time that we raised up

And I can’t change
Even if I tried
Even if I wanted to
And I can’t change
Even if I try
Even if I wanted to
My love
My love
My love
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warm

Love is patient
Love is kind
Love is patient
Love is kind
(not crying on Sundays)
Love is patient
(not crying on Sundays)
Love is kind
(I’m not crying on Sundays)
Love is patient
(not crying on Sundays)
Love is kind
(I’m not crying on Sundays)
Love is patient
(not crying on Sundays)
Love is kind
(I’m not crying on Sundays)
Love is patient
Love is kind

I heard this song for the first time last week and it had a profound impact on me. I bought it on Monday and I’ve been listening to it ever since, and every time I hear it, I have the same reaction. YES! This is everything I could ever want to say!

For me, homosexuality was not an issue. I don’t remember seeing my first gay couple. For my way of thinking, finding another human being who will love and accept you, that’s a beautiful thing. Maybe it’s because of my upbringing. My parents never voiced negativity about homosexuality, but in all honesty, it didn’t really enter our world. There were themes in movies and music, but my sister and I never got the vibe that it was “wrong”.

I remember sitting in church when it was announced that the United Church of Canada was the first Christian denomination to ordain gay and lesbian ministers. I was so proud. That was 25 years ago. In many ways, living in Canada has given me a perplexed view of the insanity going on about gay marriage in the U.S. What’s the big freakin’ deal?

Let’s look at it this way…

Sarah

female

mother, wife, daughter, sister

writer, photographer, dreamer, schemer, baker, closet singer

heterosexual

When the topic of homosexuality comes up, you would be the same but unfortunately, it seems to look like this…

Jane

HOMOSEXUAL

Lots of other things that make up who Jane is, but not nearly as interesting as

HER SEX LIFE

Whaaaaaaa?

I can guarantee you, I don’t want to move my sex life up my list of defining characteristics. Do you?

Here’s more food for thought. You wake up tomorrow and there is a new set of “rules”. You are no longer allowed to be with your partner. If you are male, society does not want you anywhere near your wife/girlfriend. You need to find yourself a nice man and settle down. If you are a female, forget having a future with your husband/boyfriend. Society, family, friends all try to convince you that you are confused, you REALLY want to be with a woman, right?

Imagine sitting in church and being told you are not loved by God if you love someone of the opposite sex? Could someone offer you a course that would make you accept a relationship you didn’t feel was natural to you?

Then why the hell would you expect that of a woman who loves another woman; a man who loves another man.

There is no “choice” in this. There is no “wanting” to be gay. Young people would rather die than bear the torture they experience because of how their DNA lines up. Hate crimes against the gay communities continue, regardless of the media focus and supposed moral outrage. This is why I’m saying this now. Here. I support my family, friends, and co-workers past and present who are all a part of SAME LOVE.

I fully expect to get some negative feedback about this column, and quite frankly, I DON’T CARE. I would rather be judged by small minded, backward thinking people than be silent and considered to be one of them.

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