Wednesday, September 19, 2012

The Ladybug Saga

He cried real tears.

They fell upon his cheeks, one after another and he sobbed...that real kind of sobbing that just makes you cry along.

He sobbed at the loss of his new friend who he met and lost all in the same day.

I'm talking of my 'Lil K.

Yesterday he was with a friend walking to school and they came across a bunch of ladybugs.  I wasn't there, but the story goes, if I remember correctly, that 'Lil K kept trying to get one to walk on him and finally one did.  He was so excited and said things like, "He likes me!" and "Oooh, it tickles."  You know, the things you say when a ladybug is waltzing up and down your arm.

I believe he walked all the way to preschool with his new friend on his arm.  Two peas in a pod...until...

He put his new friend in his pocket.

He thought it would be good to take him home and put him in a box.  (The ladybug is a "him", by the way)

But ladybugs don't belong in the pocket of your brand new skinny jeans...or any jeans for that matter.

It was the talk of the preschool..."The Ladybug Saga", I think the teacher called it.

When we got home he started to cry again.

I decided to take the above picture that my friend had sent me and frame it for him so he could always remember his little friend.  I showed him pictures of my husband's grandmother who had passed away, and pictures of my pets who have died.  I wanted to show him that we had pictures too; we've lost loved ones too.  It's a part of life and it's nice to have pictures to remember.

He kept telling me that his friend had died.

"HE DIED IN MY POCKET!", he wailed.

"Well, how do you know he is dead?", I questioned.  (Genius question, I know.)


(Oh, right.)

I then asked him if "he" was still in his pocket.

"He" was.

So I told him I'd get the ladybug out of his pocket and we'd bury it in the yard, that that is what people did when somethingone dies.

I got a tissue, and as gently as possible got the bug out of his pocket.  It was then I noticed something.

But of course it was in bad shape with a broken wing, at least one broken leg and probably numerous other injuries too small for my eyes to see.

As you can imagine, 'Lil K was beside himself with grief.

"I DON'T WANT HIM TO DIE!", he kept crying.

Since I'm of the mind that it's best to be honest with your children and just tell it like it is, I told him that he "might" not die, but he was in rough shape and that he probably would.  I tried to soothe him by saying that the ladybug had a great life, you were a good friend to him....yada-yada-yada...the things you say at times like this.

I decided the best thing to do for 'Lil K and his ladybug friend was to put "him" in the palliative care unit of our patio.  I got a plastic lid, some grass, a couple of leaves and some droplets of water (stop laughing at me!) and put him there to live out the last minutes of his life.

But "he" was a fighter.  That's obvious due to the fact he survived in the pocket of an almost 4-yr-old's jeans.  For hours.  He kept teetering along in his make-shift hospital bed, but I'm afraid it was futile.

First thing this morning, 'Lil K wanted to check on our patient.

As expected, Ladybug, had died during the night.

We found a box, put him in, along with leaf, grass and a clover and with Big Bro T  and spade in hand set off to find a nice spot to bury him.

It was a lovely service.

Since then I've had to remind 'Lil K several times that once we lay someone to rest, we don't then dig them up.

R.I.P. Mr. Ladybug.

Linking up with Greta 
over at gfunkified  


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Tuesday, September 18, 2012

The One

Two years ago today I married, The One.

The One I call "Babe" ...

The One I laugh with ...

The One I argue with ...

The One who kisses me daily ...

The One I kiss back ...

The One who frustrates me ...

The One I frustrate ...

The One I worry with ...

The One I dream with ...

The One I plan with ...

The One I grow with ...

The One I love ...

The One who loves me ...

The One who helped me create two amazing 'lil souls ...

The One who joins me in all my silliness!

Happy Anniversary to The One!

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Friday, September 14, 2012

Heart Age

The other day I was visiting my mum.  She will be 80 next week.  She lives in a care home just down the street from us so I'm lucky I'm able to visit her often.  She suffers from a form of dementia and whereas she still knows who we are when she sees us, her short-term memory is practically non-existent.  I'd say she has less than a five-minute memory.

We've been having some wonderful weather for the start of September, warm and sunny, so during our visit I wheeled her to the outdoor patio and we sat enjoying the sun for a while until it got too hot for her and then we moved under a 'lil gazebo to cool off in the shade.

These days the conversations I have with my mum are pretty much always the same.  Basically it is my mum talking about and asking about how old she is and how old I am.  That's pretty much it.

"How old are you?", she asks.

"45", I say.

"45???"  She is always shocked by my answer.

"And I'm 75", she says, most certain that she is correct.

I tell her, "Well, you're 79.  You'll be 80 next week, but you can be 75 if you want to be."

She's always in disbelief when I tell her she's going to be 80.

"I can't be 80.  How old are you?"

And so the conversation goes...

After a little bit, two other women came and joined us; one a resident in the home; the other, her younger friend.

There was chit-chat about the gorgeous weather and then my mum started asking me how old she was again.

"You're 79 and you're going to be 80 next week", I said.

I've long stopped being irritated by my mum's continuous questioning of people's ages.  She can't help it.  Every time she sees Big T, she asks him his age, every couple of minutes while he's there.  He's very sweet with her and just says politely, "Still 6".

She always laughs at that.

After about 5 minutes of hearing my mum and my conversation about our ages and the boys' ages, the younger of the two women sitting at the table with us asked my mum:

"How old are you in your heart?"

My mum seemed to instantly understand what she meant.

Without hesitation, my mum said, "40".

The woman asked my mum if that was one of the best times in her life and my mum answered that it was, because she had us kids.  I am her youngest and would have been 4 years old.  My brothers would have been 6 and 11.

The woman said in her heart she was 17.

I thought what a great way to think about age.

What age are we in our hearts?

Whereas I still feel like a teenager and am still surprised that I'm not carded anymore (or perhaps that's just vanity?), if you asked me what age I am in my heart, I would have to say 45.

That's somewhat surprising to me because I often find myself complaining about little things.  But as hard as this parenting gig is at times with all the whining, the fighting, the lack of a wardrobe (mine, not theirs), a house that is in a constant state of disaster, this is the best time of my life.

I know it is.

That's not to say I think it's all down hill from here.  Quite the contrary.  I feel people get better with age and if they don't, then they're doing something wrong.

Of course there are things I'd prefer were different.  I'd prefer not to have to work three nights out of the week and be away from my boys and my hubby.  It would be cool if I could get this extra weight off my middle, don a bikini and go on a cruise.  But these things are superficial.  They don't really matter.  (well, except the being away from the boys part, but that will change)

After this conversation with the lady at our table, my mum again asked me how old I was.

"45", I reminded her.

"How can you be 45 when I'm only 40?"

To that I just smiled.

And she laughed.

She's always laughing.

So I'm 45 and my mum is 40.

I've got to say, it's pretty cool having such a young mum.

How old are YOU in YOUR heart??

I missed linking up with Shell this week,
but I'm pouring my heart out anyways.

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Wednesday, September 5, 2012

One Thing I Won't Miss About Summer...

Well, September has arrived.

The sun is still shining; we're still wearing shorts & t-shirts, but there is definitely a change in the air.

A new school year has begun.

Yep, that's it.

Over are my our lazy mornings, staying in our pjs until noon or later...going where the wind takes us, when it takes us.

No more afternoons guzzling sipping a Strongbow in my favourite garden chair, feeling such pride as I gaze at what for sure would be my prize-winning green onions, at the same time feeling melancholy about the lack of growth in my carrots, planning next year's strategy.

Evenings at the beach playing 'til the sun sets will now be replaced with coaxing my new Grade One student to do some night-time reading and getting my wide-awake 3-1/2 year old to shut his eyes and Go The F*ck To Sleep so as not to mess with an already chaotic morning by not waking up in time to have breakfast before we rush out the door.

No road trips, no last-minute bar-b-ques, no bike rides, no runs through the sprinkler...

I'll miss those things.

But there's one thing I WILL NOT miss.

The seemingly nice Ice Cream Man in his seemingly innocent Ice Cream Truck, playing that seemingly fun, but more often than not out-of-tune music.

Nope, won't miss this one bit.

I've grown to despise him avoid him with all my might.

But he finds us.  Every time.

Sure, they seem fun and friendly, with all their cool, icy treats, but really, they taunt us, children and parents alike...drawing us to their trucks with their trancelike powers...those sorcerers.

They are just too much...the way they drive slowly past a park or a playground, stalking us, tempting the kiddies, making them scream those all-to-familiar words "IIIICE CREEEEEAM TRUUUUUUCK" and run uncontrollably in its direction.  We parents do not stand a chance against this type of seduction, this accepted form of cruelty.  At least I rarely do.

I know, I'm going on and on.

I have three reasons I dislike these trucks and the ice-cream pusher who resides inside.

Reason no. 3:  It messes with my already fragile willpower.

Reason no. 2:  Since it's summer and I've often let the wind take us to the beach/park completely unplanned and spontaneous, I rarely have enough cash in my wallet so the whole scenario usually ends in disappointment.

But the No. 1 reason I dislike the Ice Cream Truck:

UGH!  These are disgusting!

Check out the ingredients of the Dora bar:

* * * * *

Ice: water, sugar, maltodextrin, corn syrup, high fructose corn syrup, natural and artificial flavors, guar gum, modified cellulose, locust bean gum, mono & diglycerides, cellulose gum, polysorbate 65 & 80, carrageenan, citric acid, malice acid, pectin, yellow 5&6, red 40, blue 1, and annatto.
Gumball: sugar, dextrose, corn syrup, gum base, corn starch, artificial flavors, resionous glaze, glycerin, tapioca dextrin, carnauba wax, yellow 6, red 40, blue 1 BHT (to maintain freshness)

* * * * *

Now, I am by no means a fanatic when it comes to healthy food.  My kids get treats...too many treats.

I draw the line with these.

Of course the kids love them, they are like crack to them, with their tempting colours and likeness to their favourite cartoon characters.

But I've put my foot down.  I've been strong and not succumbed to the begging of my children.

So to the Ice Cream Man and his wicket confection, I say "NO!" and we will continue to enjoy other treats, like a regular 'ol popsicle, a regular 'ol ice cream sandwich, a regular 'ol fruit bar.  The treats of my childhood.  Still not the most ideal ingredients, but a little more acceptable in my mind.

Nope, will not miss the ice cream truck...not at all.

Sunday, September 2, 2012

A Coffee Lovin' Review

For those unaware, I am a coffee LOVER.  Lover, I tell you.  I'm sure I've written of it before.  I love all things coffee.  Coffee ice cream, coffee candy, coffee, coffee, COFFEE!!   When asked at a restaurant if I want dessert, I will most always choose a cup of steaming hot coffee instead!

He was my cream, and I was his coffee - And when you poured us together, it was something.

~Josephine Baker

Look, I can even get romantic over coffee.
So why am I blogging about my love for coffee?

Here's why:

"Delicious Goodness in a Cup!"

I was approached by Liz over at Nuvia Cafe asking me if I would like to review an exciting new product, a breakthrough in healthy coffee.  She said that they were looking for reviews of this new product and so were giving away free samples.


Did she say FREE SAMPLES???

Blinded by my love of all things coffee (and all things free), I thought about it for all of 1.3 seconds and then eagerly sent her my contact info.

I've received product-review requests from others in my over a year of blogging, but wasn't quite sure I wanted to take my blog in that direction, and no other product really ever caught my eye or suited my blog, in my opinion.

Until this.

So here it first ever review of a product.  (Ahem...)

First off, some background:

Nuvia is Sumatran Arabica coffee infused with a trifecta of legendary ingredients:  Ganoderma (an immune enhancer), African Mango (a natural appetite suppressant) and Pomegranate (a super antioxidant).  The Sumatran coffee beans are roasted to perfection yielding a superior flavor that is rustic, yet rich and full bodied.

It claims to support healthy energy, support immune health & is a premium appetite suppressant.  

I don't know about you, but I could use a good appetite suppressant in my life, especially after my overindulgent summer this year.

One thing I really like about Nuvia Cafe - other than its GREAT taste - is that it is an instant coffee.  I know a lot of people screw their noses up at instant coffee, but I'm not one of them.  In fact, currently I don't even own a French press or a drip coffee maker, so I absolutely love the idea of an instant coffee.  And this coffee is truly delish!  The convenient little pouches are great.  I love that I can just chuck one in my bag (or two or three) and take it with me.  All it takes is a mug, 6-8 ounces of hot water and a pack of Nuvia and you're set for a great coffee experience.