Aunty Housewife

I can't. I am a Lady!

2011-11-25T07:53:00.000-08:00

Ladylike behavior and the rules that govern it are very complicated. The need for charm schools is testament to how difficult these skills are to understand and master. I like to think of these rules as control top pantyhose that cut off blood circulation. They make me uncomfortable, angry, and they put me at a disadvantage. Disadvantage because I'm so busy scratching, adjusting, and fixing runs, I can't actually enjoy my life. Just recently I was told that I am not a lady. At first, I was pretty pissed. What?! Me! Not a lady? Then I felt relief. Thank God....I'm not allowing myself to be governed by those restrictive rules. This accusation did get me thinking though. Does it pay to be a lady?

I thought back to the way I was raised. Strange household where I got two very different opinions on how a lady should act. My father, who worked construction, encouraged me to enjoy all of the aspects of acting like a boy. I spent numerous hours on his construction sites loving every second of it. I could get dirty, operate heavy machinery, and swear like a trucker. He took me hunting and camping. He was very proud when I joined the reserves and completed basic military training. I ran around with cam stick on my face, stripped and reassembled weapons, and dug trenches. All very unladylike but truly delicious. My mother was the opposite. Wear make-up, cook and clean, don't go to university and college because that is a man's job, and get married as soon as possible. Very restrictive and not near as fun.

When I got older and outgrew my awkward stage (what my mother called the time that I was basically a really ugly tween), I like to think that I blossomed into a not half bad looking young woman (evidence provided in picture on left). At this point in my life, I decided to embrace, to a certain point, the rules of lady behavior. I read the Emily Post Etiquette Guide and followed the rules. The rules were tough and very specific. I have to admit that a certain amount of power came from following them. I got a lot of dates and rarely had to buy a meal. Gifts were bought and promises were made. Lucrative promises that implied that if I continued to act in a ladylike manner, I would be rewarded with a husband who would take care of me. Sounded lovely for awhile...until I finished college and turned down a marriage proposal. It had started to hit me. Being a lady meant I would have to spend the rest of my life following rules I didn't write and no longer particularly liked. The rules had become stifling and I wanted more.

I started to make my own choices based on rules I liked. Rules that I soon realized were made for men. I laughed loudly, I swore when I wanted to, I stood up for myself and felt no hesitation in calling someone out when they treated me in a way I didn't appreciate. Basically, I took what I wanted and stopped apologizing for it. Did not take long to feel the backlash. Society still does not feel comfortable with women behaving in this fashion. We get called bitches and sluts for simply living by the same rules as men and when we're really bad they tell us we are not a lady. Who made these rules? Emily Post may have written the book and women operated charm schools but I don't believe it was because they truly wanted to be shoved in a box. They realized that we had complicated territory to trek through and they simply provided us with a map.

I do not consider the successful women I know to be ladylike. I like to think of them as Dames. They feel no shame in showing they are as smart, or smarter, than the men they work with. They drink, swear, and demand. They self-promote and push themselves to the front of the line. Most importantly, they make no apologies for having, what is traditionally, the appetite of a man. The truth is, a woman can't achieve in this world if she is a lady....she must be a Dame. She must throw off the restrictive shackles of ladylike behavior and attack life with gusto. And if somebody tells them they are not ladies, they need to say, in a lovely charming manner with eyelashes batting, thank you. Then check their bank balance and comfort themselves with the fact that they're no lady!

There is No Place Like Home

2011-07-11T12:36:00.000-07:00

I recently came home from a trip to Ottawa and Montreal. While there, I visited with some people who are from Manitoba and, for various reasons, have decided to move out to Ontario and Quebec. The reasons vary and each person feels a little different about the home they left behind. It's a weird thing when people leave Manitoba. They either hate it with a passion (but insist on returning for vacations) or they remember it fondly. As for me, I LOVE Winnipeg and am not afraid to admit it in a crowd. Our passion for the city we live in is a pretty personal thing, so I try not to trash a person's hometown in front of them because there is really no place like home whether it is a place you were born in or have decided to move to of your own free will.

Granted, I have decided that Montreal is not my favorite place I've ever visited. I find it way too large and crowded. I felt scared, like the skunk my husband's cousin ran over with her bike on a family camping trip when they were kids. True story. I do get why people love it though and I wouldn't dream of telling a passionate French person that I feel like Winnipeg is definitely a superior city. I mean, I'm not THAT stupid! I just like knowing that in Winnipeg everything is about 20 minutes from my house. (This theory of mine drives my husband crazy because I'm always late due to this belief.) I will say that while there I really broke my vegan rule by eating a sandwich that I think 3 cows had to die for. Look at that thing! Anyhow...Montreal is lovely and people who live there have the right to feel very proud of their city...just like I do.

People ask Winnipeggers how can we stand living here. They look at us like we're crazy. We are the butt of constant jokes...but we're Winnipeggers so we can handle it. So here are my reasons why I live where I live and am very proud to do so.

*A family can actually afford to buy a house here without selling one of their children into slavery.

*I don't have to pay $10.00 for a cocktail at a lounge...that is just the craziest thing. Period.

*The Zoo...and I don't mean where they keep the wildlife. The Zoo is a Winnipeg institution. Who can resist the scary lure of the slightly funky smelling Osborne Village bar? For any Winnipeg teen, going to the Zoo is a right of passage. Just bring hand sanitizer. A lot!

*Which brings me to Osborne Village! That place has been around since hippies stopped washing. A mix of little stores, pubs, restaurants, and squeegee kids. It's right by my place and is the home of my favorite pub-the Toad! Which, just for your info, has hired a lovely new cook which makes it REALLY worth my trip.

*We have an incredible cultural mix in this city. As a result, the restaurant choices are endless. As a teacher, I benefit from the delicious goodies my students' parents send in. As I cross the room on potluck day, I take a side trip to India, the Philippines, and Portugal as I sample each lovingly prepared dish. As an extra bonus, this year my school hosted a cultural bake sale. I came to realize that the three most beautiful words in the English language are "cultural bake sale". I will never admit to how many samosas I ate. Safe to say that watching me eat wasn't a pretty sight.

*Due to our diverse culture, we host Folklorama every year in the city. We have about 40 different groups that set up pavilions where you can enjoy food, dancing, and music. On a good night, you can easily sample the wonderful things that 4 or 5 countries have to offer. Then, the next day, you get to do it all again. Other cities say they have this, but they don't....not on this scale.

*Fringe Festival...lots of great plays at great prices, lasts for days and days, and this year I get to watch my friend Lindsay perform.

*Hello!? Folk Fest! I don't go due to a strange and complex story involving a scary man with a beard (not Santa) that I don't like to talk about but the music festival allows lots of hippies to gather for days and dance around half naked and then spend the night camping out in beautiful Birds Hill Park. I say rock on hippies, rock on!

*We have fanfreakintastic beaches....deal with it.

*In winter we get snow. Lots of snow. White. Pure. Crisp. Perfect. On top of that, we get sun. The days are glorious.

*A fantastic opera and ballet company and so much live theatre, it would make your head spin. We have culture up the wazoo!

*The World Famous Palomino Club: giving hope to cougars for decades.

*Finally, we may have been the city that lost our NHL team but we took the loss with class, never gave up hope, chanted "GO JETS GO!" at every opportunity for any reason, and bought up those season tickets in minutes.

So, do I love my city? Hell yeah! Will I visit yours? If I can. Would I insult your city and point out all it's flaws? Never, because it's yours and you love it. That is good enough for me.

Thank God I'm Not Getting Any Younger!

2011-06-12T16:44:00.000-07:00

The kids I teach always seem surprised that I have little desire to be their age again. I proudly tell them how old I am and openly cringe at the thought of having to experience those horrific teenage years again. Why? Well, let me give you a list of the reasons I love getting older:

1. I am old enough to buy my own booze and when I do it isn't with change I've pilfered off of my Dad's dresser. As well, what I do buy is way better quality.

2. I never have to wonder if "He" will call cause he sleeps right next to me and knows he better call because I have the power to make his life miserable.

3. I never have to get ready for another date and I don't have to pretend that my date is funny when he isn't. I also never have to feign interest in topics of conversations that would come up on dates. If I'm bored now, I just leave the room.

4. My job does not require me to say "Do you want fries with that?"

5. When I put weird outfits together now, people just think I'm quirky. When you're a teen you are always one weird outfit away from being totally ostracized from the rest of the population.

6. I can buy as many chocolate bars as I want and eat them all in one sitting if I want. I mean, I wouldn't but it is nice to know that I can.

7. When I ridicule someone now I can use way bigger words!

8. If I really don't want to do something I am now cagey enough to get out of it. A skill most teens don't have.

9. If I see somebody being a total shit monkey to another person, I'm big and mean enough to stop them.

10. I, very rarely, have to run my own errands. This was a teenage dream that I shared with my friend Cheryl. We are both lucky enough now to have errand runners. When you're a teen you're constantly running errands for everyone. You're just a lackey!

11. If I REALLY want to go there, I can go there.

12. I never have to wear makeup again. Frankly, the stuff scares my husband and makes him think I'm up to something. The undertaker might slap some on me but at that point I'll just be happy I'm not the one having to apply the darn stuff.

13. I can afford WAY better shoes!

14. My hearing is starting to go in one ear, so that means that I only hear half of the stupid stuff people are saying.

15. I am quickly approaching what I call the "fist shaking" stage of my life. This is when you get to open your front door, shake your fist, and yell rude things at the neighbourhood children. Who wouldn't want that!

So bring on the support hose and false teeth. Oh yeah, false teeth! Teeth you can remove to brush. How cool is that?!

Conditional Love

2011-06-11T17:12:00.000-07:00

Conditional love is a pretty odd concept to normal families. Explaining it to folks who have grown up in a stable family environment can be complicated. They look at me in a confused manner wondering what planet I'm from and what kind of environment I was hatched in. It seems simple to me, but I was raised in it so I'm halfway versed in the intricacies. For the uninformed, conditional love is as follows: when you have been deemed worthy of love by parents and siblings... you get it. What is required to be deemed worthy changes constantly and requires a manual to understand. At 42 I STILL don't understand ALL the rules attached. It is a constant, painful, learning experience.

I was convinced, for a long time, that I was the only person that experienced this phenomena, but as I get older I have come to realize that there are a lot of other bruised souls walking around living in this strange predicament. We, as a society, are force fed images of normal families who love each other and communicate with ease. This, in my opinion, is a myth for a large amount of the population. We watch talk shows that tell us that we should constantly forgive the nasty things that our families do to us. I say BULL! There comes a time when you need to say that enough is enough. You can't pick your family but you can sure as hell walk away from one that treats you like a doormat. Some relationships can't be fixed and aren't worth the constant energy it takes to try.

Thankfully, I married a man who comes from a TOTALLY normal family. Sometimes, I swear he grew up in some 50's sitcom because his family seems so unreal. They love without condition and it took me a long time to get used to that concept. The love his parents give to me, their son, and their grandchildren never changes. It is constant and dependable. I don't think I can ever thank them enough for this. Mostly, it is my husband that amazes me. He is the one who has helped me to open my eyes to the dysfunction junction that is my family. By doing that, he has helped to set me free. Because of him, I know I am worth more and deserve more. I shouldn't have to beg at the table for scraps of love from my family. Neither should anybody else. If you aren't getting what you deserve, walk away. Find a new family. You can make your own. I have come to realize that I have done just that. I have made a new family. I have surrounded myself with the love of my husband's family, my wonderful children, my fantastic husband, and my incredible friends. My new family loves me without condition.

If this resembles your situation in any way, I encourage you to run! Find something normal. You deserve it. Be the best person you can be and ignore the bad press you've been getting. Life is too short to dance this dance. Sit this one out! Find some new partners and embrace something more worthwhile. I know I will!

Keith & Andrew's Excellent Adventure

2010-08-09T19:10:00.000-07:00

My husband recently had a to travel to Hong Kong on business. After much discussion, and more than a few concerns, we decided to let our 14 year son go with him. My husband is the sweaty guy on the left. Pictures really do tell a thousand words. My husband is the shade of a tomato and his shirt looks like it has been tattooed on. Meanwhile, the Boy looks as cool as a cucumber.

My husband was more than a little upset with me over this whole trip issue. He knew he had to go to Hong Kong way back in February. I told him to hold off until July, if he could, so I could go along with him. He happily complied. As the date got closer, I thought I would check on weather conditions in Hong Kong in July. Turns out the temperature sits at around 40 C and the humidity sits at close to 100. No way was I going! The only thing that stops me from becoming a mass murderer in summer is my air conditioner. I'm not joking. I have been known to fly into an uncontrollable rage if the car air conditioning doesn't kick in fast enough. So, not only was I not going but my husband was going to have to tolerate that weather because of my addiction to my air conditioner.

I made sure I packed plenty of clean underwear for them and sent them on their way. Turns out-I had made the right call. No sooner had they landed and the Facebook messages started about the heat. After a few days of heat complaints, things got ugly. I would log on to talk to them both in the early evening. The two of them would be sitting in the same room (no doubt scowling at each other) as they typed nasty things about each other. Nothing was off limits and thanks to modern technology I was able to moderate arguments on another continent. They complained how the other one smelled, how much the other one liked to argue, how unfair the other one was being. It was pretty darn funny to me because I wasn't there...thank God!

I was starting to get a little discouraged for two reasons: all the cash to send the boy and all he could do was complain about his Dad and they would be coming home and I'd have to listen to this stuff in person which would take some of the glow off the gifts I anticipated getting. Then...a miracle. Hot and tired they decided to head to a mall. My son spotted a sign for a rink. They looked at each other: two Canadian boys far from home and each hoped it was the right kind of rink. Andrew sprinted ahead and ran back with the news that it was a SKATING RINK IN THE MIDDLE OF HONG KONG! They slipped out of their sandals and slid into their rented skates, sans socks, and skated for 20 glorious minutes. They were giants as they broke all the safety rules and screamed by little kids pushing big plastic peguins for support.

Funny, but those 20 minutes on the ice managed to save the last little bit of their vacation. It's one of their favorite memories of the trip and in the end the trip did what it was supposed to: reminded them they still like each other.

My Mother-In-Law

2010-08-08T20:34:00.000-07:00

This is my Mother-in-Law, Linda. The one on the left. This picture scared me a bit because I realized we look a bit alike. I was thinking my husband and I should look a little closer at the old family tree to see if we are related. Our possible biological connection isn't the topic here. It's Linda.

I was married for the first time at the ripe old age of 19. It was the longest 6 months of my life. One of the reasons it was so brutal was because my first Mother-in-Law was Satan's handmaiden. I'm not joking-that woman was so evil it wasn't even funny. I could write a whole book on all the nasty stuff she pulled....maybe I'll save that for another time. I have to be grateful though, she paid for the entire divorce. I only had to pay for the annulment. As a side note-annulments crack me up. For the low price of $400 dollars the Catholic Church declared that I had never been married. Despite the fact that the Church said she was never my Mother-in-Law, I still have nightmares about her and harbour a deep, dark desire to smack her.

When I made the decision that my current husband was going to marry me, whether he liked it or not, I was a bit afraid because I knew I would have to deal with another MIL. I confess to being absolutely terrified about meeting her. My husband had shared a ton of stories about Linda and in all of them she came off as some kind of superwoman. It was with much trepidation that I made the long drive to Transcona (or as I call it-the Motherland) to meet her for the first time. Entering into that house was like stepping into some 50's sitcom. She was perfect, organized, and highly protective of her cub. We danced around each other for a fair amount of time. We are both pretty strong and opinionated (of course I have learned that Linda's opinions are usually the right ones and I call her for advice on big stuff). I admit we got into some scrapes...mostly because I didn't know what to do with how absolutely normal, loving, accepting, and giving she was. I didn't grow up with a mother like that so she kind of caught me off guard.

Linda is truly an amazing woman and I couldn't ask for a better grandmother for my children. She has made my kid's Halloween costumes, sewed all sorts of special blankets that they cherish like crazy, made them amazing birthday cakes, read to them, made Christmas cookies with them, attended more of my kid's sporting events then I have, sends them postcards from everyplace she goes for vacation, always seems to get just the right gift, makes every holiday special, and (most importantly) loves them unconditionally.

Linda has also been an incredible mother to me. I really hit the jackpot with her. She has always encouraged me, helped me when I needed it in any way she could, given me an example of what a mother and wife should be, bought me great Christmas sweaters, brought me back nasty thick rum from Cuba, gave me countless tips on cooking without even knowing it, didn't put up too much of a fight when her son said he was marrying me, turned a blind eye when I've raided her freezer and eaten her dainties, and (I like to think) has loved me unconditionally....except when she has wanted to smack me for something stupid I've done.

I hope I can be half the Mother-in-Law she has been. And don't get any ideas...she's mine and I'm not sharing.

Live in the Now Man

2010-08-04T20:16:00.000-07:00

We have become a society that waits. Folks sit around waiting for things to be just so. When things are just so, they figure they can really start living. When they get that expensive car they have been waiting for or when they get that fantastic house they have been holding out for, everything will be gravy. That always makes me kinda sad. People waiting to get before they can live. Life is now. Life is right in front of us and it is truly delicious. I know a ton of people who spend their time shopping, waiting, and wanting to get everything they think they need and I want to smack them. Put your credit card away and sit. Just sit and enjoy. Take a look around you. Now take a deep breath. It doesn’t matter what season it is. If you are sitting and relaxing and you take a great big nose full-it will smell great. Clear your mind of all the wants and needs that you think you have and drink in the day (or night). I think that most folks are filled with sadness because of that long list of things they think they need. It honesty sucks my will to live when people talk about their fancy new cars or newly built and professionally decorated monster houses. I start to clue out and think of potato chips as they describe all the little soul sucking details. Today I am enjoying a long list of very simple things:

• A good cheesy romance novel I took out from the library
• A beautiful sunny day that deepened the old summer tan
• An awesome dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes
• A badly groomed shih tzu who just wants to cuddle on my lap
• The joy of looking at the kids I made (with a little help of course)
• A really good rum and coke made by my extraordinary husband
• The idea of slipping into my bed in a cabin that needs a fair amount of TLC, which I won’t lose a minute sleep over

I also believe that in order to start living and enjoy the little things, you need to clean house. Not literally-don’t be crazy! I mean you have to get rid of the things that make you miserable. I have always been fascinated with the way people will keep folks in their life even when these folks make them unhappy. If somebody’s sole purpose is to take pleasure in making you feel bad- show them the door and tell them not to let it hit them in the ass on their way out. Just because you’ve known somebody since you were in diapers doesn’t mean you should give them a pass for every stinky thing they do to you. You have the right to be treated with respect and to be loved unconditionally (unless you’re one of those Predators I just saw in that movie-they don’t deserve to be loved unconditionally).

There is nothing wrong with guarding your happiness like Lindsay Lohan guards her cocaine stash. Clean out your trash, set limits regarding how much shitty behavior people in your life can get away with, and start enjoying the right now. Trust me-you're worth it.

Real Friends Carbo Load

2010-06-02T13:15:00.000-07:00

Maintaining female friendships is like walking barefoot through a weedy lawn. You never know when you'll step on thistles so you have to pick your steps carefully with the full knowledge that one wrong move and you'll be screaming in pain. Women don't fathom why men don't understand us better. Can you blame them? We don't understand each other, so men don't have a hope in hell.

Remember way back to grade school? Remember hanging out with groups of girls who you could never trust? Remember them turning on you in a flash? Remember that awful feeling of being totally alone as your former friends turned their backs on you? This is the reason why I, for the most part, picked male friends. They were pretty hard to offend, they were always fun, and they knew how to keep a secret.

One of my very best friends was a boy I met in third grade. His name was Derrol and as soon as our eyes met across the crowded classroom, we each knew we had found our partner in evil. There were no restrictive girl type rules on what we could or could not do. Nothing was off limits and our imagination ran wild with one new adventure after another. My memories of Derrol and all the ridiculous things we did together still make me laugh.

Our friendship carried on through the years and withstood years of separation when I moved to another province. Letters were exchanged and we would save our allowance to make periodic long distance calls. When I moved back at the age of 15, we picked up as if I had never left. It was during the summer between grade 11 and 12 that Derrol gave me a chance at something I had never had before: a friendship with a girl. He introduced his friend Cheryl to me before he left for a one year stint as an exchange student in Germany. I knew she was the one for me when she jumped on the idea for our first activity without Derrol: crashing a convention for lawyers. My theory was that it was a perfect place to meet men and she agreed. Our searching turned up nothing that day but I think we both realized that we had found something pretty special in each other.

Memories of our friendship have created a crazed mosaic that can only be interpreted by the two of us: school, our first apartment together, marriage, divorce, good and bad men, acts that bordered on the illegal, and death. Cheryl and I had stopped talking for a couple of years over something I'm sure neither of us can remember. It was during this time that Derrol gave us his final gift. We had all lost touch with Derrol for reasons that will remain private. One day Cheryl's mother saw his obituary in the newspaper. Cheryl called me to tell me and the pain I felt in that moment is something I'll never be able to describe. We slowly began to exchange phone calls and were able to find our way back to that friendship we used to share.

It has been years since Derrol passed away and Cheryl and I are back in the swing of things. Granted, we are bit too old for activities that border on the illegal and she tends to fall asleep on my couch when she visits (which puts a real crimp on anything that might take place after 9:00 pm). She is visiting this summer and I plan to put her down for an afternoon nap so I can take her for another late night skinny dip at my cabin. She told me that she had better stop eating carbs before the event. I informed her that with true friends one can carbo-load before skinny dipping and know that their secret is always safe. That's what good friends do.

Things I Thought About While Making My Class Watch A Boring Video

2010-05-21T16:16:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I ran a documetary in my Geography class. Students are different than they used to be. Used to be that when students walked into a classroom and found out they were going to see a film, it made their week. Not anymore. Kids are jaded. They want a choice of new releases, hot buttered popcorn, chips, dip, and something to wash it down with. Even then they'll complain. So, I shouldn't be surprised that my students didn't fully appreciate The People Bomb. I had to shush them constantly as I cruised the internet.

I used my time wisely. I started to imdb all of my favorite movies. I decided that I should make a list of the 10 best and worst movies ever made. I feel I am very qualified to pass judgement in this area. I love movies. I'd kill to be a movie reviewer. I'd also kill to be a restaurant reviewer. I'd REALLY kill to be a movie/restaurant reviewer, but I don't think that job exists....yet. So here are my lists. I'll start with the best:

Sid and Nancy: Oddly enough, I fell madly in love with Sid. I think that was an indication of the trouble I was going to have with men (until I met my husband of course).
Gigi: I can never resist watching this movie when I catch it on television. I think I've seen it well over a hundred times. I know I should be offended. The whole movie is about peddling a young girl off as some rich guy's tart. Still......
Gia: I love this movie! Brutal warning to women who worship at the alter of beauty.
Domino Harvey: I don't know how this movie isn't on everybodies list. I mean, that whole lap dance scene is enough to make it a classic.
Black Hawk Down: I have worn out 3 discs of this movie-that is how much I love it. I can quote whole scenes if need be. Sadly, there never seems to be a need. I'm still trying to figure out a way to show this to students.
Scarface: My friend Cheryl and I had a horrible drinking game to go with this movie. It involved 2 litre bottles of coolers and oreo cookies for every death. We watched for different reasons: she wanted to be Elvira and I was in love with Tony. Once again, early indication of potential issues with picking men.
Shaun of the Dead: Shaun reminds me of two of my high school boyfriends. I love his dedication to saving his girlfriend, his mom, and his roomie. His whole zombie-safe-place plan is seriously flawed but I respect his desire to ensure cocktail service during a crisis.
The Family Stone: I know it is a major cheesy movie but I love it. I have a copy for the lake and for home. I cry every time. I went to see it the first time with my two lovely nieces and we thought it was going to be a full on comedy. We were a bit ashamed when we kept breaking out in tears. Little eye contact was made upon exiting the theatre.
Super Troopers: I once dragged my friend Cheryl to the lake in the middle of winter so we could watch it at the cabin. I didn't have a copy here and it just seemed like the logical solution.
Trainspotting: Adults think that if we give kids long lectures on drug abuse they'll stay away from the stuff. I disagree. Show them Trainspotting. Best anti-drug movie every made. Brillant movie and a brillant book.

Now for the stinkers:

Avatar: Haven't seen it but I hate it.
Titanic: Are you kidding me? This movie was so horrible. I was actually cheering for the iceberg by the end.
Twilight: We ended up watching this at the lake when we realized we had seen every other movie at the rental place. My daughter was 16 then and even she was gagging. This movie is beyond stupid and it is every guidance counselor's nightmare. They get to deal with hundreds of girls who think that this is romance. It really does border on an abusive relationship. Rankles my feminist side.
Dances with Wolves: Yes, the Lakota really needed Kevin Costner to help them find buffalo. Note to Kevin Costner: read a book you moron!
Once Upon a Time in Mexico: This movie stunk in 2 languages. I was forced to go see it with a woman who picked movies based on what the actor looked like. It was 2 hours of hell. I asked them to turn the sound off but they weren't biting.
Blue Velvet: This movie was 5 kinds of crazy. I watched it in 1986 and I'm still trying to figure out what it was about.
Meet the Fockers: Really? This guy wants to marry this woman after meeting this family? If your future father-in-law is that crazy, you run. I should have taken this advice when I met my first mother-in-law.
I am Legend: Did they really have to kill the dog? That ruined the whole movie for me. Shame on you Scientologist Will Smith!
Any of those American Pie sequels: Know when to say no!
Lorenzo's Oil: I think only 20 people have ever seen this movie. I think 18 of them were people related to people in the movie. My husband and I are the other two.

Like it or lump it-that is my list.

The First Sign of Summer? Pea Salad!

2010-05-05T17:24:00.000-07:00

I have foggy memories of eating this salad as a kid. Very foggy. My mother was into health food way before it became popular, so she NEVER would have made this. I must have sampled this ambrosia at some friend's house.

Whose mother grinds her own wheat for homemade bread? Mine! She also tried to pass off carob whole wheat cookies as chocolate chip cookies. This was just cruel and I'm sure she could have done time for child abuse if I had been strong enough to report her. My ridiculous fat and sugar free diet made it hard for me to gather the strength to dial 911. The woman used to buy this freshly ground peanut butter from the health food store. It tasted like wallpaper paste and had the same consistency. I used to dream of the day that I would be able to buy Kraft peanut butter and smear it on gooey white bread. I never even knew Wonder Bread made hamburger buns until I met my husband. My mother always made these uber whole wheat buns and that is what was served on hamburger night (Hamburger that she ground herself to control the fat content). The woman was mad!

This salad has no nutritional value. It has lettuce, tomatoes and peas but the cheese, bacon, and Miracle Whip cancel out the health benefits of the vegetables. Thank God! I make this all summer long at the cabin and it lasts about 1/2 hour each time. Competition can get ugly so you need to get in there fast and make sure you get a big enough portion.

To enjoy, follow these idiot proof instructions:

Finely slice, wash, and spin the hell out of a head of iceberg lettuce. DO NOT use romaine. Ewwww!

Layer the lettuce on the bottom of a clear bowl. The clear bowl is to ensure your guests Ohhh and Ahhh over your creative capabilities.

Thinly slice purple onions and layer them on top of the lettuce.

Add a layer of thawed frozen baby peas (one small bag should do it). I take them out of the freezer about 1/2 hour before I need them.

Add a layer of diced tomatoes.

Mix 2 cups of Miracle Whip (For God's sake don't use light!), 1 tablespoon of sugar, 3 tablespoons of cheap Parmesan cheese, and 2 tablespoons of milk. Layer that artistically over the tomatoes.

Put a layer of shredded medium cheddar and follow that up with a lovely sprinkling of bacon bits.

Hide it in the back of the fridge behind something disgusting so your family doesn't see it.

Take your portion before you serve it to your family.

Enjoy!

Kentucky Fried Chicken: The Not So Silent Killer

2010-05-05T04:53:00.001-07:00

When I was a stay-at-home mom, I used to make the trek to see my sister in Saskatchewan on a fairly regular basis. To most people, this might seem crazy because my sister has 6 children and I have 2 and getting them together means we are outnumbered. I was never afraid though, my sister has arms like Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2, so I knew she could protect me if things got ugly. I once watched (emphasis on watched because there was no way I was helping) her haul railroad ties around the backyard, while 8 months pregnant, so she could make her kids a huge sandbox.

My sister is a sucker for punishment. Despite the fact that she has a herd of children, she would always be inviting more over to play or sleepover. I mean, what kind of sick masochist does that? My sister, that's who. Her reasoning, which turned out to be completely sound, was that if you have more over you hardly see your own because they are too busy with their friends to bug you. Genius! It works like a charm. So when I got there I would only catch fleeting glimpses of my children. Usually, when they wanted to eat. This brings me to the whole thing of Kentucky Fried Chicken being a not so silent killer.

This particular event happened during a summer visit. The weather was lovely and the kids were busy running around outside. My sister and I formed our plan. We would tire them out, feed them lunch, and send them off for their naps. Once they were in bed she would race off and pick up Kentucky Fried Chicken for JUST the two of us. We would enjoy our meal in peace in the backyard and we wouldn't have to share. Now, this might sound very selfish but when we would take the kids to a restaurant we were guaranteed three things: we would go broke feeding them all, we could count on them filching food from our plates, and after the meal the table would look like a war zone and we would have to slink out in shame. Now and then, a mother just wants to eat a meal in peace without the risk of dirty little fingers stealing the best bits off her plate. We also would like to eat our entire meal without spills, fights, and tears. That day, victory was within our grasp.

Kids tired, fed, and tucked in. My sister hopped in the van and sped off to the only KFC in town. I made sure the little terrorists stayed in bed and fell asleep. Just as they were nodding off my sister returned with greasy bag in hand. She had this glassy eyed look that we both get when we know we're going to eat something we know we shouldn't. (My sister and I both have this strange little ritual we perform when we eat something really good: we gently rock side to side, close our eyes, and produce a string of happy sighs. My Dad thinks this is pretty funny.)

My sister barked out orders like the fine military leader she would have made. I was told to grab the coffee and ketchup and meet her in the backyard post haste. We sat down and spread out the bounty, being careful to make sure we divvied up things evenly, and dove in. Now my sister and I had become pretty fast eaters. You have to be when you're a mom. You don't know how much time you'll have so you better move. We were eating at the speed of sound and that's when it happened. My sister started to choke. By the sounds of it she had one huge chunk of chicken lodged in her throat. After some panicked coughing, choking, and a bright red face my sister dislodged the offending chicken and was able to breathe again. I freely admit that I did nothing to help her. I was too busy covering my food from any fallout.

You would think this near death-by-chicken experience would have produced cries of relief and hugs to celebrate her making it through this terrifying event. It did not. We went right back at it but we did slow down. I reminded her that the kids were asleep and this afforded us plenty of time to chew. There was no need to make like foie gras producing geese and shove food down our gullets. So we leaned back in our lawn chairs, basked in the afternoon sun, and sighed our way through chicken, fries, and that really gross green coleslaw that KFC insists on putting in their meals.

Death Match: Predator vs Barney

2010-05-03T08:04:00.000-07:00

I freely admit that I mother by the seat of my pants. I'm pretty easy going about most things and leave my kids a fair amount of wiggle room. Despite this fairly lax attitude in most areas, I do have one hot spot. One area I refused to give on. Barney. My kids were not allowed to watch Barney.

Oh, I turned it on a couple of times to check it out but I could literally feel myself getting stupider. If it could affect me that quickly, imagine what it would do to my two innocent children. No, Barney was just plain evil. Don't even get me started on the Wiggles. If you want to have your kids watch a show with gay men on T.V., switch to Queer Eye for the Straight Guy because the Wiggles just give kids the wrong impression. No self-respecting gay man would drive around in a car like that, wearing sweaters like that, singing songs like that. Enough said.

So what is a stay at home mother to do if she boycotts Barney and shows of the same ilk? (Yes, I was a stay at home mom for years and stay at home moms, no matter what they tell you, need to flip on the old blue eyed babysitter once in awhile.) I made the decision that it was time for Predator to make its premiere in our home. Now, some would say that Predator is way too violent for young children to watch and that it will lead to horrible nightmares. I say the nightmares can't be any worse than those caused by some guy in a Barney suit singing that stupid "we all love everybody" song. I feel my kids have learned some very important lessons from Predator and I'm willing to list them:

Aliens are not nice and we should stop that whole trying to make contact with them.

You can be in a movie like Predator and still go on to be the governor of your state. Hell, Jesse "The Body" Ventura managed to do it after getting a basketball size hole blown through his gut in the movie. Now that's a lesson in perseverance!

You can use any of the handy booby trap tricks Arnold shows in the movie in case you are being pursued in the jungle.

Covering yourself in wet mud seems to make you invisible to those who are really angry and bent on hurting you. This could come in handy someday. One of your children might end up in a very unhappy marriage with a partner that picks on them constantly. Predator tells us that all you need to do is roll around in some backyard mud and you should become invisible to your overly aggressive partner. John should have used this tactic with Kate.

One character has a nervous habit of dry shaving with a pink razor when in stressful situations. This lets kids know that there is always time for good personal hygiene.

Predator only hunts those who are armed with weapons. This teaches kids that weapons are bad and owning one could cause a Predator attack. Now that's a good lesson!

Predator seems to really like going after those who hang around in large aggressive gangs. The guy on his own seems to have a better shot. Lesson learned? Gangs are bad and you should be your own person and that you don't need large groups of friends to feel safe. Large gangs make you a target for aliens.

Learning a second language is just a good idea. You never know when you might be stuck in some Central American jungle with a woman who only speaks Spanish while being pursued by an angry Predator. You don't want to get caught with your pants down on this one. My son is now learning Spanish for this reason alone.

Shooting willy nilly at nothing in particular is just a waste of ammunition. Actually, I learned this lesson in the Army Reserves but it is one that everybody should be reminded of now and then.

Arnold Schwarzenegger looks mighty fine sweaty and shirtless. Actually, that isn't a lesson for the kids. That was the just the bonus for me when I watched with the kids.

Christmas before last we went on a family trip with the kids to Puerto Vallarta`. We went zip lining at a location where they did a lot of the filming for the movie. Sort of a family pilgrimage. We had a hoot, except for when some guy dressed up as Predator jumped out of the jungle to scare me. I screamed like a woman possessed and almost knocked him out with my zip lining metal thinger. Lesson learned? Predator is very afraid of being hit by metal zip line thinger. Suffice to say that we would NOT have had the same fun on a visit to the Barney set.

The Only Woman I Know Who Wears a Dress to Tree Plant

2010-05-01T23:25:00.000-07:00

I was just cruising around Facebook and found a video a friend had posted. I took a moment to watch it. Simple little video she did for an assignment for an Education class she was in a few years ago. I found myself getting a bit teary eyed watching it. The video shows my friend, a physical education teacher, enjoying some everyday activities. The video was meant to inspire students to get moving and enjoy life. If you don't know her, you would take the video at face value. If you ARE lucky enough to know her, you get a little glimpse at what a truly amazing women she is.

I met her years ago while I was doing my B.A. at University of Manitoba. Actually, I didn't meet her at first.....I just watched her. We were both taking classes in Native Studies and I would catch myself staring at her in class. She is truly one of THE most beautiful women you will EVER meet. You can't take your eyes off of her. She would slip into class wearing some Value Village find with her hair styled in a fab faux hawk. Her beauty was effortless and it was obvious that she was totally unaware of it. I had to bring my young son to class a couple of times and he quickly fell in love with her. Desiree was my son's first crush and I take great comfort in the fact that my son shows such incredible taste.

After I was done my B.A., I started on my Education degree. Guess who walked into my first class? Desiree! We recognized each other and I finally got the chance to really get to know her. Turns out, her personality matches her looks. We became friends and I consider myself very lucky to have her in my life. Desiree is one of those friends that you count your blessings you have. This became evident when one of her longtime friends was diagnosed with cancer. Desiree wasn't a friend to cut and run when things got nasty. She stuck. I was in awe of her commitment to her friend. She threw herself into fundraising and even shaved her head and donated her hair for wigs when her friend started chemo. She helped her friend throw an absolutely wonderful social, where we all got the chance to dress up in goofy prom dresses, all to raise money for her friend to fly back and forth to Ontario for experimental treatment. Desiree hung in until the bitter end. Her friend lost her battle and it was agnozing to watch Desiree experience the loss. Even now Desiree stays committed to her friend's memory. She remembers her late friend in a thousand different ways and honours that memory.

So, when I watch this little clip I see glimpses of Desiree particpating in fundraising events for cancer, I also see her play with her gorgeous little niece, rake leaves in her yard, do a little yoga, bike, and throw a football in the park with her partner. I get an extra bonus though, because I know her. I see more. Desiree isn't just performing these physical tasks. She is gracing us with her beauty, goodness, and strength.

Thank you Desiree.

Now enjoy her video:

My Son and the Side Boob Hour

2010-03-21T07:55:00.000-07:00

I'm a bad Mom. I let my kids watch hours and hours of Family Guy. I've even purchased season collections for them. Worse is that I watch it with them. As much as possible. Then we drive my husband, who doesn't share our love of the show, insane with our constant references to the show. The quotes drive him right up the wall. This is just an added bonus.

Our favorite episode is PTV. This is the one where Peter, with the help of his dog and his baby, start their own television station. One of the fine shows they air is called The Peter Griffin Side-Boob Hour. A whole hour is devoted to men getting a chance to see some side boob. If you have a son you realize that they pretty much spend most of their time trying to get a look at any kind of boob and side boob ranks pretty high in forbidden glimpses. Actually, my husband says that it isn't just teenagers. All men do this.

My son got his first glimpse of free boob (free boob is our family's term for any boob a man gets to see in a public place without having to pay for it) when we were on a ski vacation in Banff. My husband was packing up the vehicle and my son was playing around at the back of the hotel. By chance, he looked up and there it was: FREE BOOB! A young woman was getting changed right in front of the window without a care in the world I think that, in my son's mind, he must of heard angels singing and harps playing. It was magical. He ran over to my husband to tell him what had just happened. My husband listened and told him that seeing free boob was just like finding a four leaf clover. My son could count on good luck for a long period of time because of it.

I felt lucky for a whole other reason. If he liked boob it meant I might be able to count on a grandchild from the kid. I was NOT worried about my boy being homosexual. I don't care what my kids are as long as their happy. Either way would have been fine with me. But the whole grandchild thing would have been harder and I might have been forced to wait longer. This is bad because I hate delayed gratification. My only worry is grandchild worry. I only have 2 kids and my daughter has made it clear that she will NOT be having children because they will touch her stuff and the mere idea of children touching her stuff is enough for her to say "NO" to the idea of having kids. In the end, I don't care who has one and how they have to go about getting it. I just want one. Sorry, that had nothing to do with side boob. I'll get back to that.

Last summer my son got his first job. He worked at the little grocery store at our lake. The store is full of women in bikinis in the summer. It isn't hard to see why my son likes his job. When he leaves for work he yells that he's off to watch side boob. One day he came home with a story to tell that went beyond the side boob. He had been standing at the counter watching a lovely young lady in a suit a couple of sizes too small for her when the boob gods smiled at him once again. She leaned over and her boob popped out. His vantage point was a definite asset because she couldn't see him looking at her. Low and behold, she didn't even notice right away! Took her a bit. When he told me the story I reminded him that it was a sure sign of good luck. He agreed that he had indeed felt pretty lucky.

Now I suppose that this whole idea of side boob and free boob should go against my feminist belief system. I suppose I should be telling him to never view women as objects of lust. In my own defence, I have raised him to treat women with much respect and that women have the same rights as men. He knows that violence against women is wrong. I should put an end to the notion of side boob and encourage him to look away. Maybe I should tell him to gently let the woman know that half of her hooter is hanging out. Maybe I should tell him to look away quickly if he sees anything remotely side boobish.

No. I don't think I'm going to that. I'm not going to ruin his fun. I'll let his future wife (who I am sure I won't like because she will never love him as much as I do) ruin it for him. I think I will continue to treat free boob and side boob kind of like I treated Santa Claus. Something magical that should be celebrated.

In the Hack with Lululemon

2010-03-19T18:28:00.000-07:00

Lululemon claims to make yoga-inspired athletic apparel. Go to the website and you will see happy and healthy people looking great in the stuff. Lululemon has a dark side though. A side it doesn't want you to see or know about. Truth is, Lululemon is just clothing for fat chicks who jut want to wear sweatpants all the time. How could I make that claim? What evidence do I have? Truth is, I'M a fat chick who just wants to wear sweatpants all the time. This is my story.

Despite my yearning to get away with wearing sweatpants all the time, I stayed away from Lululemon. Sure, the pants were nice enough to wear to work but I am just way to cheap to shell out that kind of money. What person in their right mind spends $98 on something called a Groove Pant? Give me $10 and I'll find you a perfectly good pair of sweatpants from Value Village. You're on your own trying to get the Value Village smell out. I only agreed to find them and buy them for you.

I was forced to break my ban on Lululemon (I frequently place bans on places that offend me and then am forced to rescind the ban when my need becomes too great) when I took up the most embarrassing sport known to women. Curling. I am convinced that curling was invented by men so they could see just how huge our asses really are. Curling leaves a woman with very little pride. You get down into that hack (I just used the curling term "hack" here to impress my husband with my ever growing knowledge of curling terms) and you can't hide ANYTHING! So my friend told me I should just waddle on down to Lululemon and they would fix me up with some pants that would cover that whole mess up.

I went at the only time I figured I could buy something at a price low enough not to cause me to rant at one of the granola eating, non-armpit shaving, peace loving, employees. Boxing Day. They actually had a line outside the door with a velvet rope and a doorman. As soon as I made it inside I grabbed some of those fancy Groove Pants and headed to the changing room. I have to confess that I was expecting something pretty spectacular for that price. My sister claims that it hides every problem area. She lied. My laughter could be heard over the din of shoppers. Those suckers didn't hide anything. They actually accentuated every nasty flaw I had and I discovered a few new ones I hadn't known about.

I made another cruise around the store and headed for the clearance rack. That is where I found them. Something I hadn't seen since the 80's. No, not the Thompson Twins. Stirrup pants! Stirrup pants in all their glory. Yes, Lululemon makes stirrup pants. I snapped those suckers up and bravely faced the changing room again. It was then and there that I had my Lululemon moment. They fit, they hid, and they didn't ride up my leg. As well, they have this handy roll up waist that goes mid-back so I no longer have to suffer the agony of curling crack. And you know what? Those things only cost me $29 a pair. So I bought 3.

So, now I am a fat chick who gets to wear sweatpants all the time. Lululemon has not inspired me to become athletic but they have provided me with an inner peace that is supposed to come from yoga. I'm pretty pleased with that.

Olympic Whining-The Newest Event

2010-02-20T10:31:00.000-08:00

Olympic whining should be an exhibition sport at the next Olympics because some people are seriously training for the event.The Vancouver Olympics had not even started and people were jumping on the whine wagon. It all started when Georgian luge competitor Nodar Kumaritashvili was unfortunately killed in a training run on a track that folks were quick to call way too dangerous. The opening ceremonies offered a wide range of targets for more complaining. People were late, that whole prairie scene was lame, the arms of the Olympic cauldron malfunctioned, and then (for shame) Wayne Gretzky travelled in the back of a truck to light the cauldron by the harbour. The weather has even come under criticism. How could the Winter Olympics be held in a place that can not promise snow? Bashing these Olympics has become it's own event and I can think of a few folks who should be standing at the top of the podium to get their medals.

Here is a little news flash: people have died at the Olympics before! A cyclist died during a race at the 1960 Summer Olympics in Rome. A British luger died in a trial run at the 1964 Winter Olympics in Innsbruck, Austria. I clearly remember the nasty death of Swiss skier Nicholas Bochatay at the 1992 Winter Games in Albertville, France. This poor guy was just getting in some practice before the end of the games and hit a snow-grooming machine on the way down. I think running into a snow-grooming machine ranks right up there with worst ways to die. Then there was the bombing at Centennial Park during the 1996 Atlanta Games that killed two people and wounded countless others. Of course we can not forget the 1972 Munich Summer Games. Terroists killed 11 Israeli athletes and coaches while the world looked on in horror. These events are barely mentioned when talking about Nodar Kumaritashvili, only complaints about how poorly designed the sliding track in Whistler is and how a death was inevitable. Really? A death in luge was inevitable? What a shock! Sliding down an ice-coated chute at over 100 km an hour with no padding might result in a death? Comes as news to me. Frankly, I'm surprised when sombody does not die during a luge event.

The complaining over the opening ceremonies really gets my goat. It was fantastic and shame on Canadians for finding fault. Sure some stuff was a little cheesy but I can not recall seeing one pretty little Chinese girl lip-synching for a girl deemed too ugly to appear on television like we saw at the Beijing Olympics of 2008. Our opening ceremonies featured the chunky slam poet Shane Koyczan, with full neck beard, on a raised pedestal. No need to hide this guy because he did not fit some coookie cutter idea of perfection. His talent was what brought him there and that is why we should applaud him.

Now I'm reading articles that the ceremonies just were not ethnic enough. The opening ceremonies gave us a glimpse of every part of Canada. It would have been impossible to feature every ethnic group that lives in our country and it is ridiculous even to suggest it. We had a lesbian singer, Aboriginal Peoples dancing and singing, and our gorgeous Hiatian born Governor General Michaelle Jean officially opening the Games. What more do you want? Should they have thrown perogies at the audience? And really, so what if the cauldron did not rise up in the manner intended. In typical Canadian fashion the problem was overcome and we made due. The only person who is allowed to complain about the malfunction is Catriona Le May Doan. She was the only one ripped off.

Finally, the weather. Canada can not control the weather. It just so happens that a warm spell picked this time to appear. The folks involved in the Olympics have knocked themselves out transporting snow to ensure that the games could continue and they have done a great job. All the events at higher elevations are just fine but when you run an event at a low elevation like Cypress you are bound to have problems. Anybody who has ever skied knows that, at this time of the year, spots like Cypress are a crap shoot. Maybe we should be giving ourselves a pat on the back for hosting an Olympics that has worked hard to be as green as possible. At least Olympic organizers did not have to schedule events around air pollution like the Beijing Olympics!

If Canadians can claim one unifying trait it is our eagerness to believe and accept every nasty thing other countries say about us. Stop it right now! I say pull up a chair, grab a fine Canadian beer and enjoy watching our incredible athletes do one hell of a job.

10 Things Nobody Tells You About Marriage

2009-10-27T19:06:00.000-07:00

Miraculously I have managed to stay married for almost 15 years. This is a pretty huge accomplishment since I'm no slice of joy to live with. I give most of the credit to my husband. The man has the patience of a saint.

I know some younger folks who are planning their first wedding. They are so filled with joy and cotton candy dreams about what life will be like once they are married. I have to bite my tongue when they tell me how wonderful their marriage will be and how they will not be the kind of couple to fall into nasty ruts. Hah! As an experienced veteran I know the truth. I battle with my inner demon over the question of telling them the truth or allowing them to live in their little fantasy worlds. I think I might just print up the following list and slip it into their mailboxes.

10 Things Nobody Tells You About Marriage

Your husband will develop ear and nose hair. You will notice these hairs and tell him that it might be time for a trim. You might even end up doing the trimming yourself.

Initially you will worry about what your husband is wearing and you will spend considerable time shopping for him and giving him advice on what looks good. Quicker than you will believe possible, you will stop caring. You'll have enough to worry about getting yourself and the kids ready. I have lied to my husband when he has asked me if items match. I figure if he doesn't know his colours yet, it's just too late.

Planning time alone once you have children will be like planning a military campaign. Much effort will go into it and there are bound to be casualties.

You WILL consider your husband snaking the tub drain a truly romantic act. As a side note: let him brag about the size of the clog. It will make him feel manly.

At some point in your marriage your husband will buy your Valentine's Day gift at Safeway. Just be glad he didn't shop at the gas station.

Don't fool yourself, your family is just as crazy as his is! In my case-crazier.

He doesn't care about the colour of the shower curtain. In fact, he really doesn't care about any colour schemes that you might be cooking up. In my husband's case-he doesn't even know what a colour scheme is.

He will have some crazy ritual that he does with his friends that will embarrass the hell out of you. I won't even say what my husband's is. Suffice to say that all the women who are partnered with his friends, along with me, just grin and bear it.

You will slave over a meal for him and serve it with pride and he will be totally grossed out. You. Not me. Everything I cook is great.

You will argue. You will scream and use language that no self-respecting trucker would be caught dead using. If you don't fight there is something seriously wrong with you. If your expectation going into marriage is that you will never fight you need to rethink this whole thing right now. Just throw a party for you and your friends and wear your dress to get the whole wedding thing out of your system.

Those are some of my truths. I don't make the rules I just live by them.

My New Obsession

2009-10-25T09:27:00.000-07:00

I recently came back from my sister's farm in Saskatchewan with bags of lovely fall vegetables. My sister plants a garden that produces enough vegetables to solve a hunger crisis in a small third world country. She just needs them to arrange transport. My sister wants me to believe that she does this so she doesn't have to eat chemical laced produce from evil supermarkets. Truth is that, after having 7 children, she does it for the peace and solitude. If you want your kids to leave you alone just use the following magic phrase: "Want to come help me weed the garden?" From what I've witnessed, the phrase is guaranteed to give you hours away from your offspring.

Back to the issue of what to do with my bags of fresh produce. Faced with bags of beets, I had to come up with a solution fast. There was only so much beet borscht my family was willing to eat. I figured I could take care of the beets and the potatoes in one quick swoop. Mashed potatoes and beets were born. I did some checking and it turns out there are recipes out there for this marvelous creation but I guarantee you none of them are as good as this one. Mine is born of some serious consultation with the beet loving secretary who runs the school I work at. For a week we shared the results of our many experiments in the kitchen and the following is the addictive result:

Cut up one huge beet into cubes and boil it for about 10 minutes in a pot full of salted water. To those who don't salt food: get lost! The beets take longer to cook so start them earlier than the potatoes.
Add 5 large potatoes cut into large sections.
Boil the whole thing until the potatoes are tender.
Drain and mash with 1/2 a cup of butter, (Use butter, not margarine! Margarine is evil and should only be used to lubricate squeaky doors.), enough milk to get a smooth consistency, 2 nice size tablespoons of horseradish (This is the secret ingredient that sends this stuff over the top.), a teaspoon of kosher salt, and a ton of lovely black pepper.
Beat the hell out of the potatoes. I like to use an electric mixer and just leave a few lovely chunks of beet floating around.

Serve these with anything, or nothing. My daughter prefers them on their own in a heaping bowl topped with even more butter. Bless her skinny soul! I think I might need an intervention over my growing obsession because my fat pants are getting snug. Oh, remember that beets will cause interesting results in the bathroom about two hours after consumption. Don't panic! You are not dying!

Sausage and Peppers

2009-07-06T15:05:00.000-07:00

This is super easy and the smell that it leaves on your husband's breath will keep women with straying hands far away from him!

You will need the following:

8 - 10 GOOD quality Italian sausage. Do not go cheap here and try to slip a second rate sausage into this recipe! I go to a lovely local Italian deli and get an equal amount of sweet and hot sausages.
4-5 red, green, and yellow peppers. You decide which you like best. I like to use all three. Cut them into nice size chunks. You don't want them so small that nobody can see them.
1 diced purple onion
1 cup of that boxed wine you have sitting on the counter
2 tablespoons of olive oil
2 tablespoons of butter
A package of 8 crusty rolls

Once you have everything, follow these instructions:

Bake the sausages in the oven at about 350º until they are nice and brown. Take them out and let them get cool enough for you to slice them in 1 inch chunks.
Heat up the oil in a frying and toss in the peppers and the onion. Cook until almost tender and then toss in the sausage. Add the wine and let this simmer until the liquid reduces to about 1/4 cup.
Add the butter to finish off the sauce.
Taste and if it needs salt and pepper add as much as you see fit.
Divy up the mixture so everybody gets a fair share.

Enjoy!

Things I Have to Remember

2009-07-05T16:06:00.000-07:00

Summer has started and that means weeks at the cabin. As a mother and wife, I have numerous things I have to remember and prepare in order for summer to be a bit more enjoyable for my family. In addition to remembering to bring essentials like bedding, towels, sunscreen, dog food, clothing, bug spray, and a ton of food, I now have to remember what books my husband has read during our time together.

As a couple, we start to look for lake books while still in the icy grips of winter. It is vital to have enough reading material to wile away our free time at the cabin. This is essential if we are to effectively ignore all the work that needs to be done on the place! I start off my summers the same way every year. I have bags of new books to read but I always start with a reread of my favorites. This list usually includes a fair number of Carl Hiaasen novels with a couple of Margaret George's thrown in for good luck.

My husband, on the other hand, goes into a blind panic as he looks for all the books he bought earlier in the year and then proceeds to drive me insane with the same question which is repeated so many times that it puts him in danger of me using one of the body dumping sites I've been investigating in the area. The question is usually asked when I'm comfortably snuggled in bed or when we are packing to head out to the beach. He'll come up to me looking slightly confused and ask "have I read this before?" Now, that question may seem harmless at first but you have to think of all the things a mother and wife has to remember and take into account my age and then you will begin to understand how annoying THE question is. Apparently, when we were saying our wedding vows, I promised to keep a running list of all novels he has read while we are together. Sneaky bastard.

This brings me to this weekend's disturbing discovery and reading of the novel Speedboat by Renata Adler. He came into the bedroom and asked THE question, which he has asked about this particular novel for about 3 summers now, and I just decided it was easier to say "no". I was pretty sure he had read the stupid thing but I figured if he can't remember he should have to read it again. He settled down and read for about 5 mintues. He declared it crap and threw it in the corner.

The next evening he was telling my son and me how bad this novel was so I had to pick it up and take a look myself. He wasn't kidding. This is perhaps the worst book ever written but it's won prizes and is considered to be some fine writing. Each paragraph starts off with a new topic and there is absolutely no connection between any of the paragraphs. Example:

Paragraph 1: The Italian bottled water heiress was sitting on her ship.

Paragraph 2: I was eating in a Greek restaurant in New York and saw a rat.

Paragraph 3: A Pinkerton man got on the elevator and told me that somebody had been molested on the the 5th floor.

Paragraph 4: Nessa got her finger caught in the cab door and had to go to the emergency room.

My dramatic reading of Speedboat sent my son and husband into fits of laughter. We could only last about a chapter and we had to give up. My husband has threatened to sell the thing at our next garage sale with the title "worst book ever written" underneath it. He says he won't let potential buyers read it before deciding. Somehow I don't think I can expect him to ask me THE question about Speedboat next year.

The Art of the Home Party

2009-06-27T13:50:00.000-07:00

My mother-in-law remembers Tupperware parties fondly. Back then they were an acceptable way for housewives to get the hell out of the house, drink sickeningly sweet punch, eat pinwheel sandwiches, and gossip about their husband's many short comings. She bought so much of the stuff that her storage room in the basement is like some kind of Tupperware museum. I imagine a bevy of women crowded into a shag carpeted living room wearing lovely 70's style pantsuits with hair heavily sprayed with French Formula hairspray.

Home parties have definitely gone downhill since those glory days.

Home parties now require the attendee to have a huge disposable income. Tupperware is now for the rich and famous. Who else can afford a $40 burger press? This confuses me because I don't think the rich and famous want to own this stuff. I don't think Bill Gates has a Tupperware cupboard in his sprawling mansion. I can't see Oprah bringing in muffins for the crew in her new snack storage container. As a side note, I like to rig my own Rubbermaid storage cupboard so it comes raining down on my husband's head when he opens it. This is a real skill and takes time and patience and is always guaranteed to piss him off.

My sister is no longer asked to attend Tupperware parties after she made the comment that the pickle storage containers seemed a little ridiculous. She couldn't understand why anybody would buy a $20 container to store pickles in when the pickles came in their own handy container when you bought the damn things.

The company that frosts my pickle the most is Partylite. I've been roped into a couple of these parties and I'm always stunned at the way women ohh and ahh over candle holders priced in the hundreds. Haven't these women heard of the dollar store? Perfectly acceptable candle holders for all seasons and a bag of 50 votive candles for a buck can be found in the sacred isles of your local dollar store.

I suppose my hostility towards Partylite can be traced back to a surreal experience I had with my daughter's guidance counsellor. My daughter was experiencing some pretty serious bullying at her school and I made an appointment with the counsellor to discuss solutions. My daughter and I were sitting in the guidance office discussing the problem when she asked me if I would like to look at her Partylite catalogue. For a moment I was stunned. If I look will she help? If I don't look will she slip my daughter's file to the bottom of her pile of things to do? I decided to buy something in the hopes this sad excuse for a counsellor would get off her fat ass and help my daughter. I ended up buying a Christmas type candle thinger for about $60. My husband was furious and all these years later, when I put it out at Christmas, he STILL complains. Ended up that the Partylite pushing counsellor did jackshit and my daughter had to leave the school.

Now housewives can go to Passion Parties. That's exactly what I want to experience. Stuck in a room full of women I'm either related to or work with watching them buy vibrators and second-rate itchy lingerie. I'd never be able to look at any of them in the eye again. And what the hell does one serve at these parties? Pinwheel sandwiches just won't cut it. I say no thank you to the Passion Party. There are some things that should be kept private and away from the prying eyes of relatives or co-workers.

I'll buy Rubbermaid storage containers, dollar store candles, and my lingerie on my own thank you very much. I WILL make a plate of pinwheel sandwiches and eat them on my own though and think back to the glory days of Tupperware.

Trailer Park Trifle

2009-06-26T21:09:00.000-07:00

*Warning, your trifle will not look like this!

Quick and easy trifle that won't win you any prizes at the local fair. You will need the following:

Mini yellow jelly rolls. Buy about 4 packs of jelly rolls. They come in packages of 6. The local 7/11 carries these things 24/7. You can class this up by using the more exotic chocolate variety.
About 4 packs of snack size yellow instant pudding cups. As mention above you can pick a flavour more daring.
Large package of strawberries cut in slices.
Jar of strawberry jam. Get the cheap kind that contains no real strawberries.
Large tub of Cool Whip. I have to admit that I try to use homemade whip cream in this. Even I have my limits.
Whatever liqueur you have on hand.
Skor Bits or chocolate chips.

Once you have the ingredients you can assemble your masterpiece.

Pick out a really pretty trifle bowl. It will help class up this dish.
Cut the jelly rolls in order to make attractive pinwheels. You should be able to get about 5 per roll.
Layer the bottom of your trifle bowl with the cut jelly rolls.
Sprinkle about 2 teaspoons of liqueur on the rolls. Try not to resort to Creme de Menthe.
Put a layer of pudding about an inch thick on top of the rolls.
Now a layer of melted and slightly cooled strawberry jam.
Now for the sliced strawberries. Remember to save some for following layers!
About an inch thick layer of Cool Whip or whip cream.
Start all over again and repeat until you are just below the lip of your trifle bowl.
Sprinkle Skor Bits or chocolate chips on top.
Chill for a couple of hours and serve to your delighted guests.

It is handy to know that you can pretty much buy all of the ingredients at 7/11 anytime you need a dessert in a hurry.

Here We Go!

2009-06-26T14:53:00.000-07:00

Before I begin to rant about all the things that enrage me I should introduce myself and explain how I came to be the petty woman I am. I started off as a very happy homemaker. I voluntarily became a stay at home mom and I took pride in what I did. I cleaned, cooked, volunteered at my kid's school, baked treats for their school parties, and put on some pretty respectable birthday parties. When my son was about 3 I decided to go back to school. After about 6 years I finished my 2 degrees and started to work.

It was when I started university that I realized that the whole "you can have it all" thing was a big crock. It was impossible to do the things I once did and do well at school. Something had to give. So things slowly began to slip at home. Dinners from scratch were replaced by casseroles that started with Campbell's soup. Floors were washed when the kids started to stick to the linoleum. I stopped being embarrassed when my husband went to work with a wrinkled shirt because he knew where the damn iron was. Dust bunnies became enchanted creatures that inhabited our home. Stuffing things underneath the bed became a perfectly acceptable method of housecleaning.

When I had some free time in the evenings I would flip channels and I became addicted to cooking, home improvement, and make-over shows. I started to do a slow burn as I watched perfect women fix fabulous meals in fantastic homes while dressed in immaculate outfits. Something wasn't adding up. I started to look at the women I knew who had families. A good hunk of them were buying in to this stuff. They marched off to work every morning. They came home and made great meals. After the kids were put to bed they spent their evening cleaning. One of my friends was existing on about 2 hours of sleep a night as she struggled to present a flawless image to the world. I started to see a common thread. Women who felt they needed to live like this worshipped at the altar of Martha, Oprah, and Nigella.

I refuse to buy that crap. The women who are hosting these shows have huge bank accounts and a pack of minions to do their bidding. I had none of those things. I decided to just say NO and embrace my mediocrity. It actually cost me some friendships. Former friends didn't feel comfortable sitting next to me in my slightly rumpled outfits as I sipped boxed wine. Frankly, I don't miss them. My kids eat Kraft Dinner, drink Kool Aid, sleep on mismatched sheets, watch questionable movies and I think their turning out pretty good.

So there ya go. Now that the introductions are over I can begin to rant about all things that frost my pickle. The list is long and varied. I hope you enjoy.