Happy Birthday!

Today (Monday) is my younger sister's birthday. I'd say little sister, but she's 9 months pregnant, so at this moment, that's not the case!

What can I say about Alana. She is extremely funny, a really excellent mom, a wonderful friend, she's full of joy and she is an over-the top example of OCD.

It's really rather funny that my sister who used to hang her clothes on a chair till we couldn't see it and dust once every 3 years or so got married and turned into my mom, only on a more extreme level.

Alana (and I am NOT making this stuff up) counts her kid's toys and if one is missing, she won't rest till it's in it's correct and labeled container. One time the chicken was missing from the Fisher Price farm and she hunted every square inch of her house to find it. She's only ever lost 1 of her children's socks and she knows exactly where it was lost, just when she went back to get it, it was gone.

You know the mom's you see whose kids clothes always match (yeah I know, they're a little kooky) Alana is one of those.

One of her favorite Christmas gifts of all times was her label-maker. (Mind you, I asked for a dust-buster that year, so maybe the weirdness runs through the whole family.) There is very little in her house that is not properly labelled, including husband, kids and dog. (OK I made that up, they don't have a dog.)

When she checks out at Wal-mart or the grocery store, she puts things on the conveyor belt in groups so that when she goes to enter the receipt in her ledger she has the categories all there so she doesn't have to hunt. So, for example all cleaning products are together, all kids items together etc. I am not quite sure how she does this, my goal at the check-out counter is to make sure I leave with my bags and my two kids and to ensure that no biting or headlocks occur while checking out. I am rarely successful in this, apparently checkouts have a hidden symbol visible only to my kids that says, "hey, go on, poke him in the eye, no one will notice, he might even like it!"

When her kids go to bed at night their bedding is turned down for them, she does this in the evening when her hubby is bathing them and in the morning when making their beds she lines all their stuffed animals up tallest to shortest.

I had a fleeting thought of deliberately sprinkling this post with spelling mistakes in honour of her, but I don't want to give the poor girl a migraine!

I could go on and on, but already I hear her starting her own blog, in which she will only tell embarrassing stories about me, (and believe me, there are plenty) and besides it's her birthday!

So Yanna, happy birthday, here's to many many more!

Love ya!

You know you're tired when...

Well, after all the nocturnal navel gazing last night, I am a bit bushed tonight. I realized this when I was going to put a stamp on an envelope and realized I could not for the life of me remember what side you put the stamp on. Left, right? It took way too long to figure that one out.

That got me thinking about this tired mommy-brain thing that I thought would go away once I gave birth. Not so much. Now I have left my purse at Costco twice in the past year, conditioned my hair before shampooing (on a way too regular basis) put the cereal in the fridge and the milk in the cupboard, put my underwear away in my husband's drawer, and if there was a fire I would save my kids first and my calender second, because I cannot live without either.

So what about you, all three of you who read my blog, fess up, what is your worst mommy brain moment that you're willing to share with my sister, her friends and a few loyal people who live further north than I think should be legally permissible.

Leave your comments, there will be no prize, you just might make me feel a bit more normal!

P.S. There will be no pretty pic on tonight's post as I am writing on Way Cooler's work computer and it is cranky about uploading, downloading, freeloading and offloading!

Guilt

This past week I was part of a group that made a decision. I really didn't support the decision our leadership team made, but everyone else thought it was good, so I didn't wave my arms and stomp my feet and say "no way", I went along.

This decision wounded someone deeply.

So deeply she no longer wants to have anything to do with us or our group.

It was a bad decision.

So bad that instead of sleeping at 3:15 in the morning, I am blogging because it is either that or lay in bed crying.

For those of you that know me, I don't really like hurting people or making them upset.

I still do, lots and lots (dumb, stupid temper of mine) but it grieves me deeply when I do.

What also grieves me is that others still think this was a good decision.

I understand that we cannot please everyone all the time, but I believe that when you follow Christ, you should be especially sensitive towards those that don't.

So, even though you may not agree with what they are doing you don't wear t-shirts proclaiming that what they do is sin, you don't protest outside of their place of work, you don't call them names, you just love them and pray for them.

And, no we didn't do any of the above, but we might as well have for all the damage we did.

So, tonight is not funny, (although stay tuned for further adventures of Spud, Sprout and Way Cooler tomorrow) just me thinking out loud (well not really out loud since you can't hear me, but hey it's 3:00 in the morning, I'm not the sharpest tool in the tool shed right now).

I have already spoken to the party in question, apologized for my role in this and she seemed OK with that, but tonight someone is unnecessarily hurting.

She didn't see Christ in our actions, only condemnation.

That's just not cool.

So, where do I go from here? There's very little else I can do.

I have resolved however to be bolder (not something I love) to be firmer and to be a protector of those who do not fit into our neat little boxes.

Cause neither do I most of the time.

Mommy's Nite Out

Last night was mommy's night to finally get the much-needed haircut and indulge in a little retail therapy. Whoo-hoo. It was a fabulous night!

I couldn't get the lady I had cut my hair before who had finally given me my first decent haircut in this city since we moved here 1.5 years ago.

I'll have to post about some of my other cuts some other time as they really are post-worthy, let's just say after one, I looked like I had let a cat just chewed my hair off randomly.

Anyway, I got a new lady who was really good too and unbelieveably gentle. I hate it when they brush your hair and it feels like they are pulling it out instead of just cutting it with scissors. Plus, my cheap little heart was utterly delighted to find out she was 8 bucks cheaper than the other lady! That alone made my night!

You know how when you get your haircut sometimes they style if for you? Well, I usually watch carefully to try and recreate that at home, which of course never happens again no matter how hard I try! So, as usual last night I was watching but it became apparent very quickly that in order for me to do that with a brush and blow dryer I will have to become a cirque du Soleil contortionist, or at the very least grow a third arm. So, I just sat and enjoyed knowing that for one night, I would look good. Really good. So good that I kept finding myself admiring myself in the various mirrored posts throughout the mall. Then I realized how unbelieveably sad that is, and made myself stop.

So, since I had such a great expereience and saved 8 bucks, I decided to splurge and get my eyebrow waxed so that I would have eyebrows. Let's just say, I knew it wasn't going to be as gentle as my haircut when I sat down and the lady shoved my head back against the wall. I understand the whole concept of waxing isn't a gentle massage, but this woman made putting the wax on hurt. that did not bode well for the removal. I think my brows will stop swelling sometime around Spud's 10th birthday.

It was a wonderful evening of re-charging, browsing and mirror-gazing! I even got jeans for 15 bucks at Old Navy. My cheap little heart just can't stop singing! So bring on the poop, the snot and the toddler tantrums, I'm ready again!

Still on the Socks

Well, you know what, until today I always thought I was a little weird. I was even a bit embarrassed of my lost sock pile, thinking there was no one else out there like that. Turns out that there is some weirdness out there, but this time, it's not me.

So Alana, did you read the comments? Everyone but you and Dave (and sorry Dave, you don't really count- more on that in a moment) has a lost sock pile! Some of their socks even get used for non-feet covering activities! I AM normal! Whoo-hoo. That would make you the geek today! Yee haw.

Now, Dave, Alana's amazing husband chipped in to say that he is pleased that Alana even matches the wear on the bottom so it's more comfortable in combat boots and all I could think of was the story "The Princess and the Pea." Seriously Dave, you would feel "unbalanced" if the wear didn't match? How thick are these socks? Mattress like? What, if the wear doesn't match, will you tip over?

Mind you, Dave is a wise man married to a woman who in 20 days is about to give birth to their 3rd child and it is still ridiculously hot where they live. Right now, I think Dave would wear purple and carry a purse if it made Alana happy. Which of course would look stunning with your combat boots and matched socks.

Thanks you all for making me feel good and even a little less geeky!

Let's hear it for lost socks!

I've Got a bit of a Problem

So, I was doing laundry today and got thinking. I've got another confession. This is going to drive all you OCD's nuts (and you know who you are) but my house is really a house of horror for socks.

Yes, this post is going to be about socks, I'm not the happy intellect, it will not be about world peace and achieving it in 4 easy steps, I'm a geek so I am blogging about socks tonight!



Anyway, as I was saying, I think the socks in my house have posted a warning to all the other socks "abandon hope all ye who enter here." At least that is my theory as so many go missing! They must run away or something because this is my widow pile (all socks without mates).

These are the poor socks whose mates are MIA. My bigger concern is the couples that are jumping ship. I bought Spud 6 pairs in the spring and we are down to 2 matched pairs and a widow!

What is it about me that makes socks run away? I try not to sing while I sort laundry, my hair is usually brushed and I am very nice to all the socks in the house, I don't even scrub them or anything.

Mind you, that may be it, I do not have a real big passion for sparkling clean socks so if they get a little bit stained to daily wear and tear (i.e. an 18 month old running through freshly mowed grass) as long as they are clean, I still sleep at night. Really, they're socks. Who cares if the bottoms area bit gray? I have bigger fish to fry than pulling out a washboard and scrubbing them down, (not that there's anything wrong with that mom,) but I'd rather do something productive. Like blog!!

It might also be that my kids seem to think that socks taste good. I don't know how many times driving down the road I've looked back to see one or both with a sock in their mouth. And honestly, I didn't put it there! Although I have thought about it, especially when Spud sings the Veggie tale theme song for the 37th time that trip.

So, now that I've ensured that my OCD sister will never sleep again (if a sock goes missing in her house, everyone goes on high alert and hunts for it and no one eats or sleeps till it's found) I'm looking for advice! How do you keep your socks happy? What do you do to make them want to stay? Better detergent? Should I promise all future socks that my kids will stop eating them? Let me know, right after you've achieved world peace in 4 easy steps!

I love Sundays

I really do enjoy Sundays. When I was a kid my parents instilled in us a sense of needing to slow down and not work on Sundays, we didn't do homework or even much housework Sunday. That's quite gone by the wayside, I remember in Texas doing laundry Sunday morning because all the other students in the building would be at church and the machines would finally be free! For those of you shocked, we went to church Saturday nights. But I seem to mentally slow down, even if not physically.

Sunday is still a special day in my mind and this morning at 6:30 as I sat and cuddled a sleepy 18 month old and his everpresent Teddybear I couldn't help but think how blessed I am. Both of my boys are healthy, I have a lovely home, my hubby works really hard so I can have a life of leisure (choke choke sputter) and there is nothing nicer than cuddling your baby at 6:30 (except maybe having him sleep till 8:00 and then cuddling him).

Today was great for a lot of reasons but my two favorites (and then I need to get my cute little behind into bed) were that we swam at the Y so we showered the boys there because a day without baths with cranky slippery boys is a very good day!

The best part of the day was sitting in church and reminding myself that God loves me, he's bigger than me, and really I am blessed.

So good night, may your Monday be as good as my Sunday.

The road to heck is paved with good intentions

I was all full of good intentions today. Way Cooler was planning to spend the day working on a big project for work so I had a fun day for the boys and mommy all lined up. I intended to take them to the indoor playground at the Y, then zip over to Costco for milk and a few other things, get them home for grilled cheese sandwiches with carrot sticks and cucumbers (that is truly one of Spud's all time favorite meals) get them down for nap, get supper organized and ready for the oven (honey garlic chicken, rice and salad) and then zip over to the mall for a much needed haircut at 2:30 and an even more needed chai tea latte, heading home to play with the boys some more and spending some time with Way Cooler.

Then we got on the road to heck. Also known as the ring road that was supposed to take us to the Y. I noticed that the flat tire light was on. NO PROBLEM, we'll just zip to Costco first, since our flat changes are free there and then wing over to the Y. Arriving at Costco at 9:45 I began to sense that maybe my day of fun would be a day of #$%$ (did I say that?) when I realized there were 10 people in line ahead of me. Apparently Costco has a tire sale on. Of course they do.

I had rushed into Costco trying to beat the crowd (unfortunately, 10 people ahead of me, mission not quite accomplished) so I was holding Sprout (instead of strapping him into a cart which is where God intended 18 month olds to be in Costco) while Spud wandered beside me reading an old zoo guide. Sprout wanted soooo badly to run free, unfortunately, that involved him pushing carts into the sign proclaiming the stupid tire sale, nearly knocking the thing over. Since that would only aggravate the people who were controlling how long I would have to wait for my van to be fixed I decided to hold Sprout. For 10 minutes. It was like wrestling a pig. A screaming, crying and snot flaying pig. Meanwhile, spud decided to test my zoological abilities and quizzed me on every animal in his zoo guidebook. "What's that one mommy?" I answer and he replies "You're right mommy, good job." Also for 10 minutes.

Then the guy at the counter told me at 10:06 that they would be ready to fix my tire at 1:00. But I could come back then. Okay, we'll go home and come back. I made a stop at Superstore to call Way Cooler to confirm this course of action, having hauled my kids out of the van into a cart, where they had to share a leg hole (seriously? are you kidding me, they don't even share air well, let alone a leg hole). So while they are attempting to push one another out of the cart I am on the payphone (we got rid of our cell to save $) to Way Cooler who informs me that I need to go back to Costco, not drive anymore and wait there. ARE YOU SERIOUS?

So we went back to Costco and for the next 4.5 hours we made Costco our home away from home. Those of you with kids are cringing. I know you are. You know what I'm talking about. the only thing that kept me sane was I kept saying to myself, "at least there are only 2 of them." Dawn and Allison would kill for just two at the grocery store.

The following is a list of phrases I found myself saying at least 3 times each

hey guys, you want to go look at the Mitre saw again?

Don't put your finger in your brother's eye!

Sure we can go through the produce refrigerator again!

Stop stepping on the raspberries, they are for daddy!

Don't drink my coke!

We can't go to the indoor playground, the car is broken

Because the tire is flat

Because Daddy ran over a nail

I have no idea

So at 1:30 I eagerly make my way over to the tire centre, figuring for sure they would be done to be told there are still 3 cars ahead of me. Now, in my house naptime starts at 12:30/1:00ish, and woe to the fool who messes with naps. Woe indeed. Meltdowns aren't pretty anywhere, they are especially bad in the tire centre, and even worse when mommy runs out of snacks.

I used to wonder who would buy the 750 gram Toblerone at Costco. That's 1.6 pounds of Toblerone. Now I know who. Women stuck with two preschoolers for 4.5 hours in a glorified grocery store.

I finally took the boys outside across the street to a small grassy area in back of a construction zone and a grocery warehouse. Who needs a playpark when you've got coffee lids, cigarette butts and a manhole. for over ten minutes the boys dropped things down the manhole and spit into it. Apparently this is VERY fun. I normally frown on both spitting of any sort and dropping things down into the storm drain, but today, as long as they didn't throw their brother into the storm drain I really did not care! I was pointing out where there were more rocks!

My van was finally ready at 2:23.

I never did get to my 2:30 haircut, never got my latte, fed my boys Costco hot dogs for lunch didn't make it to the Y and we had pancakes for supper. Way Cooler is at the y working out now since he couldn't go earlier (we only have one car) and I am headed for a much much anticipated bubble bath. There is, though according to my amazing husband, a silver lining to today,

"Hey, this is great, you got something really good to blog about today!"

I'll be blogging tomorrow on what he does when he comes home and finds I've changed the locks. That'll be really good too!

Public Service Announcement

Because I am a bit of a geek, I am always collecting bits of trivia and facts that are useful to me as a mom and may be to you. So, being the altruistic being that I am, here are some helpful and maybe not commonly known mom facts.

1. Those little packs of Silica Gel that come in shoes and stuff and say "DO NOT EAT, THROW AWAY" are not toxic, at least that's what the nice lady at the poison control centre told me this morning when I called after Spud ate some. The only hazard is choking, but he recovered after I took my hand off his neck. In his defense, I did leave it lying out, (in the garbage, in my bathroom, with the door to my room closed and the childproof handle on the door) and he can't read yet so how was he supposed to know it wasn't edible? You would think the fact that it was in the trash might be a clue, but I guess not.

2. Canada Geese do not carry rabies so if your 3 year old ignores your warning to leave the goose alone and gets bit directly under his eye, the only concern is a staph infection, that and the fact that he will probably insist on wearing a bright blue Curious George band aid for at least a week, which will lead to everyone (from the mailman to your check-out clerk) to inquire as to what happened and you to develop laryngitis from explaining it for the 753rd time. The rabies fact was provided by the nice man from Fish and Wildlife who has to follow-up all reports of animal bites.

3. If your child sprays bathroom cleaner into his eyes, do not lay him on his back in the tub and pour cold water over his face for 10 minutes. Instead, make a warm bath and gently pour water over his head for about ten minutes. So says another nice lady from poison control.

4. You know how they say that a beater bar on the vacuum can be hard on your Berber carpet? It is also hard on a 2 year old's hand if they slide it underneath while you are turned to look at the 1 year old balanced on the canister. It will remove large strips of skin. It is best kept covered until it heals over to protect infection, at least this is what the nice nurse at healthlink told me when I called her. It's also a good idea to have plenty of ice-cream on hand in case of such an emergency, no-name vanilla for the victim and Hagen-daz for mommy.

So, there you have it, a few little known facts that I am passing on to you. If you have all girls, you may never need to know this, if you've only got boys, I suggest you print it and post it on your fridge, right under the poison control number!

Procrasination: a beautiful thing

Generally I do not procrastinate on much. I seem to have gotten over that mostly in high school. Sorting through the pictures on my computer, that I will put off until I grow another inch taller, but other than that, I tend to tackle chores and jobs in a somewhat timely fashion.

Mind you I have two toddlers so sometimes timely for me, is not the same as it was when I was able to actually get a ten minute task done in ten minutes, vs. the hour it takes me to vacuum my main level now. What with sippy cup emergencies, sprout's fascination with my cord retract button (who was the genius who put that huge, easy to push button right at toddler level?), a child who climbs onto the canister and then falls off, (needing instant consoling) and the fact even though we have put all toys away before I start vacuuming, that only lasts a good thirty seconds before every toy is once again dumped out onto the floor and must again be picked up, it does take a while.

Anyway, I digress, I started out to talk about procrastination and how I don't generally do it, but tonight, I took one look at my kitchen and I fled for the hills. So I am up here blogging hoping that the dirty dish fairy will take pity on me and deal with the mess. For those of you wondering, no the dirty dish fairy is not Way Cooler, he is out teaching a night course so I am on my own. Sigh.

You see, I let Sprout feed himself homemade alphabet soup for the first time. What was I thinking? Who in their right mind gives an 18 month old a spoon? He had a great time, but for every spoonful that went into his mouth, well, there are now two on the floor that I washed this morning as well as the table, the high chair, my shirt, you get the picture!

I think I am off to wallpaper my bedroom. Even that will be easier than tackling my kitchen tonight!

To my beloved Washing Machine,





Just a brief note of apology. I know that I asked a lot of you last week , but once again, you delivered. You are truly a girl's best friend. You are right, you did wash the same sheets, blankets and waterproof mattress pad 5 days in a row and I am sure it does get monotonous, but thank-you for doing it without seizing up on me or chewing up said bedding. Even though I am sure you felt like it.


You see, Spud thinks that being naked is better than being clothed, which would be fine if he had the same belief about being potty-trained vs. still in a diaper. But alas, he does not. So, until he gets over his late night striping tendencies, he is potty-trained or I figure out a way to duct-tape his clothes on without social services being called you may be asked to go above and beyond the call of duty again and again.


And as for the fingerpainting espisode after last Wednesday's nap, I'm truly sorry you had to go through that, no washing machine (or mommy) should ever have to deal with that much poop spread over that large of an area. From now on, only premium detergant for you, none of that no name stuff, you deserve only the best!


Thank-you again for being there for me through thick, thin and three messy men. I couldn't do it without you!

Love ya,

The Happy Geek

I've got a confession

OK, so I am probably alone in this, I'm sure none of the rest of the world does this, and when you are finished reading this post, you may be finished for good, but here goes, "I don't take very many pictures of my kids". I finally got it out in the open. "Yeah right" you say, "sure you do." Let me prove it to you.


I took a picture of my sons this week and last I checked, it's the third week of September (sometimes the days all blend into one). Then decided to scroll back through my pics for a second. The next ones that popped up were of Spud's birthday party. Spud turned 3 in July. That's right folks, I did not take a single solitary picture of my two adorable sons for over a month. I can hear her choking right now!


Why? Why? You ask? It seems to be a broad combination of things.


1. We are not picture people. The first 5 years of marriage, we took maybe 10 rolls of film, 3 being from our honeymoon, and one of those rolls was all of the fish Way Cooler saw while snorkeling. I sometimes will finally remember to take the camera on an outing, to the zoo wherever, but then it languishes in my diaper bag as I can only remember to take the camera, not the pictures.


2. Spud did not smile much for the first 18 months of his life, ever. You can only see so many pictures of a sad chunky child before you begin to give up.


3. I take really bad pictures. Really really really bad pictures. If I was like her I might take more, but my pictures are more like something a cat might take.

4. Ever tried to take pictures of a 3 year old and 18 month old pair of tornadoes? Sometimes all you see is a big blur. Why waste film on a blur?

So there you have it, I take infrequent, sad, bad and blurry pictures. My poor family, if they want pictures of their grandkids, they pretty much have to take them themselves.

So, this is why I will never be mother of the year. Doesn't really matter, I wouldn't take any pictures at the awards ceremony anyway!

Things Mommy learned at the zoo

This summer we bought a pass to our local zoo. We figured it would be a fun source of family outings and it has been a good value. The teacher in me also thought that it would be fairly educational for the boys in a subtle, low-key way. What I didn't count on was the lessons I would learn too. The following is what I learned following a recent trip to the zoo.

5. There aren't a lot of bathrooms at the zoo

4. They don't sell diapers at the zoo

3. Spud (37 lbs and size 6 diaper) can fit into Sprout's size 3 if you pull really hard

2. Always have at least 4 diapers per kid on hand

1. Don't feed Spud Raisin Bran!

Motherhood: it's always educational.

Another reason I "love" winter

As mentioned in my previous post, it is getting colder around here. It dips below freezing at night. This morning at breakfast it felt quite cold and then I noticed that spud's teeth were chattering and Sprout's lips were a little blue. So, I checked the thermostat and sure enough it was 17 degrees in the house. So, being the astute and amazing mother that I am I went to turn on the furnace. Way Cooler stopped me.

"You can't do that".

"What do you mean? It's cold, we turn on the furnace. That's why we bought the house with one."

Apparently, Way Cooler had been meaning to get a new furnace filter but was waiting for the right time. The 6 trips to local big box home improvement stores in the last 2 weeks were apparently not the right time.

So, since I am a stay at home mom and really have nothing better to do in my day, off we went to one of the big boxes. The experience was less than pleasant, prompting the following letter. (Names have been changed to protect the integrity of the big box store.)

Dear Store that rhymes with Bona,

This morning I took my 2 children 1 and 3 to one of your stores to purchase a furnace filter. It was a less than thrilling outing for me. Let me explain why.

While I appreciate you having "race car" shopping carts to enhance my little ones shopping experience, they seem to detract from mine. First of all, shopping is enough of a battle without having to push a tank. Could these cars be any bigger? Not only do they fit my children and my furnace filters I still had room for the Swiss Family Robinson and a furnace as well.

While I understand that you are a store and you must sell stuff, surely 700,000,000 sq feet is enough to display every home improvement item ever created with out having to put displays in the centre of aisles so that the aforementioned tank cannot maneuver without knocking something over or having to move dangerously close to the screwdrivers so that my 18 month old can reach out and touch something dangerous. Over and over again. If you are missing a few screws, they are in my son's pocket.

I understand that we are in a labour crisis and so I have come to anticipate no customer service whatsoever, so imagine my joy when I actually saw an employee. I realized the joy was premature when I noticed said employee throwing the buckets around and mouthing words that I usually only hear at a hockey rink. We decided to find the furnace filters on our own.

We finally found the filters in what I am sure is a perfectly logical place for them, right in the middle of lighting. After all, furnaces have pilot lights. I get ya.

After paying for my filters and receiving double the air miles, (I assure you, I will put those 4 miles to good use) I noticed a sign "please do not remove cart from the store." Of course. Makes sense that now I have to carry said furnace filters, an 18 month old and a three year old into the safest place possible, a parking lot. You would think, based on the size of the cart you provide to me, that your store would wish me to purchase a lot, but once I pay for it, I seem to be on my own. So, as I struggled across the parking lot with a 3 year old who was too busy talking to hold my hand and an 18 month old longing to run free and 2 20x25 filters it occurred to me, I must be on candid camera. That must be the reason for this rule. Nope.

I went through all of that and I don't even get to be TV?

And this is why my shopping experience was less than thrilling.

Thank-you Bona (heads).

Sincerely,

The not-so Happy Geek.

The Frost is on the Pumpkin

and the car, and the grass, and here to stay! If you are wondering what that sound is, it's me kicking the cat. Now for everyone about to call the SPCA, we do not have cat, nor do we want one, and if there is one in the neighbourhood, I do refrain from kicking it. (I just think about it.) The point is, I don't really like winter.

I used to love winter. I revelled in the beauty of individual snowflakes, the way Christmas lights look peeking out through the snow-covered branches, I even liked shovelling snow on clear crisp winter nights.

Travelling and kids cured me of that.

In my part of the world winter arrives in October/November and finally gives up the ghost sometime towards the end of March, early April. I thought this was the way things worked everywhere. Not so much.

For three years we lived on the West Coast and I discovered that grass can stay green all year long. Daffodils bloom in February and you can sit on the beach in a sweater in December. Yeah, this beats shovelling snow anyday.

Then, we moved to Texas. I have never liked winter since, because in Texas they don't have it. Now those of you from Texas may protest and tell me of icy bridges and howling winds, but really, it ices about 8-10 times a winter, rarely if ever drops more than 2 degrees below freezing and when I was there it snowed. Once. In the two years I was there.

When it started to snow my grade 5 students hit the ceiling and all work and focus ceased. I found this to be rather frustrating so at one point I made the comment "come on, it's not like you've never seen snow before." A passing teacher popped her head in to inform me, that no, they would have never seen this much snow in their lives. It was barely an inch of the stuff.

I began to believe that this was indeed the promised land, a place where it snowed an inch every ten years! Who needs winter? Then of course the following summer we moved back.

Back to toques, scarves , mitts, boots, block heaters, windchill warnings, sticky snowshovels, slushy streets. (sigh)

So, the frost is on the pumpkin, I still live in the north and I think I am off to find a cat.

Better late than never

So, now that the entire world is almost past blogging and hanging out on facebook, I am now starting a blog. Story of my life. I finally broke down and bought cargo pants three seconds before they went out of style, got my first cell phone after all my students had one and am still waiting for the prefect reason to wear make-up.

That's OK, everyone has been waiting for this all their lives, the chance to read about mine! Yes, I do like sarcasm, why do you ask?

So, who is the Happy Geek?

I am a 30 something SAHM, I have a very nice, non-geeky husband, (Much Cooler) and two boys, Spud and Sprout who will grow up to be radically embarrassed by me. That's OK, I think embarrassing our off-spring is one of the ways we can pay them back for all those sleepless nights!

So, if you've got nothing better to do, check back some time for future adventures in the kingdom of Geek!