The road to hell is paved with good intentions, or in our case, shattered Christmas tree stands.

The saying “the older you are – the quicker it goes” is absolutely true. 

Christmas is 12 days away. How in the holy hell did that happen? I started planning and shopping in like August so how am I still not ready? And what in the hell happened to October? Did we even have October? 

I was talking to Ruby last Thursday and we were going through the calendar for the next few weeks trying to figure out schedules and events.  We throw a Christmas party every year and this year we are holding it on the 22nd. Then we have  Swedish Christmas on the 24th followed by Canadian Christmas on the 25th – so we have three big things to plan for…on top of all the normal shit (getting gifts, baking, decorating, wrapping, visiting, etc.)

We do this every year – but somehow (and I am starting to suspect early onset Alzheimer’s) I am still surprised at how much stuff there is to do, and how quickly Christmas seems to sneak up on me. (I can totally see about 35 years down the road and I can say with pretty high confidence that yes, I will absolutely be the crazy old lady standing in the gift wrap aisle with no pants on and a live squirrel in my purse.)

So – knowing what had to get done – and knowing (as of last Thursday) we really only had two weekends to get it together, I kind of started to lose my shit and go into a full-blown Type-A freak out. I made lists and had both weekends scheduled to the minute. What I did not schedule was me getting the stomach flu. Saturday was a blur of hot baths, naps and waking up to little faces planted three inches from mine asking if I was okay.

I bounced back a bit on Sunday,  so we ventured out to get a tree only to discover that apparently everyone else in Calgary had as well…on Saturday. All that was left were these sad-ass looking, short, mostly dead, spindly trees.  We drove around to a few places before we finally ended up at a local grocery store that had some okay looking trees left. We grabbed the tallest thing we could find and Anders ran in to pay while I waited with the tree and the kids.

By this point in the day, patience was thin and the kids were at their limit so I decided to haul the nine foot tree – by myself with three-year-old twins in tow – across a busy parking lot to the van. Not one part of that plan was well thought out. Three steps into it Molly fell and started to cry at full Molly volume (which is on par with a standing next to a police car with the siren on full blast) and Max ran off the sidewalk straight in front of a Suburban. 

We were such a mess and making such a scene that some nice guy actually came up and offered to take the tree for me. I am programed to decline help for some reason so without even thinking I went into my normal “oh thanks – but no…I am good. It is fine, I got this, but thanks!” followed by (what I am guessing was) a slightly crazy looking smile, and an even crazier was sounding laugh. The guy was probably like “yeah lady – you look like you got this alright! One kid was almost a grill ornament and the other is frozen to the sidewalk in a pool of her own blood - yup – super great job!”

We finally made it back to the van and I managed to throw the kids, the tree and most of Molly’s shredded pants into the van. Anders got caught in the line-up that never ends so when he finally made it back to the van, we had all had enough and basically peeled out of there on two wheels.

Once we got home – and determined to somehow still salvage this and make some great family memories – we started to put the tree up.

We wrestled that bitch of a tree for a good forty minutes. Pretty quickly into the process we figured out that the tree has a pretty serious bend about halfway up the trunk. No matter how we positioned it - it  looked cock-eyed and like it was about to go over at any minute. At this point, Anders and I were speaking to each other in one syllable words only, and tension was pretty high. We finally admitted defeat and agreed that no matter what we did the tree was going to look a little bit like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

The whole time this is going on, the kids kept running in and out of the room to check on our progress and see if the tree was ready to decorate. They were so excited, we knew that even though we wanted to set the tree on fire in the yard, we had to suck it up and pull it together for the kids. So - we threw on some Christmas music, poured straight rum into our glasses, gave the eggnog to the kids and started to decorate.

Here she is...with a heavy lean to the right.

We actually had fun for the next two hours or so as we slowly made the tree look pretty decent for what we were working with. Max was so cute – he followed me around with the vacuum asking over and over again, “you make enough mess now for me to clean up Momma?” as he sucked up every last needle on the floor, possibly some ornaments and definitely most of the dog’s kibble. Molly hung about thirty ornaments in a two foot square area but was thrilled with herself and thought it looked beautiful.

With the tree finally done, we headed upstairs to get the kids cleaned up and ready for bed.  About 20 minutes into the bath we heard a big crash from downstairs. You guessed it…the fucking tree fell over. I am not even kidding. The weight of the tree along with the angle must have been too much for the piece of crap $15 stand as it total cracked and blew apart sending the tree onto our coffee table and couch.

The whole Normal Rockwell vision of a perfect Christmas is quickly dying at the Jonsson household. I really wanted this year to be perfect for the kids since it is the first year that they really truly seem to get the whole Christmas thing and they are both so excited. But between the piece of shit tree, the scary-ass elf who despite bringing a gift every morning still manages to have a bad reputation, and the lack of completed baking – this is not shaping up to be the most successful Christmas.

Here is Tomte...trying his damnedest to get back in the good books. As you can see from the size of the calendar it isn't like he is bringing craptastic shit from the dollar store - he is bringing some quality stuff. Short of a real pony for Molly and an actual monster truck for Max I don't really know what else he could do. I think Tomte may have to be retired for 2013.

I did book Santa to come and attend our Christmas party – and no pressure here, but pretty much everything is riding on him. And based on the way Christmas has been going so far, my expectations are low. I am going to predict that he will be someone who is unemployed the other 11 months of the year, possibly homeless, has some sort of dependency problem and most likely has visible tattoos.  

Tomte the thieving Christmas elf

My parents bought Max and Molly an Elf on the Shelf this year. We were at their house just after Halloween, and they decided to give it to them as an early Christmas surprise. Super early I know, but at the time it was fun and sounded like a good idea so I was all “what the hell” and let them open it.  

The idea of the elf is really cute. You get this little box which has an elf in it along with a book to read to the kids about how the elf works. The story goes that each night the elf flies back to the North Pole and reports back to Santa on all of the good – or bad – things the kids did that day. The rule is that the elf can’t talk to the kids, and the kids can’t touch the elf or the magic will get “broken” and the elf won’t be able to fly to the North Pole each night. The book explains that if this happens the kids won’t get bugger all on Christmas morning because Santa will think the kids forgot about Santa.

Every night after the kids go to bed, you (the parents) have to move the elf around the house to a new spot so that is looks like the elf made his round-trip, and found a new resting spot. The game is for the kids to try and find where the elf is every morning.
 
My mom got the idea from her hairdresser who had told my mom all about how they had an elf for their kids last year and they did all this cute and witty stuff with the elf. One morning the elf was on the shelf in the bathroom and the toilet paper was all off the roll, and another morning they put the elf in the kitchen and spilled some flour and made little prints like the elf had run through the flour.

So – not wanting to be outdone – we knew we had to take this shit to the next level.

The first thing you have to do is give the elf a name. We went with Tomte – which is the Swedish name for Santa.  

We maybe should have thought about that a bit more as it turns out Tomte is pretty fucking terrifying. I Googled him and according to Wikipedia if you don’t leave oatmeal out for him, or if you curse, or take a whiz on the floor - he will go bat-shit crazy and do everything from kill your cow to burn your house down. He also apparently beat a Norwegian chick to death after she ate his porridge. I am not even kidding.  He beat the shit out of some poor little ‘Weege for eating some god-damned porridge. What in the hell kind of messed up Santa does that? Anywhooo -  I think you get the picture. Tomte is anything but super charming and after seeing how the kids reacted to him – it turns out that maybe it was a pretty appropriate name choice.

This is a drawing on Tomte from the 1600s. If I woke up and saw this dude sweeping my floors
with his chicken feet and  troll face I think the odds of me having a stroke would be pretty high.
I do not want any part of anything this guy would leave behind as a "gift."



SWEET JESUS! Run kitty run! YIKES!

 So – I am getting ahead of myself. Let’s back it all up and bring it back to the first morning after Tomte arrived…

For the first morning (and keep in mind it is like November 2 at this point) we thought it would be cute to have a piece a Halloween candy stuck to Tomte’s face. Kind of like Tomte had stolen it and hadn’t finished eating it yet.  We thought it was pretty witty and were excited to see how the kids reacted.

When the kids got up in the morning – my dad asked if they could find Tomte. They raced around until Max spotted Tomte sitting on the fireplace – with a marshmallow ghost stuck to his smiling, perky little face.

Max looked at me – looked back at Tomte – looked at his Halloween candy sack and was like “what in the what Tomte? Is this how you are going to play me?” He tried not to let on - but I could tell he was pissed. Max grabbed the candy off Tomte’s face (rule number one already broken) and shoved it into his mouth. The whole time he chewed he never took his eyes off Tomte.

Shortly after that we loaded up the van and headed back to Calgary. About an hour into the drive – and totally out of nowhere – Max stated that Tomte is a jerk, and if Tomte touches his candy again, he (Max) would eat all the elf food.  Okay – fair is fair. I have no idea what Max thinks elf food is - but so long as Max doesn’t think it is the dog’s kibble, or my beer, we should be all good.

That afternoon when we got home the kids were a bit whiny and were not listening. I yelled a bit and then remembered I had an ace up my sleeve – Tomte! So I pulled the trump card out and let them know that Tomte would be telling Santa all about how they were acting and if it keeps up, they may end up on the naughty list.

If looks could kill – Tomte would have gone off like a tiny nuke on the mantle. Max and Molly both gave Tomte a look of pure hate and stomped off upstairs. But they did start to listen, so in my book, it was a total win.

That night, I moved Tomte to the ledge on the chalkboard in the kitchen and in keeping with theme of making him real, I put one of the Christmas ornaments the kids had just painted into his lap and put his arms around it like he was hugging it.

The next morning as the kids were finishing getting dressed, I told them that Tomte should be back from his trip to the North Pole and that we should go find him. They both raced downstairs and started to look.

Max spotted Tomte first and started to shriek like he had spotted the devil himself perched on the chalkboard ledge. He started yelling at Molly that Tomte was stealing all the ornaments they made. Molly came barreling around the corner was started yelling at Tomte to stop being a jerk and get his own stuff.

I do not think that this is what the book – or the hairdresser – had in mind. Our kids were starting to see Tomte as the enemy – a thieving little snitch who was basically there to steal their shit and narc them out to Santa. 

That night, before going upstairs to bed, Molly looked at Tomte and gave him a stern pointing to and told him to leave her stuff alone. Max looked at me – and with genuine worry on his face - asked me to tell Tomte to not touch his stuff and not to keep moving to a new spot.  “He should stay there…right there…on that bear,” he specified.

This little Tomte project had clearly come off the rails and Tomte was in need of some reputation management and damage control. So that night we didn’t move Tomte at all. We left him exactly where he was – no new props, no clever actions, nothing. I did however write a “note” from Tomte to Max telling him he was sorry.

The next morning Max came down and checked to see where Tomte was. When he saw that Tomte hadn’t moved he was visibly relieved. I made a pretty big deal about the note and explained what it said. That did not go according to plan either. Max gave Tomte a look like “what is your game dude?” and walked sideways out of the room so that he could keep his eyes on the thieving little asshole on the mantle.

Here is Tomte...riding a weird rusted metal bear and his poorly written note in crayon.
I am starting to understand why the plan may have backfired...

For the rest of the day I noticed Max and Molly kept watching Tomte and sort of backing away without ever turning their backs to him.

Tomte went back in the box that night and we told the kids the next morning that Tomte got called back to Santa’s workshop to help him make all the toys for Christmas. They still (like three weeks later) ask if he is back, but they do it with a look of fear and worry. Kind of like a face you would make when someone tells you there is a spider on you. 

We are bringing Tomte back on Saturday and are going to have him bring the daily advent calendar present. So here is hoping that because he will be connected with delivering fun stuff daily we will be able to turn Tomte’s reputation around.

I heart Ruby

We took the kids out of the day home just over a month and a half ago and I am pretty sure that it was the best decision we have ever made.

I think I have told this story to anyone who will listen – but what the hell – one more time for the cheap seats in the back:
• We had been unhappy with the day home we were using for quite a while. 
• Max started telling us that the day home owner's son was bullying the heck out of him – to the point Max was peeing his pants (sorry Max)  and begging not to go to daycare. We did talk to the day home women about it - LOTS – and they “resolved” it by asking Max, in front of the bully, if he liked the bully.  When Max said yes – they looked at me like “Problem solved!”
• They started applying special rules to their kids – kind of like a Lord of the Flies scenario expect instead of except for Piggy dying and everyone getting rescued – all the kids who went to the day home got to sit and watch while the day home owner’s kids got treated like royalty. The day home owner’s kids had special toys only they could play with and they had special rules. The day home owner’s kids also got to go on all kinds of special outings while the day home kids got to stay at the day home. The owners were also really great in telling the day home kids about just what a special and fun day their kids would be having and really making sure to rub it in and point out that the rest of the kids did not get to go. Okay – so maybe that is nothing like Lord of the Flies – I haven’t read it in a long time.

So – unfortunately it ended up getting super ugly and the daycare people took a hard left from Sanity Street. They threatened to sue us for slander and told the other day home parents that we had accused them of physically abusing our kids (WTF?). They went one step further and asked all the other parents to be character witnesses for when we go to court. They also threw in that since Molly loved their dog we were wrong about everything and that as I had changed jobs a few times they should have seen this coming.

Seriously. That all happened. You can’t make this shit up.

Anyway – it was a messy and ugly thing but it totally restored my faith in karma because out of the whole thing we got Ruby. 

Ruby and the kids

Ruby has been a nanny for my friend for over a year, and my friend and her family really love Ruby. So when my friend saw what we were going through – she talked to Ruby and they asked if I wanted to have Ruby as a nanny as well.

We have been taking the kids to Ruby since the ugly break-up and Ruby is beyond fantastic with them. Since the kids have been staying with her and my friend’s two children – the changes in Max and Molly are almost unbelievable.

Molly at the zoo with Ruby and Max

Anders and I have both noticed how much the kids have seemed to develop right before our eyes. Their maturity is pulling ahead by leaps and bounds and both have had an explosion in their vocabulary. They are blossoming and growing every day. They are smiling again, and are eager and happy to start their days.

Ruby takes Max and Molly places, makes up songs and signs with them, does crafts and makes them feel loved and secure. She thinks of creative ways to engage them, and takes them on little daily adventures out in the woods, or to local parks. 

Max crashed out after another adventure with Ruby

Every night when we are getting the kids dressed for bed we ask them what the best part of their day was. A few nights again Molly told me that playing with Ruby was the best part of her day, and Max said that hugging Ruby was the best part of his. 

Nina the Beana, or Girl Reno, or just "the new dog." Turns out – it doesn’t really matter since she is stone-cold deaf. Or just really good at ignoring us.

Nina has been with us for almost three weeks now and we (and by that I mean Rusty, the kids and I) totally love her. She is really sweet, loves to cuddle and is pretty smart.

The problem is I am pretty sure that Nina is not loving us all that much. 

She has been doing a lot of slinking along the walls, and hiding under shit since she has come to live with us. At first, I wrote it off as her getting used to her new home, a new schedule and bunch of new people in her face. Then, as the days went on, I noticed that she was only hiding and slinking when the kids were around.

Holy shit Rusty - is that them coming? I can't hear a god-damn thing here...

I totally get it. Trust me – there are plenty of times I have pulled the same type of things.

I used to be a heavy sleeper, and was one of those people who woke up by throwing the covers off and jumping up with a stunned look and crazy hair. Since having kids, I have managed to train myself to wake up from a dead sleep and not open my eyes or move a muscle. It all started as a sort of fucked up game of chicken between Anders and I when the kids were born, since the first one who “woke up” (which meant visible movement or breathing pattern change) had to get up with whichever baby was screaming. It was like Jedi training - both of trying to zone out the wailing baby and outlast the other and see who would snap first.

But I have to say I have really perfected this skill over the past few months. The kids have started stumbling into our room in the middle of the night and basically putting their mouths directly on my eye sockets and whispering “Momma….are you awake….Momma…can you hear me…Momma?” If I flinch or open my eyes – it is game over. I am up doing Lego and making waffles. But – by lying dead still, I have learned that they eventually give up and go try their luck on Anders side of the bed.

Anyway – bad parenting aside, I get the slinking thing Nina is doing.

We have tried getting the kids to calm down around her (good luck!) and have tried redirecting the kids attention to Rusty or something else – but Nina is so damn cute you just can’t not hug and squeeze her. So really – it is her own cute-ass fault!

How can you not squeeze that face? She brings it on herself really.

And – I am not sure how deaf she actually is. The rescue group thought she was almost completely deaf but I am not so sure about that. She is pretty clever and – much like my fake sleeping – I am starting to have suspicions that she has just mastered selective hearing.  I have been watching her when we are around and her little ears are constantly moving. And – unless she can read lips – she can somehow - and pretty miraculously - hear the words “treat” and “walk”. But when she is standing at the fence barking at people and we are yelling at her to stop - apparently she can’t hear a damn thing. 

There are signs she is starting to come around. Mainly the fact she doesn’t haul ass for under the table when the kids appear – but also the fact we found her sleeping curled up with Molly this morning. Plus, the kids are getting a bit calmer around her so that is helping. Anders - for all his grumbling - is actually starting to pet her when he thinks no one is looking.

I should also look at this whole thing from her side. One day – she is a puppy, cruising all feral and free up in Northern BC, and then BAM! She gets thrown in a crate, loaded on a plane and shipped to a place where she was thrown into an enclosed space with two wild and free three-year-olds.  I can imagine that shit is terrifying!

Poor Rusty - they look like a before and after ad.

Say hello to my new little friend

I don’t mean to alarm anyone, but I am pretty sure they are cloning dogs in Northern BC.

We (mainly me) have been talking about getting another dog for a few months. I was thinking since Rusty is slowing down and getting a bit older, it would be good for him to have a buddy, and it would be good for the kids to have a younger dog to play with. Rusty loves the kids, but has never been a playful kind of a dog. He is more of a pet me from a safe distance, then feed me and walk me kind of guy.

And - even though Anders won’t believe me – dogs are actually easier is pairs since they keep each other company and play with each other. 

I have been cruising all the local dog rescue sites, and out of habit, I always check the website of the animal group (Turtle Gardens Animal Rescue) which we got Rusty from. That place is run by this amazing woman and her family, and I don’t think it would be exaggerating to say that they have probably saved thousands of dogs throughout their lives.  

So, during one of my normal Internet cruises for our new dog, I sort of stumbled across this dog – Nina – which they have posted as available for adoption on the Turtle Garden’s site. I swear to God I thought they had accidentally reposted Rusty’s adoption picture from 2003. This dog could be Rusty – right down to the pink nose, rotting teeth, and messed-up, Fraggle Rock looking fur. The only difference is that this is a GIRL Rusty –and that is exactly what I was looking for! And - instead of a suspect IQ, she is smart but has suspect hearing. I was told she is most likely, if not totally deaf, then at least pretty hard of hearing.

There is no way that these two aren’t related. I don’t know the back story on Nina like I did on Rusty, but I can tell you there is a crazy little bunch of meerkat/terrier/spaniel/possum dogs running around up near the small town of Topley, BC. 

Say hello to our new little meerkat/terrier/spaniel/coyote/possum friend Nina (or maybe Nora?) They think she is about six to nine months old. 

Nina...working the beach

And here is Rusty. Clones or cousins? Hard to tell but there are definitely some shared genes here.

Rusty...working the latest in Nordic dog apparel

The last piece to this is that I think I just adopted her. Okay, I did just adopt her. I sent an email to the group asking about her, and then I actually got a call from the nice woman who is fostering Nina (lovely woman), and then then next thing I know – I got an email saying I was her approved adopter and they can fly her out.

Say a big hello to Nina (or maybe Gracie?) the newest member of the Jonsson family!

Nina's little face

Rusty's little face - a bit older and more grizzled - but definitely related!

We worked out all the logistics today, and she lands in Calgary tomorrow afternoon. The kids and I are over-the-top excited…and Anders will come around.

According to woman who is fostering Nina – Nina has a personality just like Rusty. The woman said that Nina is calm, gentle, loving and sweet and added that she loves to cuddle, is housebroken, and she is slow-moving. Plus – she is Rusty’s family…and you can’t say no to family!

Street racing...but on foot - so way less cool, and a lot slower

Last night was the kick-off to our long-weekend without children. We were like a couple giddy kids who had a hall pass and didn’t quite know what to do with themselves. Since we don’t have any family in town, we rarely get any couple time. We have also never been away from the kids for longer that two nights (and that has only happened once in three and a half years). So the thought of FIVE whole nights, kid free is enough to send us giggling and skipping over the edge.

We are planning to make the most of it and do all the things that are either a total pain in the ass to do with kids in tow, or that we just don’t do - because we have kids in tow.

Tomorrow we are finally going to go and test drive all the vehicles we have been wanting to, and then on Sunday, I am shopping with girlfriends while Anders goes fly-fishing all day. We are also planning to eat out for dinner every night - and we may even get really wild and go see a couple movies at the actual theatre. Who knows how crazy we will get!

To kick it all off last night, we decided to hit the mall…on a school night…after 6pm. Are you still with me? I lost a locking backing to one of my favourite earrings a few weeks back, so we decided to head to the jeweler at the mall to get a replacement and have some dinner while we were there. We also wanted to check the pot selection at the Bay as we needed to add a few more to our set. But – and here is where the crazy kicked in - we ended up getting a fabulous deal on an 11-piece, copper-bottomed pan set – and – a 5.3c litre Le Creuset French Oven. I also ended up having a bit too much beer at dinner (and maybe Anders did too - since he agreed that buying all new cookware on a whim was a great idea). 

Anywhooo – that brings us to this morning. 

We actually slept in since we didn’t have to wrestle any children, and we managed to have a leisurely coffee (and two Tylenol for me) before heading off to work.

I parked the van in my normal spot and started my five block walk to my office. I am on the tall side, and walk pretty quickly so I am used to passing people along the way. What I am not used to is almost passing someone, and then having that person turn and give you the "Hell No!" face and literally run for half a block to get ahead of you.

True story.

This morning on my walk in I caught up to this totally normal and sane looking guy – he was about my height and my age – and as I was passing him, he looked over at me, and then he just took off running. It was weird, but I was like “wow – that guy must be in a hurry” since a lot of walking commuters do that. They kind of run for about 100 metres, then walk quickly, then run again. It is like no one wants to commit to the full-out run – so they do the weird walk/run combo which actually looks just as weird. Either run or walk people – commit to something.

Anyway, I keep walking and catch the guy again! This time as I go to pass him - he looks over and sees it is me, and instead of running he starts doing that pinched ass cheek, elbows flying, super-fast speed walk to get ahead of me. All the while he is glancing back over his shoulder to see if I am catching up. 

So – now I get what is happening and am like – “Ohhhh…it is on bitch! You have picked the wrong lady to get into a random speed walking race with! I am well rested, slightly hung-over, and generally don’t give a shit what people think of me since I am super klutzy and used to being a bit of a spectacle. BRING IT!” 

So I cranked up the speed and manage to catch him just as we hit an intersection and a red light. As we stood there on the sidewalk waiting for the walk signal – I stood right beside and him and started at his head. He was looking everywhere and at everything - except for me. He was checking his watch, his shoes, looking at the sky – basically anywhere but directly to his left where I was standing.

As soon as the light changed - he flew across the street like a guy out of the starting blocks. He was a speed walking maniac – all sucked-up ass and flying legs. It was like racing Michael Flatley – that dude from the Lord of the Dance. I managed to keep up, but I could tell that for whatever reason this guy was getting more and more panicked as his breathing was getting pretty loud and he was sweating. Plus his glances backwards started getting a desperate quality to them – like he looking back and seeing the hounds of hell chasing him or something.

I started feeling kind of bad, so as we got near my office, I shouted at him, “Okay - okay you win! I have to stop here!” and the guy turned around and gave me the double middle finger. What the hell? I have no idea what happened, or who he thought I was, or what he thought we were racing for. It doesn’t even really matter as it gave me a chuckle on a Friday morning - and in my head I was like, “Story to tell at upcoming holiday parties – CHECK!”

Anyway – it is officially the weekend now. I am back at home, hanging with Rusty, having a beer (me, not Rusty – I think he is more of a Bailey’s and milk kind of guy), and am waiting for Anders to get home. Tonight we are getting all kinds of crazy and hitting Costco. Who knows what kind of shenanigans we will be getting up to!

Grow ops, police helicopters and the problem with back lighting

A few nights ago we had some police activity in our neighborhood. Anders left the house at about 6:45 p.m. to go for a haircut, and two blocks from our house (in a vacant field with some dilapidated barns and a vacant house) he saw a bunch of cop cars with sirens going and two officers in the field with their guns drawn. (Maybe I should add that we don’t actually live in the scary part of town. It just sounds like it from the above paragraph with all the vacant fields, run down barns and abandoned houses, and police men with fire arms pulled.)

Then – on his way back home – he noticed that the police party had moved a bit farther up the road, but that a bunch of police vans, a few more police cars and some dudes in camo (with guns drawn) had now joined the festivities. 

While all this was going on – I was totally oblivious and was putting the kids to bed. I did hear quite a bit of helicopter noise but didn’t think too much of it…until Anders got home and told me all about the little police get-together a few blocks from our house. As we both put two and two together we looked and each other and were like, “Holy SHIT! That grow-op behind our house is totally getting busted tonight!”

(Again…I feel I should point out that we really don’t live in the sketchy part of town - and just in case we do put our house on the market in the next little while, let me assure you – it is a lovely, lovely neighborhood. And we actually aren’t sure if the house behind us is a grow op. We just never ever see anybody there – ever - and in the two years we have lived here we have only seen lights on at night maybe a handful of times, and never in the morning. This could also just mean they are retired snowbirds who travel a lot – but for whatever reason – we went straight to grow op.)  

So the two of us raced to our bedroom windows (which face the alleged grow op) and since our blinds were closed – Anders started to slowly, and very stealthily, open the blinds while at the same time telling me to stay back and be quiet. I should point out here that our en suite light was on – and the en suite is located directly behind us. And – after knowing me for seven years – Anders should know that you should never tell me to whisper. I am the shittiest whisperer ever. I pretty much do the direct opposite of whisper - and do a weird yell/whisper shriek combo. And the more scared or excited I get - the louder and weirder the whispering gets. As part of the whispering problem - I also get weirdly excited and slap at whoever tells me to whisper. And, looking back, not sure what was going on that would require us to whisper since we were in our house.

To anyone outside of our house – we must have looked awesome. Two perfectly back light idiots standing in the universal “sneaky pose” (hunched shoulders, hands cupped around eyes) trying to be stealthy and peeking out between partly opened blind slats, smacking each other and whispering/yelling.

But – we weren’t noticing any of this since the lights in the “grow op” behind us were actually ON! And they hadn’t been on in months!  Coincidence? We thought not! We figured the drug dealers were probably frantically trying to get their crop out the door – or holing up and planning to go down Scar Face style in a blaze of glory. Anders was even positive the windows had condensation on them (they didn’t) and I was positive I saw people lurking in the shadows in the yard (there weren’t.)

After staring at the house for a few minutes and not seeing any action - we totally lost interest.  Anders did suggest we send Rusty out as a decoy to see if he gets shot – but mainly I think he was just looking to get rid of the dog again. 

Before we went to bed, I went downstairs to let Rusty out for one last bathroom break. This is when I noticed our back door hanging wide open – blowing in the breeze. The whole time this was going down - our back door (which faces the grow op) was completely open. I had let Rusty out at about the same time Anders left for his hair appointment and apparently forgot to close the door. It was now 9:30 p.m. I should have just handed out invites or made a couple posters - “Hey… grow op dudes? Need a place to take some hostages and hole up for the night? Yeah, well right over here…come on in…door is open for you!”

Looking back at all of this, I actually learned quite a bit about us a couple that night.

First off – I think it is safe to say we would totally be the first to die in a horror movie. We would be the idiots who don’t notice the feet sticking out from below the curtains, or the morons who don’t see the person lying down in the back seat of the car. Also – since we have established that I can’t whisper hiding is clearly out of the questions.

We would also be the worst police partners ever. Aside from the above awesome stake-out work (damn back lighting!) and Anders' plan to try and get our dog shot decoy mission, we both totally lose our shit in a panicky situation. I do a lot of yelling and running around with very little actual helpful output, and Anders does a lot of running his hands through his hair while shouting at me to stop shouting.

And I think we can confirm that both of us have a least a small dose of Attention Deficit Disorder. If a circling helicopter, dudes in camo gear with drawn weapons, and like 10 vehicles with sirens going can’t hold our attention for more than five minutes, I am not sure what could.

There was nothing on the news the following day - so we have no idea what was actually happening in our neck of the woods. But I am pretty confident it didn’t involve a grow op raid on the house behind us.

A hit and a miss...and then another hit and another miss

This weekend we got a taste of what the next 15 years or so is going to be like. Molly had ballet on Saturday morning (her second lesson) - and Max had his first skating lesson. The kid's lessons are at the same time, so we had to juggle getting them up, shoving some breakfast into them, and then splitting up and getting them to their respective classes.

I was in charge of Molly and getting her to ballet. The rules for ballet are that parents aren't allowed to stay and watch as apparently we are too much of a distraction (there is a small window in the door we can watch through but it kind of feels stalker/weird-ish) so I dropped her off and then just kind of stood in the hallway like an idiot.

Besides daycare I have never left the twins anywhere (other than with my parents) so I was not used to this and didn't really know what to do with myself. A bunch of us moms just sort of stood in the hallway like "now what?" So what did all of us do with our free 45 minutes? A good majority of us walked across the street to Sobeys and did our grocery shopping. What the hell is wrong with us! We get 45 minutes to ourselves and the best we can come up with is errands? I am bringing a 26'er next time and turning this thing into a drinking game. For every time Molly lifts her skirt over her head, does "her move", or tries to distract one of the other girls - we are all doing a shot. I don't really know the other ladies yet so I will start with something girly like Bailey's and see how it goes from there.

Anders had Max and the two of them were pretty excited for their first skating lesson. I am not going to lie - I had some high hopes of Max turning into the next big thing in the NHL. He is a Swedish Canadian hybrid - which in hockey terms is basically like taking awesome, and mixing in some fantastic - and creating pure fabulous! Or I thought it was. Apparently - the spirits were good, and everyone was pretty excited - until Max's skates actually made contact with the ice. From then on in - it was a disaster. Max spent most of the time on his ass, his knees, or all fours.


On his way out the door - hope was still pretty high at this point...



Actually have the skates on - and getting less cool with the idea...

This kind of sums up the class - the poor kid

Which brings us to today. I signed up the kids and me up for a fun family race (called a cupcake chase since the kids got cupcakes at the finish - how cute is that!) At 9:00 am I did the 5km with a friend and her friend, and then Anders brought the twins down for the kids 1km race which started at 10:30 am.

There was a fun kids warm up - which they both loved - and then we lined up according to age and we were off. Max was a super star and did great. Molly on the other hand has somehow learned how to fake injuries for sympathy. I looked over at the half-way mark and Molly was jumping on one leg yelling "my knee - my knee!" Sweet Jesus. 

This is the kids warm up - Molly went off the script and free-styled it.
Maybe that is why she hurt her knee

I kept going with Max, and as we got close to the finish line - the announcer said his name on the speakers and started to cheer him on. He got the biggest smile and his face - made little fists and put his head down and just started running the devil was on his heels. I was/am so proud of that little guy - and he was so proud of himself as he crossed the line. 

Max coming down the home stretch. 

Molly and Anders came a few minutes later and they both looked like they were limping out of a battle zone. After the race I asked Anders how it went and he said Molly tried every trick in her book. She had the knee injury (which healed instantly when Anders told her she wouldn't get her cupcake if he had to carry her), then she told Anders she couldn't remember how to walk (that is a pretty ballsy move - you gotta be pretty cocky to pull that one off) and of course - she pulled the good old stand-by "I am too tired." She was getting passed by kids who couldn't have been more than 18-months old. 

I know that they aren't going to be good at everything, I just want them to at least try it. So maybe the next race will be just Max and I - and Anders and Molly can try something new.

Enjoying some post race cupcakes

Random things

I haven’t been writing much lately, as life seems to be pretty heavy right now. We are working our way through some pretty big, life-changing decisions - and writing has just sort of fallen by the wayside. Drinking on the other hand has definitely not fallen to the wayside. Neither has eating. I am not lacking in either area there.

But – there is always good, and I am learning I should pay more attention to that, and maybe dwell on the stress a bit less. In any given day – there is the bad, the good, and the shit that if you just look at with the right perspective – can be pretty funny. 

So below is sort of a rag-tag laundry list of stuff that has been happening in our lives, with a focus on all the good and/or entertaining things that have happened to us.

• Molly had her first ballet class last Saturday – and I think it is fair to say that both Anders and I were a bit nervous on how that was going to shake out. Molly was either going to walk in, tell a few girls to get bent and then proceed to do “her move” (the Beyoncé butt shake disco point combo) for the next hour – OR – she would actually like it and pay attention. Turns out - she LOVED it – and was like a little taffeta wearing fairy as she listen attentively and twirled and swirled around the room. Anders and I got choked up as we watched with a mix of pride and amazement – who in the hell was this sweet and graceful girl – and where the hell was she for the rest of the week?  We knew she was still our Molly when the teacher asked all the girls in the class to pretend they were butterflies – and to say what color they were. Out of the ten girls – four said they were purple butterflies, five said they were pink and Molly happily shouted out that she was a white butterfly with rainbow sparkles.


Molly - all ready for class and showing us "her move." She let us know that she
can do the move for a really long time and not even get tired.
Great. Super awesome. Another thing to look forward to.


• Yesterday the kids were a bit under the weather so I stayed home with them. Molly had dumped a glass of chocolate milk at the top of the stairs on Sunday, so I had the idea to rent a carpet cleaner and make the most of the day at home. Molly took one look at the cleaner, and figuring out that this may mean work, she made herself pretty scarce. Max on the other hand stood next to me and - with his hands on his hips while shaking his head - let me know that “this is going to be a big job Momma – we should have a beer and a lollipop.” That is some solid life advice. When in doubt or looking at a big job - have a beer …and a lollipop (if you are in the whole sweet and salty thing). 

• Apparently we (I) are now old enough, and gullible enough to get ripped off senior citizen, better business bureau style since we totally got scammed by an innocent and sweet looking 14 year-old. Last Thursday night this girl rang our doorbell and said she was helping raise funds to buy books and instruments for her school by selling activity coupon books. The book had some good discounts off kid’s stuff so I signed up and paid her the $20. She said she would be back with the coupon book the next night. As soon as I closed the door, Anders was like “there goes our money – we are not ever seeing her again.” I was positive she would be back, but turns out that after almost a week, Anders was right. We totally funded her subscription to Seventeen magazine and the purchase of a Justin Bieber CD. Or maybe I am being too gullible again – she probably got a tramp stamp tattoo and binge drank all weekend.

• A lot of mornings on my way into work I see this same, high-end, flashy car with the vanity plates “dream big.” That in itself kind of annoys me in a Jerry Maguire/obnoxious kind of way. But, to make it worse, the guy drives like a total douche bag. He is always cutting people off, changing lanes like a maniac, and - his signature move - squeaking in right in front of you and then suddenly (and for no visible reason) slamming on his brakes. So, this morning when I saw that jackass broken down on the side of the road, standing by his open hood, shivering and yelling into his phone – I kinda chuckled. Karma – 1, Jackass – 0.

• Max and Molly still get bottles of warm milk when they go to bed (I know, I know they are three and we should totally stop – but we just don’t have the heart…yet) and when Molly is done, she gives the bottle a good overhand throw across her room. When Max is done – he places the bottle carefully on his little bedside table, every night – without fail. I don’t know why – but seeing that little bottle so carefully placed by such a little man just breaks and melts my heart every time.

• We went canoeing and kayaking with my parents, my nephew Josh and the kids a couple weekends ago at this beautiful little lake outside of Cranbrook. Molly caught on pretty quick to the whole canoe gig. She sat on a stack of cushions between Anders and me and happily waved to her imagined throngs of admirers like the Queen of Sheba. Max wanted nothing to do with the canoe – but that little bugger got into the kayak and started paddling like a pro. He was so proud of himself and had a grin from ear to ear.

My nephew Josh helping Max get off the shore.



Molly - aka the Queen of Sheba -
catching some rays and enjoying the ride.

Sometimes doing a reality check is good and helps you to see all the positive in your life - especially on today of all days. We are pretty blessed, and there are things a lot worse than having so many life choices that we are overwhelmed.

Gloria Steinem vs Marg Simpson

I have been wrestling with the decision to stay home with Max and Molly for about a year.

Basically in a nutshell – the last year has been a series of peaks and valleys. The peaks are the days that I am pretty confident that I have totally got all this working mom shit covered off and that everything is totally under control. The valleys are the days were Anders comes home to find me a crying, snot-bubble blowing mess - totally convinced that I am failing miserably at both work and home, and feeling so overwhelmed that the witness protection program starts looking like a good option.

The problem is – the time between when I would take a total belly-flop from the peak into the valley used to be a lot further apart, These days – it is anyone’s guess what I am going to be like by the end of the day. It must be a bit like Russian roulette for Anders when he comes home. Am I going to be totally sane and in control? Or am I going to be a screaming, irrational mess. (Maybe I should ask him to write a blog on how awesome his life is right now!)

Anders has told me repeatedly to quit my job, and let me know that he will support me in whatever I choose. Here is where things get all murky. As much as I feel overwhelmed and as much as I would love to commit to being a stay at home mom for the next couple of years (until the twins go to school) - the thought of that also scares the shit out of me.

For my entire adult life – what I do has defined who I am. I started as a student, then I moved on to being a reporter and for the last 12 or 13 years – I have been working my way up the public relations ranks.

For me to admit that I want to be home with my children, and give up what I have worked for over a decade to achieve is some seriously terrifying shit. I kind of feel like I am spitting in the face of all the woman who have been working towards this for decades and have slowly, rung by rung, fought their way up the ladder and paved the road for me.

I don’t know what I think is going to happen. Maybe I will wake up one morning and find Gloria Steinem leading a bra burning protest on my front lawn? Or – and this is worse in my eyes – other women will judge me for the choices I have made and look down their noses at me as someone who didn’t have the mettle to be a mom and maintain my career. 

But on the flip side - isn’t that what woman have been working for all along? The right to be able to choose whatever we want to be – even if that means choosing to be a stay at home mom?

Still - even with my gut telling me to stay home - I am not sure if I am ready to stand up and say that I think this working mom gig is a total bullshit deal. Although I will be the first to say that I can’t do it all, and I think those women who can are seriously medicated. I think they also buy take-out for diner parties and then lie and say they made it (I have totally done this by the way) and have a secret cleaning lady (I wish I had done this but they are like $40/hour here – that is crazy!)

Luckily – we have a timeline we need to work within. Anders job is ending, and we may have to make some decisions, and some decisions might be made for us.

Max and Rusty - Max 1.5 years old, Rusty 8.5 years old

Molly - 1.5 years old

Excuse me – is that a mullet headband you are wearing?

I am growing out a pixie cut right now and I am at that really awful awkward stage where my hair isn’t quite long enough to be a bob – but isn’t really short anymore either. From a distance I kind of look like I am wearing a bad wig or a really snazzy helmet made out of hair.

Every morning I get up and blow dry it and try to coax an extra inch of hair out of my head. I have tried making it all scrunchy/wavy, tried the flat iron, have even tried hair clips and Molly’s barrettes (not proud of that one) but nothing is helping.

At my last trim/clean up cut my hairdresser suggested I try some hair extension to get me through the awkward stage. She showed me that she has them and explained that they are made from real hair and you can do whatever to them. She brought over the girl who does extensions for the salon for a quick consult and at the start of the meeting I actually had some hope that my days of looking like I was wearing a hair helmet were finally numbered.

Until I found out the price…

It turns out that because my hair is thicker than a Sasquatch who has been using Rogaine - it would take like a bazillion extensions to fill it in properly, and would cost between $800 and $1,000.

What in the holy hell? And the best (or worst) part is that since I wash my hair everyday the extensions are only good for about four to six weeks. So in theory – I would probably have to fork out that amount twice to get through the awkward phase. The woman offered up that if I didn’t wash my hair so compulsively they would last a lot longer. “If you only wash your hair once a week they would last way longer – like probably six months.”

“And how often do your clients who have access to running water wash their hair? I am all for saving a dollar and trying to get the most out of these extensions – but ONCE A WEEK? Am I being too obsessive compulsive disorder about this? I get the whole every other day, and can maybe even get on board the once every three days train – but once a week? I wouldn’t wear the same clothes for a week – so really? Not washing your hair for a week?”

I was feeling a weird mix of total disgust with a side of prude and she didn’t help by volunteering that she washes her hair about every 10 days. She then offered that in fact she is VERY clean – and that maybe I am TOO clean. But she said it with a tone that implied that I was all boring vanilla and she was all wild-child having sex on chandeliers and stuff while I was at home wearing a prairie dress and plucking chickens.

All I knew at this point was that there was no way I was letting this woman do my extensions since I had totally offended her (and didn’t feel like being burned 1000 times by a teeny tiny extension iron) and that I was pretty grossed out.

On the drive home I remembered I had a left-over, never-used Jessica Simpson extension kit from my wedding. Jackpot! I just had to figure out how to clip in the “almost like real hair” and make sure I didn’t stand too close to open flame since I have heard those bitches will go up like a Roman Candle.

I got home and read the extension kit’s enclosed instructions and watched the suggested video and started getting to work clipping those babies in. It wasn’t going as well as expected and after about half an hour of clipping, curling, brushing and fixing - I looked nothing like the perky-ass Jessica featured on the packaging. I looked a lot more like a pissed off woman wearing a hair helmet and a headband with a mullet attached. Fuck you Jessica and your annoyingly perky sidekick Ken Paves! I looked like someone in one of those “people of Wal-Mart” emails.  

Since I am too embarrassed to go back to Greasy for the extensions, I am resigned to the fact that I am going to look like a blond version of Speed Racer for the next couple months.

Hey is that Speed Racer?...Nope, no...that is just
Amy and her awesome hair helmet.

Why some people maybe shouldn't have kids...

My husband and I both work downtown. This morning was my turn to drop the kids off at daycare so I came into the downtown core a bit later than usual. As soon as I hit downtown, traffic started to snarl-up and as usual, people started to drive a bit crazy. 

On top of all the cars jockeying around – you have to watch out for cyclists flying in and out of traffic. There are quite a few people who ride their bikes to work here – and while I salute their commitment – I also think they are a bit nuts. The roads downtown are really narrow and traffic moves quickly and erratically as people swerve their vehicles around parked cars, slow drivers, pot holes…you name it. I am nervous in my van – never mind on a bike.

So, this morning when I spotted a woman riding up the white dotted-line between cars who are driving 50 km/hour on a narrow four-lane street – I just shook my head and tried to get around her. But then – and I think this is when the woman beside me noticed too because we both slammed on our brakes at about the same time – SHE HAD A TODDLER STRAPPED TO HER BIKE IN A BIKE SEAT BEHIND HER!

At the next red light, I was still beside the woman who slammed on her brakes and we looked at each other and gave each other that disbelieving head shake. The other driver pointed to the woman on the bike and I am pretty sure she mouthed “what the fuck?” My sentiments exactly fellow driver!

I was behind the woman cyclist and her kid for about four more blocks before I turned right and she went left – but for those four blocks my entire body was so tense I think almost ripped the steering wheel off and my ass definitely did not touch the seat. As I watched her dart between cars and change lanes I was actually yelling and pointing at other cars telling them to watch out, move over and slow down.

I made it to work by 8:00 am and was exhausted and in need of a drink. That woman (and kid) must have nerves of steel! I have no idea how she does it everyday. Maybe she is medicated? That would explain a few things. I have never had such a stressful drive into work, and next time I come into downtown late, I am sure as shit not taking that route. My nerves cannot handle seeing that woman again.

Taken on my phone after I finally pried my claw off the wheel. Why she decided now
was a good time to go on the sidewalk instead of about 10 blocks back I will never know.
Good luck and god speed!

Lola the Koala Showgirl

Molly and I along, with my friend M and her daughter went to Build-a-Bear on Saturday. All the boys in our respective families had gone to Monster Jam (a monster truck show) so M and I decided to do something fun with the just the girls. Since both our daughters are crazy for stuffed animals right now, we though an afternoon making teddy bears would be a great way to spend the day together.  

As we walked up to the store, the first thing we saw was the big teddy bear mascot blocking the door. Molly is pretty cool with most things, but she has reached her limit with big, dumb-ass mascots. The bear was making people give him high-fives to get in – so Molly marched up - gave him the token high-five and was like “alright sir – I have done my duty – step aside.” That bear wasn’t moving, so Molly took a swing at him - but since he was busy accosting M’s daughter and trying to get her to give him a high-five, he didn’t notice Molly. She gave him a disgusted look and pushed her way past him into the store - pausing only briefly to hit up his handler for a bear sticker on her hand on the way in. 

It was going okay for the first few minutes, but then I could tell Molly was already starting to check out and get bored. After she picked her bear (which was actually a cute and fuzzy little grey koala) she took her sticker off her hand and slapped it dead between her eyes. She then started telling anyone who would listen that “this is my move...” She would bust into a combo Beyonce butt bounce dance with a disco arm pointing thing, followed by vogue-ing into her final stance of her hips thrown out to one side, and both her hands on her waist.

Based on this, it was clearly going to be left up to me to finish the koala as Beyonce Jr worked on “her move.” M and her daughter were behind us in the process and I kept looking back at them as they were laughing and sharing some quality time. This was not how I pictured this day going down at all!

After I finished stuffing and fluffing the koala – it was time for Molly to pick an outfit for her new stuffed friend. Panties were first and Molly picked a pair of hot pink hello kitty ones…so far so good. Then we moved to the actual outfits and I shit you not – there had to of been at least 300 girl outfits alone, not to mention the accessories (everything from clip on cell phones, roller-skates, earrings to headbands).

I was trying to show Molly some princess looking outfits when she spotted the only hootchie momma looking dress in the whole place. She was insistent that was the one she wanted and there was no talking her out of it. The dress she picked had a hot-pink and low-cut bodice with a black skirt covered in multi-coloured sequins. It looked like something a transvestite would wear. She found matching glittery earrings – and Lola the Hootchie Showgirl Koala was born.

Lola...sharing some quality "get to know you" time with Sleep Sheep.

Molly (with the sticker still between her eyes) and Lola the Showgirl started Beyonce butt shaking around the store. I was getting the questionable stare from plenty of parents, but – Molly – oblivious to it all – was busy telling everyone that Lola was a dancer so she didn’t need shoes. Sweet Jesus. At least she didn’t ask if they had any four inch stilettos and maybe a pole for Lola.

M’s daughter on the other hand has picked a pastel pink and blue bear, and had dressed her in a wedding dress. She named her Heart Love and said she was going to get married and become a momma.

When we got back to my house, we sat Lola and Heart Love beside each other on a stool while the girls ran off to play. As the stuffed animals sat there side by side – it was hard not to compare the two’s handiwork.

M started laughing and saying it was so funny since the girls were so different and the stuffies reflected them perfectly. Yeah – easy for the mother of the girl who picked out a wedding dress to laugh about! “I told you I am totally screwed - I think we are looking at a replica of Molly’s future prom dress!”

M suggested maybe Lola can be a bridesmaid at Heart Love’s wedding. I wouldn’t count on it - I don’t think that is how Lola will roll. I don’t see Lola being anyone’s wingman.

Lola and Beyonce Jr getting some well earned sleep

Our seven year anniversary

August 20 was the seven year anniversary of Anders and my first official meeting. We sat next to each other at an 80s party thrown by a good friend of mine – and just like in the sappy movies - everyone else just sort of faded away and I locked in on Anders.

The night we met...

Before this, I guess you could say we vaguely knew each as we were both living in the same small town (Castlegar) and were both working on the same construction project. We were working on it from the opposites sides though -  he was an engineer for the company building the project – and I was working in public relations for the company who owned the project. Although I was at the construction site quite a bit - giving tours, taking pictures, etc., he was in project management and was in the site office so we never had reason to meet. 

Looking back - it is odd we didn't meet sooner as I knew quite a few of his colleagues’ pretty well, and he knew and socialized with a lot of my friends. But fate has a funny way of intervening and making sure things happen as they should. Anders had gotten out of a long relationship in 2004, and was finally just getting ready to start dating. I had also just gotten out of a very long relationship and was finally ready for a fresh start myself. So looking back, it is funny how things – when they are meant to be – just kind of all click together. If we had met even a few months earlier - who knows how it would have turned out?

Our wedding day...

We actually almost didn’t meet that night. I had just moved from Castlegar back to Cranbrook for a new job, and was still pretty high on the bitter scale from my last break up. I almost didn’t go, but my friend was known for throwing great parties, and I thought it would be a good way to re-enter the land of the living. Anders had played golf for about 10 hours that day, and was sun burned and exhausted. Lucky for me – his friends talked him into coming to the party instead of going home.

Max and Molly in the making...

It is true what they say – at least for me anyway – that you just kind of know right away. From that first night, I just felt so comfortable and safe with him. We have talked every day, at least once, since that first meeting and I have never had to worry (and still don’t) about my heart in his hands because I knew he would treat it better than his own. We may have officially gotten married in May of 2008, but I think of August 20 as our true anniversary as ever since that first night – my heart, body and soul have belonged to Anders.

An old dog can learn new tricks

We have lived in our current house for just over two years. In this time, Rusty has never escaped from our fenced backyard. Not once.

During the day when we are at work we leave Rusty in the house. Although Rusty has never had an accident – he is definitely looking for the facilities by the time we get home. So, last Thursday, knowing Max had a doctor’s appointment at 4:00 pm, I left work 10 minutes earlier than planned so I could stop at home to let Rusty out before I picked up the kids to go to the doctor. It was a beautiful day and the little guy looked so happy out in the yard - soaking up some sun in the freshly cut grass - that I made the snap decision to leave him outside. I put his water dish on the deck and left to go get the twins.

I should explain that every day when picking up the kids, I get the same shit show every single time. I walk into the daycare and clearly see that they are happily playing, but once they spot me, it is like a scene from a child abduction movie. They start wailing and screaming, hitting me and begging not to get in the van. Yeah – I feel pretty awesome about myself every afternoon.

Anyway, my theory – and I am sure I will find out more from their therapists in the years to come – is that they have had such a good time and are so busy all day that they are just completely overwhelmed and exhausted by the time I get there. I imagine they are saying “Sweet Fancy Moses Woman! Where in the hell have you been? We are exhausted here and need some quiet time! So can you get my damn shoes on – grab my shit – and get us out of here please!” instead of what they actually say – which sounds a lot more like a shrieked version of “I don’t like you,” and “I want to stay here.”

So knowing this is what I would be up against, and knowing I would still somehow need to wrangle them into the doctor’s office - I decided to bring along a little bribe in the form of licorice and orange pop. Nothing like straight sugar to get a child to cooperate, start listening and settle down right? I can see the flaws in my logic now - but at the time, it seemed like a pretty kick-ass plan. And to my credit, it worked for about 18 minutes. They got really quiet, and all I could hear was the crinkle of wrappers and the slurp of straws. I was feeling pretty smug with myself.  

When we got to the doctor’s office, I threw open the van doors – and son of a bitch – it was like they been snorting meth the entire drive. Molly’s eyes were rolled back in her head and she was picking invisible bugs off her skirt and Max was kicking the back of the seat in front of him so quickly his little legs were a blur.

I now had two super juiced-up, whiny, overtired and sobbing kids who - thanks to the sugar pumping through their veins - could now scream even louder, and run away from me even faster. Awesome. Plus they are smart enough to know that I won’t really correct them sternly or yell at them in public. So they stood there, all jacked up and twitching - just out of arm’s reach - taunting me and knowing I couldn’t do jack shit since we were in front of a bunch of people. (I totally blame all the omega 3 for prenatal brain development which I took by the fistful during my pregnancy.)

So – finally – two nurses, one doctor and a clean bill of health later - the three of us stumbled out of the office and into the sunlight. The kids had finally crashed out – but were a total mess. They were exhausted, covered in sticky pop and licorice residue, and their little faces and eyes were all puffy from crying. I was a hot mess all on my own as the kids had knocked a giant antibacterial gel pump off the counter and it blew up at my feet.    

When we got home, the kids happily sank into the couch to detox and I cracked a beer and called Anders to see when he would be home so I could pace my drinking accordingly. That is about when I remembered I had left Rusty outside. I opened the door and called – but no Rusty. I went outside to look, but still, no Rusty. All the gates were closed, so unless he had been abducted by his mother ship, that little bugger had figured out how to escape.  

I raced out of the front of the house and frantically started calling him. Our neighbor across the street told me that he had just chased Rusty out of his garage about 10 minutes before we got home. At least I knew that he hadn’t been abducted – he was clearly enjoying a hall pass and couldn’t be too far. I raced back inside and started putting my shoes on so I could chase him when I realized that I couldn’t go anywhere. I had two burned-out junkies coming down from their sugar high on my couch.

Without knowing what to do – and picturing Rusty riding shotgun as a grill ornament – I ran back outside and kept calling him from our front yard. I am not going to lie – I was getting pretty panicked. Anders wasn’t due home for at least an hour and Rusty wouldn’t last long out there on his own. He is about as car smart as a caveman, and my two junkies were not up to the task of helping my look for him. I was pretty frazzled, and about to start crying myself when the little jackass came trotting around the corner from the bottom of our street. Luckily a woman who lives down around the corner from us had spotted Rusty in her yard, and recognized him as my dog. She knew we lived up the hill and was kind enough to bring him back.

Rusty enjoying his jail break. Damn dog.

She was very nice, and I am pretty sure I scared her just a smidge with my over the top and extra loud reaction. By this point in the day I had totally lost all sense of appropriateness and volume control and am pretty sure I shouted “Holy Fuck” at some point in the conversation. I may need to take her flowers or something.  

Since Thursday – Rusty has busted out three more times. We have tried putting rocks in the low spots under the fence where we think he could wiggle out, double checked for any holes, and somehow that little (not so) dummy still gets out.

On Friday morning – my neighbor came over and rang our bell to tell me that Rusty was out again and that he had also shit on their lawn right in front of their entryway. Nice touch Rusty – way to make friends and influence people. 

We haven’t had a chance to meet a lot of our neighbors yet – between work, kids, and life, it just hasn’t happened. And I am not sure if coming by to scoop my dog’s shit off their lawn (or shouting really loud profanity in their faces) is the best way either – but that little meeting led to us taking our kids over to their house on Sunday afternoon for a kid’s pool party. We ended up having beers on their deck while the kids played – and it turns out they are really nice people. And all the kids really get along. 

So – look at that! Rusty is doing what we haven’t been able to do in two years – he is helping us to meet our neighbors and make some friends. When people say that getting a pet will help you meet people - I am not sure if this is exactly what they had in mind - but we will take it.

(PS - As I was just getting ready to post this – a kid knocked on our door holding Rusty. When Anders answered, the kid asked Anders if we knew this stray dog. To Anders credit, he actually said he was ours. God damn it Rusty! Make that four escapes since Thursday.)