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