Olympic Nastiness

My absolute favourite sport at the summer Olympics is women's gymnastics. Unfortunately, I missed a lot of it this time, due to vacationing and whatnot. The only coverage of it that I could find for the final few events was on NBC. I was watching the uneven bar event final, when I realized how much I HATE American broadcasters. Nastia (what kind of hellish name is that???) from the US was up second and ended up tying for points with the Chinese gymnast, but was ranked second because of some tie breaking rule. The American play-by-play people spent the next 6 gymnasts picking apart everyone's routines, nit-picking every wrong move, and commenting before every gymnast performed that "there's no way SHE can win". Instead of focusing on the grace and beauty of the routines and on the positives, they went straight for the "nasty". The entire thing turned into a poor us, we only won Silver. Nastia was actually CRYING about winning the silver (or NOT winning the gold). Oh, poor you Nastia. I know the next time I win a silver medal at the Olympics, I'm sure I will be incredibly disappointed.
But it didn't stop there. Bela Karoli was interviewed later and he actually accused the judges of being incompetent because there weren't any from a country that has won an Olympic gymnastics medal (apparently only American judges truly know how to score a routine). All this whinging and dithering about winning a silver medal????? Oh grow up. Come live in a country that has won fewer medals overall than the Americans have won just in gymnastics. You will learn to cherish medals, no matter what colour they are.
So. America. Grow up. Stop whining and enjoy watching your athletes compete.

Canada Day - Now Available With More Taxes!!!

Happy Birthday, Canada, you big brute of a country. We all wore red and white in your honour. And to help you celebrate your big day, here's a list of the Top Ten Reasons I am Proud to be a Canadian.
























10. If only so I can say I am NOT American
9. Our health care system may be in crisis, but at least families don't have to choose between eating and getting Johnny's huge head laceration looked at....
8. I will never have to regret voting for Bush.
7. Our money has colour.
6. The Barenaked Ladies are Canadian, so it must be cool!!























5. What fun it is to live in a country where pop that contains caffeine cannot be clear or colourless.
4. Our country is still young enough to have all it's hair and teeth.
3. Hockey...'nuff said.
2. We get all the benefits of American pop culture without having to live there.
1. Without Canadians, there would be a lot of people in the world running around with their flies open...on account of zippers not being invented.

























So there you have it, Canada. Go on and enjoy the rest of your birthday.....while you still have your youth and good looks....

From the Skye/Weisner/Farmer Clan and all it's subsidiaries.

Irony Returns from a Vacay.....

Alright. Gimme what you have, dear irony. I can take it. Or at least I think I can.

About two months ago I started thinking about all the pictures I have on my computer. There are lots that I don't have anywhere else, that would be devastating to lose. Like all the pictures of Kinsey's birth. And her first 2 years. All in all, about 7,000 pictures. I began to worry that something strange might begat my 'puter, rendering the pictures unviewable. Now, I'm sure you all know by now that I am plagued by irony. So we all know this story will not turn out well for my little computer friend.

So I decided I'd better back them all up onto CD's. So, being the naive person I am, I set out to do that. And my computer said "Huh??? You realize, dumbass, that this will take 48 CD's.....do you HAVE 48 CD's???" And I realized that I had about 4. So, it took a bit for me to actually get to Costco to buy the monster pack of CD's. So, weeks later I truck home to copy all my pictures. In the meantime, I had made myself some mixed music CD's (the new version of the mixed tape), and all the songs after track 10 sounded really weird. I deduced (being, you know, aware and all) that my CD burner had some 'issues' and would need replacing.

So.....I consulted my personal tech department (my bro'), and ordered me a new CD burner. I was so proud. Look at all I was able to accomplish!! The day it arrived I decided to tackle the installation myself. After a lot of vacuuming (holy crap do computers ever accumulate a lot of dust bunnies) I managed to get the CD burner installed. Happy happy joy joy!!! I plugged everything back in....turned on the computer......and.....sparks flew and the sound of hissing electricity came out of the back of the computer, along with a hideous smell and a nice puff of smoke. I phoned my tech support and was told that I had let the white smoke escape, which is never a good thing. Basically, it was funeral time for poor 'puter......this was the calamity I had been feeling the foreboding of.

So, basically, I was left with a bill for a new cd burner, a million blank CD's, and a new power supply (so tech support could see if the computer was working). Luckily I was able to recover all the pictures (wow, dodged a bullet on that one!!!) and my old hard drive now functions as the back-up for my (well, our) new Macbook. Which I love more than life itself right now

You may be asking, hey Jenn, have you learned anything from this experience?? And I would have to answer, why YES I have. I have learned that no matter how slim a possibility there is for something strange or ironic to happen to me, I should ALWAYS assume that the worst and most ironic thing will, indeed, come to fruition. The problem is, I can never anticipate exactly when irony will strike, or in what form it will come. Apparently my role on this earth is to give a big laugh to whoever or whatever is controlling my fate.

Alright irony.....whatcha got for me NOW???

You want the flute???? You can't handle the flute....

So, I'm not trying to brag, but I have always been fairly musical (I say fairly, because I was never destined to be orchestral). I was able to pick up playing any musical instrument pretty quickly. And I really loved playing. I played the violin from grade 4-6, the clarinet in grade 6, the flute in grade 6, the tenor sax from grade 7-10, the baritone sax from grade 8-9, I played the trombone for a few weeks in grade 6, when playing the clarinet, flute, and violin wasn't quite enough. I was in the choir from grade 3-7. I sang for the Sweet Adelines (acapella, barbershop) for a year. I took piano lessons when I was 20, and made it to grade 2 piano in a month. I also used to wish that I could be Annie and used to sing the songs as loudly as I could in hopes that someone would hear and cast me in the starring role. I have to admit that, with the exception of the piano, I didn't have to try very hard to play the instruments, and I rarely practiced.

I decided about a month ago that I would really like to join Robyn's concert band. You know, get back into being musical and all that. But they didn't need a tenor sax (which I still have, but haven't played in a while). And she said they needed flutes. And I thought, hey, a challenge! So I bought a flute and started practicing. And realized I had a lot of work ahead of me. I thought the 2 weeks of practice I did was great, and that I had caught on to it fairly quickly. There were a few really high notes that I couldn't make, but hey, how often will I need them??? Hah! Sweet irony strikes again.

My first band practice was last Wednesday. It was my most humbling musical experience ever. When I arrived, the conductor was handing out the most complicated, butt-ugly, high noted piece of crap music I had ever seen. It took every ounce of courage in my soul not to run out of the room screaming, bashing people over the head with my flute and cursing the music gods for this twist of fate. I stayed, but it was beyond my better judgment. It was like one of those dreams where you arrive at class only to find you have a test worth 100% of your mark that you didn't study for, or that you have not handed in any of the assignments thus far for the course, and are now failing. And I thought, holy crap. Even if I practice 2 hours every day for the next year, I will still not be where everybody else in the band is. So my first band practice was a huge flop, and I think I may have played one out of every 20 notes in the songs we played. I am not the musician I thought I was.

Guess what? I'm going back. I have been practicing. I'm not giving up. Because I am a glutton for punishment, I enjoy being musically flogged, and I have some perverse need for humiliating experiences. Or I just really want to be able to say "Last summer, at band camp...."

Next practice, I will play 2 out of every 20 notes (that's 1 in 10 for all you fraction wizards out there).

On the bright side, I now have a musical instrument that fits in my bag. It would just be better to have a musical instrument that fits in my bag and that I can play proficiently. But, as the Rolling Stones say, "you can't always get what you want..."

Bad Children

I had dinner with a few co-workers on Wednesday and somehow we got talking about naughty things we did when we were children. I was shocked to discover that I am not the only one who did mean/sneaky/naughty when I was a child. I have always looked at what I was like when I was little and been really embarrassed that I did such sneaky, naughty things. Like, for example, the year I got roller skates for my birthday (don't read this, mom). A week before my birthday I "discovered" them in my mom's closet and spent the next few days roller skating around the house with them on. And then I had to act surprised when I received them. I'm hoping my mom never reads this so I never have to find out whether she knew or not. Then there was the Christmas (a few years earlier) when I "discovered" we were getting a Lite Brite for Christmas. But on Christmas morning, said gift was not under the tree. And I couldn't exactly figure out how to tell mom that she was missing a gift. We got it later that day (I think). There are other, more devious, things that I did that I won't tell you about, because my mom reads my blog and I want her to think I was a "good kid". HA! I think she already knows I'm not, but the illusion is fun.

Sometimes it feels like I am one of the only people on my staff that has actual bad things in their past. I remember one co-worker gasping that I had fingered someone on the way to work. She said she has NEVER fingered anyone. And I thought holy crap, I'm evil.

So now you have discovered that I am a very imperfect person. I have flaws that have flaws. I am flawed. I have a very devious mind. But I don't want to. I just do. If I could stop my mind from working the way it does, I would. And just so you know, being devious is very, very, very hard work. Or at least I like to make you THINK it is. Wah ha ha ha ha.

Dear Parents

It is that time of year again, when teachers have that glazed look while teaching, constantly looking over at the computer, longing to be sitting at it, typing nauseating comments about whether Johnny can interpret the author's "big idea" or whether Jane knows her ass from a hole in the ground. When you read your child's report card, remember that your child's teacher spent countless hours trying to find the perfect way to say your child is as dumb as a post without saying your child is as dumb as a post. I know report cards are filled with "teacher speak" that you probably don't understand. But, believe me, you really don't want to understand what we are writing. Because if you did, you would realize that your child is not nearly as spectacular as you think they are. Or there are those students who you just love to pieces, but you can't actually write that in a report card. I would love to write: "So-and-so is such an amazing student. If I could have him/her in my class for the next 3 years, it would make me incredibly happy. When I see his/her shining face, it makes me smile."

So here's my "report card" for the last term. See if you can figure out what I really mean to say.

Opening Comments
Mrs. Skye is a very sarcastic, enthusiastic teacher who loves to read out loud to her students. Occasionally she can be slightly less than friendly, especially when things don't go her way. We are working with her to ensure she keeps a positive attitude during class. She gets along well with her fellow teachers, but spends too much time socializing and not enough time getting her work done. She is really having difficulties keeping her desk and surrounding space neat, and she needs to work on her organizational skills. She often doesn't have the required marking completed on time, and therefore isn't prepared for class. She often throws together lessons, but doesn't put enough thought and time into completing them.

Behaviour
Mrs. Skye is struggling to complete her work on time and to be prepared for class. Far too frequently she is late for school, and the "traffic was bad" excuse is wearing thin. She needs to ensure she leaves her house early enough to avoid being late. This is affecting her ability to come to class prepared. She often requires one-on-one support to help her with her emotional and social issues, and these issues sometimes interfere with her teaching.

It is the recommendation of the New Westminster Board of Education that Mrs. Skye repeats grade 5 again next year. Until she gets it right.

A Matter of Bloody Perspective

Getting, or not getting, your period changes in its significance depending on your stage in life. When I (and I assume most other women) were in their twenties (and late teens) not getting your period on time was a significantly traumatic event. What if I'm pregnant??? How will I go on?? Oh please, let there be red in my underwear today. I'll even wear a panty-liner to entice you, oh beautiful menses.

Fast forward a decade or so, and you have the opposite reaction. Getting your period is now a significantly traumatic event. Especially to those people who are TTC (that's trying to conceive for web-based-geeks). There are the hundreds (dare I say thousands???) of dollars spent on pregnancy tests, even more for those of us impatient folks who need to know at least 4 days before their periods are due, and then need to do a few more after the first 2 negative ones, because this time it might be wrong (oh please tell me I'm not the only OC one out there). And do those tests need to be so expensive?? The doctor's office has them in bulk without all the fancy plastic crap surrounding them, and they do just the same thing. For probably a few bucks. Anyways, my point is that at this stage, you hope beyond hell that you don't get your period. And when it comes, and you've been trying for months, it is the most depressing bloody mess ever. And then you realize that all that stressing about being pregnant when you were young is just insane because getting pregnant has to be one of the hardest things in the world. But don't tell any teenagers that or they might be less careful.

To sum it all up, I can't wait until I get to the stage where getting my period has no significance at all except to signal that another round of feminine hygiene products will be used and disposed of. And also maybe that menopause has not yet begun. And that my body is tirelessly crusading for one last chance at reproduction. And that won't bother me because I will not be yearning for a positive $20 pregnancy test.

Sometimes I wish I made the sperm and someone else worried about everything else.

Hugh Jass

So, let me say right off the bat that I am not so silently cursing the garment industry, specifically the children's garment manufacturers. They have decided that all babies are slimmer now than 8 years ago. I know this because pants that were Aliya's fit Kinsey's extra-large cloth diapered butt. Those that I have bought for Kinsey now are too small. Poor girl looks like her pants were painted on her. It makes it really difficult to put the cloth diapers on her, because it limits her clothing options. But, really, why should this be an issue? Why are little girl pants so small in the bum?? Is having a chubby baby out of fashion?? Kinsey is not fat or chubby by any stretch of the imagination. She is a rather tall girl, though. But I have to wonder what the heck really, really chubby babies wear. I haven't found a clothing company that makes a "chubby" size of pants in size 2. And you can't just go up to a size 3 and roll them up because the size 3 bums in pants are the same size as the size 2 as they assume your child is out of diapers. A pox upon all the children's clothing manufacturers and their "slim" baby bums!!!

Too tired to Blog

Well, it's official. I have become a delinquent blogger. I think someone may petition the court to have my wages garnisheed for failure to keep up with my "blog" payments. I guess an apology won't cut it this time. So here's my long winded excuse.

As most may know, Kinsey was conceived using "fertility drugs" and a whole lot of begging and pleading on my part for Steve to "donate" to the baby-making cause. I'm a little confused as to why I had to force him to have sex. So then after Kinsey comes, I assumed I would not be able to ovulate on my own. But, hey, wouldn't you know it?? Last April my fertility monitor has a big egg on it. And by some stroke of luck, I actually got pregnant. I spent a lot of the first month in awe that it hadn't taken enough effort, feeling guilty that my friend Tassi had miscarried, and a little freaked that I didn't have many pregnancy symptoms. I must confess to doing 9 pregnancy tests while I was pregnant, and not ever feeling convinced. I felt like I didn't deserve to be pregnant. Which, apparently, I didn't. I miscarried in July at 9 weeks. Turns out the 9 pregnancy tests were a huge waste of money, since you will test positive whether or not there is a viable fetus. That's something I wish I had known a wee bit earlier.

So fast-forward to a few months after the miscarriage. Hey, guess what??? Old irony came to call and took with it my fertility. So now I am back on clomid, which make me extra tired and sad. It all adds up to one big bucket of fun at the Skye-Weisner household.

I haven't been able to blog about this up until now, because it has been too damn painful to form the words. I guess the moral is I am not meant to have a baby unless I have worked f***ing hard for it. Oh well, at least they turn out to be cute kids. It would REALLY suck to work that hard for a cranky, homely, non-appreciative child!!

Tune in in a few months for more raving, bitter blogs!! (BTW, the rest of my life is pretty okay)

Reading as torture?

I am not the great parent I was when Aliya was a baby. (When you have recovered from your howls of derisive laughter, you may continue reading) I have to admit that I don't read to Kinsey as much as I did with Aliya. And yet, despite my pitiful parenting, Kinsey still loves to be read to. Especially when she's in a rotten, stinking, cranky, stick hot pokers in your eyes kinda mood. Then she really wants to be read to. But she can't decide what she wants me to read, and she keeps flipping pages, hoping maybe the next page will be more interesting. Which apparently it never is. When I finally tire of the schizophrenic reading regime, she breaks into sobs and writhes on my lap, while huge tears pool on her chin. Then she slithers down off the chair, leaving a big trail of Kinsey slime, and falls to the floor in Aliya-like mock drama and continues crying her little eyes out. Then she calms down, finds another book and brings it to me, and the whole stinking drama begins again.

Tomorrow I start drinking heavily. And I may join the illiteracy movement.

Got sleep????

Alright. I am sure there is no simple explanation for this. But maybe someone out there can shed some light onto why I am so freaking tired...... Is it that, despite being well into toddlerhood, Kinsey is still not regularly sleeping through the night? I dunno. The past few nights she has been up twice and I have trouble getting back to sleep after. Although last night I did go to bed at 6:45. And you would think that would ensure, despite 2 wake-ups, that I would wake up feeling refreshed. Nottachancehomegirl. Come to think of it, I can't recall ever really waking up refreshed.

Or maybe it's starting back to work and working 4 days a week. The start of the school year is always tres fatigue-ing. And I feel particularly fa-tee-gay. I have an awesome class, but its still a whole pile of work and stress and effort.

Maybe it's that my last Friday was spent standing in line at the passport office for two hours, only to emerge as an "unsuccessful applicant". And the knowledge that this Friday I will have to stand in line again. I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

Perhaps it's the more than 2 hours a day I now spend in my car every day commuting. I heard this commercial today. They said the average person who drinks and drives and kills someone gets about 6 months in jail. There's also about 2 years for white-collar crime. And then the average commuter spends three years in their car. They could at least put a bathroom and a bed in there if I have to do that kind of "hard time". Oh, and a big shout out to the brilliant planners who decided the Alex Fraser bridge needed "2 humps" right at the beginning of September commuter hell. Do they realize how much worse traffic is? Do they care? A pox on all their houses and BOTH their humps!!

Well, you can see I am posting this late. But I have been up doing school work, and I needed a bit of a rant before bed. I know most people have no sympathy for teachers and their 2 month holiday. But how many of you come home from a full days work and then sit down and do 3-4 hours more at home?

Calgon, take me away!!!

Heartbroken

Well, it's official. My little girl doesn't need her mama anymore. No, not Kinsey. Aliya. She has been in Ontario for 5 days and she hasn't called. Or e-mailed. Or contacted me on Crackbook. I think she's having a perfectly swell time without me. It used to be that she would go somewhere just overnight, and she would have to phone me to talk to me. But I guess she's getting older. Pretty soon she'll be sewing her own clothes and growing her own wheat for her pasta. Oh wait. Wrong century.

Smooches

Kinsey has become the kissing queen. She absolutely loves giving kisses. To everyone in the room, many many times. The other day we were at Aliya's dad's house saying goodbye to Aliya, and I asked Kinsey to give Aliya a kiss goodbye. Which she did, and then proceeded to kiss everyone in the room. Including Peyton, who she kissed about 7 times. When she was all done with the kissing, Peyton followed her around the room gesturing for more kisses. Less than 2 and she's already driving the boys crazy. We are sooooooo in for it when she gets older.

Photoshop Phun

Because I had way too much phun with this to not share......even if I didn't go to kindergarten to learn sharing, somehow I picked it up by osmosis.

When your shorts stand up on their own...

Perhaps it's time to wash them before they walk away...

Spoons are for sissies

She started out using a spoon. It ended ugly.

Tissy & Airy

Cousins....
Airy (Erin) and Tissy (Kinsey) are only 6 months apart in age. Which, in the first year, seemed like a monstrous difference. Now, they seem to be more the same age, with the one difference being that Erin has a huge vocabulary, while Kinsey has an eeny weeny one. Well that, and the huge difference in the size of their toes. But Erin has always seemed to have a soft spot for Kinsey. They have started to play together, rather than the "side by side" playing that usually happens at this age. Airy is also teaching her younger cousin some of her monkey tricks. Like yesterday when Airy was over I decided to bring up Aliya's old doll stroller. And what does Airy do?? Climbs in it as though it was an actual stroller. And what is Tissy now doing all the time? Yep, climbing in the stroller. She's learning all about being a monkey from the best teacher of monkeyness.
Yesterday, before Airy and her mum came over, Steve, Kinsey and I were at the park. And we were meeting Airy and Robyn at our house. There was a chance Airy would get there first, so Robyn said they would just go play in the back yard until we got there. Well, they did get there first, but Airy refused to go into the back yard. Instead she kept knocking forlornly on the door saying "Tissy.....Tissy....Tissy." Luckily Tissy was less than a block away. I hope as they get older they will continue to enjoy each other's company. And we will have lots of funny stories, pictures, and videos of the two of them together. Monkey Marie and Monkey May.

Compare and Contrast

Anyone out there with more than one child knows that no two children are exactly the same, even twins. And I am sure many people spend at least a small portion of their time making comparisons. Well, being the perfectly normal parent that I am, I have done that. However, when one child is way above normal in pretty much everything, those comparisons can be a little skewed. Take Kinsey and Aliya. When Aliya was the age that Kinsey is now (almost 16 months) she:
1) had a repertoire of more than 100 words
2) could speak in complete sentences
3) could feed herself with a spoon
4) had 10 teeth
5) had 3 haircuts (1 full, 2 bang trimmings)
and 6) had stopped nursing.

Aliya at approximately 16 months

Kinsey, on the other hand :
1) has a repertoire of less than 10 words
2) isn't sure yet what a sentence is
3) can feed herself with the wrong end of a spoon, but still prefers to be fed
4) has 6 teeth
5) has almost enough hair to cover her scalp
and 6) is showing no signs that she will ever stop nursing.

Kinsey at approximately 16 months

Now I know that Kinsey is perfectly normal, and that Aliya was not, it is still hard not to think that Kinsey is a little, how would I say........slow. Which I know is very, very, very wrong to think. And I just hope that I stop comparing them pretty soon, or Kinsey will always feel that she doesn't live up to the legacy of her sister. However, there are some things about Kinsey that are so much different than Aliya, and in a good way. Kinsey is a champion sleeper. She goes to sleep easily, and naps usually between 2-3 hours a day. Aliya was down to 1 nap and would not go to sleep easily. There was much singing and cuddling that needed to happen. Kinsey is also very content, both in who she is and what she can do, but also in her general temperament. Aliya was always itching to be older, bigger, and better at everything. She still is. While that isn't a bad thing, it meant she was often cranky in the here and now. Kinsey just takes everything in stride. By this age, Aliya had more ear infections than I can count, and had surgery to put tubes in her ears. Kinsey? Never had an ear infection or been anywhere near an operating room. Thank goodness.

So what is the moral of my little tale here? Ummm, there isn't one. Except I love both my girls and think they are both wonderful. And they are 2 completely different people. And they are both mine.

Milk-i-roni - the REAL San Francisco Treat

Kinsey, my dear, sweet, lovable little girl, continues to amaze me with her ironic sense of irony (can a sense of irony BE ironic??). This little girl's favourite foods in the world are: cheese, cream cheese sandwiches, yogurt, and milk. And guess what??? All four of these delectable foods (including the goat variety) make her: vomit, pull continuously at her ear, drip incessantly from her nose, have diarrhea, and scream at night in pain. Yup, you guessed it, she has a milk allergy. So now I can't eat cereal in the morning when she is around, because she wants to have some too. She won't eat much of anything because it isn't cheese or yogurt. Nobody can eat cheese around her, because she will cry because we aren't giving her any. And right after I went and bought her a jumbo pack of cheese strings. And we must have every variety of soy/goat/lactose-free milk/cheese/yogurt in our fridge. And she despises the soy the most. Which, ironically, is the only thing she can have of the bunch. So I ask you.....what other kind of irony is life going to throw at me???

I Can Dress Myself, Thanks

I didn't have the heart to tell her that she didn't have her arms in the sleeves!