Goodbye Poem

Dearest junk food, I love you so

But it is time for you to go.

Snickers, McDonalds and salty potato chips

You taste so yummy but go straight to my hips.

Bacon, eggs and white buttered bread

You were a treat but I think I was misled.

For I’ve been duped, yes I’ve been tricked.

Stepping on the scale feels like I was kicked.

Our times together were such a delight

But you make my pants too damn tight.

I’m so sorry junk food but I regret to say

that our relationship will end on New Years Day.

Yes, it’s sad but true; our time together is looking grim

For starting on Tuesday I’ll be hitting the gym!

Goodbye sugar and all things sweet

I’ll think of you every time that I eat

Broccoli, carrots and other things bland

cause I’ll be following the weight watchers plan.

There is one more thing I need to say

And it pains me to put it this way

If you think I’ll give up my zinfandel

then you can go right straight to HELL!



Photo source: http://tinyurl.com/b7aekpc

 

Sit down, shut up and be respectful.

Source: cms.burlington.ca

Tomorrow is November 11th.  Which means, if you have an ounce of respect in your body, at 11am tomorrow morning, you will take 2 minutes out of your busy life to remember those who made the ultimate sacrifice (and for those who continue to do so) so that you can enjoy your freedom.

 If you remember from last year's post, I (like many of you) had family who served overseas during WWII.  My grandfather and grandfather-in-law both left their newly found families and headed across the pond to fight the good fight.  For years, they (along with so many other men and women) fought for and won freedom for the generations which followed.  And how do these generations say thank you?  Most wear a poppy on their left, many attend ceremonies and sadly, some opt out of Remembrance Day ceremonies all together. 

The Premier of Manitoba, Mr.Greg Selinger, ruled yesterday that it is OK for students to opt out their schools ceremony, if it conflicts with their religious beliefs.  (click here to read the full story).  And this is where my dilemma begins.

I stand by our right to religious freedom 100%.  Whether you are Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or an Atheist, I believe it is your right to practice religion in whatever way you deem appropriate (of course that is as long as no one else's freedoms are infringed upon). 

But since when does Remembrance Day have any religious meaning?

The day is meant to be a day of reflection and gratitude.  It is a day which forces us to pause for just 2 minutes and REMEMBER the sacrifice which millions made for our freedom. 

But I don't think the story in Manitoba has anything to do with religious freedoms. I have a sneaky feeling that some smart-ass teenagers thought they could use "conflict of religious beliefs" as an excuse to stay home and sleep in, rather than having to put the texts on hold while their "stupid" teachers blabbed on about some old dudes from a gazillion years ago. 

And rather than giving the kid the good old fashion "sit down, shut up and be respectful" speech - some dumb ass politically correct wannabe thought "well golly gee, we shouldn't make these teenagers do something they don't want to, they might get upset" . 

The flip side of this story is, of course, that the soldiers which we remember tomorrow fought very hard so future generations could have religious freedom and freedom to choose.  Are we being total hypocrites if we force students to attend ceremonies?

So faithful readers, this is my question to you.....should Remembrance Day ceremonies be a mandatory event for students? 

Discuss amongst yourself....


P.S. Grandpa S. and Grandpa G.... I love you both and thank you. 

I'm jealous of my dog. And other things I wasn't told about getting older!

I have a fantastic circle of friends, and they vary in age.  Some are older than me, some are younger. Variety is the spice of life, I say.  And I love nothing more than sitting around chatting with a good glass of wine, 3 eggs over easy, bacon, toast and my lady friends.  We talk about anything and everything.  When I say everything, I mean everything.  Nothing is too scared, nothing too risky (well, there was that one thing but we don't talk about that anymore).  I have learned more about getting older and wiser because of these discussions. But I understand that not all women have access to this forbidden information. 

So for your reading pleasure, and to serve as a warning to any younger readers, I have compiled a list of facts about getting older.  This list is mostly geared to women, so to my testosterone driven readers, please keep reading so you'll have some insight into what your wife/mother/girlfriend is going through or will be going through in the next few years. If there was ever a reason to buy her flowers, this is it!

1) You will wish you had a dog's bladder.  My dog can go all night long without a visit to the fire hydrant.  His bladder is so strong that he can wake up, eat breakfast, have another nap and still hold it in until I take him for a walk.  And even then he's not scrambling to go.  Nope, he'll pee a little bit here and a little bit there.  Its actually quite amazing.  Ask any woman over the age of 30 or has had at least one child exit her body and she'll tell you that finding a bathroom is usually her number one (no pun intended!) task.  When the doctor ask for a mid-stream urine sample, I can't help but laugh in their face!  That's like asking Romney to support equal rights for all - not going to happen!

1b) You will buy your house and clothes based on their ability to help you not pee your pants.  I cannot tell you the number of times I have sat in my driveway, undone my zipper, called home to insure that the way was clear and prayed to the urine gods to please, oh please let me make it inside!  If my bathroom wasn't located in the front hall, I'd be screwed. 

And while I'm totally embarrassing myself, I will also admit that I buy pants based on their removeablitiy (I think I just made a new word).  Sure when I was 18, this was also a factor in my fashion choices but that was for a totally different reason.  Reitmans has these wonderful jeans that sit just right on my motherly hips - no unsightly gap at the back.  While they are aesthetically pleasing, they are a real bitch to get off in a bathroom emergency....so I don't wear them if I will be drinking, laughing, sneezing or bending down to pick something up. 

2) You will carry a pair of tweezers in your purse at all times. Unsightly, and unwanted hair always have a way of popping up at the most inopportune moments- like when you're enjoying a lovely drive on a beautiful sunny day and happen to catch a glance of yourself in the mirror.  That damn hair wasn't poking out when you were getting ready, how the f*ck did it grow so f*cking fast!  Then you'll think to yourself "how long has it been there? Did anyone else notice? Were they laughing at me behind my bearded back?"  So by the hair on my chinny chin chin, I'm sorry to be the one to break it to you, but at some point in your near future, you will be marking your calendar with "hair removal day".

2b) While on the topic of hair, I must tell you that you will get gray strands in your gorgeous full head of hair way sooner than you were expecting.  If you have a husband, children, a job and/or general life responsibilities, you will notice bits of gray trying to sneak in around the age of 30ish.  Any woman who is of "mature" status and does not have any grays poking through also has "dye hair" marked on her calendar.  Plain and simple.

3) You will look at younger, more energetic girls and think "screw you and your perky boobs!"  Get a good support system in place now, cause the whole "over the shoulder boulder holder" joke will very soon become your sad reality.

4) To do lists will not only be your friend, they will also be your life line.  Your memory will go. Maybe its the wine in me, or more likely its my aging brain but I can't remember shit.  Well no, I should correct that.  I cannot remember things when I need to remember them.  For example, when I am lying in bed begging my brain to "shut the hell up", I seem to remember every little detail of my busy life. Pick up dry cleaning, go to bank, call mother, etc, etc. Its all there at 12:41 in the morning.  But when I'm wide awake and planning my day - nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Hence the to-do-lists.  I've got them everywhere - on my phone, fridge, purse.  Nothing wrong with that, except I need a list to remind me where my lists are.

5) Friday nights alone will be a fabulous thing.  I can remember the days when, if I didn't have plans to something on the weekend, my life was over!  I was a social outcast, no one loved me, blah, blah, blah.  But now with 3 busy kids, a husband and a calendar packed with hockey tournaments and meetings, I would literally give my right arm for a night or two of complete silence.  The house would stay clean, I would eat warm dinners and have absolute control of the television.  Time to yourself will become a joy you have no way of understanding during your youthful, careful years.

6) We all know and love the joys of "Magic Mike" but all show and no brains will fade very quickly.  Marry a man whom will love and support you for years to come.  Don't go for the knight in shining armour, cause armour rusts and gets all nasty.  Seek out the quiet prince who will surprise you with the quirky notes and washed floors.  Because, let me tell you, there is isn't a better feeling in the world than watching your husband teach your sons how to tie a tie or having him text you with"hurry home cause dinner is waiting for you." And I can pretty much guarantee you that "good husbandry 101" is not taught at "Sexy Beef Cake/Doucheville High".


Well there you have it.  A Cole's Notes version of getting older.  But I must say that its not all bad.  Yeah sure, your body will go to shit but you will become a much stronger, smarter, powerful woman who has the knowledge and know-how to stay true to your authentic self.  And that my dear, can only happen when you get older. 

5 truths in life

You've heard the saying "nothing is certain but death and taxes", right? Well I call bullshit!  Upon closer examination, there is actually a very long list of inevitable truths in life.  For your reading pleasure, and like any good OCD sufferer, I have complied a list of said truths.

5 truths in life

1) The Maple Leafs will never, ever win a cup.  Plain and simple. Its just not going to happen.  There should be a mass email sent out to all Leaf fans, stating that while we are still expected to re-mortgage our houses to watch a live game, and that at the beginning of every season we'll be given a glimpse of playoff hopes; there will never ever be a Stanley cup parade in T.O.   So go ahead and wear your Leaf gear proudly, but do so at your own risk - its a clear indication that you suffer from a debilitating mental illness and you may be committed to the loony bin!

2) The rich will get richer.  And don't be fooled by heartwarming stories on the Biography channel on how they faced insurmountable odds and pulled themselves up by their bootstraps. LIES!  They got filthy, stinking rich off the back-breaking work that you and I do...all day....every day....for the rest of our miserable lives.  Happy smiles!


3) Canadians will always bitch about the weather.  Its too cold...bitch, bitch, bitch.  Its too hot....waa,waa, waa.  Even with global warming and the non-existent winter we had this year, the weather was still the centre of so many conversations.  It's never good enough for those of us up in the far north.  But I can't really say anything, cause I am, embarrassingly, one of the biggest babies when it comes to Canadian weather.  But seriously, I want to wear caprice!

4) Gas prices will always go up.  Next to the weather, Canadians love nothing more than complaining about gas prices. "We are a major producer of the world's oil supplies." BOO HOO"The oil companies are just a bunch of greedy pigs (see #2)".  Blah, blah, blah.  If you don't like the price of gas, sell your 5 ton SUV and walk everywhere.  Not possible? Well, suck it up than baby, cause gas prices always goes up.  Its simple physics.

5) Every single one of us will have a moment at some point in our lives that when we look in the mirror, we think "How the F*CK did that happen?"  And I not just talking about the physically transformation that occurs as we you age.  No, I'm also talking about that moment when you look at your kids as they're beating the crap out of each other, your spouse is wearing jogging pants and a "who farted?" shirt, you're seriously considering subscribing to the "Jam of the Month" Club and you ask yourself "how did my life become so boring without me noticing?"   Its inevitable, we grow up, we get boring.  Its like the PB & J of life - adulthood and mind numbing boringness go hand in hand. But I say SCREW responsibility and live life dangerously!  Buy a motorcycle.  Eat kangaroo (tastes like chicken).  Wear cotton instead of polyester. Let go and live on the wild side!

Now if you please excuse me, like any good Canadian, I have a Timmies date with a good friend to bitch about the leafs, gas prices, and how bloody cold it has been lately.

Clearing up some misconceptions

For all the bitching and complaining I do, I really am a super-duper lucky gal.  I have a husband who, for some crazy reason, loves me unconditionally.  And I have three of the most incredible boys.  Sure, I lose my sh*t with them and their dumb ass decisions sometimes (OK, daily) but overall, they are well-behaved, loving, handsome individuals. I have an extended family which I love dearly, a solid roof over my head, a fridge full of semi-rotten food and a stable job (regardless of its pathetic pay, its a job which can never be off-shored).  And my friends; oh how lonely I would be without my friends.

All of these things make me luckier than most people (certainty most women) in the world.  So when I joke about killing my husband, or one-night stands with Zak Efron/Chaz Bono look-a-likes, you have to realize that I'm just joking. Same goes for stories about my questionable parenting choices. Sure my boys may or may not have gone to school wearing running shoes which could pass for flip flops, and have had a lunch which consisted of a handful of marshmallows, 2 cookies and a pop but I didn't know about these "issues" and dealt with them as soon as I sobered up (see, that's a joke.....or is it????)

I am generally a very happy person (or at least I think so, feel free to disagree....I dare you) and I use humor to cope with the stresses in my life. I am so very grateful for all of the fabulous people and things in my life.   I live a crazy, roller coaster of a life, and if I didn't joke around I seriously think my head would explode. If you are going to be a faithful reader of mine, you must be able to decipher the truth from the fiction.  Cause I'm not going to tell you, that just wouldn't be fair to all the other minions who have been paying attention. 

Good night and keep on reading.

Sit Jenn sit, good girl!

There are two questions which have pledged many great minds throughout human existence - which came first; the chicken or the egg? And can you teach an old dog new tricks?  Well the first is blatantly obvious - everyone knows that it is neither - all chickens are actually alien beings biding their time until their mother ship returns to take over the world. (actually: I think this t-shirt answers that question.) The second one, that's a little trickier.  On the one hand, yes you can eventually teach the old dog to roll over, but that is probably because the dog died of natural causes.  On the other hand, why would you want to teach an old dog new tricks.  Aren't they good enough the way they are now?  Does every dog really need to know how to pour a glass of pinot grigio? (That's a rhetorical question: of course they do, since social workers tend to label parents who train their children to do the same trick as "unfit" and "bad").  I know you're probably wondering when I'm actually going to talk about something of interest/importance, but I like to create an atmosphere of suspense for my readers, but your patience will be rewarded.......right.......now


As some of you may know, I recently started taking an introductory french class.  And because of this I've been spending a lot of time reflecting on the "old dog, new tricks" dilemma.  My classes are on Wednesday evening; during classes and shorty thereafter, I able to communicate perfectly with anyone who ONLY wants to know a) my name b) if I'm tired c) if I'm happy.  However, for some stupid reason, this new found linguistic knowledge is only able to remain in my brain for a matter of hours.  No matter what I do (listen to the course CD continuously, read the textbook repeatedly, stuff cotton balls in my ears) I cannot retain this language!  Which leads me back to the old dog-new tricks question.  Is there a point in one's life that language acquisition is nearly, if not completely impossible? 

Researchers theorize that the ability to acquire a new language is severely diminished around the age of 9. Actually I randomly picked that number cause I was too lazy to google it. But I do know that at some point during our short lives, our brain streamlines everything that's going on inside our noggins.  Whats working gets to stay, everything else is closed down.  That is why its so much easier for children to learn stuff. Nothing has been shut down; a child's brain is wide open - literally like a sponge. Language, technology, cool arm twisting tricks, whatever, it all just gets sucked right up and sticks!. Need proof? Just go ask any 9 year old how to google/text/download porn - and they'll be able to do with their eyes shut.  Its just the way our brains are designed. 

This desire of mine to learn French is stressing my brain out.  The little-tiny construction supervisors inside my cranium who naively thought the job of building my brain was complete are now scrambling to re-build the language connectors.   And I'm not kidding when I say that I can feel this process and it actually hurts.  Sure I was able to go back to university and graduate with honors, and sure all that educational mumble jumble was, at times, difficult to understand, but this french is whole other story. Whoever said that English was one of the hardest languages to learn obviously spoke French as their first language. 

But alas, it is getting easier.  I'm three classes in and I can now respond to some very basic questions which contain words which closely resemble English words.  "Tu est optimiste?" "Oui, je suis optimiste." "Tu est contente?" "Non, je ne suis pas contente" As the cobwebs and dust bunnies are slowly being evicted from my linguistic receptors, the french language is finally starting to take hold.  Now don't get me wrong, the whole masculine/feminine BS is still throwing me way off but its beginning to make sense....on paper.  Verbally, I'm not so sure.  I think the little construction men inside my brain have been too busy hooting and hollering at passing blood cells cause they're way behind schedule on the brain-vocal cords connecting highway.

Au revoir et bonne soirée.

Bad drivers, abandoned socks and other reasons why I drink

Disclaimer: This blog is nothing more than a vent about things that drive me crazy.  Well, actually thats what most of my blogs are about...soooo...disregard and carry on.

Top ten things rude and disrespectful people do that make me want to bang my head against a brick wall.

1) People who don't signal when driving.  There is really no excuse for blatant act of laziness.  I mean, come on, flicking your signal on takes all of about .5 seconds and only requires the use of one limb! AND the car turns it off for you!  No excuse! Get er done!

1a) People who don't turn their signal OFF.  Its like Chinese water torture!  Doesn't the clicking sound drive you crazy?  Don't you notice the evil glares you are getting from other drivers (read: me)? TURN OFF YOUR SIGNAL!

2) Opened mouthed gum chewers.  If I wanted to see a cow chewing on cud, I'd head down to the local farm or zoo.  Its rude and disgusting - close your mouth

3) Those who use the express lane (8 items or less) at the grocery store when purchasing a cart full of food.  Even if its 23 small items, you are clearly breaking the rules.  Pack up your honey nut cheerios, juice boxes, Uncle Ben's rice packets and royal gala apples and move over to a non-express lane.

4) People, who are in front of me at the grocery store and see that I'm attempting to balance (in my arms) 3 bags of milk, 2 boxes of cookies, ice cream and a club size box of KD (the 4 basic food groups in my house) AND still don't move out of the way so I can place my stuff on the conveyor belt.  Closely linked to this pet peeve is people who don't place the divider thingy on the conveyor belt to separate their crap from mine.  Grrrrr (as you may have noticed, I'm not a huge fan of grocery store and their patrons - I food shop on Fridays, just in case you're interested and want to stay away)

5) Teenagers.  Self explanatory, no need to expand

6) People who use the drive through at Tim Hortons to order the entire office's morning coffee.  If you are ordering more than 2 coffees, and its 7:15 in the morning, get your butt out of your car, walk inside and bug the people in there.  I gotta go, and don't have time to watch and wait for you to figure out who ordered the double-double and who ordered the 1 milk, 2 sugars.  MOVE IT!

7) Mac computers.  Ok, so isn't a person pet peeve but it still bugs me.  We bought a mac a few weeks ago and when we first brought it home, I thought I was in love.  But I was so very wrong - it turned out to be nothing more than a steamy one night stand with a person who I thought looked like Zac Efron at the bar but in the morning discovered that they were actually Chaz Bono's twin (crap, I've said too much.  In my defence, the lights were low, I had had one too many and my friends had all left.  Crap, too much again.  I'll shut up now)   The mac keyboard is tiny, the operating system is so simple its annoying and I can't play solitaire on it.  I want my rock-grinder of a lap top back!

8) Children (I won't name names, but they come in sizes large, medium and small and all smell like a mixture of hot dogs, grass and hockey bags) who leave their dirty socks all over the freakin place.  When I get home after a long day, I love to strip down and get comfy.  But if I take any clothing off, I put it either in the hamper or folded on my side of the closet.  The unnamed children however leave them......

here....

here.....

and even here......(don't worry, I'm a big fan of disinfectant sprays)

They need to start putting their socks in the hamper or they'll find them here.....

9) People who drive at or below the speed limit.  Now, I know that in certain parts of the world, people respect and obey speed limit signs.  But up here in the land of maple syrup and free health care, we generally take them a suggested speed. For example, if the signs says 50 km/hr, we all know that really means to do 60 km/hr (thats if you don't a ticket, 70 km/hr if you're feeling lucky).  So when I get stuck behind some inexperienced, safety conscience driver who almost anyways drives in the left lane (which we all know is for those feeling lucky), I want to pull my hair out.  Inevidentably this person will drive like Miss Daisy is in the backseat until a light turns yellow and then all of a sudden they morph into Mario Andretti, leaving me in their dust and at the red light.  They really need to include a manners component on the drivers exam - there'd be a lot less drivers on the road if they did!

10) I saved the best for last.  The rudest and most disgusting thing that people do which drives me crazy is spit!  And spit on the sidewalk. And spit the biggest, nastiness hork which required a tremendous amount of noise and effort to expropriate from their nasal cavity.  SO GROSS!  Sorry fellas, you tend to be the biggest culprit in this crime of rudeness.  Why do you do it?  And did all the boys get pulled out of class during elementary school to go to a secret spitting 101 class?  Cause as far as I can tell, its the guys who do this.  Its very unattractive and unsanitary, so please for my sanity, hygiene and sensitive gag reflex, don't spit.  


Good bye people, I have a huge case- load of missing sock reports to get through. But I'd be interested to know if I'm the only one with these pet-peeves.  Do you have any others?  Please post them in the comment box and we can discuss.

The human condition

I've been working a lot lately; so much so I was considering saving some time and just sleeping on the stupid bus.  However, its cold and nasty outside. And I think there is probably some policy somewhere which frowns upon establishing residency on a school bus (heck, I'm not allowed to have a taped piece of paper on the bus so a folding bed would be a definite no-no).  But all this driving means that I've also been doing a lot of thinking and contemplating.  So while I'm not busy scanning people's garbage piles, I've been considering run of the mill, every day issues such as quantum physics, the disenfranchisement of certain ethnic minorities, the economic downturn...you know the usual! Yet, there is one issue that I've been spending a lot of time toying with and that is humans and how our unique "higher order" brain system actually makes us really, really stupid. And it was actually a field full of alpacas which lead me to this conclusion. Let me explain....

My current bus route takes me far north into God's country.  Actually, once you get to God's country, make a left, drive forever and just when you think you're about to fall off the edge of the earth, you'll be at my last bus stop.  And along the way, I pass a couple of alpaca farms.  At first glance this animals aren't that smart looking.  In fact, they looked kinda stoned.  But let me tell you, they've got it all figured out.  We humans think we're so much better than the rest of the animal kingdom.  So much so that we don't even consider ourselves to be part of that kingdom.  But stupid humans, we need to take a lesson from the alpacas, or almost any other herd-type animal for that matter. (I don't want the sheep and cows to feel left out)

First of all, I'm pretty sure that animals don't worry about what they look like or what the other animals think of them. It's a "take me as I am" mentality.  That's why we don't see mirrors or cosmetics on farms (although watching an alpaca putting on lipstick would be downright hilarious).  There are no perfumes to mask their odors or alpaca spas to get primped and polished.  And if an alpaca trips or farts, life goes on.  They don't blush, or run home thinking that their life is over cause the cute alpaca in the next field saw them fall and now they will never get a date for the alpaca prom. NO! The attitude is "yeah, I farted. Big freakin deal".  But not us humans, we spend so much time, money and heartache worrying about what others think.  And not even people we know and love.  I'm talking about complete strangers - people we probably won't ever see again.  When was the last time you went to the mall without any makeup or "nice" clothes (and by nice I mean clean, matching and not covered in unknown stains).  Never?  Why? Cause you want to look presentable and not crazy to all those strangers you'll pass. 

Secondly, alpacas don't spend one single millisecond considering how their offspring will turn out.  Nor do they compare their cria (baby alpaca) to other crias.  Animals feed their young, protect them from the elements and pass on the necessary survival skills, thats it!  Humans are probably the only species which spend countless hours worrying if they're good enough parents,if they child is meeting the appropriate milestones and if they're child is as smart as little Susie and Tommy down the street. And to let you in on a little secret, no one is ever as smart as Susie and Tommy.  In fact Susie and Tommy aren't as smart as Susie and Tommy; their mom is just lying about all their great achievements to make her feel better about her questionable parenting choices.  Never once will you hear an alpaca mother yell at her offspring to "get back into the barn right this second and clean your stall, cause if your father comes homes from the fields and see this mess, you will be grounded for an entire year!" Nope, not gonna hear it.  If its not related to the survival of the species, then alpacas just don't care. Plain and simple

While we're on the topic of offspring, if a teenage, hormonal alpaca were to ever talk back or question his/her parents, they'd probably get kicked in the head or at least the ass.  And no other alpaca is going to go "Oh my God, did you see how that mama alpaca just disciplined her own child!  I am so calling Alpaca protective services".  Nope, they think "stupid cria, totally deserved that ass-whooping for the way they just talked back".  But we all know that teenage alpacas are good girls and boys and would never ever talk back to their parents!

Finally, when alpacas grow up, they don't have issues. If nothing else separates us from the animal kingdom, its issues.  Humans have a lot of issues.  You're probably thinking "but Jenn, I had a wonderful childhood, full of loving and happy memories - I have no issues".  WRONG!  Every single one of us has an issue and if you think you don't, then you have issues with your issues.  And everyone wants to blame everyone else for their issues.  Drug addict? Blame your mother for not breastfeeding you long enough OR for breastfeeding you too long.  Complusive liar? Blame your father for being too overbearing, or for not being strict enough.  Douchebag? Blame your neighbour's uncle's sister-in-law.  Accept personal responsiblity? No way, no how. It's not the human way.

So come on people, lets stop acting so humanly and more like a bunch of alpacas.  Cause I've heard the hay is great and the fur coat is simply fabulous!

Walmart is open 24/7 for fools like me!

So I was at the doctors today (well, not really. I was self-diagnosing on the Internet) to discuss a sensitive issue I've been coping with for quite sometime now.  I'll spare you the gory details and let you know that after a lot of poking and probing, the "doctor" was able to provide me with a definitive diagnosis.  Its slightly embarrassing but I have officially been diagnosed with TFD - Totally Freakin Disorganized.

Symptoms of TFD can be difficult to recognize and are often confused with TFL - Totally Freakin Lazy.  The difference between the two, according to the "doctor" is that TFD sufferers actually want to overcome their ailment but almost always lose the recommended self-help book, while TFL sufferers just don't give a shit.  Symptoms of TFD include but are not limited to the constant need to be looking for car keys and/or cell phone; moderate to severe piles of laundry and the perpetual urge to eat KD and hot dogs for dinner (sufferers almost always forget to plan a healthy dinner).  Needless to say, the doctor said that I presented a textbook case of TFD. 

This diagnosis came as no surprise, I know I'm disorganized.  I'm constantly running around like a chicken with its head cut off and this time of year really brings out the worst in my "disorder".  Back in July I promised myself that this Christmas would be different.  I would be one of the first to send out cards, I'd have my baking done by mid-December (yes, I bake.  I make lemon squares that would make your grandma cry like a baby!) and all of the presents would be neatly wrapped (this of course, is assuming that the presents would be bought before December 1st).

Fast forward to today, with only 4 days left and what have I accomplished?  Diddly squat. Nada. Nichts.  Zip. Absolutely nothing!  Well that isn't exactly true.  I have bought one present, but I don't think it counts, cause it was for me and I bought it in August.  And I did get the cards ready before Decemeber 1st.  The only problem is that they've been sitting in a bag on my front hall bench every since.  Apparently you have to put a fancy-dancy thing called a "stamp" on the envelope, and you actually have to put the letters in the "mailbox". Who knew! 

Oh well, Christmas cards for 2012 are ready to go --- I'm so freaking organized!

So this Saturday, I highly suggest staying the "F" out of my way.  Cause I'll be the one, with an extra large vanilla latte supreme (Have you had one of these? One word: OMG!) tailgating you, screaming into the phone, begging Santa to delay Christmas for just one more day.


P.S. If I don't make it out of Walmart alive or sane - I wish you and yours the happiest and safest holiday season possible.  Drink a little too much, sleep in a little too late and thoroughly enjoy the time with family and friends.  Love you all!

P.P.S. If you lika da Jenn, please take a minute to subscribe to this blog.  With every subscription, you'll receive a snarly, stinky cute and polite boy. They come in sizes small, medium and large.  But hurry, quantities are limited.

Hello my name is Jenn and I'm a........

They say the first step in the recovery process is admitting you have a problem.  So here it goes, but you'll to come in nice and close, cause I'm only going to say it once and really, really quietly......

My name is Jenn and I'm a value village whore.

There.  I said it.  No taking it back now, you all know my deepest, darkest secret.  Well not my deepest, darkest...the statue of limitations isn't up on that one yet, so I'm not saying a word. For now, be happy that you got my second deepest darkest secret.  But please don't judge.....I know your secrets....I read minds as a hobbie.

Yes, its true.  I'm not proud of it (yes I am) but I'm addicted to VV boutique. Kinda like Charlie Sheen and crack, like Tiger Woods and flown in hookers, like...well you get the picture.  I'm nothing more than a dirty, dirty gently used clothing slut. 

Today was a 50% off day at VV (only for card-carrying members like yours truly), and next to Christmas, there isn't another day of the year in which I literally wake up with a smile on my face.  Well, actually that smile was probably from the dream I had about Ryan Reynolds doing my laundry while serving me a keg size glass of pinot girgio. Mmmmm pinot girgio....Oh my, is it getting hot in here....anyways, where was I? Ahh yes, Boutique de Value Village (everything sounds high class in French)

50% off is my everything.  I'm seriously considering getting a tattoo professing my love of VV's discounted days.  I mark the calendar, make sure I don't double book any appointments and drink plenty of protein shakes (in the high stakes world of ghetto shopping, there is no room for slackers!) But I think my love may have taken a dark turn....

Two weeks ago, after noticing that my closet was overflowing with clothes (read: after getting tangled up in unworn jeans and "what-the-hell-was-I-thinking-when-I-bought-these" sweaters followed by stubbing my toe on a too-full to close dresser drawer and cursing like a trucker) I went on a clean-sweep rampage. Anything that I hadn't worn in over a decade, did not like or could no longer squeeze my behind into got the boot.  In other words, 1992 called and wanted my size 2 acid washed jeans back, and I was reluctantly willing to hand them over(hey, everything comes back into style....eventually).  Soooo, I filled 4 garbage bags with my scraps and headed off to the local VV.  As I dropped off the bags, I should have relished in the fact that I would be heading home to a somewhat organized closet.  But nooooo, I just had to peek inside the freaking store.  4 bags, 2 hours and $56 later, I headed home with the exact same amount of clothing that I had left with!!!!  GRRRRRR

Sadly and shamelessly, my addiction to used crap is not limited to the walls of Value Village. Oh no, that would be way too freaking easy.  No, I also have a thing for other people's garbage....literally.  When I'm driving the bus, I cannot help but micro-scan curb side garbage for any hidden treasures.  With a quick glance, I can tell if something is of interest and/or value.  What?  You expected me to actually pay attention to driving?  Silly reader.  You're funny.

For many moons, I have picked junk treasures out of people's discarded waste.  Over the years, I've found a little slide/playground thingy for the boys, a desk, a WORKING air hockey table, a shelf and a high end stroller, just to name a few treasures.  Some of it we keep, some of it we donate and some of it we sell on Kijiji (made $175 on the stroller!!!)

But my garbage picking hit an all-time low when, during a recent family dinner (yes, the guests were still at my house and may or may not have been still sitting at the table), I ran down the street in my sandals (it was raining) and picked up a bench.  Perfectly good, totally functionable (is that a word?) cushioned bench.  Sure I didn't know where I was going to put it, nor did I even know the condition of it before I brought it home.  For all I knew, it could have been covered in puke and pee with a nasty ant infestation, but it was raining and I had sandals on -- no time for minor details! Plus, I was too ashamed to inspect it in front of their house (I party with these people!)  Fortunately, it all worked out in the end.  I got a beautiful, free bench (which I thoroughly cleaned), my neighbours got rid of junk and the landfill was spared.   Saving the landfill....yeeeaaaah that's why I pick garbage...."saving the environment"......you can just call me the next David Suzuki.   No seriously, people throw out perfectly good stuff which, if I didn't save it, would rot for eternity in a Michigan landfill.   Why wouldn't I pluck it out, use it and then donate it when we're finished with it.  I consider it to be my duty to be the superhero of the garbage world.  Now I just need to convince the mayor to shine a spotlight into the sky whenever there is a lonely piece of garbage to be rescued.......

Looks like I've found an excuse for my garbage picking (should "excuse" and "garbage picking" be used in the same sentence?) but I really have no excuse for the Value Village obsession.  I'm just going to have to quit cold turkey.  For my new years resolution I solemnly swear that I will not shop at Value Village unless I am accompanied by a rational adult who will talk me down from buying yet another purple hoodie. So there you have it,  starting January 1st, there will be no more VV.  Which can only mean one thing.....look out Goodwill....here I come!

Lest we forget

Today is Remembrance Day.  And while I strongly believe that we should be recognizing the sacrifices made by Canadian soldiers and their families on a daily basis, I realize that most of us take our liberties for granted. Remembrance Day forces us to pause for one minute and honor the brave men and women who fought (and continue to fight) for our freedom. 

My grandfather (who is no longer with us) and my grandfather-in-law (now a feisty 93 year old fella) both proudly served in WWII.  My grandfather drove a tank. A FREAKIN TANK!  He and the rest of his regiment plowed through France, basically destructing anything that showed even the slightest hint of German influence. My grandfather-in-law lived in cold, muddy trenches for almost 4 years.  I don’t like walking through a single puddle, and he willing sat in a giant one for 4 long years.  My grandfather was 18 when he made his way from Saskatoon to Toronto to enlist in the armed forces.  Let me repeat that, HE WAS 18!  Just a mere 5 years older than my precious Ty.  C’s grandfather was, I believe, a little older when he left his family and safe life in Canada for war torn Europe, but he was no older than 25!   

The horrors which they saw day in and day out are unimaginable.  In fact, neither man ever talked about their military careers.  They went to Europe, helped save the free world, came home and didn't looked back.  Never mind that they both survived their ordeals, the fact that they were able to be normal, functioning adults upon their return is absolutely incredible.   I know that neither men, and probably not a single veteran or soldier will read these words, and I realize that I don’t say it nearly often enough but THANK YOU!  We owe you big time!

Random rantings: Get a hair cut and get a real job!

I'm not quite sure how it happened, but somehow over the past....say...I don't know....34 years, I've turned into a real grumpy, old bat.  This new personality of mine seems to have appeared completely out of thin air.  I used to be such a nice person......you can laugh, that's OK cause I am too!

Whereas I used to smile and help old ladies cross the street, I now yell at them to "hurry up and learn to move it, cause I ain't got all day".  I needed to quote that, cause well, I've actually used those words before.  Hey look, in my defense, my grandma was moving really slow!  Anywhoooo. 

Like I was saying, I'm morphed into a really cynical person.  I'm leery of cute babies, and of people who are happily married.  I question women who claim to enjoy motherhood. And I snicker behind people's back when they have something stuck to the bottom of their shoe.  Basically I'm just mean! To help cope and hopefully return to my once gleeful self, I've started a special series of blogs called "random rantings".  What better place to share my thoughts and/or alcohol induced opinions about the stories and events I hear and read about all day long.  And there ain't a darn thing you can do to stop me, so ha!

For my very first rant, I'm going to start with the occupation movement!  And before I go any further, I am as close to a tree-hugging hippie as you can get, when you've got bills to pay, 3 hockey playing, always growing, constantly eating boys and a mortgage bigger than the national debt.  So I don't want to hear or read any comments about me being a Harper loving conservative - NONE!

I freakin love the whole idea of fighting the "man", and standing up for what you truly believe in. I would absolutely attend any type of protest that was well thought through and clearly had a purpose. The problem with the "Occupation" movement is that it has none of that!  It is one of the worsts planned and disorganized protests I've ever seen.  Yes, they have movements spread throughout the world. However, if you look closely, its only the first world cities which are "hosting" these protests.  The people who are actually affected by global social injustice are the ones who are making $1.00 a day sewing COACH bags and GAP sweaters in the back of some seedy factory in India and China.  And they wouldn't touch the protests with a ten foot pole, cause they know the real effects of standing up to corporate greed.  More on this later.

And yes, the protests  have a lot of media coverage. The only problem is that its not mainstream media, where any sort of coherent message is heard by the masses.  The only media source that gives a flying fart about this movement are very small and very unknown underground media.  So the only people hearing about any positive aspects of the occupation are the protesters themselves.  Next to that, the whole world of hard working folk, like...well myself, are laughing at them. 

Seriously, you've been living in a park for about a month, in $20,000 yurts which were purchased by Jimmy Hoffa and the other boys down at CUPE.  Why aren't you working like the rest of us?  If I didn't show up to work for a month cause I was "protesting" I know I would get canned.  So how can it be that hundreds of protesters can stick it the man for so long.  There are 3 possible reasons.

A) You are already homeless, living in a park.  And you think this whole  "occupation" thing is great cause you've upgraded from a cardboard box to a spacious 3 bedroom, 2 bath yurt

B) Mommy and Daddy live in Rosedale and support this new phase you're going through.  But they secretly have their fingers crossed that you'll outgrow it at some point and get a real job

C) You have tons of OSAP money left over, and its only because of your enormous loan that you can hang out all day.

I highly doubt its the former is true.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that the protesters have forced the homeless to relocate.  Can't have a protest fighting social injustice and greed with stinky homeless guys around.  They might mess up the new American Eagle hoodie you just bought.  I have a feeling that most people sitting down at St. James park are there simply so that when they have 2 kids, a mortgage, car payments and a real job, they can look back at say "I was there".  Kinda like Woodstock.

The protest is meant to send a world wide message to stop corporate greed.  And to create social justice for all.  Pretty lofty goals I must admit, but sitting in a yurt smoking dope all day long is definitely the way to make some serious changes around here.  It worked....well never...but I have a good feeling about this time. 

Actually, I don't.  As I go about my day WORKING, I see that not a single normal, employed person is affected by the protests.  Which means the CEO's of the big mean corporate world are definitely not feeling the pitch. They're just looking down at you from their 5,000 square foot, marble decorated offices and laughing.  Heck, they've probably just rolled a big fat doobie made with 100 dollar bills and are getting high off of the hard work of people like me!  And that can't be stopped by singing kumbaya all day long.

Having the right to protest and not face the very real possiblity of being killed or seriously hurt is a privilege that most of the world does not have.   But just because you have the right to speak doesn't mean you have to step up to the mic to blab on about nothing in particular.  Cause by you sitting in a park smoking dope all day long ranting and raving means that real stories of social injustice and corporate corruption get bumped off the evening news and eventually ignored all together. 

Standing up for the rights of others is a very noble thing to do, but please actually do it.  If you want to make real change, go down to the local soup kitchen and volunteer.  Or become politically active (by which I mean actually vote or run for office; sitting Timmies trying to sound smart does not constitute political activism). 

To make global changes, you need to hit the CEO's where it hurts.  In their wallets.  Stop buying the newest iPhones (which by the way, I love!), stop shopping at the GAP and boycott Starbucks.  Cause only then will they understand the impact of their evils ways, and start to make changes. 

And furthermore, stop blaming the big, bad evil CEO's.  We're all part of and support a system where the "haves" continue to rob the "have-nots".  We (and by "we" I mean mostly white, North American consumers with expendable money) have to understand that you CANNOT buy a sweater from Walmart for $10 and expect that the Indian worker who assembled it is making a liveable wage - it just doesn't work that way.  "We" have to, therefore be willing to pay higher prices for the goods we soooo must have.  Only then will the scales of social justice begin to even out.

But that will NEVER, EVER HAPPEN! North Americans love our commercial goods way too much.  We are far to willing to bitch and complain about how bad the world is, without realizing that its our commercialism that makes it bad place to begin with.

Rant over, continue with your day :)

Chicken noodle soup or children: which is more important?

Before I dive into this blog's topic, I have to once again begin with an explanation.  I realize its been a long time since I last blogged.  Some of you were probably concerned that my past life had finally caught up with me and that I was serving time in Kingston.  But don't worry my minons, I've just been well...busy.  So to get you caught up with the happenings of my life, I've created a brief overview of the past few months.  My boys have made me cry, scream, bury my head in shame (literally), laugh until I've almost peed my pants and drink.  I have been busy cheering and yelling at about 548 hockey games. I hacked up a lung with a darn cold that just wont go away. And I have put enough kilometers on my bus that I could have made it to Mexico by now!  Mmmmm, tequila.....

So there you have it.  The synopsis of my life.  With that over and done with, we can move onto the topic of the day, which I haven't quite decided on yet, so pay attention, there may or may not be a quiz at the end.

Believe it or not, but driving a school bus is not as lucrative as you may think. I've been told that there are great perks to being a educational transportation specialist, but I think someone hid them, cause after 10 years of searching I  still can't find them.  Sure, I get to wear 24 layers of clothing  just to stay remotely warm, and theres nothing better than smelling like diesel at the end of a hard days work.  And don't even get me started on the sexy footwear that goes along with the job.  But stock boys at the local grocery store get paid more than me, and that, in my humble opinion, is a problem.  Let's break this down by looking at the responsiblities of a school bus driver verses a nightime stocker (grocery store version, not rapist)

As an educational tranportation specialist, I am solely responsible for the SAFE and TIMELY pick up and delivery of 70 small, innocent children.  I must navigate the treacherous roads of God's country, steer clear of crazy, java drinking commuters, all the while keeping an eye on the bunch of darlings sitting behind me. I must be "professional" when a parent or teenage CHILD, curses and swears at me. I must brave near boiling temperatures in the summer, and in the winter a bone chilling wind so cold it would send the abominable snowman running for his mommy.  And do it all for about minimal wage (sometimes less). 

A stocker must, well, stock.  They ensure that the labels of soup cans are facing the right way, and that the oldest (therefore grossiest) products are front and centre. Thats it.  The hourly rate for the average stocker is about $1.50 more than I make.  Let me remind you, there are no slippy roads, no caffine deprieved commuters, no snot dripping children, only soup cans. And when was the last time a soup can yelled at you?

What the F*CK is wrong with this picture!  Now, I may not be the brightest bulb but I know that soup cans and children are not the same thing.  You drop or dent a soup can and that sucks cause now you have......well...a dented soup can.  Drop or dent a child and that REALLY sucks.  Do you have any idea the amount of paperwork involved in a dented child incident?  Craziness! 

You're probably thinking "gee, if the job stinks so bad, just quit and go work for Bob Loblaws" (that was his real name. Say aloud, it sounds funny!) But heres the thing, despite all the crap and low social status that comes with driving a school bus, I really, really, really like doing it. And while I wouldn't say no to a pay raise, the one thing that would make bus driving perfect is, in the words of the great Aretha Franklin "a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T".  I'm not an idiot, so don't treat me like one. 

If a big-time CEO of a big-time company based out of, for argument sake let's say Cincinnati, wants to improve the safety record of their company, there is no need to invest millions of dollars on gizmos. There is no need to spend a gazillion dollars on gadgets.  All the big-time CEO needs to do is respect their employees.  Let them know that the village idiot could NOT do their job, and let them know this by finally firing the village idiot.  If you do something wrong at your job, you will be let go - plain and simply.  By sending a message that it does take someone special to be a school bus driver, you encourage more diligenous amongst workers.  Cause right now, the good, the bad and the retarded (pls see foot note below) drivers are all lumped together. Which, by the way, is not working. This one-size fits all attitude does not encourage the bad drivers to improve, it makes the good drivers think "why should I freaking bother?"  And children begin to resemble soup cans.

So dear big-time CEO, if you happen to be reading this, please don't invest in another "safety" devices.  Don't make me sit through another training seminar. These tactics don't make for better drivers, only disgruntled ones. Please just let me know that you respect the hard work I do day in and day out. A simply "thank you" would be lovely.  Well that and a sweater at Christmas. 


Footnote: I use the term "retarded" as a means of describing those who just don't have a brain.  I would never use that word to describe those whose daily struggles include asking blatantly obvious questions or meddling in other people's business, for these people I prefer to use the term "Larry".

Good night, I'm here all week - enjoy the roast beef!

The 9 year old card shark

Last night, when the older boys were out acting like a bunch barbarians on the ice (aka playing hockey), “K” and I enjoyed some mom and son time together.  Since it was late at night, I had thought we would climb into bed, read a few books and discuss the recent downturn in the American economy (good times, good times).  “K”, on the other hand had other ideas.  Like any good “G” boy would, he wanted to play blackjack - betting and all. I love my children with all my heart, and I am always looking for teachable moments in our daily activities. However, I wasn’t sure if swindling him out of his allowance money would fall into the “life lesson” category.  But when he pulled out the cards, poker chips and starting laying down the ground rules (dealer draws on 16 and stands on all 17’s, house pays 3 to 2, etc), I knew he was no rookie.  When he asked if I wanted a complimentary drink from the bar, I knew the gloves were off!

Still clinging to hope that we could incorporate some learning into the dealings, I convinced myself that math  was somehow involved.  And it was.  He had to add up the numbers, calculate bet amounts and figure out a payment plan for the money I borrowed from him. But because he's still only 9 years old, he needed help with the numbers. Not being the stealthiest kid around, he did his counting aloud. While I was waiting for my drink refills, he would sneak in some finger counting - so freakin cute.  And despite his numerical troubles, he still won. Actually, to say he won would be a huge understatement, kicked my butt is more like it.  And the little jig he did as he walked away, tells me he was relishing in his victory a little too much.  This definetely turned into a life lesson - for ME!  Never trust someone who can bat their eyes, is under 5 feet tall and can do fancy card shuffling tricks.

  When I was tucking him to bed later on in the evening, he took my cheeks into his hands and ever-so sweetly told me "Mom, I'll always love you....even if you fall behind on your payments"  Such a loving son!

Mangled Mouths and the poop truck

Returning to school at my age wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded.  Sure, I had an excuse to wear my pajamas in public and the student discount was sweet, but the overall experience was very different from when I was there 15 years ago.  First of all, pub nights aren’t as fun when you’re dragging 3 boys along (although I’m pretty sure K could drink me under the table).  And when your professors are younger than you, it’s nearly impossible to plead “my kids are sick and my bills are overdue, so can I please get an extension” because they still live with mom and dad, and think that money grows on trees.  But the biggest drawback of finishing school at my age is that, unlike many of my younger classmates, (who still have OSAP money leftover and are discovering themselves by travelling the world) I need to find a job ASAP.  Having been in school for the past 5 years, I was able to escape the drudgery of full time work because I was “studying”.  But now that my academic career has come to an end, I have no more excuses. 

The very idea of having a double income is enough to drive my husband wild.  Being able to actually afford the finer things in life – like housing, clothing and food – has always been a distant fantasy for my family.  OK, it hasn’t been that tight, but I’m pretty sure Peter is sick and tired of us stealing from him to pay Paul.  C wants me to get a job so badly that instead of “sexting” me, he now forwards me the classifieds.

There is only one little problem – I don’t want to find a full time job (teaching or otherwise).  The past year was so freaking stressful that just thinking about working makes my hair turn a shade of gray that even 10 boxes of Nice n’ Easy couldn’t hide (that’s not to say that gray can and does look regal and fabulous on certain people J)   All I want to do is return to driving the school bus.  Not to brag, but I’m a kick-ass bus driver.  Unlike in the classroom, when I’m on the bus I’m calm, cool and 100% confident in my ability to get the job done.  The heart palpitations and sweaty palms which frequently greeted me at the classroom door don’t even bother showing up the bus stop, cause they know they’re not on the manifest, and the board wouldn’t let them ride with me (inside joke!).  Sure the pay sucks with bus driving, but the hours let me still tend to my “motherly” duties (read: I can nap in the afternoon and dine with my peeps on Thursday mornings)

To ease the hubby’s nerves, I’ve been sending out teaching resumes like crazy. But the fish aren’t biting – actually I think the pond is barren.  Well, not quite.  There are teaching jobs, you just have to know or be sleeping with someone to get them - I’m not that kinda gal.  Seriously, it can take years to get a full time permanent teaching job.  And requires that you be at the beck and call of a school board for the first 2 or 3 years.  That means no steady income, or benefits; two things which I can’t sit around waiting for.  This brings me to the point of this blog (sorry it took so long)

Ask any small child what they want to do when they grow up, and you’ll get a variety of answers.  A firefighter, a teacher, a NHL goalie are common responses.  No one ever, EVER says they want to drive the stinky poop truck that empties septic tanks.  But someone ends up doing this job.  How does that happen?  I found the answer in the strangest place - the orthodontist’s office.

I took the boys to an orthodontia consultation several weeks ago.  And without divulging too many details about the state of my boys’ mouths, I’ll just say that the doctor was booking his trip to Europe before we were out the door.  It’s going to take years and thousands of dollars’ worth of dental work to get the 3 boys’ teeth on the straight and narrow.  Sure, C’s insurance plan through work covers a portion of the cost, but nowhere near what we need it to.  That means that not a single track of metal will touch my boy’s pearly whites until I have a full time job with benefits. 
 

And that is how someone ends up driving the poop truck.  We all start the journey of life with an endless supply of hopes and dreams, then we become adults and get our asses whooped by reality.  We sign up for the poop truck gig thinking “I’ll just do this until my dream job comes along”, but then kids show up (and we all know how cheap kids are) or the rent goes up and all of a sudden you can’t walk away from the poopy job.  So you suck it up (literally) and keep working the crappy job, just so your kids have a better life than you did, or at least give have a chance to chase their dream job.

This is why I’m so hesitant to pursue jobs outside the realm of education. Sure I went to school for 5 years with the sole goal of becoming a teacher, but there are no jobs and my kids have mangled mouths.  Neither their teeth nor their very dry university funds can wait until I get a permanent teaching job.  But I know with 100% certainty that stepping away from the teaching industry means that I’ll never be back.  Our family will get used to the increased income and benefits, and we won’t be able to afford me walking away to join all of other teacher-wannabes chase jobs. 

So right now, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.  I want to do the responsible adult thing and get any job.  But I also don’t want to let go of my dream I worked so hard to reach.     Sigh………

Reading and Testosterone: An impossible mix?

There are few things in life that I absolutely adore. Most activities catch my attention for a week or two, and then slowly fall off the radar (that gym membership seemed like a great idea at the time). SWV, sleeping in and reading, however, have always been things I enjoy and are constantly fighting for my love and admiration – granted I tend to pit them against each other. If I could somehow find a way to read a great book, while enjoying a glass of SWV while sleeping into till noon, well I’d be a very happy woman. Despite my best efforts, I am yet to figure out how to drink in my sleep! Anyways – back to my point…….which is around here somewhere……give me a second….I just had it……ahhhh yes here it is……favorite things.

I love reading. I also love finding a book to read. I don’t like spending $19.95 on a book which sells for $1.05 in the States, nor do I like wasting paper, so I almost always get my books from the local library. I could (and have) spend hours cruising the aisles searching for my next read. The hunt for reading material is probably the same feeling shopaholics get during a 50% off sale at H&M’s – minus the snobby sales person, cat fights and shameful credit card bills. Yet, for some reason the family doesn’t share my enthusiasm for free books. When asked if they would like to join me, they often use the very stealthy tactic called “I was bored out of my skull a minute ago, but all of a sudden I think I might clean something so she won’t drag to that hellish place”. My husband reluctantly comes with me so he can use the angled parking and to ensure that I don’t “accidently” bring along 3 days’ worth of food rations just in case I get “stuck” in the self-help section. But he never, ever borrows books – EVER! Where did I go wrong????

Once I get the books home, I tend to be consumed by the books. In fact, when I’m reading a good book, nothing else matters. Rather than Sunday night “fancy dinner”, we have “fend for yourself night”. The “smell it to see if it’s still good” rule is re-enacted and the dust bunny population reaches epic proportions (see my September 8 2010 post). And again, my family doesn’t seem to understand. They say things like “Mom, I haven’t eaten in days…. I’m really hungry” or “My head stuck in the banister again” but I want to encourage their budding independence, so I ignore their pleas and keep on reading. Actually, my oldest has been known to pick up a book now and then. Twilight and Harry Potter were huge hits in the G household. But ever since Edward and Bella became the June and Ward Cleaver of the vampire world, T has all but sworn off reading. And despite my best efforts (read: bribes), I can’t get any of them to pick up a book. I’ve brought home graphic novels (I meant chapter comic books! You dirty pig!), sports magazines and choose your own adventures but still not a single page is turned in our house.

This lack of boy reading doesn’t appear be isolated to my house. Over the weekend, I took an informal poll, and discovered that while most women I know love to read, their male counterparts don’t. Why is this? I understand that most of “Heather’s Picks” from Chapters are oriented towards women, and adolescent girls have a billion “lovey-dovey” books to choose from, but there are tons of books geared towards men/boys. A quick Google search came up with a great book list - click here if interested. So I don’t understand why they don’t read.

I love being totally engulfed into the fictional lives of the books’ characters. If you’ve read “Sarah’s Key” then you know exactly what I mean. I am also disappointed if I can’t get into a book. I’ll push past the boring stuff hoping to get hooked, but it doesn’t always happen and I need to walk away (maybe they need a Viagra for book readers!) But I don’t give up on reading; I simply head back to the library and check out another book.

Maybe they don't like reading because it requires that you sit quietly for more than 7 ½ seconds and for my boys that is virtually an impossible task. But if you were to put a video game in front of them, they’d be good for hours. So really, there is no excuse.

Maybe it’s that men/boys just haven’t heard of any good “man” books. Maybe Don Cherry needs to start a book-club! I’m sure the ‘rock’em and read’em’ series would be a huge hit!

What about you? Does your husband/boys like to read?

I'M BAAAACCCCCKKKKKK!

Hi there, remember me? The funny, smart, beautiful, well-organized, professional, sexy,sweet girl of your dreams. No? Then why are you reading my blog? Its cause I smell good isn’t it? Its ok, it can be our little secret. Well, after 8 long months I’m back! I missed you so much. But I was so freakin busy with school and family demands that I barely had time to shower (maybe I don’t smell that good after all!). But that’s all water under the bridge; the important thing is that we’re back together – happy and smiling, right? So how have you been? How are the kids? The job? Enjoying the summer? Good, good, glad to hear that everything is well.

Since I finished school several months ago, some of you were probably thinking that the blog was also all done – well my friend, you were wrong. I enjoyed spilling the details of my personal life all over the internet so much, that I thought I keep doing it. Plus I’m bored. I’ve decided to keep the title “My Journey to Teaching” because it conveys the image of professionalism and I might be able to convince someone that I am actually a certified teacher. Well, that and I couldn’t figure out how to change the name and still keep my dedicated followers connected. So stayed tuned my little minions, I’ll be posting useless yet funny tales of an unemployed teacher very soon!

Love ya!

Curse you Snooki!

I’m in a grade six class for the next 4 months. And asides from the math being WAY harder than grade 3 (when you think of perimeter, area and irregular polygons, I know you’re thinking good times, good times, now pass the big bottle of SWV!) , the hormones are in full swing with these kids. It’s like teaching to a class of bi-polar lunatics! One minute their saying “good morning, Mrs. G, lovin’ the purple sweater” and the next they’re killing me with their eye rolling and the “gee, Mrs. G, why do you have to be so stupid” stares!

I am enjoying the fact that I can joke and be sarcastic with this group of kids, way more than with the grade 3’s. What would have made the 3’s cry, makes the “mature” 6’s laugh. I can also talk to these kids at an almost adult level (well that might depend on which adult I’m talking to). We “debrief” about the latest episode of Jersey shores, and discuss the pathetic merits of being a leafs fan.

However, I’m not enjoying the lectures I now have to give. Take this afternoon for example. I had to “remind” them that it’s respectful to actually listen to someone when they’re speaking. And that it is absolutely disrespectful to turn towards said speaker and then turn your back (as if to say “screw you Mrs. G, we’re talking about way more important stuff….see debriefing Jersey Shores) I also had to “talk” to them about community in the classroom and why it’s not nice to laugh when someone does poorly on a test - a test which said teaser did just as bad if not worse on.

But as I reflect (cause asides from lesson planning and essay writing, that’s all I do nowadays) back on this teachable moment, I had one of those moments when you think to yourself “Dammit, why didn’t I say that”. You must know those moments; typically happens as your walking away from a confrontation in an unnamed parking lot with some ‘crazy’ hockey mom….this happens to you right? RIGHT?

Anywho, I could have had the kids all raise their hands, and said “put your hand down if you’ve ever had a bad day, done poorly on an assignment or been embarrassed in class” which of course (hopefully) would have resulted in everyone putting their hand down. Then I could have started a chorus version of Kumbaya and had a group hug. But this is real life people, and these kids have never heard of Kumbaya. On a side note, when I assigned a map labeling project as homework and told them to reference an atlas, their response was “oh no, Mrs G don’t you mean Google Earth?”

When I called for the classes’ attention (“1,2,3…eyes on me” and “if you hear my voice clap once….”) in grade 3, everyone turned and listened attentively. In grade 6, they do the clapping, but promptly continue with their prior activity (again see above mentioned Jersey Shore…I’m beginning to really despise Snooki…..even more). Yesterday, I had to raise my voice, and at one point I shut the classroom door with more force than necessary. I don’t like that these kids are winning the oh-so-fun game of “how far can we push Mrs. G”. I have three boys; I should be an expert at that game. In the past few days, I have turned to heavens and asked for an extra helping of patience more times than I can count.

Despite the fact that I’m dealing with a strange breed of humans (think: a 4 year old trapped in an 11 year olds body, who looks like Justin Bieber and thinks they should be treated like an adult) I am enjoying this new class. And despite the fact that I was “challenged” by a grade 6 math question yesterday, I love that I don’t have to admit that I’m stumped. I can simply say “I already know the answer; I’m challenging you to find it and report back to me”. Oh….I’m good!

Good night people, I have some Jersey Shores episodes to catch up on!

The little reminders in life

I've been on "holidays" (us moms know to use that term loosely) for the past few weeks. I really enjoyed the sleeping in, stuffing my face and the hockey (and there was A LOT of hockey -- heck who am I kidding, there was also A LOT of stuffing my face as well). But sadly, I returned (with my pants feeling a little too snug) to my crazy student life this past Monday.

Actually I was thrown back into the hectic schedule, spending the whole week at my new placement school. And this time round, I'm in a grade 6 class. Which can only mean one thing......grade 6 MATH!!!! YIKES! And I thought grade 3 math was a challenge! At least "we" can use calculators (and I mean "WE" cause I'm learning too). The kids were learning about scatter plots and data management. Which works out well because I taught the grade 3's all about graphs in December --- oh wait, that doesn't work out well cause I SUCK at data management. Oh well, a wise person once said "a teacher is only 24 hours smarter than their class" So when I assign homework to the grade 6's, you know for sure that I'll also be doing the same homework.

Anyways, I was tidying up my computer tonight (yet another way to avoid actually getting stuff done) and I came across the personal statement I wrote to get into teacher's college. And as I read it, it reminded me that 1) I am smart, 2) I have the right experience to become a teacher and 3) with enough time and SWV, I can write some really good stuff! I've included my letter so you guys can see the power of liquid inspiration! If you ever think "Why on God's green earth is Jenn becoming a teacher?" Please refer back to this post, I know I will (many, many times throughout my career!)

The point of the personal statement is to explain (in a one page letter) how your experiences in life have guided you into education. The catch is, that you can't beg or plead for acceptance into the program. Nor can you say that you want to teach because you get the summers off and a really strong pension plan (which of course is the real reason most of us choose teaching)

So without any further ado --- my personal statement......

Deeply influenced by my own teachers, I knew at a young age that I was destined to teach. However, life sometimes takes you on an unexpected path and for many years I believed that it would impossible to follow my dream. Busy raising my own children, I satisfied my desire to teach by volunteering in their classrooms. Even though I truly enjoyed my time with the students, as a volunteer I felt that I was witnessing the learning process from the sidelines.

Then several years ago I was given the chance to return to school. While I knew it would not be easy balancing the demands of family, work as well as full time school, I also knew that it was an opportunity I could not pass up. Today, despite the setbacks I have faced, I am overjoyed to be so close to reaching my childhood dream of teaching.

An essential aspect of being a teacher is having the ability to interact with a diversity of students, parents and members of the community, and my background and volunteer experiences have instilled this important quality in me.

For many years I have been a school bus driver, as such I am responsible for safely transporting up to 72 children to and from school. Interacting with a large group of students has taught me many invaluable skills, such as conflict resolution and student management, which can easily be applied to a classroom setting.

As a reading buddy volunteer, I have learned as much from the students as they have from me. I have learned to develop interpersonal skills such as being able to adapt to the needs of an individual student. After accessing the child’s reading ability, I utilize the available materials and resources to engage and encourage the learning process. When the resources do not meet the specific needs of the student, I have sought out, as well as, created literacy games which reinforce the concepts we are working on. This creativity and innovation will allow me, as a teacher, to recombine school board curriculum into exciting activities for both the individual student and the whole class.

As a classroom volunteer I have been assigned a variety of tasks with the majority of that time being spent working with small groups of students. Whether it’s the joy a student feels when they master a concept they had previously struggled with or feeling a child’s frustration when they don’t quite get it, it is in these small group settings that I have gained the greatest appreciation for the emotions involved in teaching. In fact, it is the feelings of frustration which have fueled my desire to teach. For without frustration, the ability to challenge and push myself would be lost.

I understand now that a teacher does more than teach the basics, they engage their students and foster a lifelong love of learning. As a teacher, I would not only witness the beginnings of something great, teaching would allow me to be a vital part of that process.


Hope everyone had a wonderful break (in whatever capacity that break came!)