For the love of crap

I have two big entertainment type loves in my world. Books and movies. Sure the tv and the internet are fantastic, but if someone took away my tv or stripped me of my internet connection (which better not happen if y'all hope to keep your fingers), then I'd be totally fine. Totally. Fine. I swear. Ok, I might go into serious withdrawl if I didn't have my daily connection to all your blogs and Crackbook as well, but tv I'd be totally fine with.

Books and movies are on a whole other plain. To say I am a book lover is a bit of an understatement. Everything is right in my world when I have books around me. I devour them. I will read virtually anything and immerse completely into the world that is created in each of those words. From sob stories to comedies and witches & vampires to wizards & witches, I love them all.

Movies? Also a passion. Some people go to bars and spend hundreds of dollars on booze, I go to movies. It's another way for me to sink into that imaginary world that people spend months of their lives crafting for people just like me. To be able to sit there and watch the action unfolding on the screen is amazing. Once in awhile, it's even good enough for me to feel like I'm really there. And I love it. Just like books, I'll watch virtually anything as long as there is something there to grab my attention. A good joke, a buff body, a hot chick.....I'm in.

What's better than books or movies? (Other than multiple orgasms that is!) Movies that are based on books and done well! If you can take one of my favorite books and turn it into a movie and do it well, I might just consider hopping on plane to find you so I can kiss the ground you walk on. Do a hatchet job on it and you can say goodbye to the ground kissing and kiss my ass instead.

Most recently, I've seen two movies based on books.

"My Sister's Keeper" which had me and about 200 other chicks (and maybe 3 or 4 guys who'd been dragged there under promises of blow jobs) blubbering like idiots. Having read the book, I was wondering what new version of sadness they could bring to the viewing audiences that hadn't been used in every other sad story to help provoke a sob mob ("I Am Sam" and "Marley & Me" anyone?). Thankfully, they stayed true to the book for most of it and I was spared years behind bars for the cruel and unusual torture of Nick Cassavetes. Two of my greatest friends, Ginger Rug & EC, came with me and Ginger spent the movie sobbing with the rest of us. EC, on the other hand, sat stoicly through the entire thing and poked fun at the two of us. I swear there's a lump of coal in her chest where her heart used to be. Either that or she was too distracted by the tweeny boppers behind us who were crying so hard (it wasn't THAT sad!) that they were snorting up their snot and commenting none too quietly about how they couldn't breathe. We'll go with that.

Last night, Ginger Rug and I decided to go to the midnight showing of Harry Potter 6. We purchased our tickets days in advance and prepped ourselves for having to sit outside the theatre in a line up for up to an hour and a half before being allowed in to vie for our seats in what could only be compared to the running of the bulls. One of the little girls who works for the theatre had assured me they wouldn't be letting anyone in until at LEAST 11:30 pm, so we planned to arrive by 10:30 and secure our places in line. Imagine our surprise when we arrived at 10:30 to find nobody standing outside. WOO! We're the first ones in line. Bonus.

Yeah. Not so much. Turns out the powers that be decided to let everyone in early and by the time we got in there, it was pretty slim pickings for us. Having finally resigned ourselves to having to sit separately, we found seats where we could sit one behind the other and settled in for the long wait (with our amazing books I might add).

By the time the movie started, I was already close to being in need of a catheter but excited about the film which I'd been eagerly anticipating for months.

By the time the movie was done, I was trying to figure out why I had passed up 3 extra hours in bed, sex with my husband and possibly even a massage for the crap that I just watched.

I've been listening to all the radio DJs tout it as the "biggest summer blockbuster" and yeah, I'm sure it will be because people were waiting and waiting for it, got all hyped up and then stood in line all fucking day to see it. So yeah, I'm sure $22.2 million in the first night makes it a summer blockbuster. You know what doesn't make it that? The CRAP that I had to watch. Talk about disjointed! I realise that the book is about 10 kajillion pages long and to make the whole thing into a movie without cutting anything would mean a 22 hour movie but holy crap people! The least they could have done was think about the flow of the story as they cut bits out.

Sure there were some awesome one liners that had us all laughing out loud and yeah, the special effects and CGI were fantastic on the whole but that's about as far as it goes. When the movie ended, Ginger Rug turned around and looked at me and at the same time we were both all "Well, that sucked".

We were sorely disappointed, but it sounded like we were the only ones in the entire universe that felt that way. Perhaps we're too old for movies like this now? Or perhaps I've been jaded by the actual GOOD movies that Disney/Pixar have been throwing out there like "Wall-E" and "UP". Either way, I doubt I'll be sitting in a theatre at midnight for the next one. I'd rather have sex. Or sleep.

And while we're on the subject of shit, I'd like to share something that made me the proudest mama ever. A direct quote from the Girl Spawn...

"Daddy, I don't think I can flush the toilet.....I just did a HUUUUUUUUUGE poop and it might block it!"

Now THAT's some shit I can get on board with.

Random Tuesday

Hotty Hubby and I learned a valuable lesson this week. Do not argue about proper English with a boy who is almost 5 and has the attitude of a 13 year old. In between Boy Spawn's refusals to put his shoes on or tidy up the toys in his room, he finds his amusement in pushing as many of my buttons as possible in the shortest amount of time. And yet, when you question his use of the English language and attempt to correct him, the unwavering determination in his eyes is almost enough to make you double over in laughter.

Boy Spawn: "This is the goodest day ever!"

Hotty Hubby: "You mean the best?"

BS: "No...the goodest!"

HH: "Yeah...the best"

BS: "NO Daddy! It's the goodest!"

Alrighty then, let it be forever known that there is a vast difference between "goodest" and "best". Apparently "best" is to be reserved only for when describing friends and cars in Boy Spawn's case, and anything chocolate covered or boob shaped in the case of Horny Hotty Hubby. Also? Seeing as we're on the subject of language lessons, I feel it is my duty to inform you that when you hook a sprinkler up to your hose and turn it on and it sprays water all over the place, it SPRINKS.

I think I might just have to stab chopsticks through my own ears if I have to listen to one more thing about Michael Jackson. Yeah I totally get that he was somewhat of a major contributor to the music world. And I get that he had this HUGE fan base, most of whom never wavered when faced with the allegations against him or his incredibly wacked out behaviour. Heck, I even get that he was maybe even a role model to some up and coming musicians. But fuck people!! He was NOT a god...of any description. I'll admit, I watched most of that memorial they did in LA with all the celebs parading up on to the stage to drone on about how their lives were changed by him, and you know what? I even CRIED when his daughter got up to the microphone. But really...all this incredible pomp and circumstance, all this hype in the media....enough already. Let him rest in peace, let his family grieve and let his children mourn their father.


With just ten days to go before we jet off for the Land of the Long White Cloud, we are busily packing, sorting, unpacking, sorting, packing again, purging, sorting, unpacking and packing. It's bloody annoying and hard work and I'm sick of doing it. I console myself with gin and the knowledge that soon I'll be in my new house, in a new country and looking for a new job. With our departure comes the realization that my blog is going to feel lonely. It's been feeling rather neglected lately anyway as I've been too busy to get here and take the time to do this, but when we leave it's going to feel like it's been downright neglected. Unless I can figure out how to post from Hotty Hubby's iPod Touch. And yeah, I don't think that's going to happen. So I've been emailing some folks and seeing if they would lower their standards for just a day or so and I'm actually having some luck! So stay tuned in the next few weeks for some amazing guest bloggers....and if you would like to lower YOUR standards and have a go at guest posting, feel free to email me!

7 years of awesomeness!

My dearest Ashlee,

Seven years ago today, this was me......

...cuddled up to the most beautiful baby the world had ever laid eyes on. Sure, I'm supposed to say that because I'm your mother but there was plenty of other people who agreed with me. You had big blue eyes, a shiny bald head and a big red V in the middle of your forehead that flared up whenever you screamed for food or just a snuggle.

To this day, that alien V mark on your head still scares the poop out of me for fear that some Predator like creature is going to claw it's way out of your stomach and eat me because I dared suggest that you eat your veggies at dinner time.

As you've gotten older, we've gone through the normal phases of development mixed with what they tell me are normal phases of your temperament. Terrible Twos, Torturous Threes, Frightening Fours, Freakin Kill Mommy Now Fives and Satanistic Sixes. I hold out hope that someone will tell me that the sevens are labeled as Sweet and Snuggly Sevens. Either that or I might need to start buying Blue Bombay Gin by the caseload.

You've always had a very individual personality with a strong will and you're not easily pushed around. We're not entirely sure where you get it but Daddy seems to think it has something to do with me. I'm sure that at some point it will stand you in good stead, once you learn to control the urge to be contrary just because you can.

As we have watched you grow and learn, Daddy & I have been so intrigued to see the way in which you attach yourself to people and show a steadfast loyalty to them.

You are affectionate, sometimes overly so (when Mama says "Get off me" it's usually because there's just so many butterfly kisses I can take!), and still, at 7, your favourite thing to do is to climb into someone's lap and sit with them.





I love your silliness, your spark, your ability to make me giggle on even the hardest day. Your laughter when the tickle monster gets you is infectious and before long, you have everyone joining you.

You are smart, and I love to see the sparkle in your eye when you come running out of the school to tell me what new stuff you learned today. Sometimes it's something like math and other times it's something useful like how to get the boys to chase YOU in "Kiss Tag". Trust me darling, when you get to high school you're going to use those methods to get their attention. But beware, until they're about 15 they won't be interested in much beyond embarrassing you and pulling your bra strap. Remind me to teach you how to give an effective wedgie.

You've done well learning the art of "Taking it easy - the Zen way". While you might have to make do with water or milk right now, in just another 11 years you can share the martini shaker with me. Just don't try stealing any of daddy's beer....he won't look kindly on that. Get your brother to do it instead, it's a boy thing.

Speaking of your brother, if I could ask one thing of you as you enter your next year of life in the hopes of making it to your next birthday, it would be for you to please cut him a little slack. Sure he's annoying, it's another boy thing (have you WATCHED your daddy??) but he's your brother and he loves you (we think). And really the two of you look so darn cute when you're actually pretending to like each other. Never mind that I have to bribe the two of you with Push Pops just to get you to put your arms around each other.


I guess what I'm trying to say is this..... Happy Birthday my darling, you are one of the brightest lights in my life and I love you so much. I can't wait to see what the next year brings for us!

All my love,

Mommy

I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts

When it comes to my body I am, on the whole, mostly happy. Yes of course I could stand to lose a few (dozen) pounds and reduce the flab that coats my thighs and ass (& stomach, chest, neck and arms). I could do without my arms looking like they're doing their own little disco dance when I raise a hand to wave at a friend (or smack my husband up the side of the head). But on the whole, I've become accustomed to the way things are for now and I'm ok with it. Sure, I'd love if my fairy godmother could pry herself off her barstool long enough to work some lipo magic but apparently the gin & tonics that they serve at the Fairy Campus Bar are too alluring. Bitch.

Anyway, one of the things I particularly like, and Hotty Hubby is addicted to, are my tatas. Kajungas. Magnificent Mammaries. Tits. Boobs. Call them what you will, mine are awesome. They're big, they're bouncy and they look great in any shirt. I'm sure that if the aforementioned Fairy Godmother ever gets her act in gear, or if I ever put in some real effort, then they'll shrink some...but they'll always be awesome.

This past weekend, I decided to put my breastificence to good use when we went out to dinner. Seems the hot young thing that was our server had a hard time keeping his eyes off my twin set...and I wasn't even wearing my pearls! More drinks Madam? Could I get you another of those? I'll just go get you another shall I? And why don't we give you all more ice cream than any other patron out here on the patio.

Don't mind if I do.

I do mind, however, if when I am sleeping, a certain Hotty Hubby decides (in his sleep, I'll grant him that) that my udderly fantabulous milk jugs are free for the grabbing. Does he really have room to complain about my hogging the bed if he spends all night doing the adult version of the yawn & stretch that was perfected in the movie theatres of his teenage years?

Since we moved into our temporary accomodation in preparation for our move, I have had to deal with the mini herd of elephants that inhabits the upstairs suite of this house, the ridonculously small bed that Hotty Hubby and I have been allocated (it's a DOUBLE people!!! A fucking double bed for one overweight woman and an albeit skinny, 6 foot 4 man!!), not to mention the insane amount of horrible little arachnids that inhabit every nook and cranny they can find in this place (and there are many!).

As he complains about the fact that I prefer to sleep in a starfish position, thus taking up 95% of the bed (did I mention he's skinny and really only NEEDS 5% ?), I find myself moving on from my complaint that he has a fondness for pretending to be a caterpillar by rolling himself into a cocoon in every inch of blanket and top sheet available thus leaving me freezing my over sized ass off every night to complaining about the fact that my, admittedly, horn dog of a husband has decided to branch out from his swaddling activities....to "sleep groping". At least four or five times through the night, the man rolls over in his "sleep" and somehow (!!) ends up manhandling my boobage. Once is tolerable, twice I might not kill him for, but after the second time, I'm rather tempted to smother him with his pillow...or just push him off the bed in his cocoon.

Of course, once he has woken me up "accidentally" for the umpteenth time during the night, I find it harder to get back to sleep and find myself bunny braining about all the millions of things that are going on in our lives like how much crap we somehow still have, even after selling virtually everything we own that doesn't fit into a suitcase.

We leave for New Zealand in just 17 days and I find myself wanting to crawl into the deepest darkest hole I can find, preferably with a couple of hot guys to keep me company, to hide until someone else does all the packing and sorting for me. Now, the last time I mentioned something along these lines to someone, they were very diplomatic and said (almost with a straight face even!) "Couldn't Hotty Hubby do a bunch of that?"

*pause for dramatic effect*

Having picked myself up off the floor with tears of laughter streaming down my face, I tried my very best to maintain a deadpan face as I responded "Absolutely". But really, I am pretty sure the only way I could get him to do a "bunch of that" would be if I taped a mini bag of M&Ms to each individual thing that needed to be packed and then started him on it NOW. I think I'll leave him to entertain the spawn while I do the grunt work this time. There'll be plenty of time for payback at a later date. Like, the next time the toilets need cleaning, or the hair (gag) needs pulling out of the bathtub (gag) drain (hurl).

Ok, seriously...what is with the insane amount of hair that falls out of women's heads? I shampoo, I condition, I use this $22 rip off bottle of Anti-Snap stuff by Redken and still the hair comes out of my head in handfuls. I have taken to wearing my hair in a ponytail 99% of the time because on the odd occasion I wear it down, within 5 minutes I look like I just had sex with a very rambunctious sheepdog. Yeah...attractive right?

So normally, removing the hair from the drain is the job of the adult male in this family and it usually occurs without too much of a complaint from him, although he's been known to roll his eyes at me for my incredibly inability to do this without gagging even though I can wipe shit off the ass of my 4 year old without nary a vomit filled thought. So sue me, I have a strong gag reflex.

The other day I found myself in a bit of a quandary. Hotty Hubby was out, I needed a shower. No problem right? Wrong! Turn the water on, get the right temperature......oh shit, the water isn't draining properly. Well this is a whole new issue on it's own because now I have two choices.

1. Stand in the UNdraining bathtub and shower myself while the water rises and the soap scum and pubes that were stuck to the side of the bathtub from when Hubby showered, all detach and start sticking to my legs instead ... eww! (and what is with a man's inability to rinse a bathtub??)
2. Remove the clumps of my OWN hair from the drain and toss it in the toilet. Equally as disgusting and not something I relished either.

I wish I could remember whether I had been into the gin that day because for some reason I chose option 2 and decided to do the hair removal myself.

Never. Again. EVER.

Gag. Gag. Gag. Ugh this is awful. Gag. Hurl. Almost done. Gag. Hurl. Good enough. Ugh.

I think that job will be permanently relegated to the "Hubby does this because otherwise the mess that results from it is bigger than what was originally there" list.

"The Disposable Memory Project"

Just a little something I found that I wanted to share with y'all. I will endeavour to have a "real" post up in the next day or two. We're down to the wire on a overseas adventure with just three weeks left to go, so I'm very busy. I'm sure you understand.

Sometimes when there's nothing on tv, the kids are in bed, my hotty is out at a buddy's house, and I've finished the stack of books on the nightstand (which seems to happen regularly lately), I'll find myself cruising around the internet. I mean, I have my Facebook/Twitter addiction, and my blog(s), but I like to look at other stuff too.

Stumble helps me do that. It installs a toolbar, or you can just go from the stumble website, and it takes you to random sites all over the internet, based on what you plug in as your interests.

One such "Stumble" that I came across this morning was "The Disposable Memory Project". The general gist is that these folks left disposable cameras, in clear bags with notes, in places all over the world. People are meant to see them, pick them up, read the note, take a few pics and then pass it on or leave it for someone else to find. Each camera has a code on it, and they track the cameras by people emailing in where they found it etc.

They're getting some amazing pics sent in! And if you click on "Drop Your Own" on the left hand menu, it tells you how you can get in on the action. I thought I'd share the link here, because I know there are people who do geocaching and this is kind of the photography equivalent. And it's fun.

So go to The Disposable Memory Project and check it out!!

I'm going to see if I can start a couple here, and then when we get to NZ, I'll do a coupe there too. I might even do one in Vancouver airport and then again in Auckland airport. LOL!

as excited as a very excited person who has something to be exceptionally excited about

Let it never be said that I can't take a joke. This past week (or two?) felt a bit like a joke to me and dammit I made it through!

The day after we arrived home from our whirlwind trip to Cowtown (that's Calgary for all you non Canucks), was my 30th birthday. Yes yes, I can hear you all out there. "Ohh she's still just a baby". "Such a young 'un". Fooey to you. I feel like I'm 50 most days, so bite me. Anyhooooo, it was my 30th birthday and I was all geared up to go and have drinky-poos with my girlfriends when silly me, I took the hair elastic out of my hair and my dull throb of a headache turned into a full blown migraine. Raincheck on those drinks then girls?

The next four nights were taken up with work (read: watching movies and playing on the net all night for money) and by the time the next Tuesday rolled around and Hotty Hubby and I were planning on heading out for some alone time to celebrate our 7th wedding anniversary, all hell had broken loose in our lives and there was nothing doing. So let's see.....Birthday? Scratch. Anniversary? Scratch.

Bastards.

By hell, I mean my car. My poor little, new-ish, piece of freakin' crap car. Argh.

Two and a half years ago, Hotty Hubby and I had ourselves an old Buick. Built like a tank, it was fantastic to drive because I knew that unless I hit an 18 wheeler, I was likely to come off better in just about any accident. Thankfully I never tested that theory, but the knowledge was there in the back of my head with all the other semi useful information like the size of an elephant's penis (up to six and a half feet long in case you care. And I'm sure you do). But this car was starting to fall apart. The axle was ready to come off the bottom of the car, the fan wasn't working, blah blah blah (mommy wanted a new car). So we went shopping. Neither of us had a very great credit rating so we ended up at place here in town who advertises themselves with something along the lines of "good credit, bad credit, no credit.....we've got a car for YOU!". You can just picture Uncle Sam from the old Army ads in your head while they say it.

We looked around the car yard, I saw minivans and he saw compacts. We finally settled on a lovely Ford Focus station wagon. "Oh sorry, we can't finance that one" Fine. Bastards. Somehow we found ourselves talked into a wee little Kia Rio RX-V station wagon. Nice enough car at first glance. Test drove pretty well. Looked like it had enough room in it for our little family of 4.

WRONG!!!

I swear that fitting a family into this car, keeping in mind that two of the family are children under 5 feet tall, is rather like trying to wrestle into a clown car. With adults in the front who are 5 foot 10 and 6 foot 4, this means the front seats must be pushed relatively far back. This leaves very very little room in the backseat...for children. Don't even TRY and get an adult back there. Horrendously uncomfortable! That aside, it's served us fairly well and it's gotten us around.

This past Tuesday however, I took it to a rather large store here in town to investigate a metallic scraping sound in the wheel well that I presumed was being caused by brakes that were ready to be replaced. I was right. I also needed them to UNlock my doors and fix my power locks that the spawn had so joyously broken for me.

2 new front brakepads, adjustment in back, fluid flush and lock fix? $529

The next day I took it for a general service at a different place and found that the first place is lame, ass sucking lame-o's for NOT noticing a rather vital (I think) thing wrong with the underside of my car. Those lovely sway bars that keep your wheels stable and moving together? Yeah....ready to FALL OFF the bottom of the damn car. Assholes.

Service, sway bars and air filter? $307

*sigh*

I've meandered through the rest of the week just generally trying to get by. Working, sleeping, coping with the insane heat that we've had here for June in Victoria, and hanging with the kids. Checking Hubby's email daily for any news on the visas and sending emails to the case officer in charge of his file in the hopes that she'd take pity and give us news....any news. Nothing.

As I headed out this morning, I checked again and nothing. I tried not to let it damper my day. I mean, it's only been over 5 months right? And she did say one to three months. What's an extra 2? I enjoyed a caffeinated beverage with my favourite gal pal, hung out with the boy spawn and even did a little bit of shopping.

When I arrived home, I dejectedly sat down and checked the email one last time.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Oh. My. Gawd. There's an email saying he's been approved for the visas. Approved people!!! That means we can go!

Hopelessly and relentlessly checking your email and putting up with all the crap of cars and weather without any wine to drown your sorrows, only to find an approval email in your inbox when you were beginning to lose all hope of ever escaping to the Land of the Long White Cloud?

PRICELESS

Now. I just need to rustle up the almost $500 for the "migrant levy" and send their passports away. Looks like we'll be heading down south for the end of July. WOO!

Is this thing on?? *tink tink*

Either I'm really really dense when it comes to this whole blogging in advance thing (which is entirely possible if you know me at all) or Blogger sucks ass in a big way (also entirely possible). Regardless, I had a whole slew of incredibly amazing, hilarious and insightful posts lined up to post over the last few weeks and when I came back today to check comments, of which I knew there would be many because you all love me so much, there was none. And I was all well what the hell? And then I looked and realised that because I'm dense and because Blogger sucks ass in the hugest way known to the giant behemoths of the world, none of said rip roaringly funny posts appeared where they were meant to. And then I checked my email and noticed that some of you had even emailed me to see where the hell I've been.

This month has been really busy folks. Remember those visas we've been waiting on for our move to New Zealand? They're still not here. Remember that house we had to vacate by a certain date? We were out of there on the 14th and only JUST managed to find a place to live. And now we live under a mini herd of elephants. We found ourselves a furnished basement suite and brought our meager belongings in. The women who lives upstairs is a teeny tiny Japanese woman with a 13 year old boy and an 11 year old girl. And 5 cats. Those felines are actually slightly cute when you hear them hop down from the 12 foot perch they were sitting on and then thunder across the floor. The people, not so much. In between chasing each other at high speed back and forth across the house, it sounds rather like they're bowling. And they couldn't possibly be bowling, could they?! During the day this interesting aspect of our new abode can be rather amusing....if I don't have to work that night. Otherwise, it's usually a good idea to have a set of industrial strength earplugs to drown out the noise of what could only be compared to a thunderstorm of immense magnitude.

This past weekend we made the trek across the province to go and see my cousin get married. After a month or more of deliberating and tossing around the idea, we finally reached the decision that while it would take longer, it would be easier (and cheaper) to drive to Calgary. So on the Friday evening after Hotty Hubby finished work, we piled into the car and headed on our merry way.

12 hours.

Twelve freakin' hours people! In a car. With the two spawn.

Ok, it wasn't that bad actually. I took the first driving shift because I'm used to being up all night. Hotty Hubby tried to pass out in the passenger seat and the spawn got comfy in the back seat (as comfy as you can get sitting up) and went to sleep. I amused myself playing "name the imaginary friend" (the answer is always always Drop Dead Fred by the way) and sang along to music that I knew hubby would hate. I cruised along at high speed until I started to get sleepy and gave him a chance behind the wheel. It was pretty short lived, he was more tired than I was. The drive through the mountains was amazing! We stopped for breakfast in Banff (ski town) and were rewarded with this amazing view.

At some point between Banff and Calgary he somehow managed to piss off some redneck in a big ass truck who decided that he was going to be attempt a display of macho intimidation (note: it just made you look like a dink!) and drive along side us shouting profanities that we couldn't hear and flipping us the bird. Ahhh the memories.

We finally arrived in Calgary at 10am and headed for the hotel to get ready for the wedding which was starting at 1pm. Colour me excited! Not only was I getting to witness my cousin marry the man of her dreams, but I was getting to see family that I hadn't seen in at least 12 years. Aunts, cousins, grandparents....amazing.

Laurel was a beautiful bride and she married an amazing guy who looked so proud to be up there with her. Boy spawn passed out pretty much the minute she started walking down the aisle but in retrospect it was probably a good thing. I imagine there's probably nothing quite like being about to say I do and having a 4 year old pipe up with "I don't WANT to be quiet!". So yeah, sleep was a blessing. The mother of the bride (hi Auntie Marf!) looked radiant, and proud, as her baby walked down the aisle and the mother of the groom looked lovely and teary as her boy moved on to the next woman who would love him just as much (and more).

Reception was amazing, the DJ rocked it out and we kept the kids hooked up to their Leapster game systems for as long as they wanted to be. They danced in between and it made for a peaceful and enjoyable evening for all.



Sunday was spent ambling around the Calgary Zoo for six hours listening to the kids whine about how bored they were with lions and tigers and giraffes (oh my!) and "When are we going to see BEARS?!". Amazing that most people are enthralled by the exotic fare and my spawnlets are content with just visiting the "Canadian Wilds" section of the zoo.

Let me just pause here in my rambling tale to tell you that if you are planning on being out in the sun, walking around for 6 hours, to please please please wear a hat and sunscreen. I'm sure that for some of you, that little tidbit of info may go in one ear and out the other as it has done for me over the years, but I speak from very unpleasant experience when I say that heatstroke sucks. Big time.

Having not consumed nearly enough water nor worn a hat all day, by the time we reached the restaurant for dinner with the extended family on Sunday evening, I was feeling a little ..um... under the weather. As I sat and listened to everyone laugh and reminisce about the good ol' days, all I could do was try and control the shaking in my hands and try and ignore the nausea that was rapidly getting worse. Eventually I could take it no more and after a quick prayer vigil at the feet (foot?) of the porcelain god, I returned to the table for an attempt at breaking the record of how fast one could consume water. 5 glasses of water, 2 glasses of Sprite and 3 packs of sugar later, I finally began to feel human again. Ahhhhh.

Like I said, heatstroke sucks.

The drive home was equally as long, but slightly more relaxed. We were able to stop in Kamloops (a town of hills and heat..neither of which are close to my heart) for a quick meeting with some friends of Hubby's that he hasn't seen in years, before heading on our way again.

All in all it was a fantastic weekend and we were glad to be home.

There is something I realised by taking the trip though -- I am now officially a grown up! Sure I've done roadtrips with friends before, but they were driving. And my parents dragged me all over Europe as a teenager. But this was different. This was me, driving across the province for 12 hours. With my OWN family. Combine that with the fact that I turned 30 the day after we got back and I think I can now officially say I am a grown up. Chronologically only of course.....I will never grown up mentally. I enjoy my childish mentality.

Over and out.