My Earliest Memory

When I was about three years old, I had a double hernia operation.
I have snippets of memory. Vignettes.

I remember the doctor coming and taking off the bandages.
Ouch.

I remember having scrambled eggs for breakfast one day.
They were a little runny.

I remember Auntie Rose and Uncle Moe came to visit me.
They brought me a toy.
It was a monkey hanging from a wire.
Push the buttons and the monkey flipped over the wire.
Funny monkey.

I remember the blue cart I pedalled around.
Weeeee!

I remember the boy in the room next door.
His leg was in a cast.
It was suspended from a triangle in the ceiling.
I visited him and sang to him and kept him company.

What I don't remember, but what my mother will tell you, is that I didn't want to leave the hospital. In fact, I made such a fuss when it came time to go home that the nurses said it was no problem to leave me there another day or so. I was a joy to have around; they were more than happy to let me stay.
Isn't that just nauseating?

So I got to stay in the hospital a couple more days.
Play with new toys.
Make new friends.


(Thanks to One-Minute Writer for today's inspiration!)

Tic Toc

I just had a moment of panic.

I glanced at my watch.

It says 9:24 a.m.

WHAT?!!

It's not even 10 yet????

That CAN'T be right!!

Then I looked at my computer.

Oh.

It's 11:27.

My watch has stopped.

*groan*

This day will NEVER end!!!!

The Days Talk Too

The Husband was at work this week, surfing The Weather Network to see how the rest of the week was going to pan out; crossing his fingers for a smooth ride on Christmas Day.

"Looks like Wednesday snow, Thursday clear, Friday snow," he muses.

"What does Saturday say?" asks Millie, a co-worker.

Without missing a beat, The Husband squeaks in a very high-pitched voice:

"Hi! My name's Saturday!"

Joyeux Noël

I can't seem to get into Christmas anymore. I know it’s because my parents and brother live so far away now and I miss them terribly.

I have such great memories of Christmas as a child. As do many French Canadians, we celebrate Christmas Eve. We went to bed early, but my parents would wake us up at midnight to open our gifts. As we got older, we stayed up until midnight. Being allowed to stay up was like a right of passage ... we were allowed to hang out with the grown ups, have a little wine, listen to their stories (which weren’t always edited for content!).

It seemed that everyone congregated at our place. And Mom cooked the best dinner! Turkey, tortiere, mashed potatoes, homemade pickles. After dinner, the adults would play cards, laugh and sing. It was such a happy time.

I remember one year, Alex and I were snuggled in bed, whispering and giggling as little girls do. Suddenly there was a noise outside. We were convinced that Santa was on our roof! We squeezed our eyes shut willing ourselves to fall asleep, because, as every child knows, Santa won't leave any gifts if he knows you're still awake. It must have worked, because I remember getting presents that year.

I miss my family, but I look forward to hopefully spending Christmas with them next year.

Until then, Joyeux Noël et Bonne Année! Je vous aimes beaucoup!

Grumpy Girl

I'm in a really crappy mood today. Ask the girls around me at work. They'll tell you. The F-Word has become a regular adjective and adverb in my vocabulary today.

My mood is really a continuation from Friday.

You'll recall that the GO Train was running late. Well, it took me about five hours to get home, between cancelled trains and delays.

Once I got home, we went to shovel out the inlaws. We didn't get home from that until the wee hours of the morning.

More snow yesterday, which I had to shovel -- TWICE!

This morning capped it all off. Three trains were cancelled this morning. Count them ... 1, 2, 3! I normally get to work at 8. I didn't walk in the door 'till 10. It's a busy week cuz of course everyone and their mother has to wait until the last possible moment to get any legal work done so we're all trying to cram five days' worth of work into two!

The biggest pisser of all?! GO Transit sends out an e-Notice this morning ...

The 7:45 train from Oshawa to Union has been cancelled.

They sent this message at 8:31! Yeah, thanks Tips!

F'n morons!!

A Typical GO Day

We're in the midst of a snow storm. We're expecting at least 20 cm in our area. It has been snowing non-stop since 9 a.m. this morning. It's now 6 p.m.

Needless to say, GO Transit isn't handling this well. I realize that there's a lot of snow on the tracks and we can't control Mother Nature. But let's face it. Any commuter who takes the GO Train on a regular basis -- in particular the Lakeshore Line -- knows that it only takes a sneeze to screw up the system. "Oh oh. There's a little phlegm on the rails. Better shut it down."

GO Transit recently conducted a survey under the false pretence of improving the system. One of their brilliant ideas (my tongue is planted firmly in my cheek) is to be able to see a live view of the departure boards on their website.

Knowing that the trains would be a complete disaster, I logged onto their site.

This is what I saw:

Note that the 16:10 Lakeshore W. train has been delayed to 16:13.

Note that a few lines below that, the 16:13 Lakeshore W. train has been cancelled.

Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that the 16:13 was cancelled because the 16:10 was moved to its slot.

WRONG!

Turns out the 4:10 was moved to 4:13, then subsequently cancelled.

*sigh*

I may or may not get home tonight.

Copious Cupcakes

I've said it before and I'll say it again ... I can't cook. The Husband argues with me and insists it's because I don't try. It's in me, I just won't let it come out.

Well I let it all out last night. With disastrous results.

My mom passed an idiot-proof recipe on to my cousin Alex who passed it on to me.

1. One box of cake mix, made according to box instructions.
2. Add one box of Jello powder. Mix and bake as cupcakes.

Sounds easy right? Apparently not. It may be idiot proof, but it's not Mo-proof.

First, I made the cupcakes with what I thought was vegetable oil, but was really Canola oil. Then I overfilled the cups so I had exploding cupcakes in my oven.

The Husband, God bless him, swears they don't taste as bad as they look.

Spa Day, Yo!

The girls are desperate for spa day. At least Alex and I are. Alex sent me a text message last night.

"January 10 or 24 works for me for spa day. I want a mani, pedi, massage and reflexology. Book it."

Geez! I write back "You're so bossy!" She insists that she would have written more but she ran out of text space.

I giggle at her response, but I'm a little conflicted. Can BJ make it? I share my thoughts with The Husband, about how we never seem to see BJ anymore. "You email her," he says ... and in his best gangsta voice (know that TH is as white as Mayberry!), dictates the message:

"You should get yo baby daddy ta take da shorty fo da weekend so you can hang wit yo home girls. Hope you can come. Don't dis yo posse. Peace out. Word."

I sent the message, but haven't heard anything back yet. Gee, I wonder why??

It's the Most %$#@*& Time of the Year

I absolutely hate the commercialism of Christmas. And so say all of you.

Agonizing over buying pointless gifts for people who won't appreciate them. Spending hours -- nay, days!! -- to create a magnificent meal that is scarfed down in minutes. Spending time with family you don't even like, resulting in feuds akin to the Hatfields and the McCoys.

Do I sound bitter? Of course I do. I'm fed up with it all! This is supposed to be a time of joy, happiness and celebration. Instead, if you dare venture into a mall, everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) is pissed off. Not just cranky or angry. PISSED OFF! There's shoving and pushing and angry swear words. And that's from the retail staff!

But I think I know what the root cause of all this is.

It's the Christmas Carols! The malls start playing these damn things in November. Every friggin' radio station is playing them ... and bragging about it! All carols all the time. Enough already!! We don't need to hear The Cure sing Oh Holy Night.

What amazes me is that despite the radicals who've politically corrected this holiday so that the word Christmas has been officially replaced with Holiday, we still haven't managed to eliminate the Christmas Carols. City Hall must now erect a Holiday Tree. Retailers cannot wish customers a Merry Christmas. Children do not have Christmas Parties at school. So why are we still allowed to play Christmas Carols?

I'm convinced it's because retailers have added subliminal messages to the Christmas Carols so that we'll buy more. I'm sure of it.

Off with my head!

I had called The Husband from our annual Christmas Party (yes, I said Christmas Party!) to say I'd be catching a later train home. He mentioned he made stir fry for dinner and he'd packed some for my lunch the next day. Frantastic and Robilicious made smoochy noises when I hung up. "Awwww! That's so sweet!"

But the truth is, these girls scare me. They've put a price on my head.

It seems that Frantastic and Robilicious have decided that once I pop off, one (or perhaps both) of them will gladly fill my wifely shoes.

I've mentioned this to The Husband many times. He thinks I'm lying. I'm here to tell you, Sweetie, that Fran and Robi both read this blog and I wouldn't put it in writing if it weren't true.

When I got home from the party, I told The Husband that the girls were all mushy over his lunch gesture. He rolled his eyes. "I'm telling you," I insisted, "These girls are going to off me. There better be a police investigation!"

He pulled me into a bear hug. "It just wouldn't be the same," he murmured, giving me a squeeze.

I stepped back.

"I don't know," I said, pouting, "Fran and Robi can both cook."

He smiled wistfully, pulled me back into a hug and said:

"Definitely wouldn't be the same."

Gerry-licious

Robilicious is a huge Gerry Butler fan. HUGE.

She was bragging to The J Meister about how she had snapped some sweet pics when he was in town for the Toronto International Film Festival. Just to prove her point, she emails him the pics. Let's be honest here, these are amazing shots!

Of course, The J Meister questions her ...

JM: Oh man you got close... These weren't taken in the men's washroom were they? Be honest...

Robi: Trust me, if I had followed him into the bathroom, he wouldn't have gotten away!

Watch out Gerry!

C'est Noel

The offices in our firm have frosted glass walls facing the hallway. The purpose, in theory, is to allow natural light to shine through, while still allowing privacy.

Many people write on the glass walls with washable ink and paste those gel decals that are so popular now. As you walk down the halls, you see everyone's personalities shine through, so to speak. Some have drawn stick people and cartoons, written quotations and mathematical equations. There are gel decals of fish, animals and people.

Of course, everyone is now decorating for the Holidays.

One of the Human Resources gals has pasted Ho Ho Ho decals on her wall. However, when she originally pasted them, they were pasted so she could read them from inside her office. So when we walked by her office, this is what we saw:



A few people teased her, saying that it looked funny from the outside.

I pointed out that it was perfectly fine. Head office is in Quebec, after all. Her sign really reads:

'Oh 'Oh 'Oh. 'Appy 'Olidays!

C'est Merry Christmas, n'est pas?

Finding Jesus

We've all heard these stories. It happens every Christmas. People steal the Baby Jesus from the Nativity Scenes in front of Churches and other organizations.

Let me point out here that stealing the Baby Jesus probably ranks pretty high on the Hell-bound sin list. If you think you're going to get away with it, think again. Not just Santa is watching, buddy.

I figure the kidnappers generally fall into one of three categories:

1. The idiots who think it's a great gag and have nothing better to do after a few shots of Jack.
2. The radicals who think that the Baby Jesus shouldn't be there until Christmas Eve and have the need to make a statement.
3. The wing nuts who are anti-everything ... anti-Christian, anti-Christmas, anti-human.

So, in the Spirit of the Season, many churches and organizations are giving the gift of technology and have fitted the Baby Jesus with a GPS tracking device.

Well ... this simplifies things, doesn't it?

Now, when I get the knock on the door and I'm asked "Have you found Jesus?" I will be able to whip out my handy dandy BlackBerry, click on the icon and Voila!

It will certainly be easier than leaving Post-It Notes all over the place, won't it?

No Problem!

I passed a co-worker in the hall earlier today. She was VERY pregnant. It seems to me she just came back from mat leave! I raised my eyebrows at her and glanced knowingly at her stomach.

"Don't you guys have cable?!"

She laughed, "We do!"

"Yeah, but what kind of channels are you getting?" I wondered.

She patted her tummy as she confided "This seems to happen every time we go to Jamaica."

Hmmm ... Note to self. Don't visit Jamaica.

You say potato

At night, the hotel beautifully lit up various palm trees and plants, using rich vibrant colours. It was quite spectacular. Each night, as we returned to our hotel room, we saw this particular scene.

One fully developed palm tree. One naked tree.

The naked palm had me wondering.

"What do you think happened?" I asked The Husband. "Isn't it odd that these two palm trees are side by side, yet one is clearly stripped of all its leaves. If it was a strong wind, wouldn't both of them be naked? If it's dead, wouldn't the staff cut it down?"

In his best French Canadian accent, he turns to me and says "Per'aps it eez a Palm de Tear."

groan

"Get it? Like pomme de terre!"

"Yeah, I got it. Keep walking."

Back on the Wagon

There should be a 12-step program for people coming back from vacation.

Too much food. Waaaay too much drink!

It wasn't long before The Husband and I established a routine: Breakfast at 8 am. Cappuccino with a double shot of Baileys at 9. Tequila shots at 10. A continuous string of fruity drinks until Noon. Cervezas with lunch. More drinks until dinner. Vino blanco and vino rojo with dinner. More drinks at the show.

And the food. Ooooh the food! Not that I ate many sweets. Au contraire, mon frère. It's that I ate too much guacamole. Or at least that's what I thought it was at first. I heaped mounds of guacamole (I love guac!) onto my tortilla, with salsa and fried onions. I took two very healthy bites before I realized that my mouth is on fire. My lips were swollen to three times their normal size. There was a charred path going from my tongue, down my esophagus to my intestines. Smoke was coming out my ears. My eyes began to water. Then The Husband pointed out to me that it wasn't guacamole, it was some sort of green Let's-burn-the-Touristos' sauce. Me and the porcelain gods were well acquainted that day.

I'm attending my first Vacationer's Anonymous meeting tomorrow. "Hello, my name is Mo, and I've been on vacation."