is this even a holiday in Canada?

Indeed, it is! Happy Labour day from Canada, your big cousin to the north! I hope you have great plans for the day, eh? We intend to do not much more than lounge about on the Chesterfield, maybe walk around the neighbourhood. We do have to go to the store, so I had better find my cheque book so I can write a cheque. The grocery store is in this cute little shopping centre, so maybe we'll wandered around a bit. Maybe check out the tyre centre. My poor car's tyres are all wore down and could sure use to be replaced. After breakfast, of course. We're going to have some porridge with butter and brown sugar. Deee-licious! It's a great breakfast, eh?

I am home alone with the kids today (again) and if they don't start school soon, I may start drinking. Not a lot, mind you, maybe just a mickey I can slip in my purse. You know, a little something to tide me over. Tonight, I do get to get away for just enough time to head over to my meeting at A.A., eh?

A.A.A.?

No, A.A., eh?
What are you saying? A.A.A.? What's that? I'm talking about A.A., eh?

Uh oh, I'd better go. There's a curious odour coming from someone's bottom.

(this post alternately entitled Canadians talk funny, write funny and my spell check program HATES them)

*a mixtape goes to the first person who gets all the grammatical/spelling oddities correct. No, you can't trade for yummy maple syrup. Everyone did that at Andy's site already.

crikey doesn't even BEGIN to cover it

Not that we all didn't see this coming, oh, a mile away or so, but T's hero, perhaps T's god, Steve Irwin, has shuffled off this mortal coil.
Steve Irwin, the hugely popular Australian television personality and environmentalist known as the "Crocodile Hunter," was killed Monday by a stingray during a diving expedition, Australian media said. He was 44.

Irwin was filming an underwater documentary on the Great Barrier Reef in northeastern Queensland state when the accident occurred, Sydney's The Daily Telegraph newspaper reported on its Web site.

Ever seen that TV show he had, The Crocodile Hunter? It was pretty dang good, if you ask me. It got my kids to turn off the damn stoner network for a minute and put something useful in their heads. It gave us some good, quiet time together. And though watching that moron the dearly departed sticking his head in crocodile's mouths and shit made me cringe all the way to my toes, it was kind of, well, intriguing. Fascinating, even. I bet he was a cool ass dad. I bet he never once said, "No, son, that's far too dangerous."

So, peace out, Steve. I am sad for you, and your family, and I hope you died living your dream.

Update of creepy proportions: David J and I somehow managed to blog about the exact same thing at the exact same time, and now I am a little bit scared. Scared of David, scared of Steve's apparent beyond the grave skills at magic. I'm going to go turn on all the lights now.

three

Three, as in three things I can't believe came out of my mouth today.

1) Josh, can't we pleeeeease get him the scientific calculator? I know he's only 8, but it's sooooo cool! (Why must I make my son a geek? Why?! Why can't I just let him be cool?)

2) No, T, you can put a pillow on the floor and do it up against the wall, just don't do it on the couch. (I thought I had at least 10 years before I had to use that gem.)

3) Josh, get the video camera. The baby is walking.

And is she ever.

t minus 30 and counting

In 30 short days, my baby will turn one. I can't have been one whole year already. It can't have been. This shit, it ain't right.

Yesterday she learned to clap her hands. Her very first spontaneous clap was to Taylor Hicks singing something or the other. But yesterday, on her baby swing out back, this one was beautiful and filled with joy and shrieking and it made me cry. Her happiness is contagious. If I had a digital video camera, you would know what I mean.

She is growing and changing in amazing ways every day, ways you think three kids into it you wouldn't care so much about, but I think no matter how many little minions you crank out, the little milestones never, ever cease to amaze.

She says mama on occasion, but she's pretty hung up on dada. And not in the easy-baby-babble sort of way. She intentially says dada all damn day long to me. When I say, "Come give mama some sugar", she says "dada" with the look that translates dada into, "Why, woman? What exactly do you want? Dada will give me candy and eat my toes? What's your best offer? A clean diaper?" When I smother her big, fat, yummy face with kisses, she says "dada" with the inflection that translates dada into, "Sure, you'll kiss me. But dada's kisses are scratchy and kinda tickle, and tickling's my favorite." When I ask her to try to walk to me and drown her in encouragement and woo-hoo's, I get dada. And then I get pile-drived. She will walk five whole steps across a room to her dada, but I try to get a step out of her and it's one big, swooping lunge into my lap with a simultaneous (and surprisingly impressive) latch-on to the milk-bags, because if she must be bothered with the whole sitting on mama's lap thing, the least she should get is some tasty milk out of the deal. She screams at me out of boredom or teething pain or almost walking frustration or poopey diaper discomfort most of the time, but with dada it's with the cooing and the smiling and the adorable little growling thing because she sees in dada's eyes that she will get a pony for her first birthday and her Christmas stocking will probably be stuffed with keys to a Benz. She's got him fucking whipped, and that's just where she plans on keeping him.

Today, to celebrate her 11 month birthday, we took a walk to the playground for some late-afternoon filthy-getting. There, she discovered that she can, indeed, play on the playground equipment. Those stairs are the perfect size for toddler knees, that tunnel is just wide enough to crawl into with her brothers, and if she wiggles around for a minute or so, she can get onto her cute little bottom and if mom waits at the bottom, it is totally safe to slide down that big yellow slide all by herself. The girl is independent.

Today, my baby girl learned that her brothers are pretty damn cool and that she can play with them. I walked over to the wastebasket to get rid of some candy wrappers, and as I walked back I heard the laughter of three children. I peeked onto the play thing and saw my children play together, not just the two being silly for the one, but the three of them interacting, mimicking each other, and laughing their asses off. They created a game they all could play and they played it. And my poor heart stood back, watched in silence, and melted.

Today, I learned one small, simple thing. That one thing is that no matter what happens to us, no matter what crazy curve balls this life throws our way, we will be just fine. Because we have each other. I don't think I could ever need anything more.

just for Diane

Diane, you had once asked in the comments section about Rocky Mountain Blogger Bash's; what they are, who goes, etc. I did not ignore you, I just couldn't quite find the words to describe them to you. You see, I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted my desciption to you to contain the proper proportions of both shock and awe. I struggled with the perfect description of the awkward, self-promoting, waiting-for-the-booze-to-kick-in early hours of the bash, the Doesn't-Stephen-look-dashing-in-that-turtleneck middle hours, and the fabled-topless-pictures-in-the-loo wee hours of the night.

So thank god Jeff thought to bring a video camera.