From Nat's Brain

"I am not angry"

This is about people doing The Right thing.

Marie-Hélène Primeau was killed on her way home from work. She was struck by a drunk driver. The man spent nine hours at a local strip club then (apparently) talked them into letting him drive home. He's been previously convicted for drinking and driving. She was 17 and had just finished her first day of community college.

Her father interviewed in all the local papers today, said that out of respect for his daughter, for the light she brought to everyone's life, for all the good she did for those around... the family has decided that they will not be angy. They will not be consumed with rage. They will not seek revenge. They see a man broken by addiction and ask us to extend a hand. Help the addicted and the centres that help them. In that way she lives on in light. She lives on in helping others. Not in vengence and hate.

Fundamentally, it's the world we all want to live in. It is just a lesson we only seem to use when it's convenient. With grace and dignity, Marie Hélène's family are showiing us to live it all the time. It's a brave and difficult thing to do. My prayers and thoughts are with them -- she sounded like an amazing child in an amazing family. And it's a tremendous loss to us all.

I just made you say underwear

Today I am feeling sexy. By accidental design, my panties and bra match (lavender -- such a girly colour). Why I feel compelled to share this I don't know. But it's truly the little things that make you feel good.

Right now, I am debating between the shoes that hurt but look good and the shoes that are so-so but are super comfy. Comfort is winning.

For today is all about what's on the inside. :)

People before policy

Before we had kids, we The Adults, decided that we would make it a point to have dinner together at the table as often as possible. The kitchen takes up more than half of the first floor and it really is one my favourite rooms in the house. I'd like to make it more country, right after I get my hardwood floors. I do love my house so. We only have one TV (but two computers.) The TV is in the basement rec room -- so in the kitchen we are forced to talk to each other.

We try to use this time constructively -- drive home some important life lessons like broccoli not being nearly so bad as you might think (still working on that one.) It's also a good time to learn about the fine art of conversation. (don't interrupt, sometimes adults talk about boring things.)

Tonight, The Man was talking about his new job. Normally, I will admit to turning him off while he discusses the finer point of Canadian Telecom. Policy especially if it really has little to do with culture (The culture debates are I admit fascinating .) Tonight, we got on the topic of the people he works with. To me, this is infinitely more interesting. People before policy (doesn't that sound like a great name for a protest movement.) In true government style, his office has its share of people with disabilities.

The boy: "You talk with a dead person?" The Boy thinks (my dad has such a cool job.)
"No no... she's deaf. Not dead." (Damn)
"Oh. Does that have anything to do with being dead?" (Too bad it was sounding better than Z.'s dad who is an astronaut-hunter-race car driver.)
"No, it means she can't hear. She reads lips. But there is a man in my office with a hook instead of a hand." (Now this has potential. My dad is a pirate.)
"Do you call him hooky?"

Damn. I guess he needs to start sensitivity training.

Pay it Forward

Well, I've done it to myself this time. I volunteered for this Pay it Forward meme, where over the course of the next year, Sue at The Torn Pages will be sending me a homemade goodie. Now I am not that crafty given. The readers who know me in RL will attest to this.

So here are the rules, the first three people who say Pick Me, will at some point over the course of the next 12 monhts get a surprise present from moi. Apparently there are terms and conditions but I am bending them. I don't like rules. I'm not crafty but I think I can produce something half way unique. (The truth will be in the execution.) The catch being that you will then post this on your own blog and promise to do something cool and presenty for three of your readers as well. Ok?

Let the games begin.

"Son," she said. "Have I got a little story for you"

The scene: The Boy putting on his shoes to go to camp. On him -- his blue Joe Boxer shorts (not boxer short, these are real shorts... as in short pants. Good god that's complicated) and his white (2001 kids Astro) Pearl Jam shirt -- the one that no longer has blood stains in it. He likes this shirt because it has a rocket thingy on it. He knows the technical term. His knowledge of aviation and aeronautics now surpass mine. *

Current time: 8:37
Drop dead leave-time: 8:26 (time in which we need to leave to make it to camp on time.)
Odds that we will make to camp on time about the same as Lindsay Lohan staying sober.

The Boy: Mom, we were supposed to dress up today.
(I am totally uncreative and HATE costume days. I have decided that costumes clearly fall under his father's responsibilities. I am SUCH a bad parent.)
Me: Oh yeah, it was supposed to be dress like a rockstar day.
(Inner voice: The rockstars I love, well... they would wear what he has on -- what does a rock star look like, it's not the 80s? No big hair, no spandex. They probably would not wear the Pearl jam shirt. Because, well, the only true "rockstars" -- and god they'd hate THAT title -- Ilike are Pearl Jam, and well I'd expect them to dress like that. And the button fell off the Stone Gossard shorts I bought him last year.)
The Boy: But I don't have costume.
Me: But buddy we are really late. And well, rockstars dress like normal people. Just tell them you are Mike McCready from Pearl Jam.
The Boy: Mom, Mike McCready is IN Pearl Jam he would SO not wear this shirt.**

That's my boy, he gets rock etiquette already.
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* My knowledge can be summed up like this: "Look a plane." It worked well when he was two. "Mom, why did they cancel the Avro Arrow?" when do I get the questions about sex. Those I am ready for. Sort of.

** Now the boy gets massive kudos for putting two and two together on this one. Normally, musicians do not wear their own merch. Except in the Easter Egg from Live at the Garden, Mr. McCready is clearly wearing a Pearl Jam shirt. Now I am sure there is a story behind why he is wearing a shirt from his band. I don't know what it is. FTR, I explained this to the boy. He didn't buy it for a moment. But realized he wasn't getting another t-shirt. So he went as is. (And he looked damned cute.

Lifetimes are catching up with me.

The ultrasound results came back and they are completely normal, which puts to bed my fears that is something truly yucky like cholera of the right Fallopian tube. (While rare it is much worse than cholera of the left.) But it means I have mystery pain. The issue with the pain, apart from, well, the pain, is that it seems to be one more thing that shows that something is evidently going to get me, and that right now, the docs don't know what it is but my girl bits are behaving. In a nutshell, it is a sign of age. Sort of like wondering why my grandfather was standing in parents driveway, and realizing that it was my dad. Man... we are getting old. I wondered if The Boy will think of my dad as being old, the way my grandmother has always been old to me.

I always hoped it wouldn't come to this. I hoped I would stay youthful in body for a little bit longer. Realizing, of course, that perhaps I am more of an adult in mind than I would like to admit.

I was driving down the Aviation Parkway to pick The Boy up from camp. Speed Limit is 60 kph, translated to real speed of about 80. It's a zippy stretch of road. I am singing loudly and not well. There were three boys, early teens wallking down the side on the grass about 250m away, and I sort of think. Odd, but maybe they are coming back from ... where would they be coming from, I wonder if their parents know. Then I think, I am such a grown-up, what kind of mischief could three kids walking down the side of the road get up to. Not all kids are evil. Right?

But these are.

As I slow a bit, I turned down the radio. (Why I do this when I need to assess something when I'm driving is beyond me, I do it when I'm lost too.) As one of the kids, looking right at me hops into my lane and lays down on the pavement. (And his buddies laugh.) Quickly stand up and run across the road. What exactly my response should be is unclear. And I slowly passed them, I see the kid do the same thing to the car behind me.

It occurs to me that things have changed. I don't remember the actual conversation, but I'm pretty sure I didn't need to be told that laying down in the middle of the lane of oncoming traffic was a bad idea. Especially on the parkway. "What the fuck is wrong with kids today?" crosses my mind, which is what my dad said to us (minus the fuck) when we were being stupid.

See. Time is a bitch, and she is going to get me.

Somebody cares

Posting over at Snackiepoo's site today. Check it out.

The Boys are back in town...

I can't tell you how much I missed the pitter patter of little feet. Ok. Not so little. Big honking, I'm-about-to-grow (again!) six-year-old feet.

I'm feeling full blown under the weather today, decided to skip the long run. Sleep in. And man did I ever, it's was 10:15 when I lolled my ass out of bed. Also explains why I was just getting out of the shower when I heard the familiar "Anybody home????" from The Man followed by a child who could not get up the stairs quickly enough to hug me. "Mom, can you give me a bath?" I am also on snuggle duty tonight. I don't mind a bit.

Truth be told I have enjoyed the time to myself. Nice to have four guilt free evenings. But the house is lonely at night, with no one to snuggle. No one to check up on as a get up the stairs. Sounds like they had a wonderful trip. But that everyone is happy to be returning to the routine.

My peopel are back. All is good in the world.

Yeah, I know you can dance...

SPOILERS:

Ok so I am going to do this, I diligently watched So You Think You Can Dance -- the whole season and I would like to state that as hard as I try... many times I don't understand Mia Michaels. Once in a while I get Wade Robson though...
I am absolutely shocked and pleased at Sabra. Pleased. Tremendously pleased. But shocked. (Oh and just for Danny's reaction, he should win $100K. How I am going to miss watching him move.)

My thoughts on the season.
1. The Mia Michaels flower routine looked like an ad for feminine hygiene products. All it needed was a horse. Really. I don't get Mia Michaels... she was awesome last season. This one ... YAWN!

2. The Hummingbird routine that everyone loves is completely lost on me. Completely. To me the better routine was definitely the foxes. (I also really loved the one with the glasses with Lauren and Neill.)

3. While we're at it, I think the group numbers weren't as strong this year. But would have loved to have seen the Princes again. Except with more minimalist costumes. (A girl has to embrace her inner cougar once in a while.)

4. The chick who left the Pussycat Dolls who is now solo (wasn't she the only one who sang in the group anyway?) -- is this an indication that they plan to try and attract the male demographic by adding stripping.
(This week Pasha and Sabra get Cha cha and Pole dancing.) Aweful does not begin to express what that performance was. (And I felt very bad for the band who did the "I will remember you" song. They seemed confused.

5. Speaking of confused what's up with Dan Karaty. He is looking dreadful. Been partying with Britney too much? I didn't recognize Dimitry with his shirt on. Too bad... he looked good withoug his shirt. COUGAR ROAR.

5. I suspect Cat is a fembot. In the finale, her dresses looked like she said "BUT I WANT A TUTU" in her best tantrum voice. Since they don't want a meltdown of nuclear proportions -- literally since she atomically powered, they said fine. But they'd already bought a dress. So they stuck taffeta on it. Then she said she wanted to dance the hummingbird routine with Luke Skywalker. So they gave her a Princess Leah do and put butterflies in it. This appeased her. Somewhat. No other explanation comes close to making sense.

Then again... it may have been to stop the top four from grabbing her and not letting go. A la Dominic elimination. (Speaking of which... didn't you think Dominic telling Sabra he loved her was a bit akward? She likes (what the fuck did he just say... did he means LOVE or just love... you can read all that in a girls eyes. -- I love you too.. in that partner in a dance game show kind of way... )

5. Cat and Nigel dancing was STUPID and would have been better to include well... ANYTHING including more ads. I'd vote for the Pasha or Danny doing those jetes around the stage. NAKED. (Oh come now it's Fox, they'll play anything.) Good god, surely there was another montage of something they could have shown.

6. I love how much ballroom they did. For the record I was hoping to see Pasha and Lacey waltz again. That's why they created youtube.

Not to brag, but The Man and I foxtrot just like Danny and Anya. -And we finish our Paso Doble with the donut thing like Neill and Sabra. But in our house, the bull wins. So I hold The Man over my head like that.

Then I drop him. Thud. He likes it. That or it's brain damage. One can never tell with us. Other lesser known fact abotu us, we foxtrot while we vaccuum, rumba whiel doing laundry, and Lindy Hop to make dinner. We never waltz. Because we don't like it. The Tango we reserve for serious negotiations... like car buying and mortgages. Explains a lot. That and the brain damage.

7. Now I have to plan for something to fill Wednesday and Thursday nights. I may take dance lessons. I think I may take krumping.

But this house is haunted...

I am doing absolutely nothing tonight, except sittting down and indulging in the finale of So You Think You Can Dance. I'm going to miss. Luckily Bravo or Showcase will begin airing Season 4 of Rescue Me on August 28. Once again there will be ONE show per season.*

Tonight, I am not running around. I am not doing cleaning the kitchen. I am not emptying the dishwasher. I am going to relish the quiet that is this big old house. I am not even going to run. (Tomorrow's post will be about feeling fat.) I miss The Boys, who are probably so dirty right now they wouldn't even let them into the pigpen. In fact, I ended up dreaming of The Boy last night. He was doing boy things. I guess if I can't get my real life snuggles my subconscious produces them in dream form.**

But tonight is about me. After work, I drove slowly home picked up some sushi, some ice cream and the biggest bag of M&Ms, you have ever seen. I snubbed the neighbours and their kids as I pulled into the driveway. A quick wave as I walked by, yes, I have no children tonight. And I'd love to chat but tonight I am being anti-social as hell. And your kids are loud and they are not mine. And I am all about MOI tonight.***

I am going to blog, to pour myself a drink, and read the paper, watch the TV I wanna watch. Then when they announce that Lacey has won, and I am upset because I am still not over Pasha. (I was more upset when Allison got eliminated last year.) I will leave obnoxious messages on Facebook. Then I will go to be, and miss the kids. But for now. I am enjoying the solitude and the silence.

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* (Except for the Power of Art on PBS -- but it's abotu art and culture so I reckon it doesn't count. And it doesn't matter if I miss an episode because it's not a series. I better watch it, I don't have much time for a TV addiction.)

**I reckon though that although I miss the child, I am not despondent and that any of the following people can appear in my dream anytime -- perferably to do naughty things: Eddie Vedder, Matt Cameron or Stone Gossard, Johnny Depp, Dennis Leary, George Clooney or in a pinch, Bradley Whitford.

***I really really really hate when kids screech. Tonight, there is a lot of screeching and a lot tantrum throwing on the street. If I hadn't planned to hide, this would make me.