All kinds of ridiculous

the sam and erin version of love is an open door.

Molly is graduating from Kindergarten. Graduating. From Kindergarten. That seems a little funny as it is it's only the first year of keeping your shit together in a long line of years. With that gap in your twenties when you act like a total assneck. Those were good times.

The reason I am bringing Molly's kindergarten milestone into the blog today is that my friends of the same age whose kids are close to leaving the nest are warning me of the up and coming time when my girls will turn into teens and start being embarrassed of me, and annoyed, and all around humiliated by my just existing. And lucky me, I am not worried about that at all.

I am not worried about that because my daughter - at five - is already there.

Molly is a very smart little girl. I am thinking this comes from her father's side - not directly from her father, cause he is as humiliatingly weird as me. But maybe her grandpa.

So the girls and I are shopping for a Father's Day gift and she is really putting some thought into it. I should let you know I kind of hate being in town. Or around the public. Or in traffic. So there we were driving around Vernon, when I thought it time to speed this shitshow up a bit.

I offered about three viable suggestions when she came up with flowers. Being far from a plant shop, I suggested beer. She won, we got flowers, but not before I saw her put her hand to her forehead and say, "Beer? Are you kidding me? oh my god mom, ridiculous!" Now I personally think that giving a parent the gift of inebriation is a great way to say "thanks for putting up with the 3,654 questions I shoot at you every day," but hey. Moving on.

In the flaming, ginger-burning heat of the day Molly asked me to watch Frozen with her. We retreated to the basement, and when we got to the scene where Hanz and Anna are dancing around the castle all atwitter, she turns to me all dreamy-eyed and says,

"this was totally like how you and dad got together, right?"
              "huh?"
 "the song and dancing, your first date....it was like this?"
         "oh, totally" i say. "except..."
"except what?"
          "well, I shot him in the face with a potato gun"
"WHAT?!"
       "He was wearing proper safety equipment Molly."
This was followed by a long silence, then under her breath so that she thought i would not hear.
               "you are so freaking ridiculous."

To all of you for whom this is the last day of school, now the kids are yours full time. Mwuahahaha!!


May the odds be ever in your favour.

Slacker Schmacker, I have returned!!

So it's been over a year, what a lazy bastard I am! Last night Sam and I had put the kids to bed - wait, I have two now! I will come back to that - there we were staring out on the lake...mmk, feck. It's been a while since I wrote anything, clearly.

Writing with explanations, take two. From the top!
We went CAMPING. We went to Sugar Lake to get away from the magical interweb and the glorious technology machines for a few days, because while technology it is my very good friend, it also makes me want to murder all the stupid people. Don't get me wrong....which at least half of you will because we live in the age of being offended and whiny about it...if you are a happy stupid person, then rock on you idiot! But there is this douchecanoe who is in the driver's seat of Canada, and people who think we can somehow live without air and water and bees and trees because YAY! Money!...you see? Back for only 3 hours and I need to go back to the lake. Anyway, my tangent has taken me off topic.

The Barnacle (our newest redhead) lay curled up in my lap, and the Drama Queen was out like a light in the camper for the night, and so we got talking about this ole blog of mine and how it really shit the bed. Then we got talking about how a lot of people - like most of you - don't really live like we do, and how our life out here has a lot of...how do i put this...if our life was a recipe, there would be a fucking ton of nuts in it.

So I am back. And I think The Barnacle needs a proper introduction. I think we've covered that Sam and I are right mental. After four glorious years with one redheaded child, who has since graduated to "The Drama Queen," we decided to throw caution to the wind - to clarify, that is not how babies are made, but it's similar kinda- and reproduce a second and final time. I was kept up late into the night wondering if we had used all our cute and smart genes on the one child. I was also kept up late into the night because pregnancy is a bullshit nightmare that seems to never end. My pregnancy with The Barnacle was a true test of my patience, and honestly I pretty much failed every day. Because I barfed every.single.day for my whole pregnancy. And I kind of rode it out looking like Nick Nolte in Down and Out in Beverly Hills.

I'm just going to take a second to tell you that this movie is one of those eighties gems you should not revisit. I watched it as a child, and then again recently. Allow me to summarize; A homeless guy gets taken in by a rich asshole, he has sex with kind of everyone, the rich asshole boots him from the house, and then they ask him to come back and you are supposed to feel warm inside at this moment, but you have finally caught up to your shock about what rich people did to their houses in the eighties, and you find yourself left in a bit of horror about the whole happily ever after these lunatics are working on. Props for using the Talking Heads though.

Back to The Barnacle. Sorry about my fucking baby brain, it's a ridiculous phenomenon that has left me so very very dumb and easily distracted. I am a giant hamster.

In late January, after some sciencey stuff, there came into the world a Daylen. She is a beauty only matched by that of her sister, and she eats like a Mynock, which for those of you not fluent in dork, is a Star Wars reference. Let's just say, she is leechy, and a bit dangerous to my power system. We'll call her barnacle for obvious reasons, and because Mynock is not as cute. And because I am terrified of invoking the wrath of the suits at (rhymes with) Bisney.

Her sister is torn. She loves her new baby fiercely, almost like Lenny in Of Mice and Men. On the other hand, The Barnacle takes up a lot of my time, and having a baby around the house has definitely forced her into doing a bit more helping than she was used to. While slamming back her cereal this morning, she propped her head up with her hand and explained that she is just so exhausted from having to "Take care of that baby, I mean I am pretty much doing everything around here." this was just on the heels of this overly dramatic rant the other day when dad tried to wake her for school.

"I'm tired dad, I am really just freaking too tired to do this today. I'm tired! You hear me dad? T-I-R-E-D..tired!"

So we've tried to accommodate her weird little feelings, while not letting her get away with bloody murder. And we try desperately not to laugh at her when she heads off for a day of kindergarten sounding like ole Edna from the meat-packing plant.

I imagine Daylen will be adding to this blog in NO time with her antics. For now she is only three months old. So she is as cute as a button, farts a lot and scares herself, and is also torn between complete love for this giant redhead that sings songs in her face and a reasonably healthy fear of her huggy, smothery ways.

Well, this has been a good baby step back into blabbering on about my life. I leave you with the best lullaby I have heard yet. I imagine there will be more to come soon.

Molly sings her sister to sleep;
"You're perfect just the way you are.
I would not change a thi-i-ing.
But I might make you less boring.
And it'd be cool if you could actually do stuff."

See you later, alligators.