Kids' Yoga - Summer of Awesome

The cashier at the grocery store asked me how my weekend was.  "Great!" I said cheerfully.  "Oh yeah?  What did you do?" he asked.  I stood silently for a minute.  I couldn't recall one single thing that I had done.  I started feeling idiotic, standing there quietly, so I replied "Um, not much, I guess.  Some yardwork?"  He smiled and nodded, clearly thinking I was perhaps the most boring person on earth.  

I don't find my life boring to live, but I often think it might sound fairly boring to the average person.  I mean, yardwork?  And yardwork wasn't even TRUE, other than watering my plants, but I couldn't think of anything to say and the best I could come up with was yardwork.  Here are some of the things that I DID do on Saturday: walked the dog, baked a banana bread, made salsa and discovered, not for the first time, that breathing while putting onions and jalapenos in the food processor is not a good idea, as my burning eyes told me for the next few hours.  My Saturday night was spent drinking wine, by myself, while watching the NYPD Blue episode where Kelly collars a rogue cop in order to save Martinez from wearing a wire and becoming part of the rat squad, and while I enjoyed all those activities I do not necessarily think that they are all that compelling, once I have written them down.

This weekend marked the last of the kids' yoga class.  During the month of June, the boys have taken a Sunday afternoon yoga class for kids at the studio I go to.  Have you ever forced your children to do something extracurricular that they did not want to do?  Until this month, I had not.  I believe that my children need a lot of unscheduled time to just play, and so other than soccer they have been registered in no extracurricular activities.  When my studio started offering classes for children, I mentioned it to my kids every once in a while, and they were always unequivocally not interested.  Then one day Mark mentioned that he would like to try it.  Bam!  I immediately registered both of them for the four week session in June, much to Jake's chagrin.  He didn't want to take a yoga class, he was scared to take a yoga class, it would be boring to take a yoga class.  I coaxed and cajoled and promised that if he just tried it, if he just tried three classes and he still didn't like it, he didn't have to go to the last class and he would never have to do it again.

Jake has a tendency to be anxious in new situations.  He is outgoing, he makes friends easily and plays happily, but when it comes to trying something new, he hesitates.  But I thought this would be a good fit; I thought the breathing techniques would help him if he was nervous and I thought the postures would be good for his, how shall I put this, lack of coordination.  I emailed the teacher, a lovely and sweet young friend of mine, beautiful on the inside and out, and on the first day her face lit up when she saw my boys.  She asked Jake to set up his mat next to hers.  I waited the 45 minutes for the class to end and when he came out of the studio, he was glowing and happy.  "I think I want to come back next week, please" he said.

When the session ended on Sunday, Jake spiralled into sadness.  He was sad to leave the studio, he was sad to leave his teacher.  He sobbed on the drive home, until he picked up the little flower that the teacher had made for each of the kids.  "When I'm sad or mad or nervous I'm supposed to smell this flower," he said, and started taking calming deep breaths, smelling the flower, not crying anymore.  

Jake in Turtle pose.

Mark in Tree.

Downward dogs.

Fun benefit of kids' yoga - seeing them do yoga in their pajamas!  Mark in Bow.

Jake in Butterfly.

My Favourite Cup

The handle broke off of my favourite mug a couple of weeks ago.  It was a tall, lidded, blue ceramic cup with flowers on it that I had received in a gift basket from my husband’s colleagues when Mark was born.  I have used this mug every day since then, and now it is broken.  This feels like a metaphor for something but it isn’t.  It’s just a mug.

It is sad how attached I am to this mug, and it’s also sad that I went through several folders of digital pictures to see if my mug would be pictured in the background somewhere.  Since this mug was part of my everyday life and a large contributor to my caffeine habit, one would think that there would be photographic evidence of it but no.  I spent some minutes going through old pictures, becoming increasingly nostalgic as I looked at my children’s baby pictures.  My children, who have - not including today, when Jake is possibly being trampled by rampaging peacocks and escaped wild animals on his zoo trip as I write this - only two days of school left. 

I'm not at all melancholy about Mark leaving Grade One, but Jake leaving kindergarten?  I'm very mixed.  On the one hand, he's such a big kid now, no more half days and missing his brother all afternoon, no more freezing to death in the playground where we while away the twenty five minutes between Jake's and Mark's lunchtime dismissals.  On the other hand, no more Mother's Day spa treatments, no more performances of Robin in the Rain complete with air trumpets, no more adorable kindergarten program. 

But!  We cannot get caught up in it.  We must soldier on, bravely watching our kids get bigger and bigger and enjoying it.  Speaking of enjoying the changes, my husband thought that it would be a nice idea to get each boy a small gift for end of year celebrations, and for Jake, that meant fulfilling a several-months-long dream of obtaining a Lego NinjaGo Turbo Shredder.  He ordered it online and Jake waited and waited and WAITED and looked out the front door several times a day and FINALLY it arrived. 

I did not think, quite frankly, that Jake would survive the rest of the day if we waited for his father to get home to build it.  I thought he might spin off the planet.  So I took a deep breath and went outside my comfort zone and decided to build it myself.

People.  I am not exaggerating, not even a little, when I say that there were moments that I looked at the gigantic pile of Lego pieces in front of me and the thick instruction manuals on the floor and I thought of lying on the floor and saying "Bring Mom that wine bottle over there."  But I did not.  I did not.  Two hundred and ninety eight pieces, two instruction manuals, and ninety minutes of intense focus and concentration and we now have a Turbo Shredder.  I listened to my seventies' radio station and hummed and sang along, trying to maintain a calm exterior.  You're having my baby!  Where the fuck am I supposed to put this brick?  What a lovely way to say how much you love me. Is this supposed to be on the third or fourth hole?  You're having my baby!   Dammit, that was supposed to be a black piece, not a grey one.

But!  There was one missing piece, which turned out to be a crucial piece because the Turbo Shredder is missing one of its tires.  I looked and looked and swept under the couch and moved furniture and we still have one missing piece.  Did you know that you can contact Lego and have them send you any missing pieces?  YOU CAN.

After finishing this project, I felt as though I deserved much more accolades and perhaps even a parade in my honour but somehow that did not happen.

When my mug broke, I received two offers of redemption from my children.  Jake said that if I drove him to the store, he would use his allowance to buy me a new mug.  Mark said that he would register himself in a clay class and sculpt me one.  I hugged them for both of those suggestions and then dug through my cupboards to find an old, unused travel mug.  I went to take a shower and then I came back to see that Jake had taken a Sharpie to it.

"I Love You" he had written in his shaky, kindergarten printing.  That's better than a parade, I think.

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The longest day of the year

Happy Summer Solstice!  Here, that means that the sun rises at 5:20 am and sets at almost 10:00 pm, and, amazingly, the sun has come out today!  It's going to be 22 degrees Celcius, which may not sound like much for you people in milder climes, but to us hardened Calgarians, it might as well be a heat wave.  A very welcome heat wave.  I took the opportunity to photograph various parts of my garden:

Leopard's bane - in bloom!  Sweet peas - stunted at one inch of growth.

The hostas have enjoyed the rain; at least SOMETHING has.

Lilacs - FINALLY blooming.  I know, I know, everyone else's lilacs were finished weeks ago. 

My front yard.  It's north facing and, quite honestly, a bitch to grow things in.  Lots of shady plants.

You can't tell in this picture, but not only am I wearing sandals, but I am also wearing capri-length jeans!  Summer!

"Can we go for a walk now?  Can we?  Huh?"

That is what my garden looks like on the first day of summer.  Speaking of summer, I am going to be participating in Lynn's "Summer of Awesome"!  I'll be writing about all sorts of fun local things to do with kids during the summer.  The summer of awesome. 



There are many fabulous things to do with the kids around Calgary.  If you're local, feel free to give me your feedback on the places I will be writing about.  If you're not local, maybe this will tempt you into taking a trip to Calgary.  Although, I may have already ruined it for you with my many, many posts about snow and getting hypothermia at the soccer field.  Lesson: one does not live in Calgary for the fantastic climate.  We live here for the cowboy hats!

The other day a song came on the radio that made Mark get his groove on like nobody's business.  It reminded me so much of saying "Doing the white man's overbite." 

He shoots, he scores!

How was your weekend?  The boys had each made an adorable card for their dad - Mark's with a picture of a tiger saying "I Roar You" and Jake's in the shape of a shirt with a tie - and in addition to a couple of purchased gifts, my husband also received a jar of barbeque sauce that Jake had made in the kindergarten class, which lent a certain je ne sais quois to our hamburger/ bean burger dinner.  I also skipped my morning yoga class so that my husband could book an earlier tee time - normally he schedules his golf around my yoga, which is very convenient, I think - and I found myself wondering is this what Sunday mornings are like?  My, the children are loud and needy.

Perhaps the loudness and the neediness came from the kind of exhaustion that results from Super! Soccer! Saturday!  The boys each played two games, none of which overlapped, so we were at the soccer field from 8:20 until 1:00.  That sounds pretty benign until I tell you that the field was swept by the kind of winds that topple unattended lawn chairs and that the temperature hovered around 10 degrees without the wind.  At least it's not raining we frozen spectators kept saying to each other.  Jake's coaches were wearing toques and gloves; I myself had three sweaters on underneath my fall coat, along with lined rain boots.

They are going to blow away!

Only seven players from Mark's team were in attendance, meaning that each player was on the field almost constantly, running and sweating and, ultimately, going to the food table to get freezies and slushies while I fantasized about hot tubs and Bailey's and coffee. 

I keep waiting for summer to arrive, pinning my hopes on the appearance of summer-like temperatures, and I think I need to just come to accept the fact that it will never be summer.  If I lower my expectations enough, perhaps I will be happy and satisfied because at least it isn't snowing.


I just looked out the front window to see my seven year old helping my husband mow the lawn.

Years ago the boys had little popper lawn mowers that they would noisily run around with while my husband mowed the lawn.  Now they are both allowed to push the mower for short distances, and it won't be long before mowing the lawn will be their job entirely.  I was speaking with a friend today and we both talked about how our lives were revolutionalized the day that our kids were able to get dressed, use the bathroom, brush their teeth and wash their faces with no assistance.  The days of last-second diaper changes and flailing temper tantrums while dressing and forcing toothbrushes between clenched jaws were behind us, forever.  My kids are learning how to mow the lawn, for goodness' sake, what's next?

Happy Father's Day, honey.  Thanks for slipping a couple past the goalie!  Wait - too soon after the Canucks' loss? 

Young Hearts! Be free! Tonight!

Tomorrow is the boys' soccer tournament - Super! Soccer! Saturday! - and I am completely unenthusiastic about it.  It looks like it is going to be freakishly cold, and most likely raining, as it has been for most of this week. 

The rain did not dampen the spirits of a teenage couple who were walking down my street, hand in hand, and then, suddenly started making out passionately in front of my house in the middle of the afternoon.  Sometimes it just cannot wait, I guess.  By the time the guy got to second base - which really didn't take long - I felt I should probably STOP WATCHING.  Ah, young love. 

Speaking of young love, I found this photo quite amusing:

Photo from Toronto Star

There's nothing like tear gas and billy sticks to get passions flowing.  Maybe it's the riot gear, in which case I actually understand.  Not much sexier than a man in uniform, especially one wielding weapons.  My friend Nan wrote a funny post on the rioting that probably had nothing to do with the Stanley Cup, and everything to do with people being assholes.  The rioting!  I find it hard to even somewhat understand this mentality.  These actions just have to be premeditated.  How else to explain it?  “Shit, the Canucks lost.  Luckily I happen to have a jerry can of gasoline and a sledge hammer.  Let’s go fuck some stuff up!” 

I mean, really.  It’s too bad that the rioters in question are more than likely unemployed and/or unemployable, or perhaps they could be held financially accountable for the damage.  Unfortunately, hanging out in your mom’s basement playing Wii isn’t a marketable skill.  My husband, upon watching the news, echoed his earlier sentiments regarding the rioting anarchists at last summer's G20 summit.  This time, instead of declaring that should our children ever partake in such destructive festivities he would blow through their inheritance and education funds and buy a Maserati, he decided that he would purchase a Ferrari instead and never allow them to go near it. 

Hopefully it doesn't come to that.

Meanwhile he is out golfing this evening while I drink copious amounts of wine and wait for the boys to be in bed so I can put on the NYPD Blue DVD's and think about a) how many layers of sweaters to wear to Super! Soccer! Saturday and b) what to make for Father's Day dessert - chocolate mousse (the non-avocado kind) or cake?  Anyone?  Anyone?

***EDITED TO ADD***
According to The National: the photo above evidently is NOT about two people getting it on - it's a woman who tripped and had a panic attack, and the gentleman in question is trying to calm her down.  THAT MAKES SO MUCH MORE SENSE!  It would be sweet if there was a follow up date, though.

We're all going to die! But hopefully not at the zoo.

The other day, there was a study that reported that watching over two hours of television per day increased one’s risk of death.  I hate to get all caught up in the details, but the risk of death is 100%.  I’m going to just go ahead and assume that the study meant premature death.

Speaking of the risk of death, injury, and dismemberment, Jake is going on a field trip to the zoo!  There is so much paperwork to be filled out these days, and of course a field trip in which kindergarteners are going to be riding the bus is full of potential hazards which need to be addressed.  Not that I have a problem with signing these papers; on the contrary I fully understand the need to release the school board of liability even if I think that “death” is not an acceptable outcome from a field trip. 

I scanned the list of potential hazards.  There were the usual ones: possible bus-related accidents, possible tripping and falling while walking, possible rain, possible reactions to environmentally-related allergens.  Then something caught my eye: under the list of possible hazards the box labeled “Wild Animals” was checked, with the note that “All wild animals should be contained in their enclosures.”  I should hope so.  When I considered the field trip, the possibility of the animals escaping from their cages and trampling/mauling/eating alive the children was not actually on my radar screen.

Remember that guy who got drunk and snuck into the Siberian tiger enclosure at the Calgary Zoo after hours and, strangely enough, got mauled?  There are now signs all over the zoo warning people against attempting to climb into the enclosures.  This has to be spelled out now, I guess, in case someone else has a hankering to get up close and personal with a vicious carnivore.  Whenever I’m at the zoo with the boys, I always point out those signs: “Remember guys, DON’T climb into the tiger’s cage!  Don’t forget!” 

In any case, Jake is looking forward to his field trip.  There are only nine school days left, not including today, and I think that all academic work has gone out the window.  For example, Mark is spending the afternoon watching James and the Giant Peach.  The class just finished reading the book – one I remember fondly from my own childhood – and so they are celebrating by watching a movie and bringing in snacks.  I actually purchased a large bag of potato chips for Mark’s contribution and I did not eat it myself!  The bag stayed unopened on my counter for almost twenty four hours!  I consider that to be a huge victory in what a good friend is calling “Operation Muffin Top”. 

I never, ever buy things like potato chips because my self-control is so low when it comes to salty snack foods.  I am liable to eat a jumbo family-size bag of chips within a five minute window if the opportunity arises, then I am a bloated, headachy mess.  My method dealing with this lack of control is to never walk down the chip aisle.  It’s for the best anyway, because I’m pretty sure that kind of consumption would increase my risk of death. 

Floral Update and Rockin' the Bump

Did I leave you hanging?  Are you dying to find out what happened?  All weekend were you wondering: Nicole, please tell us about your clematis, PLEASE?

Well, I will tell you – the clematis is just fine.  I repeat, the clematis is just fine.

Mere hours after my last post I received a call from one of the meter movers, who was standing in the alley watching my fluffy dog barking ferociously and wagging his tail frantically.  When it was discovered that the city hadn’t phoned me about the prep work that they had to do, the foreman seemed to get very upset.  It was no problem, I said, I was home, they could do the prep work, but would they mind showing me just where they had to dig the hole?  Because I was a bit concerned about safety, with regards to the kids and the dog.  The foreman nodded, then said forcefully, “Before you say anything, let me tell you something: I am not going to hurt your flowers.  Okay?  No one is going to kill your flowers.”

Okay!  I’m not sure if my thoughts are actually that transparent or if he had just had to deal with every elderly woman on my street concerned with her petunias, but in any case I felt relief.  I did not have to resort to crying or any other questionable practices, although coincidentally it was a warm day and I was wearing a low cut tank top.  Perhaps the take-away lesson in all this is that one should always wear a low cut tank top because you never know what a day is going to bring.  It is akin to my reasoning behind my rule of always wearing makeup, because you never know who you might run into.  This rule stemmed from me running into an ex-friend who became an ex-friend when she pronounced her affection for my then-boyfriend who later became her husband.  When a person runs into someone like that, the person wants to look as good as possible, no?   

Last Friday was our school’s annual Stampede Breakfast and the weather was, oddly enough, sunny and perfect.  It made for a great day for all those dressed to kill in the Wild West:

Don't they look thrilled to be there?  I promise you, they were.

When I look at pictures of them now, they seem like such big kids.  I can barely remember life without them, and due to all the hormonal involvement, I can barely remember my pregnancies.  However, I'm linked up with Shell today for her Rockin' the Bump, so I'm walking down memory lane via pregnancy photographs.  Who doesn't want to look at themselves with an extra seventy-plus pounds? 

This picture was taken New Year's Day, and my due date was March 30, so you can just imagine how big I actually got.  I was working at the time with a lot of men, and there are good things to say to pregnant women and bad things to say to pregnant women.  Good things: You look fabulous, You are glowing, Your hair looks great.  Bad things: Oh my god, you haven't had the baby yet?  You look like you're going to explode, Are you sure there aren't twins in there? (question inevitably followed by an incredible-yet-true story of a friend of a friend who thought she was having just one baby but then ended up having multiples, this despite many ultrasounds because ultrasounds can be wrong), What happened to Nicole?  Did you eat her? 

All those things were said to me, including the one in which I was accused of somehow cannibalizing myself; I'm pretty sure the guy who said that to me is still single. 

Eeep!  I'm huge!  And I have seven weeks to go in this picture.  I can't bear to post any pictures closer to the due date because they all involve me sitting hugely on the couch with my feet elevated because I was on bedrest due to my development of pre-eclampsia.  I also had to test my own urine for protein every morning, which was pretty gross at the time, but in retrospect, no big deal.

This is one of my favourite pictures from my pregnancy with Jake.  Mark was just fourteen months in this picture, and I was five months pregnant.  There's something about having children really close together that gives you a kind of street credit.  Wow, everyone says, you're going to have your hands full!  You think?  I don't even really remember the first two years of Jake's life, so I guess I pretty much had my hands full.

This is me about three weeks before Jake was born, which was actually FIVE weeks before his due date.  Haven't you had that baby yet? people would ask.  Around this time I put Mark in his stroller and walked to the Starbucks down our street.  It is, at most, a ten minute walk but in my waddle-y pregnant state it took me forty five minutes.  The glamour of pregnancy, when you feel like the baby might actually fall right out of your vagina if you walk too quickly. 

If you would like to play along and post some pictures, head on over to Shell's and link up!  Or tell me here what you loved about being pregnant, what you hated about being pregnant, what kind of foods you craved or loathed....it will be fun! 

The Wonder Pets Save the Clematis

June is such a busy and frantic month, and it seems like everyone is off their game just the teeniest bit.  Or is that just my house?  Hoo boy, the number of ridiculous arguments that have been going on around here is epic.  Epic, I tell you.  The children have been disagreeing about everything from, unseasonably enough, the appropriate way to carve a pumpkin to the question are haunted houses actually scary?  And if you think that seems relatively benign, I invite you to listen in on these conversations and the intensity of feeling that they generate.  I am all for letting them figure these things out for themselves - I mean, really, should I be intervening on the haunted house issue?  NO. - and so after one such intense disagreement I went into my bedroom with a giant basket of to-be-folded laundry, and not-so-quietly shut the door.  This in turn generated some commentary: "Is Mom in her room?  With the DOOR CLOSED?"  "I think she's mad at us".  By the time I emerged, the two of them were sitting together on the couch, watching Scooby Doo and discussing in a happier, more rational way, the role that ghosts play in our lives and in those who reside in haunted houses.  

I seem to be intent on making it busier by doing things that I want to avoid during the summer - like Costco shopping with children.  So yesterday I headed to Costco and found myself in my usual Costco-induced state of loathing and desperation about the state of society, but also excitement due to the availability of a giant box of ice cream sandwiches for $11.99.  Now to avoid eating the ice cream sandwiches. 

There is also much excitement on my street right now as we are all having our gas meters moved to the outside of our houses.  My own meter is being moved on Friday and I keep eyeing my neighbour's houses to see what I can expect in terms of garden and yard damage.  I mean, they have to drill a hole in the foundation of my house.  I cannot imagine that my garden is going to escape unscathed.  I keep wondering if there is any way I can keep the garden intact, especially my clematis which is only three inches tall right now, thanks to the very long winter and very late and cold spring.  I suggested to my husband that I tearfully and with much eyelash batting talk to the workers to see if I could get them to be careful around the clematis.  I even started planning an appropriate outfit when my husband suggested that perhaps my methodology would seem more creepy and crazy flower lady, rather than the much more appealing damsel in distress.  I suppose I will just wait and see what happens.

This is my clematis in full bloom.  You can see why I want to save it!  Save the clematis!

The upside to having the meter moved is no more doorbell-ringing meter guys.  The guy that reads my meter has a habit of ringing my doorbell either just before I'm rushing out the door to get the kids to school OR just as I'm out of the shower and in my robe, at which point he asks me to please put the dog in another room, as I try not to flash him while collaring my fifty pound hysterical dog.  This has happened more times than I would like to admit and I didn't even get any BEADS for it, for goodness' sake.  No matter what happens, garden wise, I am looking forward to not having those awkward moments anymore.

It just doesn't add up.

I seem to have caught the boys' cold, it is no one's favourite time of the month, and the sky is dark grey and it's chilly and rainy.  It's like a trifecta of mildly depressing things.  Also mildly depressing is that I am repeating behaviours that I repeat every single June: I listen to the weather report which states that it will be chilly and rainy and also that the average temperature for this time of year is twenty degrees Celcius.  This throws me into a Hulk-like rage because that cannot be true.  The math does not work.  If the temperature is almost always in the low teens, then in order for the average to be twenty degrees, then there must be several days in which the temperature is much greater than twenty degrees.  This is how averages work.  This is how math works.  I want to see the data that goes into the calculation of this so-called average temperature and then I want to make my own calculations.  SHOW YOUR WORK, weather stations.

I have, on occasion, gone so far as to search for historical weather data, but then I have to take a deep breath and tell myself to dial down the crazy a little.  I mean, what am I trying to accomplish here?  If I did find out that the average temperature was fourteen, and not twenty degrees, would I phone all the local stations and scream "IN YOUR FACE" and then show them my calculations?  Would I burst onto the set where the meteorologist would be saying that we are living in the currently coldest major city in Canada, with the exception of Iqaluit, which isn't exactly a cheering thought, and push said meteorologist out of the way shrieking that it is all a lie, we will never obtain an average temperature of twenty degrees?  And would the discovery of this information actually change anything, whereas I would suddenly be living in a warm and sunny city?

No, it would not.

Speaking of mathematical discourse, I was endlessly amused by this post by Swistle, in which she a) references the Monty Hall problem, and b) discusses the ridiculous, yet nuclear hot button topics that married people fight about.  We all have those, don't we?  The fights that ramp up to eleven out of ten immediately, but when we actually analyze those fights, they are actually incredibly stupid.

Now, my husband and I really don't fight much.  Part of this is compatibility, but part of it is also the realization on both our sides that sometimes we can be difficult to live with.  Sometimes.  Especially, I should say, me.  I mean, my almost pathologically-insane method of rinsing dishes prior to loading them in the dishwasher alone probably puts me pretty high on the crazy scale.  My mother was over the other day and she actually backed away from the dishwasher, silently, as I agitated about the treatment of a knife recently used to spread peanut butter.  She is unlikely to ever try to load the dishwasher as a helpful favour ever again. 

Anyway, the biggest fight we ever had, and it was one that was the cause of much crying and door-slamming, by me, and much calm-but-annoyed-you-are-crazy commentary by my husband, was in 1999 and it was spurred by a - are you ready - Sex and the City episode.  The episode was the one where Mr. Big marries Natasha, Carrie uses the line "Your girl's lovely, Hubble", and at the end Carrie says how happy she is to be a wild horse running free, or something like that.  My husband's reaction to this was, essentially, that Carrie was in some kind of denial and that she was unhappy being alone and just wanted to get married, which turned into a statement that all women wanted to get married.  My reaction was a very - VERY - strong disagreement to this attitude, which spiralled into door slamming and tears.  And we weren't even married then!  Sex and the City, a fictional television show, was the cause of our biggest fight ever.  As I read Swistle's post, I reminded my husband of that fight and we got into it all over again!  Carrie Bradshaw put a strain on our marriage.  As a social experiment, I should bring this up in twenty years and see if it elicits all the same reactions.

We have never fought about the Monty Hall problem, however, but I do remember getting into a very involved and impassioned discussion about it with some colleagues many years ago, although perhaps not so many as when the Sex and the City fight occurred.  The end result saw my colleagues and I using a random number generator and creating thousands of simulations to prove the result of the Monty Hall problem.  What can I say, we were a bunch of nerdy quantitative analysts and mathematical simulations were what we did every day.  In the end, we all agreed that sometimes the math doesn't seem logical, but there it is.

Which is to say, I am NOT going to try to dig up historical weather data and calculate a mean.  I am not.

You put the meaning in my life! You're the inspiration.

I waitressed all through university, except for one unfortunate summer in which I worked as a beer girl, ultimately quitting when the requirement was for me to wear a Busch bathing suit to work.  Waitressing was not a bad way to make money for a student; the only problem was that by the end of several shifts in a row I pretty much hated the entire human race.  It got to the point where if one more person asked me for a free refill of diet coke, or complained that there was not enough salad dressing, or asked for three separate cheques and then left without leaving a tip, I was going to snap completely. 

Right now I feel the same way, but with regards to children.   

The book fair was fine, by the way.

Does it seem lately that we are all being inundated with inspirational quotes?  It seems like every time I turn around I'm receiving a quote about hope, and letting go to discover life's meaning, and turning lemons into fucking lemonade.  Inspirational quotes are the email jokes of the recent age.  Remember how, with the advent of the email joke, our inboxes would be filled with lame jokes, and various urban legends, and pictures of kittens?  Now it seems like the day of that particular version of spammy emails is over and in its place are inspirational quotes. 

Don't get me wrong: I do love a good quote: one of my favourites being from Mary Oliver "Watch, now, how I start my day in happiness, in kindness."  I think about that every single morning and I swear it makes my day better.  Another of my favourites is from Desiderata, "With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.  Be careful.  Strive to be happy."

But I came across a quote from the late Bob Ross, of "The Joy of Painting" fame.  Remember Bob Ross?  The guy with all the happy little trees?  Are you ready for this?  It is the most inspirational quote EVER.

"Maybe, maybe, maybe there's a big old cloud that lives right there.

And he just sort of floats across the sky, and he's got a friend that

lives right there. Clouds need friends too. We all need a friend."

 

Anyone else suddenly have a case of the munchies?