Blows My Mind

I've been following So You Think You Can Dance Canada and last night the viewers were treated to something so unbelievably amazing. Every so often you see a performance that makes you ache with it's depth and beauty and Miles and Lisa pulled out of themselves such emotion and purity that it was hard not to be swept along.

The show is down to the top six; Lisa is by far my pick for the girl's spot in the end... and for the guys? Hands down it's gotta be Nico. The judges all along have been crediting him with being the reason that guys want to dance, as he brings a crazy masculine energy to a discipline that's sometimes perceived as being feminine. But, I tell you... I swear that this guy is the reason that girls want to dance, too.



I gave Mr. F. my recipe for beef stew this summer. Previously, the boy's idea of cooking was melting CheezWhiz on a bun under the broiler. I didn't have high hopes that his stew-making skills would amount to much, but wished him the best.

Fast forward to tonight when I, for the first time ever, get to sit down to a Totally-Mr.F. - Prepared supper. See the look of surprise on my face?

And watch the surprise turn to elated disbelief when I see that nothing was burned, mangled, set on fire or wounded during the making of said stew.

And then see my eyes light up at the tasty, mouth watering aroma of the Totally-Mr.F.-Prepared supper.

I taste. Hmmmmmmm.

The dude makes good stew. And as hard as this is for me to admit, being that I take a little bit of pride in my kitchen skills... I think it was better than I've ever made it.

Ouch. I know.

But, the trade-off was worth it. Taking a small hit to my pride in exchange for MY MAN IN THE KITCHEN. Cooking. Stew. Really, really, really good stew. Now that's a deal I can stomach.


I See Little Green Men.

The Princess came home from school last week all excited about hearing of a meteor which buzzed our part of the country. I use the word "part" loosely as the actual site was over 8 hours away. But, apparently, it was visible from where we're at... had we managed to be looking out over the evening sky at precisely the right moment. Which we didn't.

Sucks to be us.

Luckily, for those of us who were lamely looking in other directions while very cool things were falling from space and imploding upon reaching the earth's atmosphere... lucky for us there is YouTube. And police dash cams.

Cool, huh?


Don't Say I Didn't Warn You. Cause I Did.

It seems that the topic of Babies has been coming up a lot lately. Between being blessed with two expectant Mommies on both sides of my family and some random conversations going all in the same direction, it seems that Babies are On The Brain. Last night, as a girlfriend and I sat over coffee in my kitchen, we began to talk about motherhood and birthing and how the medical profession has interfered in both our experiences of childbirth in ways that we later regretted or resented and wished had been different. I was impacted by the commonality of our stories -- the essential element of Woman being stripped of power and autonomy in the middle of the One life experience wherein she should be experiencing the greatest level of self-governance and personal strength. How does this happen? How is it that we let this happen?

I realize and respect that every woman has different expectations and requirements of the experience of childbirth. What troubles me is that the medical community seems to resist operating outside of their own comfortable parameters when a mother does not wish to be medicated or hooked up to machines. It is rare to find a medical professional who will listen and accomodate the wishes of such a mother.

I was incredibly lucky to have found such a professional when pregnant with the Princess. I presented him with my birthplan and he graciously accomodated whatever was within his power to allow at the hospital I planned to be at. I wanted, as much as possible, a natural childbirth. No meds, no monitors, limited interference with the labor process. I felt that I had a job to do and there was no one better equipped to birth my baby than me, so... leave me alone to do my job. I was greatly influenced by Dr. Robert Bradley's writing on natural birth, and while my own doctor was not comfortable with all of what I outlined, we reached a compromise that I felt was more than adequate.

The Princess' birth was not "perfect", she managed to get herself stuck (apparently missed the memo about not sticking one's hands out the window when in the tunnel) and some help extracting her was needed. I wasn't happy about that, nor the methods used to create some extra, errr.. Room for her elbows and head, but I understood it was necessary. Other than things getting a little squicky and scary at the end, my experience was incredibly amazing and life-affirming. My plan was mostly followed, I was given the space and time to be centered and concentrated during labor. No meds were pushed my way and I felt that both my GP and my L&D nurse were supportive of my natural instinct as a birthing mother.

I assumed that every birth experience would be like this.

Not so. Flash forward to my pregnancy with the Kid. My GP is no longer in the city and I was left trying to find a doctor who would take on another patient. I was referred to the reigning "baby doctor" in town. During our initial meetings, he seemed accepting and encouraging of what I outlined in my birth plan. But, once D-Day arrived... I soon found out that I was just another nameless, faceless Mom in his long parade. I was subjected to the exams of numerous student nurses, doctors... who knows. We were shuffled from room to room and I felt that no one took me seriously. When I told my L&D nurse that I felt I was transitioning, she brought in two other professionals to check and I was firmly told that I obviously didn't know what I was doing as I had at least another eight hours to go. I was exhausted from the previous eight hours, not to mention the lack of sleep in the weeks previous as the Kid seemed to be playing dodgeball in utero each night as I tried to sleep. I accepted their offer of Demerol (which I was told would help my body rest between contractions) and the Kid was born -- not eight hours -- but 40 minutes later. Unfortunately, I really don't remember much of his birth as I had a bad reaction to the drug and was ridiculously stoned.

There are some big lessons in here about listening to the wisdom of your own body and sticking to a plan. I get that. But, I can't help but feel that the medical system and the professionals in it often force their own judgements and assessments upon people using the power of their position, and often disregard the patient's own assessment and instinct. I guess that's what we pay them for... to Know Stuff and Do Stuff That We Can't Do Ourselves. And when it comes to stuff like repairing damaged body parts or cutting out disease (or pieces of glass in one's leg), I pretty much am OK with shutting up and letting them do their thing.

But, I do wish that someone would have believed in me when I was doing something that I was meant to do and could do for myself.


Tomorrow, the World.

So, tonight is the Night Of The Comedian and I have to admit that I caved a few days ago on the Suprise Factor.

But, it's still going to be super fun like only a night designed to make you laugh could be.

See yous.


I'm Shameless.

There's been quite a buzz going around about the movie Twilight. It's a movie targetted for the tween/teen set which normally is not my M.O.

(OK. I confess. I heart, you, Jonas Brothers.)

But, really... in general I try to act at least a little bit grown up. *snicker* Just cause I have kids *snort* and am supposed to be a responsible adult *bwahahmufflemuffleha* and all. No, really. I am mostly, almost really responsible practically whenever I can be. Pinky swear.

After hearing a few people talking about the movie and being stuck in a waiting room with a magazine article profiling the lead actors, I admit to being a bit curious and thinking that I might want to go check out what all the buzz was about. But, I have this thing about books that have been made into movies.

I really like to read the book first. Like, I pretty much HAVE to.

So, when I saw the softcover copy on sale for only $6.99 (XOXOXOXOXOXOX Costco!) I grabbed it and started reading while I waited for Rocket to get some TLC in the shop. (A matter for which I sheepishly refer you to one of my responses in the post below. Rocket is still giving me the silent treatment).

I am now certain of a few things.

1) I need to write a novel. Quickly. True, I have no clue what to write about, nor how to go about starting, working on or finishing a novel. But I'm pretty certain I could do it all the same. I get the idea that this author really didn't know what she was doing, either. I'd like to think that she knew -- and really, one has to think that she did, what with the gazillions of dollars she'll be making from the series and motion picture -- but I have my doubts.

2) A central, male character can only be described as "Beautiful" and "Perfect" for so long until one gets a wee bit irritated and tempted to huck a thesaurus in the author's direction. Also, one begins to think of said character as a girly-man which ruins entirely the premise of primal attraction which the author is painstakingly attempting to create.

3) I will watch the movie. All said... despite my many irritations with the Writing of the story; it remains a good Story. Intriguing, dark and interesting. I'm anxious to see if the screenplay and the actors can lend some more depth and chemistry to their characters.

4) I wonder what my blood smells like.

5) I'm mad at myself for not being able to put the book down.

6) I'm such a teenage girl.


Small Stuff

Driving home from work today, the universe smiled upon me and Rocket and bestowed a moment upon us that was all Sweetness and Perfection. Now, I am not a gear-head by any stretch of the imagination, but Rocket and I have some great chemistry and every so often things just line up for us.

I was enjoying the home stretch of freeway, music was loud and fun and traffic light. As I approach the exit, I see the traffic lights winking at me and I know that we will have our Moment.

Normally this approach is all clogged up onto the thoroughfare... but I saw my opening, the light changed and I nailed it into the merge to hit it just right. Braking and downshifting before it's apex, I was all Danica Patrick-ish with the quick shoulder check and gearing up out of the corner. And then, in a moment so perfect that I swear beams of light shone down and the shimmering voices of angels accompanied Rocket's engine... I saw the Moment. I took the Moment.

Yeah, that's right. One sweeping, smooth FOUR LANE CHANGE through traffic for me.

I swear, I get all giggly and giddy just thinking about it. And that might be sad. It really may be. But sometimes it's the small stuff that puts a smile on your face and that's just fine by me. It was fine with Rocket, too.


Trick or Treat?

One of my husband's pet peeves is Surprises. Somewhere in his DNA -- probably sandwiched between his poor, overworked Control gene and the sturdy Planning gene -- is the little rung in the ladder responsible for his having to know everything that's going to happen before it happens.

Which makes me wonder whether it's more important to encourage Nature or Nurture.

I've found out that one of Mr. F's favorite comedians is coming to our city this weekend and managed to get two tickets (cause, hello... I like to laugh, too!). I've got a babysitter lined up and all is set to go.

So... do I do the compassionate thing and tell him what I've got planned?

Or, do I torture him gleefully with the fact that I'm taking him out and he has no idea what we're doing? Sky diving? Giving blood? Skateboarding? Ballet?

I'm trying really hard to suppress Evil Flutterby, but the temptation is great, people.

What do you think?


The One Where I Talk Too Much About Nothing.

Yesterday, Mr. F. acquired four tickets for a sporting event that evening. I use the term "EVENT" rather loosely... this is not an NHL venue... but it involves sticks and skates and cold arena seating and nachos and mini cini donuts (yummm.) which more than makes up for the lack of, shall we say, Importance. It's all about the experience, right?

So, without further ado... some highlights and lowlights from the evening.

- Sneaking non-arena food into the arena. Did I? Did I? DID I EVER. Now, I realize that Danger like this is foreign to many of you, but I regularly step it out on the Serpentine so this was no big. My favorite black XOXO bag muled in a couple water bottles and a sweet bag of pink (PINK!) m&m's. Sure, this was no Black Ops Special Unit, but I tell you that the ticket checker at the entrance was looking me over pretty good and had I not been calm, cool and collected, the whole thing could've fallen down around me faster than fast.

- Kidlets loved it. And how can you not enjoy your kids loving stuff? Really? The Kid was dancing and gyrating and half mooning the camera, trying to get his wicked little self on TV, the intermission entertainment (Hamster Ball... classic stuff!) had them rolling with laughter and the Princess was strangely entertained by the fights. (like mother, like daughter... I know.)

- I really don't like fries that much. But, Arena Fries? Straight from the potato gods, I swear it. I stole some of the Princess' and I think that the look in my eyes might have scared her a bit.

- Arena rock. Loud, pounding classics and jumped up jams. DJ did us right last night (and yeah, I totally meant to be uncool when I said that).

- Lowlights? Our team lost.

-My sinuses were having a full-out Tantrum last night which meant that my head was pounding and I had to head to the washroom at intermission to LOSE IT (and by "it" I mean the pink m&m's) cause that's just what happens to my body when my head is being, oh, crushed into oblivion. Also happens during childbirth, but we won't go there this time. Thank me later.

- There was a small army of six-year old boys from a hockey team sitting behind us. Which meant that the Kid was being especially obnoxious and all TOUGH KID to his Mommy (I get it, though... still don't appreciate it.) and they were being incredibly loud and burpy and farty and well... OK, they were being six year old boys. And had I been feeling better I think I would have just laughed at it. But, I wasn't and I didn't. Nuff said.

- Our team lost. Did I mention that?

But, it was a pretty cool way to spend an evening and I hope we do it again sometime. I think I'll leave my head at home, though. I'll probably have more fun without it.


Open Letter To Wal-Mart.

November 12th is WAY TOO EARLY to be playing Christmas music in the stores. You will make your shopper's ears BLEED before the 25th arrives if you keep this up.

That's all.


Take Me Out Tonight.

I think my blog just kissed me madly.

I may have kissed it back.

This is the blogskin I fell for like a smitten kitten. I love how it looks. All lean, mean Business like a BMW Z4 roadster and just a flash of sweet Butterfly tattoo where you don't expect it.


Apparently, it's got some functionality for pictures and videos, which is great. Will be even better once I figure out how to actually USE those features. All in time, my sweet, all in time.

Gosh, I've really got to stop anthromorphisizing my blog. It's a leeeeetle bit creepy.

But that kiss..... *sigh*



- I made "Chili's Chocolate Chip Paradise Pie" for dessert on Friday night (contains no actual Chili and lots of Paradise). At an estimated 56, 320 calories per portion and rated at 8.7 on the Addictive Meter; the fact that I still have some left over in my fridge staring me down... NAY!!!! calling out my name in sweet, dulcet tones... is a really, really big problem. I would be smart to throw it out, but, c'mon people! It's Chili's Chocolate Chip... -- you get the idea.

- I am so joining a gym this week.

- I am concerned about what all the sweat is going to do to my face, which is already straining under the burden of whacked hormones. Seriously? I'm going to be thirty *coughTHREEcough* in a couple days and I currently am breaking out like a teenager. Scrap that. Cause I didn't really have any "breakouts" when I was a teenager. Regardless... I am so tired of looking at this mess on my face, not to mention the issues with my hair and my, errrr, CYCLE. Yeah, you can thank me for not going into any details on that. At the moment I am so done on this whole "woman" thing. Over it.

- The Princess is pretty sick. Feverish and feeling incredibly yucky and tired. And pretty bummed out that this is how she gets to spend her five-day weekend.

- Yes, Five-day weekend! I know!! And, in case you all didn't catch my, errr, subtle (cause it really was very subtle, wasn't it?) hint about my birthday... yes, that would be my birthday on the holiday. And really, how nice is that to get a holiday on your birthday? Pretty cool, it is. Except when you're seven years old and trying to get kids to come to your party and they're all, "sorry, LittleFlutterby, we're going out of town on the long weekend." Ouch. But I digress. Where was I? Yes, it's a loooonnnnng weekend here for the kidlets which means that I'm not working the next couple days while the kids are home. And I'm getting older. All in one fell swoop.

- I finally found a home for my cat which literally brought tears to my eyes and relief to my heart.

- Not sure what to do about Krav. Man, I loved it so much and I really do miss it at times. But, I am a little bit gun-shy about going back. I was starting to get hurt more than I'd like. Not that I'm averse to a bit of pain. Not at all. I just don't like taking the chance that things could be permanently damaged or re-arranged. Regardless of what I decide, I have to hit the gym for a while to tighten up a bit and get my cardio back. But then... anyone have any advice? Krav, or CrossFit?

- On a more frivolous note, I've been thinking about checking out the local acting scene. There's actually a little bit of Hollywood round these parts and being an extra sounds like a lot of fun.


Does This Template Make Me Look Fat?

My keyboard may be covered in sweat and this may or may not have involved a "Damage-Control" call to another blogger wiser than I (thanks, JJ -- you're the only one I know who could pick up the phone and hear "I think I blew it up" and know exactly what I was talking about. You rock, girl!), but I did it... I have broken free of the chains of the MundaneBloggerTemplate.

This one wasn't my first choice, but THAT one? That one about had me crying in the corner, sucking my thumb and praying for mercy.

There may have just been something wrong with the code (and I'm about as able to fix code as well as I can pee standing up... not happening,baby!) cause once I picked a different template, things went much better.

I may still try to rescue the other template... it was dark and brooding and elemental and I just really can't resist that. So, if you come by here one day and things are AWOL... well, I may still be in the html dressing room trying it on for size. And maybe doing something naughty with it before it bends to my will and plays nice.

Fingers crossed.



Six things I am Hooked on:

1) Orange Tic Tacs. I can eat them like candy. (Which makes a ridiculous amount of sense, I realize, this novel idea of eating candy as though it were, well... Candy.) If I open one of those cute, ittybitty little boxes of orange, pellet-ey goodness they are as good as gone within the hour. Cannot stop.

2) Cute socks. A little-indulged in passion, cause it seems pretty frivolous to buy excessive amounts of adorable footwear. But, mixed in with my workout-worthy whites and a few pair of sensible trouser-type socks are my faves. Ankle socks, knee socks: stripey, polka-dotty, colorful and cute. My feet do too much work to not look good while doing it.

3) Bright toe-nail polish. Reference #2. Tonight I am splashing on some mirrored silver polish, but my all time fave is a brilliant turquoise that attracts butterflies when I'm in the garden.

4) Wearing My Seatbelt. Al-freaking-ways. I've relaxed a bit over the years since the car accident I was in -- driving in buses or other transport without safety belts used to squick me, but I can handle it now -- but I am a bit of a seatbelt nazi. My kids don't even TRY to take theirs off in the car anymore. I am That Good, people. On it like white on rice, I tell you.

5) This. Cause how can you see this and not want to own the city like that. I seriously have dreams where I can run like this, where nothing stops me and I can fly. I doubt dreamworld and realtime will ever intersect -- the carnage would be too great cause I am not that talented nor that athletic -- but I love watching those for whom the dream is reality.

6) Rockstar Lips. Just cause I can.

Consider yourself tagged and go post your own Six Things. Have fun!

Bluster and Fuss

Tonight I feel like ranting on the medical profession. For their lack of care and understanding, for their shoddy parameters of good sense. For putting good people through bleeping bleeping hell and uncertainty.

But because tonight is the night it is and because tonight we got the news we did; I will just let it go and breathe and feel that all is freaking Right with my world.

Cause it is.

Little Baby, I can't wait to meet you; you have remarkable, strong parents and they just fought the hardest fight believing in you and loving you. JJ, keep up the great work making that niece (errr, or nephew as the odds may have it) of mine. May the weeks fly by now that the drama is over.

Peace. Be. Still.


Granny's Got Game.

Spotted tonight at Costco:

One beautiful, elderly lady in her 80s, complete with shining, white, perfectly coiffed hair, sensible shoes, white hosiery, knee-length skirt and walker.


A gangster-sized navy hoodie with bold,white patch print on the back:

Las Vegas Police
I wanted to hug her. Gosh, I hope I can BE her when I grow up.


The Song Which Will Never, Ever Leave Your Head and Other Stuff.

After hearing this repeatedly on the radio whilst delivering stuff to contractors today (Uh Huh. I do deliveries. Contractors in FlutterCity have not yet had such a nice smelling Delivery Person bringing their stuff to them.) I am doomed to forevermore have this song whirling through my head.

It was only fair to share it with you y-y-you, you y-y-you. I, I know just, just how much you'll like it.

Hate me, love me. It makes no difference. We are all slaves to the song.

My first day On The Job went well. As I mentioned, I did do some deliveries... also ran some errands and tried really hard not choke on my laughter when my boss introduced me to clients as "The Decorator". Learned a lot about stuff I didn't know before and basically followed my boss around testing his patience. Uhhhh... not that I don't do that every day.

What? Well, as I haven't yet mentioned... my boss is none other than Mr. F. While on the hunt for a job here in FlutterCity, Mr. F. thought it would be a great idea to recruit my immense and glorious talent to put to work for him (technically "us") in our business.

The boy is nothing if not smart, right?

Let's hope.

So, I'm learning the ropes at FlutterPaintStore and tag-teaming some reno/facade-lift plans there. Also, I am apparently expected to dispense decorating advice at the bat of an eyelash. So, I'm off to marinate my brain in HGTV shows for the next few months lest the Clients of FlutterPaintStore discover the singular truth that Mr. F. knows more than I of Color Trends.


Do the Do.

I'm starting a new job on Monday. This is my first foray into the working world since I worked a contract during my second year at home with the Princess. (And I feel compelled to clarify that the term "contract" has nothing to do with organized crime or professional hits, etc. Just in case you were wondering.) :D

That last job I mostly worked from a home office and thusly, PJs and messy hair could be acceptable office attire. And let me say that I rocked that look. I am notorious for crazy Bedhead Hair and the nightlife of a Mommy tossing and turning while dealing with a restless baby and no sleep (Honestly, my kingdom for a kid that sleeps well...) created some stunning do's.

However, my new position will require Actual Presentable Clothing and Hairstyles.

I decided to kiss off a few inches of length (and really, good riddance to that frizzy mess of sun-tortured hair) and let my dark side have at it. Going darker also had the added benefit of covering up a few... err... *whisper* grey hairs *end whisper* that I seem to have acquired of late.

My stylist had so much fun with this and I think I will, too. I love that girl.