I love my Princess. And this is why.


Sitting at the table doing homework tonight after supper, I decide to sit with her a bit and visit about her day while she works away. The Princess is feeling very giggly and plucky and is bringing out my favorite lil play voice -- the one that sounds just like the nasally-challenged socialite "Tracy Van Horn" on Hannah Montana. She cracks me up, this Princess.

(sing-song to the tune of CampTown Races... you know, the one that goes "all the doo dah night, all the doo dah day"...)

"I know something you don't know, do dah, do dah...
I know something you don't know, does that drive you crazy?"

She sits there with a silly grin plastered on her face and I have no choice but to begin the mastermind work of reeling this lil fishy in. Distracting her with suggestions for colors for her project and questions about what she's doing and totally ignoring that "She knows something I don't know, doo dah".

I know. I am a mad genius with the mind-probery. The Jedi ain't got nothin on me.

I can tell I'm getting her good. She works along barely able to stand it. I know her... she will not cave and be more direct. She sings her little ditty a couple times more while I remain steadfast in my placid and obtuse response. The third time I smile and laugh.

I let just a snort of mockery creep into my voice.

"Like there's anything you could say that could shock me." Haha ha ha and on to other work in the kitchen...

(Aside: See that? I am Just. That. Good.)

She grins and her eyes light up. "That's what you think, Mum. Today-"

Her eyes narrow and she bites her lip, looking me over like I'm a criminal -- her head slowly nodding as she takes in the truth.

"I know what you're trying to do, Mum."

I let a little smile peek out and she sings, ala Tracy Van Horn:
"I know something you don't know, do dah, do dah...
I know something you don't know, does that drive you crazy?"

CHECKMATE. I think I have met my match.



Just some little bits of news from around here.

The Princess just spent the weekend at a Junior Youth event. Two nights at a camp for kids Grades 6 - 8. She had the best time, EVAH. Which makes me happy. I was a bit nervous for her all weekend as she went into this not knowing a single person there. Which makes me proud. So, tonight I am enjoying this unique combination of Happy/Proud Mommy Feeling and trying to ignore that tiny bit of Scary knocking on the door. Cause, yeah. Grade Eight boys? Apparently are thinking the Princess is a sweetie.

My Pops took second place at a working cow horse competition this weekend. I really wanted to make it out to see him -- maybe next time. Congrats, Dad!

I've come to the conclusion that garage sales are not worth the effort. (something which I may have said to myself after the last time I did one.) Honestly... I did remember my resolution and everything was set to go to charity straightaway when my kiddos decided to Persuade their Mom otherwise. Dumb. Hours of work later and I still have a garage full of STUFF to send to charity anyhow.

The purging of Stuff was necessary, though. Time to get on with finishing out our basement. Wait. First... finish the yard. Then the basement. 50 metric craploads of rock get delivered tomorrow and I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Cause yeah... yard will be done. But that's a LOT of rock and a lot of landscape cloth and I'm really not looking forward to any of it.

I've actually been feeling kinda in a funk lately. Like no matter how hard I try I can't quite catch that groove. Too much to do and I'm not doing the kind of job I'd like to do on it. I need to get back to the gym cause derby's not quite cutting it, exercise-wise. Found a job that fits with the kid's schedule and then find out that I didn't quite budget myself enough and I have to find something else in addition. (which is not a big deal -- the school thing isn't a lot of hours, for sure... it's just that it's gonna be One More Thing, you know?)

One of my derby sisters told me that she sees that I do things the hard way -- make more work for myself in the end. I was a bit offended at first, to be honest. But I kinda wonder if she wasn't right?

Went to visit one of my girlfriends in the hospital today. She's bipolar and a med change got out of hand. I love her family's sense of humor about the whole thing. Her husband wore this shirt -- in the psych ward -- that said "I'm on A Day Pass". Love it. She said this is the first time that she's had friends that have come out to visit her when she's ended up in the psych ward -- derby luv!! Why is there such a stigma about mental illness? I know I felt it when I was struggling with depression and it made it really hard to be honest about what I was dealing with.

*Spongebob singsong voice*

"SKATE PARK!!! lalalalalalalalala!"

Yep. Went to the Skate Park today and made good on my promise to myself. Four-stair has been OWNED. And the two foot ramp as well.

Another hour of tricking out my mind to let me do stuff that really should be easy. For instance, jumping UP no more than eight inches onto a "box". I know I can jump that easily and do so regularly during some of our practices. The only difference is that I'm only clearing AIR and landing. Put eight inches of cement and steel coping in that "air's" place and it starts messing with my head. So I attempt it, but don't commit to it. Which means I end up hooking my toe stop/wheel/etc. and biting it hard. Sick.

I'm sure there's a life lesson in there, somewhere. There always is.

I will say that it felt flippin AWESOME to land the four-stair. It felt pretty amazing to do something that, well, most people wouldn't even try to do, to be honest. I think it was more about conquering fear than doing something skillful -- realizing that your only limits are in your mind. Well, sort of, anyhow. I suppose that there are some very real and painful limits found in the elements of concrete/steel and all... I came up against those a few times, for sure.

Mr. F and I might be taking a bit of a trip out to the coast, soon. Should know by the end of this week... which will leave me about a week to nail down flights and itinerary. Nothing like waiting til the last minute. :)

And that's about all I have to write for the moment. There is a Hammy saga to be told -- but I need a bit of time to process before I let that one go.

Hope you all have a great week!


Three Things.

The Kid's had a bad string of luck lately. Last night he cranked his knee into the corner of our steel trailer whilst running by it like a banshee and was sporting a bit of a nasty bruise and a limp this morning. I decided to pick him up after school and save him the walk-limp home, picking him up outside his classroom.

We're driving home, when out of the blue he pipes up;

"Guess what Brody said to me today when he walked by, Mom?"

"What, baby?" (Mentally preparing myself for some sort of fart/belch/potty humor scenario)

"He said, (*deep Kid-voice*) 'Your Mom is SMOKIN'... he's funny."


"And then he whistled, too."

I glean a few things from this. One, someone clearly better keep "Brody" away from whatever TV shows he's been watching cause his lil seven-year-old brain should NOT be thinking like that. Two, the Kid needs to adjust his sense of humor. And, Three... if I can just keep my groove for another, say... TEN years, I might be able to rank some MILF points. HA!!!!


This Used To Be My Playground.

Just one of those songs that has been stuck in my head since I heard it a bit ago. Pretty and melancholy all in one. Not the usual Madonna fare. I like it.


How The Formula Goes.

One Kid + One Miscalculated Leap From Playground Apparatus + One Belly Flop on Crushed Rock = One Distressed Mommy

Or something like that.

This past week I started lunchroom supervision duties at my kids' elementary school. (and I'm sure you'll hear all about that Awesomeness in a later post, do not dismay, dear reader) I report to the office each morning, go and do my spectacular job of keeping a lid on things and well... really that's all I do. Lay the smackdown. And then I go home.

Nice, hey?

Well, this morning as I rounded the corner to the main office, I spy my son's lil blond head through the office window. For a split second I wonder if he's gotten himself into a bit of trouble, but then I look closer and see he's doubled over in pain and is trying hard not to cry.

Apparently, when the bell rang to conclude the morning recess, he decided to be all Superkid and leap from the five foot tall floor of the playground apparatus. I'm sure it all looked grand and impressive in his head -- I know this cause I'm afflicted with the same Grandiose Thinking disease -- but the execution went all wrong and he ended up hitting the ground flat out and knocking the wind out of himself something fierce.

Which really isn't that big a deal. We've all had it happen before. But it shouldn't still be hurting over an hour later. At least... I didn't think so.

There were some logistical problems to overcome and, thankfully, Mr. F was able to burn over to the school and take the Kid to the hospital while I took care of my lunch shift. We met up at the hospital and after seeing the long line that was going nowhere fast; made the decision to try our luck getting in with our G.P.

Luckily, things fell into place. Our G.P. checked him over thoroughly and assured us that the Kids' ribs were all fine and his spleen was no worse for wear. He was just gonna need some ice and rest.

Ice and rest and a serious Reality Check about jumping off of high stuff.