The Weekend That Wasn't.

Boooooo...

Boo for weekends that don't turn out. At all.

My crew was scheduled to leave for Medicine Hat early Saturday morning. Things were looking iffy on Friday as warm temps, slushy snow and rising winds were creating havoc on the highways. A few carloads of teammates that left on Friday, texted back messages telling us that the highways were in horrible condition and that no one should follow.

All fine and good except that things only got worse. At 7:00a.m. there were lots of stretches of highway which the provincial hotline was advising not be traveled due to icy conditions and the forecasted blizzard that night. Now, I am a good winter driver, I feel confident handling all kinds of snowy/drifty conditions, blowing snow, whatever. But ice scares the crap out of me, and after a quick breakfast meeting with my teammates, we decided to abandon our travel plans and live to derby another day.

Good choice, especially seeing how as of today... all my teammates who did make the trip are now stuck in Medicine Hat. Sections of highway have been outright closed yesterday and today. It's not looking good for them to get home any time soon and I'm glad that's not me.

But I did promise pictures. So, here is what my yard and neighborhood look like after a snow storm.


Winds have been averaging about 60km/hr for the last two days and there are some huge drifts in our back yard. For scale, that section of fence in the back yard is about 7 ft tall.


It's hard to appreciate the depth of this one. And you can clearly see that I left my deck a bit messy for the winter. I have yet to perfect my outdoor winterizing schtick. Somewhere at the side of the house is a garden hose and sprinkler set, as well. I suck. This snowdrift is about 6 ft tall and covers over 8x12 ft. Can anyone say SNOW FORT? Oh yeah.


Drifted up taller than the fence.


On the street in front of our house.


Across the street, our neighbors ended up with drifting in front of their houses. 5 - 6 ft high against the garage doors.


I can only imagine what this looks like from the inside.

Mr. F was out shoveling twice yesterday just to stay on top of the blowing snow... not to mention the SNOWBLOWING done by our neighbors, which neatly cleared their driveways but added inches more to ours. Honestly, people don't even use their brains.

It's ON!!

Another whirlwind weekend in the works. I will be filling my truck with rad derby girls at the arse-crack of dawn on Saturday morning and we will hit the open road for Medicine Hat, AB where we will proceed to lay the HURT down on the track.

All. Day. Long.

Three games. One day. It's gonna be a gooder!

Which means that today is crazy-full of stuff to do. Ack! I'll be sure to take lots of pics and try to throw something together when I get back that more entertaining than THIS. :)

Have a great weekend, everyone!

This and That.

My morning routine usually involves running the kids to school; each to their own entrance if time permits. This morning, after saying goodbye to the Princess and watching her cross the street safely; the Kid shakes his head thoughfully and marvels, "It's hard to believe that next year she'll be 12 and in Grade 7..."

What an old softie.

***************************

I should know by now that minute I brag to the internets that I've been super-duper healthy all winter that I've pretty much jinxed myself.

Last Monday I went and got my H1N1 shot (long story, but let's call it peer pressure and leave it at that) and ended up feeling flu-ey and sickish for a few days. By Thursday, though, things were looking up and I decided to go to derby practice. Two hard-skating hours and a good sweat later, I knew I was in a bit of trouble. Woke up the next morning with a sore throat and things have been downhill since.

My throat is super-killer from all the coughing I'm doing and I'm kinda worried I'm in for a bit of a replay of the HackingCrudIllness of '07 (which I would link to, except it's not there anymore). Tonight I have a date with some hot tea and an early bedtime, for sure.


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Adventures in skate building! Yes... I took on my first challenge and, all things considered? Success!!

My girlfriends skate plates (the metal brace under the sole which supports the suspension) had been installed improperly from the store she purchased them from almost two years ago. A quick inspection and I saw that, not only were they mounted too far back on the boot, but that one of the plates was over 1/4" off centerline. Yeesh.

So, drill and tools in hand I set to dismantling, positioning and re-mounting my first set of skates. I won't even lie to you. With over $400 of someone else's gear in one hand and a drill in the other; I was pretty much feeling shaky and pukey. But I was also grinning like a lil fool cause, well... I was doing it.

Fast forward FOUR HOURS (cause I'm apparently a big fan of the OCD school of "Measure 30 times, drill once" thought) and I was able to present my girlfriend her skates. And if I must say so... I've not seen a sweeter centerline-forward mount. I was some proud, to be honest. And even happier when she skated in them and for the first time in over two years of skating, didn't break stride over her front wheels or fall due to tipping over those wheels.

I learned some stuff along the way. I need some different tools. And I don't think I'll be doing that again until after I start apprenticing with the Doc. But, it was a cool experience that will hopefully be the first of many.

Big Kid.

I just got myself a new toy...

~ Cordless
~ Variable speed
~ Comfortable no-slip grip
~ Powerful battery
~ 1 hour charge

Anyone care to guess??

?
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
?


*wink*

You have not...

...because you ask not.

Or at least that's what I was thinking when I put my fingers to the keyboard to write a most audacious email.

I chose my words carefully as I wrote a man I highly esteem. His over 30 years of experience, mechanical knowledge and innovative style have won him much accolade in the skate world. He is one of the most-sought after custom skate builders in North America.

I pressed SEND and I waited. And I could not believe my eyes when I received my response.

He has agreed to mentor me and this spring I will be crossing two provinces and seven states; about 2000 miles, to work with him. Something which I think will be the highlight of my year -- and, yes, I know the year is young, but some things just glitter with promise -- and set me on a course I am very, very excited about.

So, here's to asking. And receiving.

Just Breathe

I've always love Vedder's voice and artistry. I'm loving one of his latest and adding it to one of my all time favorites -- a sweet, sad hymn of love.

Variations on COOL

Cool.

I just signed up for a burlesque dance class. I'm kinda expecting some kind of belly dance stuff, but I really have no idea... who knows what my girlfriends got me into?!? But I love them for it, I'm sure it will be fun -- if only cause I've got great company during the classes!


Cooler.

Knock on wood, but I just realized that I've gone over half the winter and not gotten sick. At all. I've had some crappy feeling days and a time or two I had to knock some sense into my wonderful sinuses. But seriously? I'm liking this trend. Add to it the fact that the whole flutterfamily hasn't really been sick, either? Sweet sweetness. I'm down with that.

Tied for second place is my new workout plan I'm starting. And, if USPS would make me the happiest girl... I'll have it in my greedy lil hands tomorrow. Crazy combos of plyo and military-based stuff and killer cardio intervals. It's gonna hurt me bad, but I will love it, cause I need it.



Coolest.

I've been working feverishly on getting a lil project off the ground. I'm launching an online skate store, which I'm pretty stoked about. The website goes live by the end of this week (I hope!!)and I cannot BELIEVE how much work I have to do. After launch, I'm doing a league circuit which means I'll be on the road just a bit, meeting girls: doing info sessions with them and letting them try out some really sweet products I've got. I'm really excited about my business plan and I hope it rocks Western Derby's world. That said, I don't need to conquer the world... just want to do a good job with something I love. I've been cramming my head full of info and stuff and within the next few months will be getting cozy with some power tools and doing custom mounts, as well as trying to track down a mini-lathe that won't cost me my arm and a child.

OH, and I can't forget this. This, which made our children screech and holler. This, which will entirely deplete our carefully saved AirMiles account. But, yay, AirMiles!!! Cause, yeah... Yay, Disneyland!! February, baby! Me and the Mouse are chillin like villians and I don't know who will enjoy it more... the kids or the adults.

So far 2010 is off to a wild start, I'd say.

Note To ME.

Stay strong and be true. You have a good heart. Stand.

Killswitch vs. The Skate Park

So, it's been months since summer which means it's been months since I've done any "aggressive" skating.

Tonight, a group of us girls decided to go check out the indoor skateboard park on the exhibition grounds. And, after jazzing around a bit and getting used to the ramps and pipes again, myself and a girlfriend start eyeing up the quarter pipe in the corner. It's about a three-foot drop in -- small according to skateboard standards, but a good place to start learning to drop in on a pipe.

See, up until now, all our approaches have been from the ground-up. Dropping in from the top is a whole 'nother animal altogether.

We are pumped. We are sooooo bad ass. It's ridiculous.

We clamber to the top rail and stand looking downward. The bowl of the pipe looks pretty freakin impossible from this angle. We test footing and angles and scrunch our eyebrows in consternation as to how in the world we will manage to get two feet and eight wheels over the coping and down the pipe. Our first attempts are passable. I manage to land one foot and kinda half-drag my other toestop behind me. Not perfect, but reasonable for a first try. But by my fourth or fifth attempt, I'm getting a bit cheesed at my uncooperative backside foot.

Attempting to amp myself up for a balls to the wall final attempt, I participate in a little bit of inanimate object trash talk.

"Eff you, little quarter pipe. You think you're better than me? You think I can't own you, little quarter pipe? Just watch me."

At the top, now. I snarl and narrow my eyes. I'm doing this. One quick entry hop over the metal coping and... time stands still as I hang for a moment mid-air. This is gonna be good. I can feel it. Pipe is gonna feel it. And...

I eat it hard. Ridiculously so. It's like my skates are magnetic opposites to the wood of the pipe and I am thrown to my backside in a most inglorious manner. Imagine your kitchen table, if you will. Now, imagine jumping off of the tabletop. And landing straightaway flat on your butt. On the floor.

It was that ridiculous. Pipe owned Me. Point for Pipe.

And I will just say that if there ever was a reason for a derby girl to pee herself just a little bit, it could possibly be a bad ass fall like that.

Possibly.

Just saying.

Solving for X

Grouchy, Cold Flutterby + Super Warm Coat = Toasty, Happy Flutterby

Or something like that.

After suffering through a week of temperatures hovering around -30C (plus windchill, of course... this is Saskatchewan, people) whilst wearing her nine-year-old boarding jacket which had long past lost all it's high-tech loft in repeated washings, a certain Flutterby decides that enough is enough. And gathering her chilly self in her freezing car, she sets out for Army Surplus sites unknown.

For there, she has heard, is the Mother of all Warm Winter Coats. A coat so warm and awesome, it was designed to keep bodies warm during Arctic military expeditions.

Searching for the coat in the midst of other, equally bad-ass looking coats, Flutterby quickly spots the MWWC. It is large and techy looking with gnarly zippers and pockets and enough fur on the hood to cover a large cat. One look at the succinct, no-nonsense military label tells her that this is a "Parka: Extreme Cold Weather". It is surprisingly light and she hefts it over her shoulders and proceeds to struggle with the double ended zipper (What is this? Kindergarten again?? Please.) and arrange the extra large, furry hood over her head.

It is indeed, the winter coat to end all coats. Her search has ended.

If only she didn't look like a large marshmallow in it. *sigh* A TOASTY, WARM large marshmallow, though.




***********************************
It is true that I have entirely lost all pretense of being fashionable in this parka. It is huge. Too big for me, really... but they are sized for buff army dudes and not average housewives. Size small was as little as they came and I still swim in it. I probably look rather like the Michelin Man -- all puffy and shapeless and if Stacy and Clinton got a hold of me in it, I'm sure they'd give me an earful.

But seriously, I am so over FREEZING in the wintertime. And if we are indeed going to finish out our lives here in this nasty part of the winter-world, I've decided that I will at least not wish I was dead when the deep freeze hits.

-35... I'm waiting for you. Bring it.

Rudimentary Equations

Extreme Cold Temperatures + Flutterby = GROUCHY ME

Oscar the Grouch ain't got nothin on me. I'll shank that little green goober before he can flip the lid on his trash can.

And my kidneys hurt. Which seems totally unrelated but I assure you is totally, completely related to both the Cold and the Grouch. And maybe even the shanking. Whatever.

I have a feeling that all this could be nicely cured by a week or two sitting on a beach in Cuba or Mexico or something like that. Maybe my own private island with endless sand, grottos and Krav Maga. But I digress. Yes, I think that some sun and sand and swimming could be the ticket to a happier, less stabby, Me.

Anyone care to join?? I promise to leave my knives at home.

Baby, It's Cold Outside.

The Chanukah candles are burning down; their flames turning long and wobbly. I'm enjoying the sounds of guitar strumming I can hear from the Princess' room, it's so nice to have music in the house, again. I can hear the comfy, splashy sounds of the Kid in the bathtub. And if I listen closely I can probably hear the sounds of pup and Mr F. snoring together in the bedroom, adding to the sports channel that's playing in the background.

Myself, I'm going to enjoy the last few minutes staring into the flames and then tidy up a bit. The only thing that could make this better is a hot chai. Hmmm... sounds like a plan.

AAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHGHGGGHGGGGHHGHHH.

I just got served a big, steamy pile of Kicked In the Junk compliments of technology.

Last night, the Princess sang at her first open mic. She was fabulous (more on that later) and I managed to capture it on video. I actually did bring our little Flip video camera, but it self-destructed at the venue (no really... when I turned it on, it took about 10 seconds to boot and then got uncomfortably hot in my hands. Almost had an actual meltdown.) and as a last resort, I was able to catch my daughters' song using my crappy cell phone video feature.

So, tonight, I load up my little mini card into the adapter and get set to move the video (along with over a year's worth of assorted pics) onto my computer. Items copied and new folder made. Button clicked and I watch the little bar travel across the screen as my 69 items are copied into said new folder. (thank you, little bar, for LYING TO ME!!!!!)

I decide to also clean up my mini card, now that everything's been uploaded. Click. Delete.

So imagine my surprise when I open my upload folder and find it EMPTY.

No. Surprise is not the word. Disappointment is not the word. I really don't know what the heck the word is, but it involves the pit of my stomach and lurching and feeling awful. And maybe almost crying.

Cause she was so amazing. I know that I'm a proud mama and that proud mamas can be responsible for so many train wrecks and over-estimations of talent.

But this little girl, she really can sing. And she sang her heart out that night. Accompanied by her vocal teacher on guitar, she sang "Don't Laugh At Me" by Mark Wills. The lyrics are touching, but to hear them sung by such a young lady with a clear, sweet voice... It was special. I was so, so very proud of her.

And I really, really wanted to share it, here.

Sigh.

Uncertainties.

Today I sat in church and as the service closed, the band played an older song. One that I remember from years ago. I've sung it many times over the years and not thought much of it, but today something was different.

Today I could almost reach back in time and become that girl who sang. Remember the feeling of that church sanctuary where our youth group met; the smell of old carpet and wood, the acoustics, the close summertime air. It was a neat little moment, a window in time if you will. I enjoyed it for what it was, but was left saddened in some ways.

I am so different from that girl. She sat there years ago, cloistered and protected; trusting and open to receive. She didn't question. It was so simple and it all made sense so much as life had brought her way.

And I felt like crying. I am tired of the questions and the only certainty I feel I have is that nothing will be simple again.

I can live with that, but I looked over at the sweet girl beside me, and thought of my boy across the way in his Kid's Club, and I hoped that somehow they will be allowed a measure of simplicity. And I feel a little bit afraid that my questions, my husband's questions... have stripped that from them.

Our God is an Awesome God,
He Reigns In Heaven Above
With Wisdom, Power and Love,
Our God is an Awesome God.

I hope that can be enough.

Count With Me, Now.

Prophecy in Retrospect:

During tonight's Grey Cup game, in which our province's beloved Roughriders played the Montreal Alouettes, there were frequent screen captures of the RiderNation fans holding signs which read:

The 13th Man Is Your Worst Nightmare!!!!

And apparently... he was.

I'm still reeling in shock. And I'm not even a huge football fan. That was more ridiculousness than one game can handle. And I'm guessing that one Defensive Line Coach will be wearing a RiderNation melon hat on his head for some time. That is, if he still has his job.

Good work, Riders. Sorry that it didn't turn out for y'all. Better luck next time.

Stuff I've Noticed About Having a Puppy.

Just a few things I've noticed lately. Things related to the new little fur-ball in the family and I thought I'd share.

1) There has been significantly more laundry. The odd housetraining accident. A puppy bath, changing the "linens" in the crate. (cause we roll Classy around here, people!) Laundry.

2) I feel the inexplicable need to converse with the puppy when it's just me and her in the house. I'll be doing my thing in the kitchen or whatever and whenever she walks by and looks up at me, I feel like I'd be rude to not, well, SAY SOMETHING. What's that?? It's kinda embarrassing, is what that is.

3) The children have come through with approximately 3.675% of their pre-puppy Promises. 3.125% is due to the Princess. .55% is due to the Kid. This is REAL WORLD MATH, readers. Don't doubt.

4) I have come through with 145% of pre-puppy Promises and 239.75% of all puppy-related obligations. This roughly translates to a rising trend of Alpha Mommy Syndrome. The puppy worships me. When it's not trying to pee on my stuff.

5) Puppy stretches, snurgles and snuffles, and puppy yawns are insanely cute. So cute they could be measured in gigawatts of cuteness.

6) Having a puppy gives you repeated opportunities to walk in the backyard and talk about "taking a whiz" and "going potty". I'm sure the neighbors have never been so entertained.

7) Repeated walks in the backyard at ridiculous hours of the morning, evening and night makes me ever so glad that we don't have much snow at all. I am so loving El Nino at the moment. And so dreading the day when it all hits us like a mack truck of snowglobes.

8) Having a puppy means I am once again stepping over a baby gate and periodically almost killing myself.

9) I cannot leave a garbage bag out of it's receptacle for the afternoon to fill it just that last little bit full before taking it out.

10) I cannot leave anything out.

11) Unless I put it on something higher than she can reach.

12) Thank God in Heaven she is a Chihuahua and not a Great Dane.

13) Puppy feet smell like corn chips.

14) I may have difficulty ever eating corn chips again.

15) I like the *snick snick snick* sound of her nails on the floor. Cute.

16) I have realized that, while I probably am truly a Cat Person, I'm pretty fond of my lil pup. She's pretty precious.

Howling at the Moon.

Tonight I dragged Mr. F. to watch New Moon at the theatre.

For those of you who have had your head under a rock, or simply prefer your fiction to be grounded in reality and substance; it is the sequel to "Twilight".

It's about teenage angst and vampires (and really, now... clearly those two things go hand in hand.) and life-altering LOVE *sigh*. Oh, and werewolves. There may be some other elements involved, some semblance of a plot and really some interesting action sequences. But really? Mostly about vampire love.

Which begs the question. Why did I care to watch?

Which is really something I haven't got around to asking myself, yet. The answer revolves around being bored at my old hotel front desk job and picking up the book to read to pass the time. Which then begged me to fulfill my curious wonderings... "Is the movie better or worse than the book?" Which really could be a toss up. Cause the book wasn't all that hot. Should be easy to improve on. But... I digress.

What is will say is that I was shocked at what passes for a "PG" rating nowadays and just how many children (really... CHILDREN) were at the movie theatre to watch this. Cause it was pretty violent/perilous and there were a few steamy moments that I sure wouldn't want my kids to watch. I know that "kissing" falls under a PG rating, but dude... those were some HOT kisses.

I will also say that I was not adverse to the fact that werewolves are kinda hot. And mostly shirtless, apparently. (I mean, when they're not werewolves... cause, obviously... wolves don't wear shirts when they're wolves. Or whatever.) Heh heh... it appears that the wolves brought out my inner Cougar.

Lame... sorry.

I guess it was entertaining enough. Better than the book in some ways, and not as good in others. The pacing lagged through some of it... I could do with less angst and more action. But all in all, not bad. Some themes are universal, and anyone who's been thrown to the gutter by love can probably relate to these characters. And I think that's why people love the story.

That, and shirtless werewolves.

I Need A Hug.

There, that wasn't so bad to admit.

I'm on the board of directors for a certain... errrr... team. (There, was that anonymous enough???) I love being a part of making this particular sport better in our city. Of working with great girls who, largely, have the same goals and drive as I do. These are my friends and teammates.

But there's one particular relationship on this board that I struggle with. I very much like this person and enjoy her company on certain levels, but I find her management persona to be hard to deal with. She tends to lecture and be very passive-aggressive and easily threatened by other people's drive and initiative. It was one thing to deal with on the board, but after some time, I noticed it was carrying over to how she treated me (and others) on the track and I knew it was time to stand up for myself. To put some boundaries in place.

And this isn't easy for me. She is an intimidating person, both in stature and personality. She is prone to being unpredictable and dramatic and this makes most people simply back off and let her have her way, lest they incur a temper tantrum or worse. And, truthfully, that is my first inclination as well. (**site previous post and self-proclaimed wimp status**)

But it got to the point last month where I felt compelled to do something.

I don't want to get into details, but there have been two occasions on which (in a public forum) I have had the need to firmly but reasonably call "Bullsh$#" on her shenanigans and stand up for my right to be treated as an adult and not a childlike minion under her purvey.

Yesterday was one of them and the fall-out hasn't been pretty.

I want to be this tough chick who can just sit back and laugh at it all. To not care. To say "to hell with her and all who think like her".

But I'm not and I can't.

And today, I just wanted to sit with a Friend. A true friend who knows me inside and out and knows what my heart is in this all. Who could handle my tears of frustration and tell me it will be OK. That it's OK to stand up for me. That I should be understood and respected.

I needed a hug. That's all.

Open Letter to the Three Douches Sitting Behind Me Tonight.

Really, guys? You pay $18.00 each to watch a pro hockey game and can think of nothing better to do than converse loudly during the Whole. Game???? Really?

I mean, normally, I might be slight entertained to overhear about your great sex life since you've been pregnant and all your various and sundry opinions about life and finances and general Stuff That Does Not Pertain To My Life In Any Way Whatsoever. Normally.

But when you insist on dropping the F Bomb with ridiculous intensity and accuracy in the very near vicinity of my 7 year old son, I tend to, hmmmmmm.... NOT APPROVE. Really, people. Is that necessary? Is it some sort of required linguistic compulsion fostered in the trash bin you grew up in?

Cause I really don't see the point. I mean, beyond the sheer ridiculous tally of curse words you managed to fit into your steady stream of annoying conversation -- a number which, alone, boggles my mind -- I am left agog and amazed at the levels of self-absorbtion you all managed to wallow in.

And the irony. My good Lord, the irony of you sitting there blustering with pride over how you have managed to incubate a baby for all of four months and the steadfastness with which you already proclaim to know all about babies and parenting as though you were the Immaculate Incarnation of Parental Perfection, yet remained entirely oblivious to the very cute and very impressionable product of my SEVEN FREAKING YEARS OF PARENTING was an astounding marvel of incomprehensible vapid obtuseness.

If I were a different person, you surely would have merited a solid dress-down of the sternest kind, not to mention a punch in the throat. But, you may count your lucky stars that I really am a pussy and therefore just sat there and fumed and imagined little stabby darts being hurled at you each time my ears blanched with your repeated assault. And called you "Douche-bags" in my head. Repeatedly.

I hope that your child is graced with the most grating, wretched, whiny voice.

I'm sorry. But I do.

Goodbye.

This past week my Grandpa passed away.

It was abrupt and shocking just like that sentence sounds. In any other case, I would say that the massive heart attack was a blessing. Eighty-eight good years spent in health -- still vital and possessing strength and independence. Ending quickly and without suffering. This is what everyone wants.

But he was my Grandpa and I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I assumed I had more time. More time to spend with him, to hear his stories and watch hockey with him. More time to see him delight in my children. More time.

I was wrong. There was no more time.

And so I grieve for my Grandpa. A loving, solid, generous man. A man who would do anything for his family, would give anything. I wish I had more time with him. The things I want to say thunder in my heart and it seems impossible that I can't ever say them to him.

And I wonder why I didn't when I had the time.

I trust that somehow he now knows and sees and understands in fullness. I trust that we will be reunited one day.

Until then, Grandpa.