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.

A Hammy Led Us To Her.

Sometimes it seems that the strangest things happen in the strangest ways.

This past Sunday, we took the kids to the local pet store to look at hammies. We were thinking of checking out the fuzzy rodents and possibly stepping back in the hammy game.

We spent some time wandering the store first, being captivated by kittens and puppies and a particularly friendly parrot, finally making our way to the Rodentia area. The kids were speculating about the personalities of the dozing hammies and there were a few already contending for the coveted spot of being the next Flutterbyhouse Hammy. One of the little ones they had picked out was dozing in the corner and I was just pointing out to the kids that I didn't think we'd want to pick him cause he was very skinny compared to the others, when said little, skinny hammy moved laboriously and I could see that something was Very Wrong with him.

His tiny little head turned and it was immediately apparent that he was badly injured. Grossly injured. My sharp intake of breath and girly squeak immediately alerted the kiddos and before I could stop them, they, too had gotten a full view of the carnage done to the little guys' eyeball. The Princess pleaded with me to find someone to help him and I quickly tracked down an employee who also gasped and paled and took that miserable little hammy out of the cage. We were left feeling sickened and heartbroken for that poor tiny hammy. The Princess looked green and said she felt faint. And, in all our adult wisdom... my mother and I decided to distract the kiddos with some time spent with a little puppy in the "bonding room".

And this is what I get for doing so.



I know, right? It's ridiculous. And very Cute. And named Goldie. Cause my kids rock with the Naming Originality like that.

But she is now ours and it's very possible that I wouldn't have it any other way.

I also may have a hammy habitat for sale.

Doing Stuff.

Just a quick post. I promise.

:)

I'm really excited about a new project I'm working on. I'm starting an online fitness community and it's keeping me awake at night with all the fab ideas and plans running through my head.

No surprises, it's a derby related thing -- I'm gonna keep it small and in the league for now, but just maybe it will end up helping out more people achieve their fitness goals, in time. Regardless of how little or big it may be, it's very cool to have a spot to let your interests fly. I love helping people and building relationships and the whole writing, researching thing is totally exciting to me, too. (I mean, really? Isn't that evident by just how well-written THIS post is?!?!? lol)

Sometimes I feel like a lot of life has passed me by. And then there's times that let me see just how much Life there is to experience, yet. I enjoy those times!

All You Did Was Save My Life

All You Did Was Save My Life

Our Lady Peace | MySpace Videos

Quick and Dirty.

heh heh.

Actually, I'm thinking about the killer workout I did this morning. I'd like to be all bad-ass and make like I do killer workouts everyday. But the truth is that I've been a big slacker in that department for a few months, now. Other than derby practice (of which I've been out on the injured list for the past month,) I've not worked out. At all.

And it's showing. My clothes are getting that Shrunk In the Dryer feeling -- which I'm smart enough to know has NOTHING to do with my dryer! -- and I can tell that my cardio is seriously hurtin' cause running up and down the stairs to grab the cordless phone (And really... does anyone else have that problem where all the phones end up on ONE floor of the house? Or is that just Me?) leaves me a wee bit breathless.

Not a good sign.

It's time to change that stuff up good.

So today, I made good use of a workout DVD I've had in my possession for some time, now, but have been ignoring. It's a skate-specific workout which means it involved a crazy amount of squats, plyometrics, lunges, side lateral movements and other stuff which made me cry like a whiny little girl.

It was so challenging and, frankly, HARD. And I only did the "beginner workout". Sheesh. I'm pretty embarrassed. But, it's inspired me to conquer it. And I will.

I just might need help getting out of bed and Walking tomorrow morning.

100% Real Derby Goodness.

I just got back from a derby road trip last night and I'm feeling the hurt today. I had been registered for this trip since summer and was really looking forward to the chance to play in Medicine Hat, AB. The league there is totally fab -- a bunch of great people and they put on a really terrific event.

About a month ago I injured my knee. Skating. Not playing derby. I wasn't wearing any protective gear cause I didn't want to look like a weenie and I ended up driving my left knee into the concrete floor at a pretty good speed, which isn't pretty any way you look at it. X-rays ruled out any fractures and the end diagnosis was traumatic bursitis -- essentially, all the bursae in that knee are filled with blood and pus at the moment. Beautiful, isn't it?

Anyhow, it wasn't looking good for the game as things weren't healing up any too quick. But last week my doc gave me a double prescription for anti-inflammatories (oral and topical) and within just a few days things had calmed down enough that, with my awesome 187 knee pads on, the pain of impact was bearable.

Happy, happy Killswitch. :)

I won't bore everyone any longer with the play-by-play of the weekend. I'll just go with the ESPN Highlight version:

- Girlfriends. I skate with some of the best girls. They've become really treasured friends and I totally enjoyed the weekend with them, outside of derby.

- Firsts. I signed my first autograph, people!! Three of them, actually, and I about hugged each kid that asked. Cause, really? You want my autograph? I totally get a kick out of playing a sport and being a part of something that people will pay to come any watch and cheer their heads off and yes... where kids will ask you for your autograph. Seriously, just how amazingly COOL is that? Who gets to do that????

- The game. The game was AMAZING!! I was placed in -- and frankly, outclassed by -- the Advanced/Senior game. I was playing with some of Western Canada's hottest players (as well as some hotshot members of my own league!) and I had stars in my eyes the WHOLE. TIME. I was glad to hold my own on the track and be a solid player, but I didn't light it up, for sure. Still... it was the hardest-hitting, fastest paced game I've played in, yet. I got my first major penalty for completing a hit out of bounds (my biggest coup of the game as I took on one of the team's best jammers. But still... a penalty. Boo.) and generally got some great game experience.

- Did I mention how absolutely proud I was of our league's skaters that played in the Rookie game?? I think the warm fuzzies threatened to swallow me at a few points. I love these girls!

- Karaoke? Oh yes. The after-party was terrific. Good food, good people and good song. Me and some girls headbanged through AC/DC's "Dirty Deeds" and our league totally represented at the mic. Lots of talent -- lots of attitude! I managed to take on the stage for a little bit of Eurythmics and then a strangely cathartic rendition of You Oughtta Know. And then the post-game fatigue set in and it was off to bed.

- The knee was fine. A little bit of bruising showed up that night, but it's all good. I've just got some random sore muscles, a little bit of fishnet burn and a couple impact-blister-bruises on one of my hands to show for the night. (I realize that's not a medical term, but you know those things where you crack a vein over a joint on something hard -- concrete floor in this case -- and it gets dark and puffy for a day and really hurts to touch but then is totally better the next day? Yeah, those things.) Oh, and also, a cleavage scratch that I have no recollection of recieving.

All in all, it was a great weekend... I feel very lucky to have Derby in my life and a family that is supportive of this obsession of mine.

Biting My Nails

Tonight was the Princess' first school dance. Well... the first school dance that she was allowed to go to.

This is new territory for me as I was not allowed to attend ANY dances while I was growing up. I like to say I was Sheltered. Which, really? Worked pretty well for me as I'm sure all that Dancing with Friends While Supervised would have totally cut into my Sweaty, Making Out with Boyfriend time.

Sorry... did the irony cut a little too much??

All to say that I'm breaking new ground, here -- sending my daughter to her class dance.

First came the part that I loved. A little bit of shopping and then I got to play hairstylist and make-up artist (just a touch!) and we had a really cool time together for all of it. I love these little moments with the Princess, initiating her into this strange world of feminine ritual and lore. Mr. F was blown away when he saw his little girl all transformed into a little lady. I kinda was, too. Sometimes it's almost ridiculous to think of those first years with Baby Princess, so hard to imagine just how much time has flown by.

Next came the part that I was a bit unsure of. Picking up her friend and dropping them off at the school. Two giggly little girls tripping down the sidewalk. I so wanted to go in with them, to check it all out. To warn all the boys, really. Shake a fist in a face or two and generally stir it up a bit. I watched them be greeted by the swarm of classmates in the foyer and realized I would have to do what every other parent was doing... let them have their supervised fun in a safe place and drive away like the good chauffeur I was.

And the best part, receiving my Princess back home. Her feet sore and a smile on her face. She loved the music. She loved the lights. She had fun with her friends. And yes, she did dance with some boys from her class. The list was actually quite long, which I wasn't totally prepared for... but I survived and she did, too. I don't know that she will always be allowed to attend dances and she knows this. It will depend on the atmosphere that the school provides and the behavior that becomes the norm. It will depend on the trust that I've built with the Princess remaining intact. But at the moment all is well and I'm pretty happy with how things turned out, all said.

West Coast Vacation In Six Easy Points and One Horrifying Picture.

PASS. -- Amazing scenery. Beyond amazing. Scenery which turned me into a Grandmotherly Lady exclaiming "Oh My..." and "How Beautiful..." and "So Lovely" whilst dabbing my eyes with a flowered hanky. It really was that Perfect. And I really was that dweeby. Cause let's be honest, I live on nature's equivalent to a Dinner Plate. F-L-A-T doesn't begin to describe my habitat. This was like Crack for my habitat-o-meter. Rocks, cliffs, mountains, ginormous trees and winding highways. Quaint bridges over picturesque creeks and... yes, I am reduced to a big pile of Dweeb.

FAIL. -- Three flights to get there. Thank you, AirMiles. You rock with the connections. *urrrghh* My ears were not happy with the repeated compression/decompression schtick we were *ahem* enjoying and malfunctioned somewhere around the ascent over the Rockies, leaving my head locked up like Houdini -- ouch -- and disturbing my equilibrium for the duration of the trip. Me and Gravol were a tight pair after that.

PASS. -- Super friendly people wherever we went. Really. I thought Prairie folk were friendly, but I kinda think we could learn a thing or two. We had some really... errr... Lovely (hello, Grandma...) conversations with lots of people and generally enjoyed our time on the Island greatly.

FAIL. -- Camera battery dies just as we enter Qualicum Falls and Cathedral Grove. Perhaps the most magical, breathtaking place I've been in my life. Dead camera. You've got to be kidding me. (and it was a borrowed one which needed a special charger -- not just some AA's. Trust me, I'd have been all over that.) Eff you, Camera. You and the horse you rode in on. Arrrgh.

PASS. -- The ocean. Oh my gosh... the OCEAN, people!!! Wandering the waterfront and marina, beachcombing along some really great stretches of oceanfront. My Inner Geek was in Geek heaven, I swear it. Look! Jellyfish!! Look! Starfish!! Look! Dead Crabs and Disembowelled Ducks!!! (no really, they were there. And I really checked them out, cause, yeah... dead crabs and disembowelled ducks!!) And no end of shells and rocks and driftwood and cool beachy stuff to collect and bring home for the kids. What? It was for the kids, really it was.

FAIL. -- Reggie Griswold. The beast of a spider that had taken up residence directly outside our hotel window. He was ginormous and ghastly and strangely entrancing. He also prevented us from opening up the window as there was no window screen (apparently this is an Island-wide phenomena. They don't mind letting the crawlies indoors.) and there was no way in hell I was willing to wake up eye to manifold-eye with Reggie.

Just in case there are any disbelievers among my readers as to the size and ridiculous horrificableness of Mr. Griswold (seriously, it has me making up new words, such was the sight of him) I will provide you with a picture. Keep in mind that things, once viewed, cannot be removed from your minds-eye. I will not be responsible for scary dreams, bedwetting and bad drug trips that may result from viewing the following picture.

Yeesh.

So, I am now happily back home in the Land of The Dinner Plate. It really is good to be home, good to see our kiddos and get back into some routine. Though I am truthfully mourning the passing of the Holiday Napping Hour. Cause that was pure Gold, people. And apparently one more point to consider as to whether or not Flutterby is really a Grandma in Disguise.

Vive la Vacation!